Mirror Image

Chapter Six

After collecting some of the blood, Locke and I had it tested. Theresults came back the next day, Sunday. Locke got a call from thedoctor he'd given it to.

"Yes?" he says as he answers his phone. He put it on speaker so Icould hear it too.

"Is this Mr. Locke?" came the doctor's old, brusque voice on theother end.

"Yes. What did you find out about it?"

We collected the blood in hopes that we could find out a bit moreabout this strange shadow creature I have been seeing. Maybe we couldfigure out what it was and where it came from, but that was doubtful.If it was something supernatural, which it probably was, thiswouldn't really do anything. I was never one for believing in thesupernatural, but with Locke being a werewolf, anything was possible.

The phone crackles as the doctor sighs. "Well, it's your ex wife'sblood. It's a positive match for Saffron's blood."

"Are you...sure?" Locke blinks in confusion.

"I'm sure. Is that all? What else were you expecting?"

Locke shakes his head. "Nothing. Thank you, doctor." He hangs up,then looks at me.

"So it was your blood leaking out of the mirror. How?"

"I'm...not sure. Maybe it's because the glass cut me before it flewback into place," I suggest. "I know I'm only supposed to staythe weekend, but...I don't think I can go back without resolvingthis."

Locke nods in agreement. "I understand. If there's somethinghere...I want to find out what it is..."

"Are there historical records of this place? There has to be. Isthere like a historical archive around here, or something?"

"There's one in town. I can take you there, if you want."

"No, I can go on my own. I'll find it. You should stay here withthe kids. I don't want to leave them alone in this house withsomething strange possibly lurking around here," I tell him.

"You're right. But at least let me give you directions. If that'llhelp at all." He writes down the directions on a note pad sittingon his study desk, tears off the paper, and hands it to me. "Here.Call me if you have any trouble."

Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at the historical archives. It'svery quiet inside the small building, its shelves chock full of old,leather bound books and old, yellowed records. Large filing cabinetsline the side of the wall to my left. I count at least five of them.A lone man sits at a desk in the corner, back facing a dreary window.He's a slightly heavy set man with a pudgy face and round, silverrimmed glasses. He is reading something, and does not look up when Ienter.

"Excuse me?" I say softly.

He looks up. "How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for some records. On an old house."

"How old?"

"1820s, I think?"

"Oh, is this that old manor? To get those records, I'd have to dosome serious digging," he says, looking intrigued.

"You...do have them, right?"

"Oh, of course. They're somewhere around here. I just have to findthem."

"How long will it take you to find them?"

"Probably awhile, since I don't have a computer. Just give me yourphone number, and I'll call you when I find them. Alright?"

"Um...sure." I give him my phone number.

"Thanks. I'll give you a call when I find something."

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