The Houdini Effect (22 page)

Troy nodded. ‘Yes, Mitchell seemed pretty
blown over when his old man told him that.’

‘
She escaped from his life
by dying,’ I said ‘and Laurie wanted her to escape from death as
well. He’s still waiting for her to get round to it.’

‘
I still don’t get what
you’re getting at,’ said Troy.

‘
I didn’t either, not until
this afternoon,’ I said. ‘Listen. Houdini and Bess shared the same
orbit. They loved each other in a way that was uncomplicated but at
the same time as complicated as anything. Houdini could escape from
anything. He figured he was the one who’d be able to escape death.
He counted on being able to come back and communicate with Bess, to
prove he was the greatest escapologist of all and also that he’d
never forgotten her and never would. It’s so simple.’

‘
And Laurie thought - or
thinks - the same about . . .’

‘
About Iris? Yes, exactly.
May had already told us that, the first time we met her and Barry.
Now Mitchell’s saying the same thing. Laurie and Iris

must have made some. . . what’s the word
I’m

looking for . . .?’

‘
Tcap?’ suggested
Troy.

‘
Yes, a pact. They both
knew she was dying so Iris said to him - or Laurie asked her to -
that she’d be in touch with him afterwards.’

‘
Like sending a text from
the other side,’ said Troy. ‘But no mobile phones those
days.’

‘
But they had the mirrors,’
I said. ‘What if they agreed that Iris would show up in one of
them. . .?’

‘
And that’s why Laurie
never wanted to leave this house?’

‘
A
reason. But when he finally had to, he took a
mirror with him. May showed us where it used to
hang.’

‘
And that’s what he means
when he tells Mitchell he’s expecting to hear from her,’ said Troy.
‘But so far she’s never shown up in it. Ereht esirprus gib
on.’

‘
Absolutely not,’ I agreed.
‘And yet the photos have shown up in the mirrors he left behind. We
can’t explain how and maybe we never will be able to, but Mitchell
did say that Laurie is always looking at his photo albums. What if
. . .,’ and here I took a proverbial deep breath because even I
found this incredibly hard to believe although it was explanation
of sorts, ‘what if he holds them up in front of the mirror in his
room like he’s sending Iris a message, reminding her not to forget,
telling her she hasn’t escaped back to him yet. And some-how the
pictures end up here, back in this house, in these mirrors and I –
we – see them? Not Iris. Be-cause Iris is dead and can’t see
anything anymore.’

‘
So the mirrors aren’t
really mirrors at all, but windows,’ said Troy.

‘
Windows through space,’ I
said. ‘It sounds crazy. And I bet it’s not even scientifically
possible. But still . . . it’s happened. It’s still
happening.’

I told Troy how this morning Laurie had
pursued me from mirror to mirror.

‘
They say the proof of the
pudding’s in the eating,’ Troy said. ‘You saw them. I saw one of
them.’

‘
Laurie can’t know we’re at
the receiving end,’ I said. ‘He just thinks - he hopes - that Iris
is seeing the images and that she’ll respond to them. To
him.’

‘
And how does he think
she’ll manage to do that?’ said Troy.

‘
I don’t know. Maybe the
only thing he expects is that she’ll come back with a picture of
her own, a message, something, anything.’

‘
A message that shows up in
the mirror in his room,’ said Troy. ‘But it’ll never happen. Laurie
will keep asking her, you’ll keep seeing the pictures for as long
as he keeps showing them . . . and then what?’

‘
Misery all round,’ I
said.

Troy was silent. ‘Od ew nac tahw?” he asked
at last.

‘
Give Laurie an answer,’ I
said.

Mirror writing

‘How?’ said Troy.

‘
I read your project on
Leonardo da Vinci,’ I said.

‘
Yes. And?’

‘
And you told me about
Leonardo’s mirror

writing. It’s given me an idea.’

I got Harry’s book about Houdini from my
bookcase. I found the page I wanted to show Troy. ‘This was the
message Houdini was supposed to have sent to Bess. ‘Rosabell,
believe.’

‘
Sweet,’ said Troy. ‘Teews
dna trohs.’

‘
If we send something
similar to Laurie,’ I said to him, ‘what will he think?’

‘
That’s it from
Iris?’

‘
Exactly.’

‘
But how? Mitchell said you
can’t talk to him.’

‘
I know,’ I agreed. ‘So we
do the next best thing. We send him a mirror message.’

For a long moment Troy said nothing. Then,
‘You think it might work the other way round?’ he asked.

‘
I’ve no idea,’ I said.
‘But what have we got to lose? If it works, Laurie won’t need to
keep on sending his messages. I’ll be rid of him, and he’ll be
happy.’

‘
Even though it’s a lie?’
said Troy.

‘
It’ll be a lie,’ I agreed.
‘But that’s what writers and magicians do best. And maybe sometimes
lies are the mirror images of truth.’

Troy nodded. ‘The message will have to be
written backwards and in reverse lettering, otherwise Laurie won’t
be able to read it easily,’ he said. ‘That explains where Leonardo
fits in. But we don’t know what Iris’s handwriting would have been
like.’

‘
I know you’re an expert on
speaking backwards,’ I said, ‘but have you ever tried writing
backwards? It isn’t easy. Unless you’re Leonardo, handwriting goes
out the window. We’ll use . . .

‘
. . . capital letters,’
Troy finished. ‘Much

easier. Yes, I have tried.’

‘
Let’s presume it’s what
Iris would have done.’

‘
Which mirror, and what
will you write with?’ asked Troy.

‘
This one,’ I said. ‘And
with lipstick. I’ve got plenty of it to spare and it’ll wash
off.’

‘
Won?’

‘
Right now,’ I
said.

Troy watched while I unscrewed the lipstick
container.

‘
Ready?’

‘
Go for it,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope Laurie’s watching.’

I admit I felt a bit guilty as I wrote the
lie on the glass. But I consoled myself by thinking that if this
worked it would be a story for Laurie. And stories give people joy
and they give people hope. If it brought poor old Laurie peace as
well, well, then the lie would be worthwhile.

I wrote the words, slowly and carefully, so
as not to make a mistake.

‘
If he sees this,’ I said
aloud to Troy’s reflection behind me in the mirror, ‘then I guess
we won’t be seeing each other again. Laurie and me, I mean. Then
all I have to worry about is the talent quest and escaping from
Harry’s locked chest in front of hundreds of people. Not sure if
that’s much to look forward to.’

‘
There’s always lots to
look forward to,’ said Troy. ‘Stol.’

My reflection smiled back at him.

I wrote:

‘
Laurence Harvey and Iris
May Laurison, yours has been an interesting story to say the
least,’ I whispered. ‘I wish you both well. Now please, please,
please Laurie, leave me alone to get on with my life.’

PART FOUR

The (real) End (sort of)

My story ends here.

Of course it doesn’t
really. There are so many more things I could have included but the
story was getting long enough already and I was getting tired
(writing is hard work, believe me). Christmas has come and gone,
the long summer holidays (Southern Hemisphere) are ongoing and I
want to enjoy what’s still left of them. Visits to shopping malls
and the pool, parties to attend, summer barbecues to enjoy. All
sound familiar?

But, just to round things off, here are a
few of the things I could have written more about. I hope you’ll
find these snippets enough to be going on with. One day, maybe,
I’ll elaborate on them.

Harry Houdini died on
Halloween night in 1926. A couple of days before the witching hour
(and the T&Ts) arrived Harry and I had to front up to the
talent quest judges. I would be lying to say that our performance
was flawless. Harry almost unbalanced and fell off the chest as he
made his grand re-appearance, managing to save himself by turning
the almost-fall into part of the act. The mark of a great
performer? I don’t think the judges loved us but they did like us,
as did the audience, and they gave us the opportunity to come back
for

the second round. I won’t go into any
details here of what new illusion we did or how well we did, or

didn’t, do. If you want to find out it
should still be

on the web. Just look us up on SHOW US
YOUR

TALENT.

Currently May lives alone, still next door,
but Barry-less. It all happened rather quickly. I know she’s
happier. Hers is definitely another whole story, which I don’t know
enough about to have told in any more detail. You have as much an
idea of how things were between her and Barry as I do. I’m glad
however to report that Mum was able to be of assistance to her.

In the end I did my bio project on Houdini.
I handed it in late. Mrs Tyrell didn’t seem to mind too much. The
reasons, as you know, were manifold. But I got it done, and still
managed to get an ‘A’ for it. Harry was pleased. He says he might
borrow it if Mrs T is still teaching when his time comes. I gave
him a prim but stern lecture about plagiarism.

Last, but not least, we
still have all the mirrors and so far I haven’t (touch wood) seen
Laurie and Iris again in any of them again. It may mean that Laurie
has died but I think not. I’m sure we would have heard from
Mitchell if he had. So I like to think that our message got to him
and that he (like May) is also happier than before. Don’t ask me
how it worked,
if
it worked. I won’t ever be able to tell you and neither will
the internet provide you with any answers. It’s like one of Harry’s
magic tricks. You know it really can’t be true but you have no idea
of how it’s done so you ‘suspend your disbelief’ and you simply . .
. believe.

PS Troy and I have not become anything more
than friends. (Along with Em and Rach I now count him as one of my
best friends.) He’s not ready for anything more and, on reflection,
neither am I. (No time, for one thing!) I have, however, become
something of an adept at speaking backwards and, whenever we bump
into one another, Troy and I have great fun speaking to each other
in this newly familiar language. We get strange looks and people
probably think we are mad, serac ohw tub, we have something in
common to talk about and it’s not for everyone’s ears.

PPS And you, dear reader, can believe this
story or not, as you choose. All of it is true, but writers are
notorious liars.

Signing myself,

Athena
~ author!

EPILOGUE

Then, face to face

There is an old man in a room.

His bed is hard up against one wall. There
is a writing desk opposite the large sliding door that opens into a
tiny, tidy garden. The room is not exactly spartan but it lacks the
presence of personal knick-knacks. It’s a cold, clinical kind of
room, the sort of place where you might expect things to come to an
end rather than begin.

On the desk rests a mirror. It stands on the
desk, angled against the wall, but it also stands out in a
different way. Somehow it does not fit the room. It doesn’t belong
there. It’s too ornate for its surroundings. Just like the man, the
mirror is old. Unlike either of them it is shaped in elaborate
curves and its edges are bevelled and diamante. Its surface
glimmers, free from dust. This mirror has been well looked
after.

The old man looks at his tired reflection in
the mirror, waiting. An open photo album lies in front of him.

Then, in the mirror, letters appear.

Letters, written one by one by an unseen
hand.

A name.

His name.

And an instruction.

Believe.

For the longest moment Laurie sits there,
unmoving. The letters stand out clearly now. There is no doubting
them, no ambiguity about their meaning.