Almost if not already completed version of origional Shades of Glass. New title is Reflections of Death. Enjoy! Completed novel should be available sometime in 2010!

Reflections of Death

Prologue:

Amelia DeBoine retrieved the scalpel she had kept from her nursing days. It lay neatly wrapped in a black silk scarf in the top drawer of her old English China Cabinet. She removed the blade with loving care, catching a glimpse of her colorless eyes as she twirled it in her long boney fingers. White silvery locks hedged her crimped face with each spin.

She put on her dark hooded cloak, placed the blade back in the scarf, picked up an old, ornate hand mirror and carried them outdoors to the sandy beach. She followed the path to the skeletal remains of the Merchant Widow, which had run aground in 1735 during a violent storm. It stood boding evil in the vanishing light.

She glanced behind her and ducked inside the ship’s hull, where the opening to a secluded cavern welcomed her. Once inside, she lit a lantern and made her way along a trail that cut through the rocky terrain. Several feet below, she arrived at a sandy clearing next to an underground river. She knelt down beside her departed husband, George DeBoine, carefully traced the outline of his face with the blade and lifted the skin from the bone, like a pie shell. Blood and fatty tissue dripped from the face as she placed it on a stiff piece of cardboard and set it on a boulder next to the already roaring fire.

She looked into the mirror and saw an image. “The mirror has spoken,” she cried out, while holding it up high. “It is done.”

Four other women held hands and chanted in unison while Amelia stood silent, “We adhere to the voice within the glass. The offender is purified by fire, released to the air, cleansed by the water, and returned to the earth.”

Amelia stood next to the inferno while the ladies picked up the corpse and threw it into the blaze. The limp body sizzled, blistered and popped, throwing live embers toward the cave ceiling. The body’s eyes seemed to focus on Amelia through the flames. The more she stared, the more she felt them pierce through her as if George was still alive, angry and blaming her. But she knew that was impossible. She looked away. She glanced into the flames once more, but, by then, only empty sockets looked back. The eyes had disappeared.

The five ladies gathered in a circle around the blaze and sang, “Amazing Grace,” while

they watched George DeBoine burn. When the song was finished, Amelia picked up the face,

handled it with care, and returned to her home where she could complete her work. She knew Catherine Caulder and the others would remain on the river bank until the last cinders of the fire were extinguished. They would see to it that all fragments of bone had been reduced to a fine powder. The only evidence left would be the pool of blood, buried beneath the sand where his throat had been cut. When the morning tide arrived and filled the cavern, all traces of the ritual would vanish.

* * *

Amelia carried her prize to the attic, stopping only long enough to replace her treasured mirror on her bureau where she would again use it as a simple looking glass until the next message was delivered. She crossed the aging hardwood floor and sat down, rocking back and forth in her creaky wooden chair. A square piece of cloth lay on her lap while she aligned George’s face on top. She turned it over and stitched the lips closed, and then wiped away any remaining blood and tissue with alcohol soaked cotton batten.

When she was satisfied the skin was clean, she stitched one side to the material. She hummed “Amazing Grace,” while stuffing batten to the underside of his cheeks, his lips and forehead. She placed glass eyes under the lids and made a small stitch to ensure the surrounding skin would dry with them open. She stuffed the face until no folds in the skin were left and sewed the final stitches, fastening it to the patchwork square. She held it up in front of her and grinned, exposing tobacco-stained teeth.

She let out a deep audible breath. “Handsome as always,” she said aloud. She set the square aside and hobbled toward a trunk that sat in the corner behind her chair. She pushed the blankets off the top and opened the lid. A prolonged squeaking noise filled the room while the rusty hinges seemed to fight back, protesting the intrusion. Her silver hair fell into her eyes while her frail, five-foot-four frame, struggled to pull out the large heavy quilt and drag it to her chair. “I’m getting to old for this.”

She sat down and waited for the wheezing in her breath to subside, before pulling the open space on the quilt to her knees, and up onto her lap, where she stitched George’s face onto the patchwork quilt, along-side eleven others. When she was done, she pulled the finished masterpiece back to the trunk and worked until it was tucked safe inside. She closed the lid and placed the blankets back on top.

Feeling exhausted, she left the attic and closed the door behind her. She went to her bedroom, picked up the hand mirror and brush from the top of her bureau, and began disentangling her hair. A movement caught the corner of her eye. She looked, but saw nothing. She shrugged and returned her attention to the mirror. George’s contorted face with eyes bordered in flames, glared back at her—snarling. “You bitch,” he said.

She backed up to the four poster bed behind her, unable to tear her focus away. “No. No,” she whispered. “This can’t be happening.” She felt pounding in her chest, followed by sharp pains. She clasped the mirror to her breast and fell back on her bed. She lay motionless, listening, until the last beat of her heart fell silent.

The next morning, Catherine and the other women arrived to pick up the finished quilt of faces and found Amelia lying on her bed, mirror clenched in her fingers, held to her chest. They called in the local doctor who pronounced her death a heart attack. The doctor took the mirror from her stiff fingers and placed it face down on her dresser. After her body was removed, Catherine and the other ladies slipped through the night, into the house and took the patchwork quilt of faces from the trunk. They moved it to their secret temple, on the top floor of Catherine’s house and hung it on the wall, bringing the total to eight. Amelia’s house was boarded up and left empty as she had no known next of kin.

Reflections

Behind the glass,

lie shades of truth:

A sinister lass,

a past uncouth.

Only the blood of a kindred soul

can unlock secrets

the glass does hold.

And so it comes to pass one day-

the imprisoned soul comes out to play,

losing its bonds in the shades of glass,

revealing secrets of that sinister lass.

Chapter One

Shadow Bay, Oregon, July 8th, 1979

Gabrielle Stone eased her yellow, rust-bucket of a Pinto up to the pumps of the filling station. “Damn,” she groaned, “it’s closed!” She slammed her hands on the steering wheel and let out a guttural growl of frustration. The car seemed to answer her with a sputter and a shake, then the engine quit. “Great. Now what am I going to do?” She turned the key, half-hoping the vehicle would hum to life for a little while longer, or at least long enough for her to find a motel room. “This is unbelievable, it’s empty.” Me and my stupid ideas, she thought. I could have filled the tank several times over, but no, I had to push it. She sighed. “Oh well, not much I can do about it now, except sit and wait till morning,” she said out loud.

She pulled the keys from the ignition and scanned her surroundings. The smell of sea salt air filled the car as she rolled down the window and sucked in a deep breath. She watched the ocean surf beat the shore across the road, until the last ray of light escaped into the horizon. A seagull sounded off in the distance while she thought, this is going to be home. “One more night,” she whispered, smiling. “One more night.”

She took her blanket from the rear seat and pulled it up to her shoulders. She thought about leaving the window down so she could fall asleep to the sound of the waves but this was a dark and shadowy place and she felt an odd sense of danger. She shivered and rolled it up. She pulled the lever, reclined her seat and thought about all the wonderful things she would discover about her new life when she saw the lawyer in the morning.

While lying back in the seat staring up at the roof of the car, her mind was filled with visions of wealth and a fancy mansion facing the ocean. She drifted off to sleep and a fitful dream. She heard loud screeching and the crashing of metal. Fire and sparks filled the scene while she stood just on the outer rim of disaster. A wrecked train lay in front of her with the passenger cars tangled in disarray. The smell of diesel and smoke filled the air. A woman’s shattered body dragged herself along the ground, stretching a blood-soaked hand toward her, crying, “Jessie. Jessie, come here, baby.”

The sound of weeping and shrieking surrounded her. Then all went quiet. She peered over the wreckage, horrified by the mass of metal and bodies strewn about the ground. Her focus returned to the woman who lay in front of her, eyes frozen in a timeless gaze of terror. She heard a pounding. Was it in her head?

Gabby awoke, startled. A heavy-set bearded man banged on her window. She shielded her eyes from the sun and opened the window a crack.

“You all right, Miss?” he growled. “You can’t be parking here. I’ve got a business to run. Now move this heap,” he said, sweeping his arms.

Gabby sat up straight and rolled down the window. “I can’t,” she pleaded. My tank’s empty. I’m moving in town today. My name’s Gabrielle Stone.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so, Miss? How much do ya want?”

“Fill it up.” She felt puzzled by this brute’s sudden willingness to be polite. Was it her name? She wondered. She threw her blanket to the backseat and watched him scrub her windshield.

He grinned, leaning over toward her window. “Can I check your oil?”

“Sure.” She watched him bounce to the front of her car and open the hood. He seems harmless enough, she thought. Amused, she watched him pull the stick, wipe it on his jeans, put it back in the small hole with perfect precision, and slam the hood shut.

“Looks good, Miss, but it’s pretty dirty. Should get that changed soon. That’ll be fifteen smackeroos.”

She reached into her change purse, pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. He took it and half skipped his way into the front of the store. A minute later, he returned with her change.

“So, you’re moving into Shadow Bay?”

“That’s right.”

“Where ya staying?”

“I don’t know yet. Would you happen to know where Caulder and Associates is?”

“Sure do. Head to that set of lights and hang a right. Go on up the hill and turn left. Can’t miss it.” He stuck his hand through the open window. “Well, glad to meet ya. Name’s Arne.”

Gabby shook it with two fingers. “You can call me Gabby.”

“I’m the only station in town, so I suppose you’ll be back for that oil change,” he said with a wink, “and the gas too.”

“Thanks, Arne.” She smiled. “Very nice to meet you and I’m certain I’ll see you again.”

“Sure enough, Miss Gabby.” Arne slapped the roof of the car as she drove away.

Five minutes later, she pulled up to a stone building with a weathered sign reading, Caulder and Associates. A wave of excitement soared through her. “This is it.” She took a deep breath, picked up her shoulder bag, and glanced in the rearview mirror. Mascara circled her blue eyes and her long, wavy, dark hair was a disgrace. “I can’t go in looking like this.” She brushed her hair and used a Kleenex to wipe the dark smudges under her eyes. That will have to do, she thought. After all I haven’t seen a bathtub since I left South Dakota. She could smell her arm perspiration. “Phew, that’s bad.” She took a bottle of perfume from her hand-bag and sprayed her neck and arms. “That should do it.” She took another deep breath and got out of the car.

She grasped the handle on the heavy-looking wooden door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. “Just my luck—closed.” She tried again, this time she pushed hard with her shoulder. The door flung open and she fell into the entrance hall and against a man, knocking files out of his hands. His papers lay scattered all over the floor.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry. The door was stuck and I…”

“That’s okay, this door always sticks.”

Gabby bent down to help him pick up the papers.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, “I’ll get them. Private stuff, you know.”

“Of course,” she stammered. “I am so sorry.”

“Do you have an appointment? I don’t recall any on my calendar.”

“Oh—yes, well… no. Not exactly. I’m early. I have a letter.” Gabby opened her shoulder bag and handed it to him. “Are you Brian Caulder?”

“Yes-Oh, you’re Miss Stone. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

“I’m a day early. I can come back later if this is a bad time.”

“No, now would be good. Why don’t you go upstairs, get a coffee, and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Okay, sure.” She felt terrible. “I hope I didn’t mess up your files too much.”

“No harm done.”

Gabby climbed the stairs and located a coffee machine on a table in the waiting area. She was stirring in the sugar when Brian appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Just let me put these away and I’ll be right with you,” he said, disappearing into his office.

She took her coffee and sat down on one of the chairs where she could watch him through the open door. He was much taller than her five-foot-seven and she figured a little older. He wore a tan sports jacket that set off his sandy blond hair and broad shoulders perfectly. She guessed him for a football player during his school years. She didn’t know what brand of cologne he was wearing, but it smelled fantastic. She sipped her coffee, picked up a magazine from the table and thumbed through it while she waited. Hmm…, odd, she thought…, this magazine is all about Shadow Bay. I had no idea they published magazines about a small town like this. She shrugged—but the thought nagged at her.

“You can come in now, Miss Stone,” Brian called from the doorway.

Gabby put the magazine back on the table, picked up her coffee and entered his office. She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you for seeing me this morning.”

“My calendar was clear, so this works out great. We have a lot to cover. The extra time might come in handy. “Have a seat.” He motioned toward the guest chairs. “Give me a second while I find the right files.”

“Sure.” She sat down and took another sip of her coffee while she looked around the room. The desk was large and cumbersome. It appeared to be centuries old. The walls of the room needed painting. They weren’t dirty, just grungy and dull. Atop the desk were file folders and a rotary dial telephone on one corner. Ringed coffee stains and an overflowing ashtray signaled long hours or a lack of hired help for cleaning. The floors were made of a dark hardwood, faded and scuffed, except for near the walls where their usage was minimal. A light grey area rug lay under the desk and chairs. It was not what she expected for a law office.

Brian looked up at her, frowning. “Is everything all right, Miss Stone?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. Everything is fine. I’m just a bit tired from that long trip.”

“That’s understandable.” He opened a large folder and took out the first two sheets of paper. “Let’s get started, shall we?” His expression changed to one of sympathy. “First, I would like to offer my condolences on the loss of your grandfather.”

“Uh…, oh yes, of course. Thank you.”

“I know you may not remember much about him, but we all knew him well. He was a good man. It was a sad loss when he disappeared seven and a half years ago.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him.” Her mind screamed at her. Know him! I never even knew he existed before I got this letter.

“How much do you remember about your family?” Brian gave her his undivided attention. “I want to find out how much you recall about your past.”

“Well, my parents died when I was thirteen. My Dad passed first, my Mom followed less than a year later. I think she was lonely for him. I was placed in foster care where I spent the next five years moving from one foster home to the next, trying to fit in. I never had the chance to make any close friends. I’ve been on my own almost seven years now, since I turned eighteen. Hmm, what else.” She tapped her lip, thinking. “I didn’t have any sisters or brothers. My parents were the only family I had.” She leaned back on her seat and laid her hands on her lap. “That’s about it.”

Brian looked down at the folder in front of him, looking distressed. “So you don’t remember then?”

She straightened up in her chair and folded her arms. “Don’t remember what?”

“I’ll get to that in a bit. Right now let’s deal with your Grandfather’s Last Will and Testament.” He shuffled through the papers. “Here it is. Before we begin, I’ll need to see your identification.” He considered Gabby. “We are dealing with a large inheritance so I’ll need copies for proof of identity.”

“Of course.” She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her wallet. She removed her driving license, her birth certificate, and handed them to him.

“I’ll also need your Social Security card.”

She rifled through her wallet, one sleeve and then another. “It’s here somewhere.” She opened a zipper on the side. “Found it,” she breathed a sigh of relief and handed it to him.

He stood. “I’ll be back in a minute or two. You might want to refill your coffee. We’re going to be here awhile.”

“I’m fine for now,” she said. “Maybe later.” She watched him leave the room, and then leaned forward trying to get a sneak peek at the Will. All she could see was the cover page. She thought about standing up and even flipping through it, but decided not to. She sat back, crossed her legs, and waited.

Several minutes later, he returned and handed back the documents. “I verified your information, not that you seem like the imposter type.”

“I sure feel like one,” she said, a little louder than intended.

Brian furrowed his brow. “I’ve proven you are the granddaughter of the late George DeBoine.

She felt irritated. “How could you know that, when I don’t?”

“Let’s do the reading of the Will first, then…”

She broke in. “Mr. Caulder,” she said forcefully but controlled. “I’ve got to know how I could possibly be this man’s heir, before I hear what the inheritance is.”

He exhaled aloud. “You’re right.” He opened a drawer on the left side of his desk and pulled out an old shoe-box. He handed it to her. “This box was your Grandfather’s.”

She opened the cover and set it on the desk. Old black and white pictures were on top. Gabby picked them up, studying them. “Do you know who these people are?” She handed the pictures to Brian.

“This one is your grandparents.” He passed it back to her along with others of her grandparents. “They are George and Julia DeBoine.” He glanced through the remaining ones in his hand. “There should be a few more.”

Gabby picked through the letters and paper until she found another small stack of pictures. She stared at one of them. “Oh my God. It’s me! This is amazing. My parents took a picture of me at that age. I have it with me.” She looked at the next one. She stood between two people, a man and a woman.

“Those were your real parents,” Brian said, leaning over his desk, “John and Sandra DeBoine.

“How come, I have no memory of this?”

“According to my records, you were found wandering in a field by the people you came to know as your parents. They took you to the local hospital to treat your wounds. The Doctors diagnosed you with amnesia when you couldn’t recall your name or where you came from. They guessed you were involved in the train wreck that happened nearby, the same one that claimed the life of your Grandmother and parents.”

“Gabby said, “That’s terrible—all of them dying.”

Brian continued. “Assuming you had no more family they filed the proper documents and when no one came forward to claim or identify you, they went through with the adoption. He gathered up a batch of papers and handed them to her. “It’s all here in the adoption records. Didn’t they ever discuss any of this with you?”

“No, until now I thought they were my real parents.” She set the records aside and focused on the photos. A recollection entered her mind. The woman in the picture standing next to her was the same one she had dreamed about. She was calling her, Jessie. “Jessie,” she whispered. “My dreams, I’ve seen her. Could it have been real?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no!” She sat, staring at the photo. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked up at Brian, sniffling. “In my dreams, I watched her die. She was my real Mother.” She sat silent, rocking herself. She spoke to the picture, “I watched you die.”

Brian picked up a box of tissue and offered her one.

She accepted it and wiped her eyes. Gabby took a deep breath. “How did you know to look for me?”

“I didn’t, but I had a gut feeling. It’s my job to find the next of kin, if at all possible. They never recovered the body of a girl your age in the debris.” He took out a package of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered her one.

“I quit a few months ago, but thanks.”

“Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

He sat back, lit his cigarette and took a long drag before continuing. “After your Grandfather’s second wife Amelia, died, I researched the possibility you were still alive. I checked the adoption records for the state of South Dakota and discovered the strange circumstances surrounding your adoption. It all fit. Finding you after that was easy. I had your adoptive name and you happened to be the only Gabrielle Stone living in Waterton, South Dakota, and you were the right age. I knew for sure when I saw you.” He pointed to the photograph. “The little girl is definitely you.”

“I know.” She glanced at the snapshot and turned her eyes to Brian. “What was my real name? No, wait. Was it Jessie?”

“Yes. It’s actually Jessica Marie DeBoine.” He picked up one of the papers he had pulled from the folder earlier and handed it to her. “Your true Certificate of Birth.”

“This is incredible. My birthday isn’t August 11^th, it’s July 12^th. I’ll be twenty-five a month early. At least they managed to get the year right. I would have hated to find out I’m older than I thought I was, or younger for that matter.” She put the document on top of the box and contemplated for a moment. “Can I change my name back to Jessica DeBoine?”

“You can. If you like, I could pick up the necessary forms at lunch.”

“Yes, I’d like that. I think I’ll keep Gabby as a nick-name.”
“Or you can add Gabrielle as part of your legal name,” Brian said. He put out his cigarette.

“I like that idea better.” She never had a middle name before, at least one she knew about. She thought it made her sound prestigious. The corners of her lips lifted in a wide smile.

“I’ll be Gabrielle Jessica Marie DeBoine.”

“That sounds impressive.” He nodded in agreement. “Very impressive.” He checked his watch. “We still have about an hour until lunch so shall I read your Grandfather’s will?”

“I’ll need another cup of coffee first—or maybe something stronger, if you have it. And then, yes, I’ll be ready for that. This has been quite a day, Brian. And it’s just beginning.”

Brian Caulder smiled, mumbled something about finding some brandy, and left the room. He looked back at her once, and smiled again.

As Gabby sat there alone, she took several deep breaths and closed her eyes for a moment. Could all this be really happening to her? Learning about her real parents, about to hear of a large inheritance—all in one morning. And, under it all, she felt an undertone of shadows, of even more secrets that might emerge in this strange town, this small bend in the road, this little dot on the map. A place—probably for a good reason, she decided—called Shadow Bay.