Chapter 13 – Letter

Corbin started to piece the information together as he paced in his bedroom. The glow from his desk lamp acting like a spotlight. Corbin’s disturbed shadow resembled a busy New York street as he paced back and forth.

How can Harrison’s invention be up in my bathroom? Who put it up there? Did he also own this building?

Corbin froze as flashes, images that were once displayed on the mirror, came to the forefront of his thoughts. The murder of the young man. Kate smiling. Was that just some parlor trick made from a mad inventor? An inventor that would kill his own wife?
He thought of the crazed old man that bumped into him outside the clinic. That old guy said I was in the mirror. Does it show the future? He sighed in frustration. Just more questions after finding more clues that lead me nowhere. He held up the old sheet of paper and noticed a date at the top and the soft frayed edge along the left side. Could it be?

He read the date at the top of the entry “December 24, 1896”. This is before his disappearance. Hmm. Is this the fifth missing page? The handwriting was different from the other four pages. It had soft lines and edges. Who wrote this? He started to read the old letter and got his answer.

Phineas,

At this point you must have realized I know the combination to the safe in the mirror device and that I have left you. Clever using my birthday. Didn’t think you still loved me after all your time devoted to your work. I truly loved you when we were married. I loved your drive and passion. You had much promise and I had hopes for our -

A line of text had faded away like the rough edges on an eroded stone. No trace of what was once written. Corbin continued where the text was legible again.

I did my best, Phineas, to support you and take care of the home. I cannot be your servant any longer.

Another line of unreadable text had to be skipped over. Corbin held it up to the light and only saw the word ‘mirror’ within the faded portion. He wanted to know what was written there, but continued from the next legible point.

I have lost my love for you, Phineas and I know my father would not allow me to divorce. The bad exposure it would give his company. I have devised a plan to help us both. I will pretend to be sick and you send me off to a hospital far away. People may ask occasionally about my whereabouts, but just say I’m doing well and on the road to recovery. My father won’t give you the money promised on our five-year anniversary. Instead, he will buy up the house and let you freely live on it, but I will no longer be yours.

Take care Phineas,

Elizabeth.

Corbin was frozen, his petrified fingers holding onto the old, fragile paper. His head started to ache once he finished the letter. A burning pain seeped into his skull until it disappeared within a few moments, clearing his mind.

He walked over to the bathroom and studied the mirror. So, this is Harrison’s mirror, but how did it get over here? He then remembered something that he read on his desk at the View. A story about a murder that happened at his apartment not too long before Harrison’s disappearance. If Harrison’s mirror is here, they must be linked. I need to read that story.

It was a Saturday night and the View was already locked up. Only Mr. Richter would usually stop by the View on the weekends and work on getting a few stories placed into Monday’s issue. There must be another way into that place. Corbin put on his coat and hurried down the stairs. He heard the pleasant Christmas music through the walls of the Church’s apartment as he opened the door to the building and walked out onto the sidewalk.

It was far colder at night and the streetlamps barely offered him any warmth. He quickened his pace and was careful not to step on any patch of ice.

Corbin soon reached the View and tried to open the two front doors. They didn’t budge. He took a step back out onto the empty street and took a good look at the building. Some parts were encased in darkness. How do I get in? There must be an unlocked door around this old building. He walked around to the left to a deserted alleyway between the View and an old converted Victorian home that housed a few accountants and a yoga instructor. The streetlights did no good in the covered alleyway and Corbin relied on his own eyes to be able to find a way in. There’s got to be another door. He walked for another thirty yards toward the back of the building until he saw a gray metal door. It was illuminated in a light attached to the wall of the building. Bingo. Now please tell me that it’s open. He jiggled on the door handle, but it didn’t budge. Dammit! I should actually be happy that this place is well secured. He walked around the back of the building that faced a seven-foot-high metal fence that divided the View from a suburban neighborhood. A few of the homes still had lights on in their windows. Corbin spotted a television through a first-floor window, playing one of the latest superhero movies. Well let’s just hope they don’t see me back here.

The streetlamps from the block behind him gave him some light on the back of the View building. He looked for another door, but he spotted something else. He looked at two windows on the left side. The lower sash of the one on the left was higher than the one to its right. Is that window opened? He studied the window and saw a visible gap between the window and the sill. He put his fingers into the gap and pulled the window up. He slipped inside a dark room that was warmer than the bitter outside. Whoever works here must crack the window when the heater gets too hot. Luckily for me they forgot to close it before they left.

Corbin made his way through the darkness by putting out his fingers in front of him. He avoided bumping into drafting tables and computer desks. This must be where they do that art design class on the first floor. He made his way to the door and entered the hall. The hallway was lit and made it easy for Corbin to find his way around. He meandered past many different rooms and small-town businesses until he found a stairwell. He went up a few flights and opened the door to the third floor. He didn’t recognize it. I must be in a hallway behind the View. He walked down the hall and tried a few of the doors. They were locked. One of these has got to be open. He followed the hall down to a four-way intersection and looked to his right. There was a small open area with two doors on each side and a bulletin board on the far wall. One of the doors was cracked open. He quietly stepped toward the open door and looked through the opening. The light from the hall displayed a familiar table and bookshelf in what was otherwise a dark room. The media room. Okay, so that’s where that door goes to. He opened the door and left it ajar as he walked past the microfilm reader and the shelves filled with archival material. Odd that this would be the room unlocked. I bet there are hundreds of dollars of equipment in here.

Bonk! Something metal hit the floor from another room.

Corbin snapped his neck in the direction of the newsroom. What was that? He kept his head low as he crept across the media room. He could hear someone grumbling on about something and then they were silent. Corbin stopped at a set of windows that faced the newsroom. Corbin separated a few blinds with his fingers and peeked inside. The newsroom was dark except for a few areas lit by the streetlights. Who else is here? He turned the handle to the newsroom door and slowly opened it just enough for his body to fit through.

The mysterious intruder was shuffling through papers, but Corbin couldn’t see them from behind the high walls of the cubicles. He made his way to the end of one of the cubicle rows and looked down. Nothing. Just darkness.

Corbin crept to the next row of cubicles and looked down. A beam of light danced across the top of the cubicle walls at the end of the row. A flashlight! The light came from one of the cubicles at the end of the aisle. Corbin’s brow raised at the sudden realization. That’s my desk! He slapped the side of one of the cubicles, making a loud thud.

The shuffling of paper stopped and the person snuck their head out into the aisle. “Hello?” the mysterious figure said in a low, gruff tone.

After a few more moments, the shuffling of papers continued and the beam of light danced across the ceiling. Corbin was holding his breath and slowly let the air out of his mouth. Was that Owen? … Whose voice was that? … I’m going to kill him if that was Owen … again stealing my story. He silently crept into the first cubicle and then slid into the next one. He was as quiet as he could be. Brave as he could be. Butterflies entered his stomach when he was only a few cubicles away. I’m too close. He could easily hear me at this point. He curled up his body underneath a desk. I forget who sits here. Cindy? Or was it Joe? A subtle breeze flowed into the newsroom and into the media room.

Slam! The door from the media room closed shut with the vacuum like suction of the air. Corbin started underneath the desk and bumped his head. Dammit! That person must have heard that.

It was quiet for a short moment and then feet bustled down the aisle of the cubicles toward the front stairwell.

Corbin crawled as fast as he could out from under the desk and out into the aisle. He got back onto his feet and saw the beam of the flashlight bounce off the walls as it descended to the ground floor. Corbin chased after it and opened the door to the stairwell. He looked down and only saw the empty landing at the bottom. The door to the street swung shut from a frigid breeze. Who was that? He hurried down the stairs and opened the door to the street. He poked out his head to avoid being locked out. He looked up and down Main street.
Nothing.

Whoever it was must have had footprints. The streetlights illuminated the snow-covered sidewalks already beaten down by shoes of over a hundred locals. No way can I distinguish his prints from that. His eyes kept searching. Where could he have gone? It’s like he vanished into thin air. He sighed. I need to get back inside and read about that murder, but I must be careful.

Corbin shut and locked the front door and returned to his desk. The papers were left in an unorganized pile. What was that person looking for? His drawers were lock picked and left ajar. They were thorough. Corbin sat down and picked through the issues on his desk and noticed nothing was missing. Everything was accounted for, at least all the parts he remembered. He opened his drawer and found the mysterious article that was left on his desk earlier. The article about the murder at 68 Main Street. Whoever was going through all of this probably wore gloves to avoid me finding fingerprints. I can’t waste any more time.

He sat down and turned on his desk lamp, thinking the intruder wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon and read through the old pages.

“James Thornton,” Corbin said, reading the name of the victim. “Thornton?”

A pain grew in his head as he continued to read the article. “James Thornton was the apprentice of Phineas Harrison.” A sinking feeling filled his chest. Harrison’s apprentice? He lived at 68 Main Street? He read a bit further. “He had a wife in Chester, Vermont that was pregnant? … this just keeps getting worse.”

He flipped through the rest of the pages he had available, but there were no answers. Two unsolved murders linked to Harrison within days of each other, but that doesn’t explain why there’s that mirror in my bathroom and the letter from Harrison’s wife. She was going to leave him … I guess that’s good enough motive to kill her, but why leave that letter for your husband in the mirror if it isn’t even at his house? Why take the mirror? Did Thornton steal it and try to pass it on for his own invention? Corbin scratched his chin. Ambitious apprentice steals from master. A common cliché.

Corbin reread the article and spotted something he had overlooked. “The building was owned by the Peacor Company. That’s the same company that owns the Harrison property.” He started to piece some of it together. “The Peacor Company was owned by Elizabeth Harrison’s father who bought up the property after his daughter’s death and kept it until now. The same company owned the building Thornton lived in.” Corbin’s eyes lit up. “Of course, the Peacor Company wouldn’t want people to know that two unsolved murders happened on their property so they sell the apartment building, but keep Harrison’s estate. Probably due to the fact the owner’s only daughter died there. Some of this is starting to make sense.”

The silence in the newsroom was eerie, but Corbin’s brain was too preoccupied to notice. He was putting crumbs in order. “I need to see if they solved the Thornton case.” He walked back to the media room and tried to open the door. It was locked from the outside. Great. Now that I’m in the newsroom. Everything is locked. He looked out at the rows of cubicles dimly lit by the streetlights outside. Hmm. I wonder if Owen has anything to offer. What’s he been up to? Corbin walked a few rows over and down to Owen’s cubicle. His desk was clear except for his keyboard and computer monitor. He had a few photos and articles on the wall. One photo was of him standing next to a waterfall and the other was a picture of a gray cat. Didn’t know Owen was into cats. That’s interesting. The articles were some of his own that he wrote for the View with Corbin’s pictures of Fort No. 4 on the front page. That was my article. That was supposed to be my story and all I got was a picture credit. All Corbin wanted to do in that moment was tear that article from the wall, but Owen would suspect something and be on his case. He couldn’t afford the extra attention. He already had a mysterious person, lurking around and touching his stuff.

Corbin grunted as he tried to pull open one of Owen’s drawers. Of course, Owen would be smart enough to lock up his stories. If only I could figure out what he’s been working on. Corbin sighed and put his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath and looked over at Owen’s computer monitor. Maybe he has some files on his desktop. He turned on the computer and heard the fan and the high-pitched whine of the circuit board coming to life. He sat down in Owen’s computer chair, feeling the height adjustment a little too low, but he didn’t want to leave any trace he was there. He turned on the monitor and after it went through its boot routines it opened to a login screen. Corbin froze in his seat. The photo that made the background of the login screen was Owen with his usual mischievous smile. His left arm was casually around the shoulder of a woman wearing sunglasses and a pink blouse. A taller man with a chiseled jaw had his left arm around Owen’s shoulder. They were all smiling into the camera in front of a tan commercial building. A sleekly designed sign on the building behind them read, “The Peacor Company”.