The following day Corbin took an extended lunch to go to the doctor. Although the headaches were ebbing away they still concerned him. He was nervous that they would return and hinder his research. He waited in the clean six by six foot waiting room to Dr. Schimm’s clinic. Its whitewashed walls were decorated with portraits of patients smiling from their doctor’s visit, bordered with redundant medical advice. It had been awhile since Corbin had been in for a check-up, in fact he couldn’t seem to remember the last time he went.

“Mr. James,” said the receptionist through her small, rectangular window, the only portal to anything from outside the tightly, contained world of the waiting room.

A young, petite nurse entered the waiting room from a thick metal door, that when opened would block off a portion of the receptionist’s window. When Corbin stood in the doorway, he saw a long and narrow, tiled floor that extended for at least thirty feet and divided into two hallways.

“Corbin James,” the nurse said with a smile.

Corbin nodded and followed the nurse into the hallway.

The same health ads graced the bright, white walls as well as four identical doors, two on each side of the hall and painted white. The small nurse casually led him to the second door on the right with long strides in her step as if she was in a marching band. Corbin was a bit nervous, hoping that his headaches were nothing, but part of a head cold with an easy fix. His hands started to shake as he was directed to sit on the patient’s table.

“He’ll be right with you,” said the young nurse. She disappeared, the hard bottoms to her shoes clattering on the ceramic tiles, creating a metronome style tick with each marching step toward the lobby.

The sound made Corbin ever more nervous as his thoughts ran rapidly; focusing on the murder case then on his friend William and the old Harrison home. A cacophony of sound and flashing lights entered his mind, making him feel overwhelmed. His entire body nearly shut down until his mind swept over to Kate Hopkins. Her soft and sweet voice filling his ears like the soothing sound of waves on a golden shore. Corbin’s heart rate leveled out as he took slower and deeper breaths. Her eyes mystical soothing qualities had a hold on him.

A few moments later, a middle-aged man entered the room wearing a long white overcoat and a stethoscope nonchalantly placed around his neck. He was holding onto a clipboard and a few clinical tools and rested them on the countertop. His graying hair slightly unkempt around his ears.

“Hello, Corbin I’m Doctor Schimm,” he said with a wide smile, “So I hear that you have been suffering from some major headaches.”

“Yeah,” replied Corbin, “it started a few weeks ago.”

“Hm...,” grunted Dr. Schimm, “How have you been sleeping?”

“Not so well.”

“And your diet. Are you eating healthy?” asked his doctor.

“Yes, of course.”

Dr. Schimm took another look at his clipboard, overlooking Corbin’s medical history and then sighed. “It says here that you immigrated to the United States a few years ago, am I correct?”

“Yes, I came from northern Germany,” Corbin said.

“I see on your report that there are no records of you being given vaccinations for hepatitis and meningitis. Now from my own knowledge these vaccinations are given even in Germany,” said Dr. Schimm, befuddled.

“I don’t know why that can be, maybe a paperwork mistake?,” rationalized Corbin. He tried to focus on his past, the last time he went into a doctor’s office, but recovered nothing except for a slight pain to his head.

Dr. Schimm grunted once more and then placed the clipboard back onto the counter-top. “Well, I’ll worry about the paperwork stuff later, let’s give you a checkup, then we’ll have you scheduled to take the proper vaccinations,” he said.

He studied all the basic parts of Corbin’s anatomy then continued to check off small boxes on his list attached to his clipboard and asked him some run of the mill questions.

“So you have a job at the Charlestown View. How’s that going for you?” he asked, while placing an otoscope up to his ears to check for infection. Its narrow, funneled end nudging its way into his ear.

“Alright, I’m writing a story that will hopefully be my big break.”

“Oh great. How is that going?” replied Dr. Schimm as he finished inspecting both of his ears.

Corbin shook his head. “It’s good... It’s sure to win the little contest we have going in the newsroom and hopefully get me out of his town and into the big city.”

Dr. Schimm cleared his throat, apparently insulted by Corbin’s remark, but it didn’t seem that Corbin realized the callous meaning of his words.

Dr. Schimm sighed and tried to focus on Corbin’s ears.

Healthy and sound.

“Good, good,” assured Dr. Schimm, who now checked Corbin’s heartbeat with a stethoscope.

After some other tests of Corbin’s health, Dr. Schimm appeared a tad perplexed as if Corbin was a medical anomaly. He leaned back in his chair, trying to put on a calm and mindful voice like all doctors try to do when they end a check-up.

“All I can say about your headaches is that it may be brought on by high levels of stress. Your blood pressure is a little high. I say just try to take it easy. Hang out with some friends and family and get plenty of rest. Tell your boss that your doctor suggests it.”

Corbin let out a sigh of laughter. “Yes, I will get on that.” He then pondered if he should consult the doctor on something else. “Dr. Schimm I have another question to ask you. Do you think it’s possible that stress can bring on delusions or hallucinations?”

Dr. Schimm nodded his head, “It’s possible. Seeing anything?”

Corbin hesitated for a moment then shook his head. “No,… no of course not. I just thought I’d ask....for future reference.”

Dr. Schimm nodded and then handed him a doctor’s note to show to Mr. Richter, even though Corbin knew that his boss would scrutinize it and possibly rip it up. He imagined what he would say. ‘Working hard is what matters. You can have enough time for rest when you’re dead.’ He shook his head to rid himself of the tormenting vision.

“Now Corbin, take it easy. Let’s just try to get onto the next day without any more headaches. So…keep me posted on how your head is doing and remember your personal health comes before your work.”

- - - - - - -

Corbin left the doctor’s office more confused than when he entered: the missing health records from Germany and the source of his headaches. What is happening to me? He stepped out into the parking lot and walked toward his apartment. It was nice that mostly everything was within walking distance since he didn’t own a car. He remembered William telling him once he first moved into his apartment that it wouldn’t make any sense to have a car in Charlestown due to the proximity of everything around and of course the amounting expenses of maintenance and gas that he wouldn’t be able to afford with the miniscule salary Mr. Richter was willing to pay him.

His mind was transfixed upon a distant sound of hurried footsteps when he was only twenty feet away from reaching the pavement of the sidewalk.

The noise grew louder and louder, but Corbin couldn’t see anything over the mass of parked SUVs and snowbanks.
Corbin was now only a few feet from the ice-covered pathway that would lead him home until an elderly man burst through the maze of Jeeps and BMWs and bumped into Corbin, nearly knocking him over.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” exclaimed Corbin, shoving the old man off him.

“Beg your pardon,” said the old man, trying to balance himself against the door of a nearby truck. He was breathing heavily and his face was beet red and coated in a cold sweat, but once he glanced at Corbin, his face went white. He started to pant heavily.

“My God... it’s you,” the old man murmured.

“Me?” asked Corbin.

“Yes, I’ve seen you before.”

Corbin shook his head, growing more and more concerned for the old man, who appeared to have been suffering from some senile delusion, “I’ve never met you before.”

The old man’s eyes strained and he shook his head trying to regain his consciousness. He held his head tightly, digging his fingernails into his skull as if to physically dig out his memories.

Corbin noticed his thin, wiry fingers loosely covered in stretched skin that dangled off his elbows and ears. His wispy, wrangled hair that reached down to his shoulders protected by a dirty leather jacket. After a few moments, he looked up at Corbin, releasing his grip on his brain. “T-That’s right … You are the one in the mirror.”

“Mirror?”

“Yes, the mirror in the house on 68 Main Street. You were in it...You were there...the blood...oh god...the blood.” His face instantly dropped into a melancholic frown, appearing like an old clown out of a job.

“Hang on, is this some joke?” Corbin couldn’t believe the old man and took him for a senile lunatic, but one fact startled his mind. How does this guy know where I live? How does he know about the mirror? Corbin froze at the full realization. The only other person that would know about that mirror would be someone who lived there.

Corbin cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Excuse me, are you Jeremy Harmon?”

The old man precariously scanned the parking lot and looked back at Corbin. “How do you know my name?”

Corbin remained calm and confident. “Why don’t you share with me how you saw me in a mirror, was it?”

The old man sniffled and wiped his runny nose on his leather sleeve. “Be wary.. through the looking glass you can see the future,” said the old man.

The words sent a shiver down Corbin’s spine. He thought of the young woman, he had seen in the reflective glass and then later remarkably in the supermarket. In a way, the crazed and delusional man had some possible truth to his words. He stared at the ground, entranced by the memory of events that had occurred within the past week and their connection to the mirror. Could it be possible? Could it truly tell the future? If it is true...then that means that Kate is going to be in my apartment wearing a pink robe and then a blue robe. It means she’s going to fall in love with me. Who am I kidding?...Her...with me?!...I gotta start thinking like a reporter. I have to weed out the truth from the lies, but if it is true. A prophetic mirror and a crazed man to verify it… sounds like a great story for the tabloids, but not something for the two hundredth anniversary issue of a town. He shook his head, trying to wipe out the old man’s theory from his thoughts and walked away, but the senile man noticed a change in Corbin’s attitude, that in a way at least partially the young man with a small, line scar on his forehead had seen something.

“You saw something in the mirror, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Corbin lied.

“No, you did,.. didn’t you. It’s okay... I saw it too.”

“Saw what?”

“The murder.”

Corbin’s heart stopped. Murder?... Murder?! Those words were the final straw for his patience with the old man’s wild yet somewhat possible assumptions. “I would walk away, sir, before I call the police.”

The man shivered then cowered at Corbin’s threat. “B-B-But make sure...t-t-to take a good hard look...the next time you gaze into it.” The old man then turned and ran down toward Main Street, continuing his frantic strides from before. He passed Ferguson and Sons and then scurried down a back alley, out of sight.

Corbin sighed and shook his head. What a day.

Next Chapter: 6 - Expedition