“And there you have it!” The ghost in the mirror smiled and stroked his moustache. “You left the controls and you hit the silk and left me. Not nice, Jerry! And you didn’t tell the lady my other name. The chaps didn’t call me Kevin, did they? Nor Smythe-Williams. They had another name for me— one that you gave me. A little jealous of my successes in those days, weren’t you, Jerry? What nickname did you hang on me, Jerry, old chap?”
“We called you Ladykiller,” Jerry whispered.
“And for short?”
“Killer.”
The ghost nodded, satisfied. “That should do, then, shouldn’t it?” he said. “Except maybe for my famous last words?”
“No!” Jerry cried, looking up in horror. The apparition chuckled and started to fade from sight, but its voice came faintly, as though from a distance and distorted by a crude intercom, sprinkled with static, “Jerry? Don’t leave me! You still there, Jerry? I’m trapped, old man… For God’s sake, Jerry…” The despicable whining seemed to go on for a hellishly long time, and then there was only herself standing there in the mirror. Jerry had fallen to his knees, doubled over and weeping like a child. She started to kneel down beside him and then decided it might be kinder not to remind him that she was there. A very cruel business, she thought, and wondered what its purpose was.
“Oh, get up, you blubbering ninny!” snapped her reflection, and he climbed slowly to his feet again, wiping his face angrily and visibly shaking.
“Now!” the reflection said. “The mission I sent you on— why did you send Achilles back with the wand?” Jerry gulped and moved his lips. “I thought I would save Killer and this time I would stay…”
“You thought you would redeem yourself, then? Make up for the first Killer, whom you deserted?”
“Yes. Yes!” The reflection shook its head. “You said you thought that. But that wasn’t the reason, was it?” This was incredibly cruel. Jerry had somehow managed to go even paler. Again he couldn’t find words.
“Oh, get on with it!” the reflection snapped, sounding faintly like the vanished ghost. “You had been told to take clothes for one; there are no children in Mera. Obviously you were supposed to bring back the woman and no one else. Why did you send Killer back and not come with him?” Jerry stuttered and mouthed; it took him a long time to find the truth. “She would not have come. I wanted her.”
“Go on,” the reflection said.
“I was sorry for her.”
“And more than that?”
Jerry blushed scarlet, right down to his shoulders. “Sex! I wanted to take her to bed. I was crazy— I wanted her insanely— more than any woman I had ever met.” The reflection looked amused. “And you still do! Well, that’s the truth but not the whole truth.” Jerry looked surprised. He tried to speak, hesitated, and then blurted, “I have come to admire her personality. I am in love with her.” He sighed and smiled briefly, shyly at Ariadne. “Thank you,” he said to the mirror.
“Don’t mention it,” her reflection snapped. “You thought Killer would insist on bringing you back. You were trying to blackmail me through Killer?
Jerry gulped once more and said, “Yes, I was.”
The reflection nodded angrily. “And why did you pistol-whip Carlo? Because he had stabbed Killer?” Jerry hesitated and then said, “Revenge! Because he had nearly let the demons get me.” The reflection nodded again, looking satisfied. “Have you ever been intimate with a man?”
“No! I was taught… brought up… I can’t…” He fell silent, staring down at the table again.
“But you have promised Killer. Will you keep your promise— and how do you feel about it?” Jerry pulled a face. “I plan to. I hope I don’t throw up.” The reflection laughed, her laugh. “You very well may. You’d better let me handle it for you. It won’t be the first time, as you well know. Tomorrow night at dusk, you told him.” Jerry blushed scarlet, looking down at his toes and wriggling them. “But…”
“Your gratitude does you credit,” the Oracle said, obviously amused, “but I can give Killer a much better time than you could.” Jerry suddenly laughed. “Thank you,” he said, sounding relieved.
Then the joking was over. The Oracle turned to stare at Ariadne, and she cringed, waiting for the horrors.
“Why did you steal Lacey from Graham and Maisie?” the reflection asked innocently.
Well, that was an easy one— because she loved her and wanted her. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out.
Nothing at all? That was the truth, wasn’t it? Lacey was her child. She loved Lacey— but she could not even say that. The silence was dragging on and on, and Jerry must be waiting, but she could not even look at the mirror, let alone him. And she could not speak. There must be a knack to this, a way to learn how to find the truth, because she wanted to say something, and nothing seemed to have words any more.
Her reflection sighed. “Well, we can come back to it. Are you an alcoholic?”
“Yes.”
“Still?” No.
“Yes.”
Why had she said that? “Are you a good mother?”
“Not when I’m drunk.” She couldn’t add to that
“Look at me!” the reflection snapped, and it began to change. It had a blue dress on. She knew that dress— two years ago. And it was swelling, growing enormous, bigger than the Minotaur— ten feet tall. It glared down at her terrifyingly.
HOW OFTEN HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO INTERRUPT MOMMY WHEN SHE’S PRACTICING?
Oh, God! Was that how she had seemed to Lacey?
Then it was her small naked self again— and she fought back. “Lots of parents snap at their children. I don’t think that was fair.”
“Was it fair?”
“Yes.”
“See?” the reflection said. “A little effort, and we get the truth. Tell Jerry what you saw when the Minotaur came to the cottage.” Lord! But she managed that— the story of Graham at that other cottage, Graham drunk and very horny and wearing a cowboy hat. Jerry took her hand sympathetically, but she did not look at him.
“So the Minotaur reminded you of your former husband?” the reflection asked waspishly. “Why did you fire at its genitals?”
“They’re the most tender spot on a man, a male animal,” she said. “Even if silver bullets couldn’t penetrate the skin, they could hurt it there. It worked, damn it!” The reflection smiled. “You were a good wife for a lawyer. You have made true statements, but you have not quite answered the question. Try this then, describe Maisie Gillis.” She did, and it was not hard. Those days in the dungeon had helped her appreciate Maisie as a good kid, not bright, but well meaning.
“She loves children?” the reflection demanded.
“Yes!” Ariadne said quickly. “And Lacey loves her, I admit it.”
“Here you have no choice but to admit it,” her inquisitor replied. “So who is the more suitable mother, the good kid who is loved and has a husband to help, or the solitary alcoholic?” She had a choice of two names, and hers would not come out. “Maisie. But…”
“Yes?”
“But I don’t think that Graham is a good father!”
“Ah!” the reflection said triumphantly. “Back to the first question. Why did you steal Lacey from him?” She was furious to discover that she was weeping as Jerry had wept. She wiped her eyes and took a few long, deep breaths. “So that he could not have her.” So now she knew.
“And why did you attack the Minotaur in the way you did?”
“Because it reminded me of him!” she shouted. “Because of that night he attacked me! Because I wanted to hurt him, to hit him there. I hate him!” There was more she could have said, but that was suddenly very clearly the truth and it would do. She was not repentant.