The Mask In The Mirror

THE MASK IN THE MIRROR

Jarred drug himself out of bed after hitting the snooze button three times. If he didn't get going, he would be late for work. It wasn't that he was too tired to get up. He just didn't want to face the day again. Actually it wasn't the day he didn't want to face so much as it was the mirror.

He stumbled into the bathroom as usual and did his daily routine, shower, shave, brush teeth. Over the past five weeks, he had learned to do it all without looking in the mirror. But he always had to have one good look before leaving the house. He just couldn't set out for work without knowing that he looked right. As much as he dreaded it, he had to every morning. And every morning it was there. The mask.

He thought about the mask as he stepped out of the shower, wrapped the towel around his waist, sat on the edge of the tub and began running his electric razor over his face. He tried to remember back to a time when the mask wasn't there, coldly mocking him with its silent presence. He could remember beyond five weeks ago, it wasn't there then. He could remember the hospital, the nurses, Dr. McBride, Detective Merritt, Father Monroe.

But all of that was only six months ago. Beyond the hospital, he could remember nothing. He had become a man without a past. A man without a face. He felt like a man without a future. He had no memories, no hopes and his only regular visitor was with an unwelcome mask continually reflecting in his mirror. He didn't know how much longer he could take the monotony, the loneliness, the knowledge that so much was missing which should be there and the presence of the mask which shouldn't be.

He had tried everything to not see the mask. He tried changing mirrors - but no matter which mirror he looked in, there it was. He tried talking on the phone while checking himself. Still there. He tried buying new mirrors and breaking old ones. Nothing worked. And it wasn't just at home. If he were at a restaurant, at work, anywhere and caught his reflection, it was there. Just yesterday he had seen his reflection in a spoon - and there it was.

Lately he was toying with the idea of calling Dr. McBride again. But he really didn't want to go back, rehash all of the past. Besides Dr. McBride was cold and impersonal. Jarred didn't like him and had stopped seeing him as soon as possible. Perhaps he could be his own psychologist. That would prove to be interesting he thought to himself. But he didn't have time to think about it this morning. He had to get to work.

He finished dressing, slipped into his suit jacket and steeled himself for what he knew he would see as he opened the closet door. He stood with his back to the full-length mirror, and starting at his feet he slowly raised his eyes, checking to make sure his pants and suit jacket were hanging right. He stopped as his eyes reached collar level and closed them, took a deep breath and turned around for the front view. Same procedure, eyes at the floor, slowly raising them until he reached eye level. And this morning, like every morning for the past five weeks, there it was.

The mask in the mirror was positioned exactly where his head should be. No matter which way he turned or looked, it moved in unison with him. It was, after all, his reflection. Except that he didn't wear a mask. The very first time he had seen it, he had initially been confused, thinking he must be seeing things and stood looking in the mirror, trying to understand what exactly he was seeing. He looked around the room to see if something could be reflecting in the mirror, causing his face to appear distorted. He opened and closed the vanity mirror, looking around for something which would provide a reasonable answer. He thought there was something wrong with the mirror until he saw his reflection in the mirror on his closet door, the mask was there as well. He had been horrified. He now saw it in every mirror, every reflection, everywhere.

Every time he saw it, the terror mounted, increasing as he realized that it was not an isolated incident, optical illusion, or something which was simply going to go away. It was growing. So was the knot in his gut, the choking feeling in his throat and the crushing pressure on his chest each time the mask made its unwelcome appearance.

The mask was the same every time he saw it, gaunt, sunken eyes, sharp cheeks. It appeared to be made of porcelain with a crack running down the center of the forehead. He wasn't really sure what it was made of. He had never tried to touch it and had never even really looked at it for long. It frightened him far too much.

As he stood looking in the mirror at his chest again, afraid to raise his eyes back to his face, he wondered briefly if he were cracking up. Maybe he really should call a shrink, a different one this time. No, he thought. He wouldn't go through that again.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and looked directly at his reflection and the mask. It was still there, but it was slightly different. Always before it had been cold and lifeless. Now it was smiling, a perverted, twisted smile. Jarred felt an evil chill wash over him.

He was shaken to the core of his being, but put on a brave front and stared coldly back into the mirror. "I don't know what this is about, but I'm going to find out, he glared at the mask. "I'm not afraid to face you, whatever you are.

"Put your best face forward, Michael, the mask replied in a voice similar to his own, only more throaty, raspy.

Jarred jumped, turned, and ran from the room. He grabbed his keys and brief case on the way out of the door. He arrived at the bus stop just as the bus pulled up. His legs felt like noodles as he boarded, being very careful not to look around in case there should be something to reflect his image nearby. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he dropped the coins in. His took the first seat on the bus and looked at the floor as the others boarded. The wait to get moving seemed interminable, but finally after everyone had boarded, the driver closed the door and the bus groaned, jerked and pulled away, leaving a cloud of oily smoke in its wake.

Over the past five weeks, Jarred had learned how many stops were in between his home and the office, the approximate time the ride would take and when to get off without even looking up. But he was more shaken this morning than he had been ever before. He couldn't get the image of it out of his head. Or the sound of it. 'Put your best face forward, Michael'. Why had the mask called him Michael? Why was it tormenting him?

In the deep recesses of his mind somewhere was a place that knew why the mask was in his mirror. That place had created the mask. It had sent the mask to uncover to Jarred things he had deeply hidden within himself, from himself. Things he didn't want to know, wasn't ready to know, but which he desperately needed to know before more evil was done.

The bus creaked, jerked and blew smoke as it began taking off again. Jarred realized he was about to miss his stop. He jumped up, yelled at the driver to wait and started off the bus. The driver grumbled about paying attention but stopped. While walking down the steps, he caught his reflection in the side mirror. It was there again. The horrible mask. "Best face forward, Michael, it sneered. He froze for just a moment as he stared into the mirror. The driver yelled at him to get moving and Jarred came back to reality, jumped from the step, his insides quivering, and looking down, slowly walked the remaining two blocks to the large building where he had managed to get a job submitting insurance information for a hospital billing company.

He made it through the morning to lunch with relatively few problems. He avoided mirrors and anything reflective successfully and was starting to relax just a bit. He was excitedly anticipating lunch today. He took his lunch at the same time as Lana, the receptionist in the accounting firm down the corridor from his office. She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Jarred believed she was his already, she just didn't know it yet. But he would help her to see that.

He was not a romantic man by nature, but since meeting Lana, he had determined to find the way to make her his. He had purchase books on romance and how to win a woman's heart. He had made a careful list of everything he should do in order to make her love him. Poetry, candy, flowers, being where she was as often as possible. That was how he would start.

Although Jarred had never really spoken to Lana beyond casual exchanges, he had rearranged his work schedule in order to get just a glimpse of her during the day. Passing her in the corridor or a 30 second ride in the elevator with her made his day worthwhile. Although they had only ever spoken briefly, she was always very friendly, smiling and answering his questions, even asking how he was and conversing with him. Jarred couldn't define what it was that made her different, but he knew she wasn't like other women. There was something special about her. Although Lana considered herself to be a few pounds overweight and was constantly trying to battle that, Jarred thought her hour-glass figure to be perfect. He loved her classic style of dress which was modest but attractive and in direct contrast to her long, auburn, curly hair. She had a beautiful smile, made all the more charming by the imperfection of her slightly crooked teeth. Her eyes were the most unusual color of green he had ever seen and when he looked into them, he could see the beauty of her soul. He was certain there were no masks in her mirror.

He wanted the inner beauty she possessed. He wanted the peace he could see on her face, in her eyes. He wanted to possess it in himself, but had never been able to find it. But once she loved him, when she finally realized they belonged together, when they were married, when they had become one, he would share in that peace, that goodness. Maybe then the mask would disappear forever.

Jarred looked at his watch, 11:50. He cleared his desk and walked out the front door, telling the receptionist on his way out that he would return in an hour. Today was the day. He couldn't miss her today. He was going to ask her out for lunch. He hoped she would arrive at the elevator within seconds of his arrival, but he decided to wait there if she were running a minute or two later than usual. As Jarred approached the elevator, he could see she was not there, but there were two accountants from the firm where Lana worked. He stood behind them, pretending to wait for the elevator. He could hear their conversation which normally would have been of no interest to him, but he somehow knew instinctively he wanted to hear this one.

The taller of the two, a man in his 50s, appeared to be chastising his younger colleague. "Look, I'm not saying you aren't good enough for her. I'm just saying, be nice to this one. She's a nice girl, a good girl.

The younger man grunted a laugh, "Oh, she's good alright. She's gonna be even better after tomorrow night.

"You're incorrigible, the older man chuckled.

"I'm doing her a favor. Tomorrow night, I'm buying her dinner, showing her a night on the town - and then leaving her a little wiser and better for her future husband, the younger man spoke with mock self-defense.

"You have serious issues, Bob. Serious issues, the older man shook his head.
"Hey, no one's forcing her. She's thrilled to death that I would even ask her out. Lana knows I'm really out of her league and this is just playtime. Everybody knows the game. He began jamming his finger into the button repeatedly. "What is the problem with these stinking elevators?

"You're going to break that poor kid's heart. One of these days, Bob, you're going to get a taste of your own medicine. Come on, let's take the stairs. Elevators must be down today.

Jarred stood in shock as he realized that they had been talking his Lana. Had she agreed to go out with the accountant? She was his. Why would she do that? And he only planned to use her and then reject her. Bob obviously saw her physical beauty - but how could he miss the beauty of her soul? That was incomprehensible to Jarred.

He had to put a stop to this betrayal before it happened. He couldn't let that man use Lana. She was his. A feeling began growing in Jarred he could not understand. Rage and pain swelled in his being until he felt like running after the two accountants and beating them both until they begged for mercy. As the rage grew within him, something flashed into his mind, he could see a couple lying on a bed, sleeping as he stood over them. The power of the rage burning in him seized his whole body and overpowered him causing him to shake, break out into a cold sweat and hyperventilate. He could no longer stand. He fell forward to his knees and attempted to get his breath.

As he was gasping for breath, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?
He was so startled that he jumped back and fell completely to his side. He looked up to see Lana kneeling over him. He tried nodding but was still having a great deal of difficulty breathing.

"Let me go call an ambulance, you need some help, she started to get up, but Jarred grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He took her brown bag lunch, dumped the contents and began breathing into the bag.

Panic began to subside and he slowly began to breathe normally again. Lana was looking as though she still wanted to get help but she also began to calm down as Jarred's breathing normalized. "Are you okay?

Still breathing into the bag, Jarred nodded.

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor.

Jarred shook his head. Her simply being there was making things better by the minute. Her goodness seeping out of her to make him well, heal him. He knew now more than ever that he needed her in his life permanently. She could make him whole again. She could share her goodness with him and make things right.

He looked into her eyes, and mistook the concern he saw as love being reciprocated to him. He began breathing a bit heavy again in the joy of the moment, but managed to get in control of it (he again attributed this to Lana's goodness being so near him).

Standing up, he removed the bag from his mouth and handed it back to her. "I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what happened. I just started to hyperventilate. Thanks for helping me. I'll be fine now.

He looked around the floor at her now scattered lunch. "Sorry about your food. Why don't you let me buy you lunch?

"Oh, thanks but you don't need to do that. I can get something in the cafeteria. She knelt down and began gathering the remains of the lunch.

Jarred kneeled down to help. "I insist. I know a great place to eat. I would really enjoy your company too.

She smiled shyly at him and agreed.

At this point, Jarred realized the elevator still hadn't arrived and suggested they take the stairs as well. As they descended the 15 flights of stairs, Jarred said nothing but was thinking of whether Lana already knew that they would be married soon. He wondered if she were as excited as he was about this. He was so happy. Everything was going to be good.

They finally exited the building and walked to a nearby café. Lana was concerned for Jarred, having just hyperventilated and then walking down all those stairs. She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be moving well enough, but his face was very pale and his eyes had a strange glassy look to them. She still thought he should have gone to the hospital to be checked but he had been very insistent that he was fine and she didn't want to do anything which might cause him stress.

In all of the City Police Department, there was no one who kept a desk like Tom Merritt. In fact, it was rumored that his desk had actually been eaten away by the debris strewn across it and now consisted entirely of junk. There were two stacks of files piled up on either side of the desk which were so tall as to obscure the view of Merritt sitting in his chair. This was deliberate on Merritt's part as it gave him a bit of get-away time before people could see him sitting there.

There were three ashtrays, all filled with cigarette butts and ashes. Merritt had determined that the law about not smoking in public buildings did not apply to him. It had been enacted long after he had begun smoking. So it was only for new smokers. He was good enough at his job, and close enough to retirement, that the brass let him get away with it with only mild, unofficial reprimands.

There were a few old sandwiches, one container of left-over Chinese food, a moldy slice of pizza and several pop bottles sticking out of his small trash can. He had long since given up drinking from cans as the spills were too difficult to clean. He could keep lids on the bottles.

As he sat at his desk, working on a fresh container of Chinese food, he heard the jangling of keys attached to a belt. He guessed Pete Smith. He was right. Smith sat in the chair opposite his desk and looked at him through the parting of the files.

"Got something for you to look into, Tom. He showed Merritt another file. "Don't lose this in your pile.

"Ya, ya, ya. Just give it.

"Ya, ya, ya, he mimicked Merritt. "Probably nothing to this. This girl, he opened the file, "Lana Thompson, left work for lunch several days ago and never came back. Family's asking us to look into it. They can't get her to answer at home. Lived alone. Pete had referred to Lana Thompson as though she were dead. He was such a cynic, Merritt thought to himself.

"Her folks say it's not like her. He lifted his eyebrows. "At first I thought it was probably one more broad got tired of living a life of quiet desperation and took off. But I promised them we'd check into it.

"Jealous, Pete?

"Hey, given the chance, I'd take off. Anyway - we sent some uniforms over. She's not home, and if she did leave, she didn't take anything with her. And she didn't make arrangements to have the cat taken care of. They interviewed some people at her office. She was seen walking out with some guy the day she disappeared. Uniforms talked with him, seems clean. Maybe she just took off. Maybe something happened to her. Just go check it out.

"Okay, soon as I finish here.

Merritt read the file while he finished his lunch. Something didn't seem right. He wasn't sure what until he was on his way to the girl's office. Then it hit him. Jarred Dickson, the guy last seen with Lana Thompson, this was the same guy who showed up several months ago with amnesia. He worked in that building too. Merritt had received a fax from the sheriff's office a couple of counties over about a pick-up in a lake not far from where Jarred had been found several months ago. He returned to the office to get that file. He had a feeling that Jarred had more problems than amnesia. He would kill two birds with one stone. The more he thought about it, the more Merritt thought that maybe the whole thing was intertwined somehow.

It was the kind of tired that went beyond mind or body, the kind that pervaded all that he was, a tired to the very depths of his soul. Sleep didn't help. Too much caused a groggy, surreal feeling and not enough only worsened it. No matter what he did, it wouldn't end. He was so tired his eyes burned just for being open. His muscles ached with each movement. His entire being longed to just be done. He needed to simply slump over and pass out. But sleep wouldn't do. He needed to be totally gone from this world for a time and then to come back, hopefully refreshed.

The feeling he had with this was that no matter what happened, no matter what he did, the tired would still be there, following him, taking over, keeping him from living. He felt as though he were, in fact, dead and somehow trying to maintain life in spite of it. He wondered briefly if in death he would feel rested. They always said of the dead "may he rest in peace as though it were merely a hope for the dead, as though it were not a sure thing.

He just couldn't continue with this tired permeating all that he was, taking control, forcing him to focus on it when all he wanted to do was forget this ocean of tired he was drowning in. He felt as though he had been fighting a battle for a hundred years that just wouldn't end. He still couldn't see an end to it.

He was tired. Tiredness had so overwhelmed him that he no longer felt it in the sense of experiencing it. He had become it. He was now the walking persona of tired. He could not escape it, and it would never leave him.

There was a time when he thought he had the answer. Lana. He thought she would be able to help - with the mask, the tired, but she couldn't, or wouldn't. All of his hope hinged on her. He wished it had been somewhere else - anywhere else, but she was it. However so far she had refused him. Tonight he would try one more time to reason with her. He would make her understand. She had to understand.

"Working late, Jarred? The detective stepped around the corner of his cubicle. Up until that point, Jarred had been staring at the papers on his desk without seeing them. He looked at the clock and saw he should have left 20 minutes ago. The sedative he had forced Lana to swallow at lunch would be wearing off. He needed to leave right away. If she woke up before he got home...he had gagged her of course, but still if she removed it somehow and began making noise, George from 5B would be sure to stick his nose in and make trouble.

"Uh - just cleaning up and getting ready to leave, Jarred responded. He quickly organized his work into orderly piles and then stood to leave. "What can I do for you, Detective Merritt?

Merritt was more intrigued by this man than any suspect he had ever met. He didn't know what it was, but he knew Jarred was involved in the disappearance of Lana Thompson. It made no sense from the perspective of evidence or training. He had only been seen having lunch with the girl once and from all accounts it was a friendly but cool deal. There was no logical reason to believe he had done anything wrong. But his gut told him.

That fascinated him as much as Jarred. He had always heard about cops who had gut instincts which never failed them. They just knew things. For the past 15 years on the job he had thought he was somehow missing something important in detective work. But it had finally kicked in. He knew something. It made no logical sense at all. But he knew. And he wouldn't quit till he proved it.

This Jarred character, suffering from of all things amnesia, was as much a mystery to himself as he was to anyone else. Merritt had always thought that amnesia was something just for soaps till he met this guy. Merritt believed Jarred knew who he was. It was all locked away in his mind somewhere. But he was hiding it from himself. Why would a guy hide something from himself?

"I thought I would buy you a cup of coffee. Merritt offered.

Jarred became more nervous every time this man was around. He was both drawn to Merritt and afraid of him at the same time. Merritt seemed to be the only one who could help him find out who he was. But Jarred knew he wasn't here about that. He was here about Lana, like the uniformed officers who had come last week. Shirley, the receptionist, had told him a detective was in the building asking questions about Lana.

Jarred wanted to talk to Merritt. To find out what he knew. He wanted to make sure he was still safe. But he was afraid Merritt would find out that Lana was staying with him. Merritt would never understand Jarred's need for Lana. He would never understand the mask in his mirrors. He must never find out.

Jarred looked at him for a minute and came up with the only reason he could think of. "I'm afraid not tonight Detective. I'm really just too tired.

Merritt could see the man was near exhaustion. Even more reason to believe his instinct was right.

"I have some information which might be of interest to you.

"Look, Detective, I have really told you everything I know about the disappearance of that poor girl. If you've found a gum wrapper or something that you think is about to break the case, it really has nothing to do with me.

A gum wrapper. Had he really said a gum wrapper? Merritt could hardly believe his ears. How had Jarred known about the gum wrappers they found in Lana's apartment and near Jarred's building? Lana chewed a special gum which was sent to her by her sister who lived in China. Lana didn't throw away the gum wrappers. She kept them and sent them to her niece who made paper chains and returned them to Lana. Merritt filed that tidbit in his mind and moved on to his purpose for this visit.

"No. Actually this is not about her. It's to do with you directly, well maybe. I don't know. We found some information which might help us to figure out who you are.

Jarred had been putting on his coat but stopped dead in the process and looked at Merritt. "What? What is it? Are you sure?

Merritt held up his hand. "Don't get your hopes up, Jarred. We can't be sure. We found a truck...really this needs a cup of coffee. Now I know you're tired, but this is pretty important. I insist. We won't take more than about 30 minutes.

Instinctively, Jarred knew the truck was something to do with him but didn't know what. A truck. He tried to think about it. He tried to remember. But he already had a headache and was so tired that thinking was not practical, which was exactly why he should be doing everything possible to avoid talking to Merritt right now. So far, he had managed to keep him at bay, maintaining his job, staying up all night with Lana and sneaking a couple hours of sleep here and there as he could. It would all be for nothing if he messed up now. Lana was bound to be coming out of the sedative and he needed to get back to her. But if he refused to talk with Merritt about the truck - about the possibility of discovering his identity, that would arouse more suspicion than he could afford.

He pushed his arm the rest of the way through his coat. "Sure, but really it must be a short visit, Detective. I'm about to fall asleep standing up.

"Sure. Merritt led the way to the elevator.

Once they were seated with their coffee, Merritt pulled a manilla folder out of his brief case. He showed Jarred some photos of a lake, and a late-model pick up being pulled from the water. He also had some photos of the truck, interior and exterior, after it was on dry ground.

"A couple of fisherman were out and came across this truck totally submerged. It's a lake a couple counties over, about 20 miles from where you were found. We figure it's been there since about the time you showed up at the hospital. I know that's a pretty good distance for you to have walked from the crash, and I haven't figured that out yet - but it fits in parts. We just have to fit the other parts together. The hospital said you had injuries which were more consistent with a fight than an accident.

Merritt paused for a moment while Jarred studied the photos. None of it looked familiar.

"Now, my thinking is - maybe you were headed somewhere, picked up a hitchhiker, he attacked you, threw you out and then ran your truck into the lake. Just a possibility. There are others.

"Like what?

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Merritt replied. Although the hitchhiker theory made sense, he wasn't buying it. Something more sinister was at work here. He could feel it.

"The plates were removed along with all traces of information from the truck. No names on anything. We're running the VIN numbers. Merritt pulled a cigarette from his pack and struck a match to light it. The lighting of the match grabbed Jarred's attention and suddenly he was seeing a larger fire, burning all around him and shadowy figures lying on the ground.

"Jarred, you okay? Merritt was looking intently at him. As quickly as the vision had come, it was gone. Jarred, paler and more exhausted than before, only nodded his head.

"I'll let you know what we come up with. Jarred, if you can remember anything, anything at all, it would be helpful.

"Yes, yes of course. I'll see what I can do. Thank you, detective.

Jarred stood, donned his coat and was out the door before Merritt could get the check. Merritt sat at the table watching him walk through the light snow to his apartment building. For someone so tired, he was sure moving fast.

Merritt took another drag from his Camel. Of course, he already knew the identity of the owner of the vehicle, one Jorge Romero. Merritt knew Jarred was not Jorge Romero. Merritt was convinced Jarred had been in that truck. He wondered where Jorge Romero was. Men just don't dump brand new Ford F150 trucks in a lake and walk away. That truck had less than 30,000 miles on it. Merritt had a feeling Mr. Romero was somewhere in the lake.

Merritt sat sipping his coffee and drawing on his cigarette long after Jarred had left the café. It was obvious Jarred was wearing down - exhaustion was written all over him - Merritt knew it came from trying to hide from himself. He had heard of cases where men on the lam had turned themselves in - they had become tired and couldn't take the running anymore. Surrendering was actually a relief. He knew Jarred was coming to the point of giving up running too. Problem was, he had taken that girl. Maybe she was dead. Maybe she was alive. Either way, she might be as good as dead if Jarred found out who he was before Merritt did.

Jarred hurried back to the apartment, fumbled with his keys and rushed inside. As he entered, he saw that everything appeared normal. He cautiously made his way into the bedroom and was relieved to find Lana where he had left her. She was awake but looked groggy. He knew it wasn't good for her to take so many tranquilizers so often, but he just couldn't take any risks. He was generous enough to let her stay awake all evening and part of the night. He did need to sleep at least a little though.

Lana had lost track of exactly how long she had been in Jarred's apartment, but she was guessing about 2 weeks. He kept forcing her to swallow sleeping pills. Although she was groggy, she was beginning to understand a schedule. When he was home, he let her stay awake. He made her sleep from about 2:00 a.m. until he got home at about 6:00 p.m., which meant she was sleeping at least 16 of 24 hours each day. The combination of so much sleep and the pills he gave her left her with a groggy feeling even during the waking hours. She thought he might also be mixing some other pills in as well because she just couldn't think right. She was really trying to force herself to because she needed to figure a way out of this. She had tried biting him, fighting in any way she knew, but when she had done that, he had become more forceful with her, angry and she could see something in his eyes which terrified her.

Otherwise, he pretended to put on this gentle front. When she was awake, she was subjected to hours on end of him telling her how much he loved her, how they belonged together, how they should be married. He had bought her flowers, chocolates and perfume. As if bringing her gifts would somehow make her forget he had kidnaped her and was keeping her tied to a bed. She had pretended to appreciate the gifts, afraid of rejecting him and sending him further over the edge.

She had continually refused to marry him, but could tell his level of frustration was growing and knew she had to escape. She was considering playing along with him, pretending to accept his proposal and then escaping at the first chance. She would have to go about it slowly though. Too fast and he would become suspicious.

She looked over at him as he entered the bedroom. Her head felt as though it had swelled to 10 times its normal size from so much sleep and lying down. He walked up to the bed and stood looking down at her. He looked worse every time she saw him. Even though it was snowing, he was sweaty, clammy, and his breathing was shallow.

"Will you be a good girl and not scream if I take the tape off your mouth?
She slowly nodded. She knew she would have to convince him tonight or there might not be a tomorrow.

He gently pulled the duct tape off her mouth, being careful to not hurt her. Her mouth ached anyway. A person could only wear duct tape for so long without feeling pain from it. "Could I sit up please? Her voice was small and frail, made worse by how dry her mouth was.

He eyed her suspiciously. "Please. I promise to be good. It's just - my head hurts from lying here so long. I need to be upright. Please.

Jarred took his coat off and left the room. He returned shortly carrying a tray with a bowl of vegetable soup, a sandwich, a glass and a carafe of ice tea. He set the tray on the bedside table and moved to the foot of the bed, looking at the restraints pining her feet to the bed. "Promise?

"Yes, I promise. Really.

He undid the restraints on first her feet and then her hands. He was entirely unsure about this but wanted to show her how kind and generous he could be. Normally he only completely untied up twice each day for a trip to the bathroom but he always waited until long after she had swallowed the sleeping pills and was so out of it she needed assistance just to stand. For her meals, he had been feeding her meal replacement or protein shakes. He would support her head a bit as she sipped the straw from the can he held. Sometimes he would untie her feet and allow her to sit up to watch a movie with him. He rented romantic movies in an attempt to create an atmosphere conducive to falling in love. He would read poetry to her at times too while playing soft classical music in the background. He was doing all the things on his checklist. Once he completed each item, she would fall in love with him.

But tonight he untied her completely, just for awhile. Lana pulled herself into a sitting position and rubbed her ankles and wrists. Jarred put the tray of food on her lap as she settled back on the bed. Her head felt so heavy that she almost couldn't support it and leaned back against the headboard.

She was not even close to being hungry and didn't think she could eat one bite of anything, but Lana determined to stretch the meal out in order to remain untied as long as possible. The ice tea, however, was quite welcome, and she drank nearly the entire carafe before touching any of the food. Then, slowly she began to eat the vegetable soup.

Jarred sat watching her eat, wary that she might make a sudden move. He had only warmed the soup and kept it from being good and hot so that if she took the notion to throw it at him, it would do no harm. As he sat there, the tired grew stronger. It was completely taking him over. He was about to fall asleep here and now. But he dared not give in to it.

Instead of sleep, he pulled the book of poetry out from the dresser drawer and began to read an old poem to her written by a love-smitten man to his coy mistress. As he reached the middle of the poem, he stopped and looked at Lana as he read the words, "The grave's a fine and private place, but none there I think do embrace. Lana looked at him, more fearful now with the implied threat that if she didn't agree to marry him soon, she would be dead.

"Michael. Come here, Michael. Jarred jumped at the voice. The voice from the mirror. It had ceased being content with harassing him while looking in the mirror. It now was coming after him even when the mirror was away. His closet door was shut. The mirror was on the other side. But Jarred could hear the mask calling him.

"Leave me alone! Jarred called to the voice. Lana stopped, spoon midair. It was obvious Jarred wasn't reading poetry, and he wasn't talking to her. She hadn't heard anyone else in the apartment. But still, she was very groggy. Was someone else out there? Did they know she was here?

"Michael. Come here. I want to talk to you. Listen to me, Michael. You know I won't go away until you do.

Jarred jumped up from his chair and stormed to the closet, nearly tearing the door off its hinges. "What!? What do you want with me? Leave me alone! Lana's heart sunk as he ripped open the closet door. Was he keeping someone else hostage in the closet? She was getting more confused by the minute.

She had no idea that staring back at Jarred from the mirror was not his reflection, but the mask. The crack in the center of the skull had been splitting wider each time Jarred saw it. The mask was now split open down to the middle of its nose - a horrible beast beginning to reveal itself underneath. When Jarred saw the horror of what was cracking through the mask, he was terrified and fell to his knees in front of the mirror.

"What do you want with me? What? Please leave me alone. He whispered and crossed his arms over his stomach as he began rocking back and forth. He repeated the words for several minutes, sobbing as he did.

Lana was considering the possibility of escape, realizing this was a moment of weakness for Jarred and that he might not even notice if she were very quiet. But the memory of how quickly he got across the room and the rage with which he tore open the door kept her planted on the bed. There was also the knowledge that something was horribly wrong with Jarred mentally, emotionally or both. She was more terrified now than she had been during the entire ordeal. She was trying to decide what to do when Jarred turned to her suddenly.

"Do you see it, Lana? Do you see it? You can make it stop. You can make it go away. This is why I need you so badly. Do you see it?

She had no training for this type of situation, but Lana knew she must choose her words very carefully. If she denied seeing anything other than Jarred's reflection, he might become enraged again, thinking she was the enemy. If she said she saw something, she would be playing into his delusion and further he might expect her to know what he saw. If she couldn't be specific enough, he would know she was placating him and be angry.

After looking at him for a moment and trying to gain some composure, she simply said "My eyes are bothering me from the medication and sleep, Jarred. I'm having a hard time focusing on things. Tell me what you see.

Jarred held his arm out to her. "Then come here. Come look at it and you'll understand.

Lana shook her head. "I'm still very groggy, I don't think I can walk well. Besides, I'm really afraid of whatever is there. Please just tell me. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She was all too well aware that her life hung in the balance in this very moment.

"Michael. Look what you've done. You're at it again! Didn't you learn before? The mask was taunting him.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Jarred screamed and sprang to his feet, slamming the door to the closet. He slammed it so hard it sprang open again. "Go away! He violently slammed the door over and over as it sprang back again and again. Finally the door stayed shut.

Lana, now totally horrified, shrank back into the bed as Jarred walked toward her. He grabbed her feet, pulling them to the foot of the bed and forcing her back into a lying position. The tray tipped over, the soup and ice tea spilling on Lana and the bed. He roughly shackled her feet and then came around to tie her hands again. She was too afraid to fight or say a word and was distraught that she might have ruined her only opportunity to get help.

"I know you couldn't see it because you were too far away, Lana. But it was there. It's a mask. It's been in my mirror for a couple of months now. It's horrible. It mocks me and torments me. It's in every mirror I look into. I haven't seen my own face for so long I've forgotten what I look like. But you can help me. You don't have any masks in your mirrors, do you Lana?

"No. She whispered very timidly. "No, Jarred, I don't. What do you want me to do? How can I help you get rid of the mask?

She knew that offering to help and showing him some sign of hope was the only way out of this and even that route was iffy.

He was about to answer when he jerked his head up and looked toward the closet. It was calling him again. It wouldn't leave him alone. Would it ever go away? "Michael, she can't help you. She's trying to trick you. Don't trust her. Come back. Talk to me. Not knowing what else to do, Jarred popped open the bottle of sleeping pills and took out three, more than the usual dose.

"Oh Jarred, please not yet. Please. Lana was terrified that if he made her take the pills again, this time she wouldn't wake up.

"Open your mouth. He was angry. But Lana was fighting to survive and refused. He grabbed her head with one hand and pinched her nose shut with the other. "Open your mouth, Lana. I'm not going to tell you again. You have got to learn to trust me. I know what's best. He had large, strong hands which covered most of her face, and she could smell the soup that had spilled on him as he grabbed her.

Lana held on as long as she could. She finally clinched her teeth and tried to open her lips enough to suck some air through. Some of the broth of the soup dripped into her mouth, she could taste the mix of his sweat in it. She almost gagged but kept her jaw clenched.

He repositioned himself and sat down on the bed by her head, wrapped his muscular arm around her head, grabbing her nose with those fingers and closing his other hand over her mouth. "I'm not letting go until you open your whole jaw. Now just do it, Lana.

She was fighting for all she was worth and held her breath so long that she simply passed out. Jarred then opened her mouth and put the pills in. He closed her mouth and waited for her to come to. When she did, Jarred again clamped her nose and poured what little of the tea that was left into her mouth, forcing her to swallow the pills.

For the next hour, he sat watching her, waiting for the pills to take effect and trying to ignore the mask calling to him from the closet. Finally she dozed off. Jarred laid down beside her, curling up next to her and fell into a fitful sleep.

As he went deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, Jarred's mind took him back to a place he never wanted to go again. In the early part of the dream, it was a sweet feeling. He was driving a car at night down a country road. He was going home. It was a good feeling. Suddenly he was in a driveway. The house he stood in front of was welcoming in the dark night. He couldn't wait to get inside.

Suddenly he was inside, but the welcome feeling had changed to one of dread and fear. It didn't belong in this sweet place. He made no decision to move forward but found himself pulled along a hallway which was dark and seemed to be at least a mile long. He was going so very slowly, but his heart was beating faster. There was something in the room at the end of the hall he didn't want to know. He drew nearer and nearer to the room and the hall grew smaller and smaller, closing in on him at the sides and the ceiling seemed to get shorter and shorter as he progressed.

He finally reached the end and put his hand on the door knob, feeling as though someone or something else was guiding his every move. As the door opened, he saw two people asleep in one another's arms. The scene might have looked sweet in any other place, but it was wrong here. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him. That was his place. No one else belonged there. No one else belonged with her. Jarred seemed to be watching himself, walking to the bed, grabbing the man and pulling him from the bed in a rage he never knew he was capable of. Though the men were of equal size, the other man had been sleeping and had no clue what was happening at first. Jarred began to beat the man, the woman woke up and began screaming, "Michael, stop. Stop. Please don't do this. She was kneeling on the bed sobbing, then moving toward the men to attempt to pull them apart. Jarred let go of the man when she grabbed his arm, he got a handful of her long auburn hair and threw her aside.

The dream continued, going slower and slower in motion, becoming surreal in its nature. Jarred turned back to the man to continue pummeling him, but the man had begun coming to his senses. He started fighting back. They fought fiercely for what seemed to be an eternity. Then Jarred punched the man so forcefully that he stumbled backwards into the dresser. The entire dresser shook as the man's head caught the corner. Jarred watched the look of understanding and then nothing on the man's face as he bounced from the corner of the dresser and then fell to the floor.

Jarred stood looking at the man for a moment until the flames from the dresser caught his eye. There had been some candles left burning and a bottle of liquor on the dresser. They had been knocked over when the man crashed into it. The flame of the candles ignited the liquid and quickly spread across the dresser. Jarred stood looking at the flames when he felt a hand grab his ankle. He looked down at the man, now bleeding profusely from the side of his head.

"Julia he whispered and looked toward the woman lying unconscious, her head also bleeding from the toss which had sent her crashing to the floor. His dying thought was to get her to safety. Jarred just stared at him, feeling nothing now. The fire was beginning to spread.

Suddenly he was in a garage, looking at a red truck with keys in his hands. He got into the truck and drove, he had no idea where he was going. He had no idea how long he had been driving. But he was hot, as though he were on fire and no matter how fast he drove, no matter how high he put the air conditioner on, no matter what he did, he kept getting hotter and hotter.

Next he was in a lake with no idea how he got there, the water trying to swallow him. He was drowning, trapped and couldn't get free. He was struggling, trying so hard, his lungs feeling as though they were about to explode...and then he woke up. He was sweating profusely, gasping for air, wondering what the dream had meant, trying to remember it all and forget it all at the same time. It was just a nightmare he told himself. It meant nothing.

After lying there for a moment, he got up to get a drink. As he stood at the kitchen sink, he realized he hadn't cleaned the spilled soup and it was smeared into his shirt. He grabbed a couple of wash cloths, the spare set of sheets from the linen closet and a pair of pajamas from his dresser.

As he struggled to change the bed while Lana slept in it, he continued to review the dream while simultaneously trying to forget it. He decided to focus on the bed and not waking Lana. She was really out. She looked dead to the world. Maybe he had given her too much medication. He checked her pulse. He wasn't sure what exactly it should feel like, but she did have a heart beat and her breathing was deep and rhythmic. He wanted to so much to let her stay awake but he was so tired.

As Jarred walked around to the bed to finish changing the sheets, he stepped on a piece of broken glass from when he had knocked the tray over. As he felt the glass enter his foot, he jerked it up and saw the blood oozing from the ball of his foot. But it wasn't red. It was silver. Jarred realized that his blood had been replaced with a silver liquid. At first he didn't understand.

Then he realized what it was. The mask and the tired were taking over and now they had stolen his blood and replaced it with liquid tired. That was why no matter what he did, he didn't feel rested. Tired was now running through his veins. He was certain it had totally consumed all his blood.

He decided to call in sick for the day. Although it was only 4:30 a.m., he picked up the phone and left a message on his boss' voice mail.

He tried to go back to sleep - he needed it so badly. He was so tired of sleeping in the chair. But that was only part of the reason he had curled up with Lana on the bed. When he had laid there with her, the mask had become fainter and fainter, the voice of it drowning out as he listened to Lana breathing. He had been right. She could make it go away. She could. There was hope. But he was really too tired to consider it all now. He needed to sleep again.

He crawled back into the freshly changed bed and curled up against Lana. He tried to sleep but just couldn't drift off. Thoughts were racing through his mind, thoughts about the dream, Merritt with his cigarette burning while he told him of the truck, Lana, and the mask. Who was he really? How did this all fit? He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. Why couldn't he sleep? He was getting angrier by minute, why wouldn't all this just leave him alone? Why did Merritt keep coming around, insisting on telling him things he didn't care about. Who he had been didn't matter. It was the past. It was who he became that was important. Lana was important. Why wouldn't she agree to marry him? She had asked how she could help. Maybe she would. If not, he had to think of another way - maybe...no - he didn't want to do that. Maybe that was the only way though.

It was his blood. That was why he couldn't sleep. His blood was gone, replaced with liquid tired. That was confirmed earlier tonight when he had cut his foot and bled the silver liquid. He knew that he had to get the liquid tired out of him and replace it with good blood. That's what he needed. Then the evil mask and the tired would be forced to leave him alone forever. Then he would be able to sleep.

He looked at Lana. She had good blood. She had no masks. Of course. He should have known it before now. She was the answer but not in the way he had originally thought. He did need to make her his. But not just as his wife. He needed her blood running through his veins. Once he had that, the tired would leave. The mask would leave. Lana would be with him forever. Everything would be fine.

But there was still one problem. Taking a woman without her permission was wrong. That would ruin it and make things worse. She had to consent. She had to agree to become one with him. They had to be united in spirit before they could become united in flesh, in blood.

Jarred had new hope. He began to plan how to make it all work. He went to his desk and sat down to make a list. He was suddenly very fidgety and excited. The tired was starting to ebb just at the beginning stages of his plan. He was already winning a battle against it. Once his plan was finished, he would completely win.

He looked at the clock. It was now 6:00 a.m. He dressed, returned to the bedroom where he placed more sedatives in Lana's mouth and forced her to swallow them. He needed to make certain nothing would stand in his way.

Lana did not stir again until 3:00 that afternoon. Her head hurt so badly she could barely open her eyes. But as she became more and more aware, she realized that she was no longer lying in the bed. She was sitting upright, leaning back against the soft cushions of a couch. Her right arm felt particularly heavy and she wanted to move it, but couldn't. As she became more oriented, she realized that it was handcuffed above her head, connected to a chain attached to the ceiling.

Something else was different. She was dressed in something very uncomfortable. As she opened her eyes, she was startled to see herself wearing a white wedding dress. It looked as though it had come from the Goodwill or Salvation Army. It was tight, itched terribly and smelled of must and moth balls.

She slowly looked around the room, her neck feeling as though it were incapable of supporting her head. She didn't see Jarred, but in the large overstuffed chair across the room was an elderly man similarly chained to the ceiling. She tried to focus her eyes to see better. A priest with a Bible on his lap. A wedding dress and a priest. She realized with horror that even in attempting to placate Jarred with promises to do whatever he wanted, she was only making matters worse. Now there was a priest in equally as much danger as herself. The priest appeared to be unconscious. She continued looking around the room, trying to get some idea of where Jarred was and if there was any chance to get out of this mess before he forced more pills down her throat or killed her and the priest both.

There was a small cart sitting near the front door. There was a towel draped across several items on the cart. Lana had a horrible sinking feeling as she looked at it.

Merritt was at his desk, this time working on a sandwich from the deli and a cup of coffee, when Pete came jangling up with another file in hand.

"What is it this time? he asked as Pete thrust the file toward him.

"Father Monroe. Didn't show up this morning. Was last seen talking with that guy we interviewed in the disappearance of that girl, what's her name? Lena, Lana, something. Jarred Dickson's his name, right? Agnes at the church said Father doesn't take off like this. Also said he had a wedding rehearsal last night and missed it.

"Can you get me a search warrant? I'm going to Dickson's now, see if he'll let me in. Send the warrant over with someone. You got my cell. Merritt grabbed the file, tossed his sandwich on his desk and took off for Jarred's apartment.

Lana looked around the room again, trying to determine if there might be some way to get out. She hoped there might be an opportunity when Jarred would unhook her if for only a moment, and she wanted to know every possible way out. But she only saw the one door which opened into the hallway. If she could only make it that far, she would be able to scream for help. She also considered running into the bathroom and locking the door if need be. She tried to gauge how long it would take her to make it to the door. She looked at the priest again. He was starting to come to. Of course, she wouldn't abandon him here, but it might be in both their best interests if one of them could get out for help.

The priest slowly lifted his head and began looking around, taking in his surroundings. He looked at Lana. "Do you know where he is?

Lana shook her head.

"I've been awake about 20 minutes now, but haven't seen him. How did...did he say...?

"I know you're Lana. He told me. I'm Father Monroe. Jarred came to the parish this morning, said he was getting married. I had visited him in the hospital a few months ago. He'd been in an accident, couldn't remember anything. I was glad he was starting to rebuild a life. Was happy to come here to meet you. Father Monroe closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

"When I got here, he took me into the bedroom. At first I thought you were just sleeping, then I saw he had you tied to the bed. I tried to reason with him, but he overpowered me and knocked me out. My dear, I'm so sorry for all this. But there is hope. Don't give up hope.

"Father, do you know what that tray is?

Father Monroe looked at the cart by the door and shook his head. He did not know what was on the cart. But he did have an idea. Jarred had shared the entire story and his plan to fix the mask with the priest.

"He thinks the two of you are getting married. He expects me to perform the ceremony. I can't do that.

"Father, I think we should do whatever it takes to appease him. At least buy some time until we can figure a way out of this. We can have a pretend ceremony which wouldn't really mean anything.

Father Monroe looked at Lana, wanting to buy the necessary time but hating to make a mockery of such a sacred ceremony.

"Maybe he will let us loose for the ceremony if we pretend to go along with it. Both were speaking just above a whisper in case Jarred were in the apartment.

Lana was about to speak again when they heard the elevator bell ding and then a key turning in the door. Jarred stepped inside carrying a brown grocery bag and a small bouquet of fresh flowers. He smiled at them both, put the bag down, took out his list and crossed through several items.

He was very pleased this was all coming together the way he had planned. They were both awake, alert, right on time. The ceremony would go off without a hitch. He knelt down in front of Lana and put the bouquet in her lap.

He cupped her face in his hand. "Today is our day, Lana. We become one, really one. Lana had never been so afraid in her entire life as she was looking into Jarred's eyes in that moment.

She sat, shaking, looking into his eyes, trying to see something, some form of compassion or humanity that she might be able to appeal to. But she then realized that it wasn't compassion or humanity she needed to find in Jarred. She needed to find some semblance of sanity. She knew there was none. In that moment she was certain she would die that day.

But instead of allowing resignation to set in, she found a sense of determination. Yes, he was insane and that made it unlikely she would be able to reason with him. But the other side of the coin was that she was able to think more clearly than Jarred. If she could find his line of reasoning for all this and show him some fault with his plan that he could accept, she might have a chance. There was also the possibility that she and the priest would be able to trick him into letting them up for a moment. They might be able to overpower him then. Either way, she wasn't going without a fight.

Jarred continued staring at her for a moment more, then left the room. Lana looked over at the priest. He was praying. When he heard the bedroom door close, he looked up at her.

"My dear, that poor man is not right. I'm afraid we may not make it. We need to prepare for the worst.

"Father, I am ready in case that happens. But I'm not going without a fight. Both were whispering again. "We need to find out what he plans to do and then out think him. We have to get out of these chains somehow, overpower him and find a way out.

They looked at one another for a moment, trying to determine what they should do. Father Monroe returned to his prayers while Lana looked around the room, hoping for some clue as to how to get out of this situation.

Her heart was pumping faster, her mind was beginning to race with possibilities and her adrenaline was building. She was formulating a plan, that if nothing else, she would use her one free hand and legs to kick and fight Jarred, causing him enough pain to buy some time and making enough noise to get attention from the neighbors.

Jarred, dressed in his best black suit, thought himself to be quite an attractive man, one any bride would be happy to see waiting for her at the altar. He just wished he could see his face. It had been so long since he had seen himself, he could no longer remember what he looked like. He had no photos or any other way to tell. He couldn't remember anything about who he was - not even his face.

He braved a look in the mirror before leaving the bedroom. Again, standing with his back to the mirror, he started at his feet and slowly made his way up to his neck before turning to check the front. Starting at his feet, he slowly raised his eyes to his neck.

Debating whether he should even look at his face, he decided to do it. One last time. Just one more time and then it would be gone forever. The mask, which had tried to sap all of his energy, which had used the mirror and replaced his blood with silver liquid, the tired, was about to be gone forever.

He raised his eyes one more time to look at the mask. He wanted to glare at it triumphantly, but was instead horrified to find that the mask had split all the way down to the mouth, the beast was breaking through the mask. It was a horrible, grisly beast, small red eyes, leathery skin, lesions breaking out, oozing liquid silver.

He had wanted to yell at it, taunt it, make it know it was about to be banished. But when he opened his mouth, all that he could get out was a croaky "good-bye. The beast chortled and laughed at him. Somewhere deep inside Jarred wasn't really sure if he were saying good-bye to the beast or himself. He then sat on the bed, head in hands, for several minutes, regaining his composure, assuring himself his plan would work.

Lana was trying to think of a way out when Jarred stepped back into the living room, dressed in his best black suit. He walked up to her, put his hand on her shoulder, looked at the priest, "We're ready, Father.

Lana looked at the priest, then Jarred. "Aren't you going to let us up? A bride should be able to take her vows freely, right?

Jarred looked at her intently, then the priest. "No. We can do it this way. He looked at the priest again. "Okay, Father, you can begin now. Remember, do it right. No messing around. It has to be official.

The priest opened the Bible and began reading scripture which talked about Jesus as the groom and the church as the bride of Christ. He was trying to appease Jarred while not making a mockery of marriage. He read as much as he dared, going on for about 25 minutes before Jarred finally interrupted him, asking him to proceed to the vows. The priest bowed his head in prayer and then looked at the mismatched couple standing before him. There was a sudden determination in his eyes as he realized what he had to do. He would take her place. He would convince Jarred that his blood was more holy, better and that he needed it. He silently prayed for strength as he tried to focus on the task of the moment.

He looked at Jarred. "I can't remember the exact words. I'll have to improvise.
Jarred nodded. The priest asked Jarred if he agreed to always be kind to Lana and to show her deep care and love and to never hurt her. He agreed.

He then asked Lana if she agreed to be a friend and companion to Jarred, to show him kindness. Trembling, with tears running down her checks, she merely nodded.

The priest was stumped for a moment. He couldn't pronounce them husband and wife. "I now pronounce you united. He stammered, hoping Jarred would accept that.

Jarred leaned over and kissed Lana. His breath was strong and stale. There was something about him that smelled and felt like death. Lana shuddered. Every urge in her body was to fight him, kick, scream and bite. But she had an intense feeling that she should be completely still for the moment. It wasn't the right time to fight. Not yet. He then slipped a cheap gold band on her left ring finger.

"Jarred, I've been thinking about what you told me earlier today. I'd like to help you. Jarred eyed the priest suspiciously. "I understand now what you were telling me. I want to help you. But I think you're plan has one small flaw.

"Well, as you said, your blood is no longer any good. You do need new blood and I agree that you need to know whose it is. I mean, what good would it be to get blood from someone who was evil?

"Yes, that's right.

"The problem is, although I'm sure Lana is a fine young woman, I don't think she has been consecrated. I have. As a priest, I can assure you that my blood is even more pure and holy. If you take mine instead of hers, the chances of success are much greater, in fact almost guaranteed. The priest's mouth had gone dry as he made the offer to sacrifice himself. But he knew it was the right thing to do.

As Lana listened to the conversation and began to understand what Jarred had planned, her face lost all color, her breathing became shallow and a terror she had never understood before gripped her entire being.

"No, Father. That won't work. It has to be her. She's the one. The pure one I need. It can't be a man, Father. That would be wrong. I can't unite myself with you for all eternity. It has to be her. She's my wife now. We're going to become one today. He looked at Lana. "Right, honey? We are going to be one?

She slowly shook her head. "Jarred, what are you doing?

He smiled tenderly at her. "I told you about the mask. He's trying to take over. He took my blood and replaced it with tired - liquid silver. I need to get rid of the liquid silver, drain it all and replace it with your blood. Then, you'll live forever with me, in me. We'll be one in the truest meaning. He was looking at her expectantly, as though he believed for all the world that she would jump at this opportunity he was handing her.

He walked over to the cart and removed the towel, revealing blood bags, needles, tourniquets, rubbing alcohol, and other items he had stolen from the hospital and the blood bank earlier that day. He took the coat rack from near the front door and set it beside Lana.

"I got the supplies from the hospital and blood bank. But I couldn't sneak out with the pole they use to hold the bag and I think you have to keep the bag elevated. This coat rack will have to do. Upon seeing how pale Lana was and the fear on her face, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry. It won't hurt much. I watched them taking blood at the blood bank and giving it at the hospital. You're in safe hands, Lana.

He rolled the cart toward her and began looking through the items. He put one of the plastic bags on a hook and hung it from the coat rack, the tube running down to the table. He then swabbed her arm with rubbing alcohol and picked up the catheter.
"Jarred, wait! I think you are doing this backwards. Don't you?

Jarred turned to look at the priest. "What do you mean?

"Well, you want to make sure you do this right, don't you?

Jarred nodded. "If you take Lana's blood out first and then put it in with yours, your blood make infect hers. What you should do is to drain yours out first - then put hers in. Otherwise, it might all be for nothing.

Jarred looked at the priest for a moment, thinking deeply about the issue. "You are right. But I have to drain Lana's first, that way it will be ready to put in me as soon as I'm pure.

"But...if you take hers first... Father Monroe was trying to think fast without setting off warnings in Jarred's head. "If you take her blood out first, then it might become infected too, the same way yours did. The mask might find it and infect it. No, Jarred, you need to drain yourself first, then put hers directly into you. I think that would be the safest way to ensure that her blood isn't contaminated.

Jarred tried so hard to think about what the priest was telling him. The tired was getting stronger. He made a very good point about the possibility of contamination. But he didn't know how to make it work out right. "But, if I do that, if I take out my blood first, then I won't be able to put Lana's in me.

"I'll help you.

Jarred eyed the priest suspiciously, not sure if he could trust him.

"I mean it. Earlier today when we talked, I didn't really understand all that you were attempting to do. But, Jarred, I understand the problem now. The mask is evil. You are trying to defeat the evil. That's what I do, fight evil and work toward the good of mankind.

Jarred wanted to trust the priest. "You said earlier that this would kill Lana and so you wouldn't help me.

"I didn't understand. Now I know Lana will be safe, living in you. That makes it different. Come let me loose, Jarred. I have some medical experience. I was a medic in the Army before becoming a priest. And I want to help you. I swear I want to help you. Father Monroe was telling the truth, he wanted to help Jarred - and Lana. He knew how he could do both.

Jarred slowly approached Father Monroe and unchained him. "Okay Father. I'm going to trust you. But we need to hurry. As he stood from the chair, Father Monroe gave Lana a reassuring look.

Merritt raced to his car and tore from the station parking lot. He had known that Jarred had problems and those would come to a head soon, and now here it was. He thought about the priest. What would Jarred want with him? He thought about the job functions of priests. It was possible that Jarred had killed the girl, went to the priest to confess and ask for forgiveness and then killed him to avoid being caught. Priests also attended dying people and performed funerals. Any way he figured it, it didn't come out good for the girl or the priest. The more he thought about it, the faster he drove.

The expressway was packed though and made going slow. He pulled out his emergency light and the traffic soon parted way, but was still painstakingly slower than usual due to the violent contact a van had made with an SUV a few miles ahead. He threaded his way through the traffic, taking to the shoulder at one point and eventually cleared the jam.

Jarred was sitting next to Lana on the sofa, insisting she hold his hand, as the blood drained from his body through the tube into a bucket. He had only gotten enough bags to put Lana's blood in, intending to flush his down the toilet when the project was complete. He didn't want to risk the possibility that it might infect him again. The priest kept a close eye on Jarred, knowing how approximately much blood he could lose before dying.

Jarred was beginning to sweat profusely, his heart was pounding, and he could hear the voice of the mask calling to him. He was so tired now he couldn't even yell back to it.

The priest could tell Jarred was about at a point that he would not be able to fight anymore. He had clamped the drain tube without Jarred noticing. He unchained Lana and picked up the phone. Lana tried to stand but was so shaken and had been bed-ridden for so long that she became very dizzy and passed out, falling to the floor. Jarred was conscious but not alert. He really seemed to have no clue what was going on in the room anymore.

Jarred turned his head, ignoring the mask calling to him, and stared at the blood in the bucket beside him. As he looked into the bucket, he was once again in the burning room, looking down at the man lying on the floor, blood running from his head.

He turned away from the blood and looked at the woman on the floor, her auburn hair spread out around her face. "Julia, he whispered. "Why? Why would you do this? He loved her so very much. The truth was, he still loved her, even though she had betrayed him. To the depths of his soul, he loved her. He would forgive her. He would take her back. He could see the fire in the room, he was hot, so very hot. Last time he had been wrong. He had left her and that man in the room. This time, he would help her. He would get Julia out safely. They could go somewhere, start over, make a new life, pretend this never happened. He had to help Julia, get her out of the burning room.

Although his body felt as though it was twenty times its normal weight, he pushed himself off the sofa and fell to the floor, next to Lana.

"Julia, wake up. We've got to get out. The room is on fire, we'll die if we don't leave. I won't leave without you. He was patting Lana on the face while Father Monroe hung up the phone and knelt down beside him.

He put his arms around the man, trying to help him up. "Jarred, it's okay. There's no fire. The room is not on fire. Everything will be fine. Help is on the way.
Jarred looked up at the priest, "My name isn't Jarred. I'm Michael. Michael Wilke. Help Julia, he whispered as he lost consciousness.

Merritt arrived just before the ambulances. He took a statement from the priest as the medics took care of Jarred and Lana. After stabilizing the two of them, they turned their attention to Father Monroe, bandaging his head while Merritt continued talking with him. The story was stranger than anything Merritt had ever heard and with each thing the priest told him, it only got weirder and more confusing.

He was informed by one of the EMTs that Lana Thompson was awake and that the ambulances were about to leave. Father Monroe agreed to ride with Lana to the hospital. Several uniformed officers were now on the scene and Merritt sent one of them in the ambulance with Jarred who was still unconscious. Merritt stayed in the apartment to get a look around and gather evidence. Two living witnesses were great proof in court, but Merritt wanted to make sure no stone was left unturned and every hoop was properly jumped through. He wanted no chance that Jarred would get off on a technicality; although it looked as though he had a pretty good insanity defense from what he had heard.

Jarred sat in the cell waiting for the prison bus to arrive. He had been found competent to stand trial for the kidnapping of Lana and Father Monroe. He had been found guilty of both crimes, his plea of not guilty by reason of insanity not holding up with the jury. So now, this man who had suffered so much would suffer not less than 15 years imprisonment for each kidnaping, with sentences to run concurrently.

Lana and the priest, now free and recovered, had attended the sentencing hearing, each asking the judge to temper justice with mercy in this case. What Jarred had done was evil, but he was obviously troubled and needed help.

Before the bus arrived, Merritt came to see him one last time. "Jarred, New Mexico has determined that they will extradite and try you for the murders of your wife and Jorge. Merritt gave a sort of sighing laugh. "You know, I know you're real name is Michael Wilke, but I guess I just have you fixed in my mind as Jarred Dickson.

"Ya. At least now I know who I am and what I did. If it's all right with you, Detective, I would like to just make a statement here and now and be done with it. Whatever they do with me, they do.

Merritt nodded. "They'll probably still want you to show up there. But we can get some of the paperwork done here if you like.

Michael nodded. "I would really rather tell you than someone else. You know what I am. You've seen behind the mask.

"Let me get a place for us to talk. We'll need to record, that okay?

Michael nodded. "Detective, while we're waiting on the room, do you think you might be able to get me a pack of cherry cigars somewhere? If you can get me those, I would be most appreciative. I'll tell you everything then.

Merritt was surprised at this change in Wilke. During the entire year-long trial, he had been silent and basically uncooperative with his attorney and anyone else. He had been warned that this behavior was detrimental to him but to no avail.

Now he wanted to talk. Merritt set the room up and had Wilke brought in to speak his peace. Once seated, he asked Merritt for the cigars, something he hadn't done as Jarred Dickson, but enjoyed tremendously as Michael Wilke. Merritt wasn't sure if Wilke had been a smoker prior to all this or if it were a new thing he had developed as a coping means. Either way, he tossed the pack on the table and lit one first for Wilke then himself. He had only ever smoked camels, but enjoyed the flavor of the cigar and decided he might have to take up cigars occasionally.

Michael sat silently, enjoying the scent and flavor of the cigar for a moment. He had forgotten how wonderful such a simple pleasure could be. "Okay, I'm going to tell you everything - from New Mexico to now. But...I want to just tell it. Ask questions later if you want, but I want to get it all out first - that way I won't forget any of it.

Merritt nodded.

"Julia Wilke was my wife for seven years. We lived out in the country in New Mexico. I traveled a lot for work, but otherwise we spent all our time together. We had a really good marriage. While I was away on business, she occupied herself with different things. For awhile, she took pottery classes, then she joined a reading group, all kinds of activities. She'd do one for awhile, get bored and move on. Sometimes she would work part-time - sometimes not. It was just the two of us and we wanted to be free to enjoy the time I was home as much as possible. Her most recent interest had been dance lessons, line dancing or salsa, no - ballroom dancing. That's it. She was learning to ballroom dance. She told me about it over the phone while I was in Philadelphia on business. I decided to surprise her. I loved doing little things for her - making her smile made me feel better than if I'd won the lottery.

"Since I was spending a lot of time in Philadelphia at that particular point, I found a school and started taking lessons too - planning to surprise her and take her out on the town once I got the hang of a couple moves. After some time passed, I felt I was ready for this and managed to rearrange my business schedule to get home a couple of days early.

"It was late at night when I arrived at the airport and finally got my car. By the time I got to the house, it must have been about 1:30 in the morning. It felt so good to get home. It seemed like I had been away forever and that was the only place I could feel right, in our home, with Julia. But something wasn't right and I could feel it. I didn't know what it was - but it wasn't right. I went to our bedroom and found her and some man - must have been that Jorge Romero you were talking about... they were in bed asleep together, in each others arms.

"Are you married, detective?

Merritt nodded. "Fifteen years.

"Then you should understand how I felt. She was mine! And there he was, like he owned the place, making like she was his, like he was me. Michael stopped for a moment, focused on the ceiling and attempted to gain control of himself.

"Anyway, I just lost it. He didn't belong there. I grabbed him out of the bed and just lost it. I started punching him over and over, again and again. I didn't intend to kill him - didn't really intend to do anything but get him out of there. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Then Julia, she woke up. She started crying, begging me not to hurt him. Can you believe that? Then she grabbed my arm. I wanted her out of the way. I only meant to move her. I had no idea how hard I tossed her. Then he started fighting back because at this point he had woken up, understood the situation. We fought a bit, he hit his head on the dresser and must 've knocked over some candles. I think there might have been a bottle of brandy or something on the dresser that spilt or something. He went down; the flames went up. I stood there, dazed, for a bit. Then I felt him grab my leg. He wanted me to get Julia out of there. But by that time, the whole room was almost engulfed. I thought, it's good enough for them. They would find a way out. He's conscious now, right?

"I'm still a little shaky on some of the details here. But the next thing I can remember is driving down the highway in his truck. He took my house, my wife, my life, everything of mine. I took his truck. I'm not sure how long I drove, but I wound up here. I don't remember how the truck got in the lake or any of that. The next thing I remember after that was waking up in the hospital.

"I never intended to hurt Lana. I needed her to help me get rid of the mask. I thought she could make it go away.

"Do you still see the mask?

Michael shook his head. "It's gone. I understand that the mask was just showing me that I was hiding from myself. I see myself for what I really am now, he grinned as he looked at his reflection in the two-way mirror.

Michael was honest that the mask was totally gone from his reflection. It had split completely in two and fallen away. He now saw himself as he truly was. The beast which had started to poke through the mask was now completely there. At first he had hated it. But now, he simply accepted it. It was what he was. A beast. He didn't like being a beast. But it was better to know he was a beast than to hide from it and pretend he wasn't. It was better to understand what he was. To truly look into his soul and see what was there. Knowing this made his punishment bearable, acceptable.

Maybe one day he would overcome the beast. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew the battles we fight within ourselves are more difficult and dangerous than any others. But he also knew that once having looked at the depths of your soul, once understanding what you truly are, you cannot walk away and pretend there is not a beast within. And seeing the beast within, he was obligated to find any and every means to fight it and destroy it so that he might become what he was created to be instead of what his nature wanted him to be.

Unaware that the battle had already been won for him, Michael believed he would likely fight the beast for the rest of his life. But in the scope of things, this life was short, and he knew would enter eternity either as he was created to be or as the beast. He believed the battle had to be fought and won here. That made the battle worth fighting, even for the next 40 years, even if he spent it all behind bars.

Merritt wound up the interview and Michael Wilke stood to leave. As he passed the mirror one last time, he stopped and looked at the beast facing him. It was a formidable opponent. But Michael was determined to win. He could see in the eyes of the beast an understanding that Michael would not give up the good fight. The fight for his very soul.