RED 2: A Trick of Mirrors [#Wattys2017]

Prologue - Strength

Objective and impersonal, the mirror renders our exact image with cold efficiency. It has no interest in embellishments and touch-ups. Neither in justifications or pretexts. The mirror hides nothing: it reflects every shadow and its discomfort.

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Toronto, July

On the winding street escorted by sleepy elms, the lights of a dozen homes merrily seeped into the chilly night. Except for that house. Releasing only a feeble clarity, its façade of darkened bricks resisted exposing itself and withdrew behind a mass of disheveled pines. The pointy roof framed a window on the first floor that watched the street like a sinister eye.

"It's here."

"I can't see the number plate."

"It must be this house."

Standing on the sidewalk, Marisa and Valentina hesitated before the cement path scarred with cracks amid the tall grass. They advanced, uncertain, and rang the bell. Minutes dragged. A handful of vacillating leaves rustled at a gust of wind and whirled on the ground. Then the street sank into silence.

Valentina hugged herself, shivering.

"There's no one home. Let's go, Ma. The gypsy forgot about your consultation."

As she started to walk away, Marisa grabbed her arm.

"Madame Lefèvre confirmed the appointment. Let's try again, Val."

Marisa pressed the bell, producing an insistent ring while her friend spoke at her back: "Only you would drag me to this middle-of-nowhere on my first night in Toronto. Why are you obsessed with this fortuneteller? You aren't even a believer."

"I've got nothing to lose."

"The chances of the fortuneteller being right or wrong are fifty-fifty. So what's the point? You can predict the future yourself with a fifty per cent probability of getting it right."

"Madame Lefèvre was recommended by a classmate from my English course. Everything she predicted for my classmate turned out to be true."

"What if it's a case of self-fulfilling prophecy? If I say you're gonna stumble, subconsciously you program yourself to stumble, or else you make such an effort to avoid it that you will end up stumbling."

"A self-fulfilling prophecy doesn't cause an electrical outage in a plane nor a forced landing." Marisa turned to Valentina, and a shadow crossed her face. "You don't understand. I need to know."

"Know what?"

Marisa bowed her head. Her answer was summed up in one word.

"Marco."

Valentina furrowed her brow.

"What happened?"

The nervous sound of the lock cut through the night stillness. The door barely opened and a woman's pallid face showed through the crack. Her eyes, as black as the night outside, scrutinized Marisa and Valentina with suspicion. Intimidated, the two trampled each other as they explained they had come for the consultation. Madame Lefèvre waved for them to get in and quickly closed the door.

She was of an indefinite age and bore the imposing constitution of an obelisk. Black strands escaped from her bun, settling on her white bosom where an enormous golden pendant glinted. The long dress she wore, dark and low-cut, emphasized a pair of bony arms underneath the sleeves. A blood-red ruby ring adorned her hand used to reading fates.