Potential

My phone rang, but no one answered when I answered. While parking, it rang again.

“Hello?”

“This is the place.”

“What? Who is this?”

The phone went dead.

I had passed the boutique antique store and parked nearby today to check it out. As I pushed the door to enter, a text came through my phone.

“It’s in here.”

I frowned; the text was from an unknown number.

The shopkeeper greeted me.

“Please let me know if I can answer questions or show you anything. I’ll be over in the corner pricing items.

Smiling, I replied, “My name is Sabrina.”

“I’m Rhonda Simpson, the owner.”

As a detail monster, I approached everything methodically and mapped the store layout, segmenting it in less than a minute. After perusing the glass-figurine quadrant, I moved into the tableware and linens. One table runner was exquisite: a 108-inch-long pale-blue linen with gold appliqués and scalloped edges. “This is lovely,” I called out.

“Yes, it’s from the estate of a wealthy woman who entertained and raised money for the library and the animal shelter.”

I examined it closely. I’d been looking for a runner for a large table for quite a while, and I knew that when I saw something I liked, it was best to buy it rather than regret it. The high price didn’t put me off.

“I’ll take it; it’s perfect for my table.”

“I’ll wrap it in tissue for you and put it by the register.”

I set a couple of porcelain figures with the makers’ marks beside the register.

Another text came through from an unknown number, different from the first. “Keep looking.”

These unknown callers were irking the crap out of me. Meanwhile, I wanted to see if a mirror was hiding in the stacks, so to speak, of this overcrowded antique shop. I kept my specific requirements on a note in my purse. I pulled it out and reread it, even though I’d memorized it.

I kept working through the quadrants I had brain-mapped for the store. Finally, I spotted the pièce de résistance. I stared at the large mirror leaning in a corner and slowly moved closer. I examined it from several angles. “Rhonda, I’d like to have a closer look at this. Can we move it out?” As Rhonda stepped forward, I saw a glimpse of an image that faded quickly.

Ding – text from unknown caller: “You’re getting closer.”

“This has an incredible story. It was created for a famous actress. She took it to Europe when she married a Prince.” I looked at Rhonda incredulously. “I verified the story.”

“How did it end up in your shop? I ran my fingers over the mirror's gilded edges, frowning. Rhonda’s lips were pursed.

“A previous owner didn’t care for its wavy reflections, so they brought it in here.”

“Wavy reflections? What do you mean?”

“If you look closely at yourself in the mirror, is it clear?”

“Yes.” Rhonda shrugged. But as Rhonda moved past the mirror, I noticed her reflection waver, and a ghostly figure appeared near her shoulder, fading quickly.

The mirror was tall, heavy, and awkward to pull out. “How much is it?”

“Hon, it is very pricey. I don’t mean to be presumptuous…the Christie's Auction House gave me a price range that is beyond regular incomes.”

“How much?” My phone vibrated, and I glanced down. A spam caller had been sent to voicemail.

“Eighteen thousand dollars.” Rhonda looked at her toes, then up to my face. I didn’t flinch. I knew it was outrageous. She was testing me. I was reading the unknown caller’s visual voicemail: “You are there. We are watching. By the way, Jerry won’t be coming home tonight.” My stomach tightened for a second before I got angry at the prank. I turned back to the shopkeeper.

“I won’t pay that. It’s ridiculous. Your story doesn’t make it more valuable. It’s not worth $18,000, especially not to me.” I held her gaze. “I will pay you three thousand two hundred dollars in cash.” I watched her eyes widen slightly and knew that she would accept my offer.

“Hon, that is way under market price. I couldn’t let it go for less than five thousand.”

“Rhonda, don’t call me Hon. Is it on consignment?” She had telegraphed that she had paid too much and wanted to recoup her loss. “My last and final offer, Rhonda, is cash for three thousand six hundred dollars.” I walked away to let her consider.

“Okay, sold.”

“I didn’t hear you; what did you say?” I wanted her to speak up to seal the deal.

“Yes, I will take your offer of $3600. Do you want it shipped?”

“No, wrap it in bubble wrap, and we will put it in my SUV parked out front. Please wrap it while I walk to the bank and get your cash. And Rhonda? Make sure that you wrap THIS piece. No bait and switch on me, all right?”  She looked very offended, but did I care? NO! Something about this whole interaction was off; I hadn’t figured it out yet.

I withdrew four thousand dollars and returned to the store to find Rhonda still packaging the mirror; another customer had interrupted her packing.

“I guess you are the lucky customer who now owns that gorgeous mirror?” I nodded and smiled, and the woman congratulated me. Her perfume reeked, making my nose wrinkle.

After we loaded it into my SUV, Rhonda asked how I would get it out when I got home. I told her it was no problem and drove off. When I pulled into the driveway, I checked my voicemail. Two messages: one from Jerry and one from Amy. A third - unknown: Hi, we wanted to let you know that we will be over to pick up the package tomorrow at 5 p.m. I frowned. Who in the hell is that? What package?

Jerry came home on time and helped me place the mirror in our house's large library. We centered it, leaning against the wall opposite the white, floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases. The mirror reflected my large collection of books from antique stores and my extended family’s libraries.

“Others claimed it shows wavy reflections. Do you see wavy reflections?”

Jerry studied the reflections of our books in the mirror. “It looks clear except near the edges. We could check the frame's condition. It might need reinforcing or something.”

A song played through the house speakers. “Dance with me, Babe!” As we swung past the gilded mirror, our images wavered. I blinked, and we looked great in my new mirror.

“You’re shivering. Let me get you your favorite sweater.” He let go of me, bounded up the stairs to our bedroom, and returned, sliding down the railing with the sweater hooked on his head.

I laughed as he trotted down the stairs to my side, the sweater still on his head. “You are crazy, Jerry! When we were little, my grandma yelled at us for sliding down banisters, and here you are, a grown man doing it. Six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds! We’d better make sure you didn’t crack that railing!” I hit him in the chest, but he pulled me back in close and draped the sweater over my shoulders.

“Should we name your new treasure Princess?”

“You are MY prince,” I told him, then gave him a deep, juicy kiss that made him want more.  He picked me up and stomped noisily up the stairs.

“Your prince is having trouble carrying the princess upstairs. Does my love need to drop some pounds?” I pummeled his back, laughing. I weigh 124 pounds, and my football linebacker-sized boyfriend can easily cart me a mile.

I heard faint music and mumbling at night, but Jerry was sound asleep. I didn’t want to wake him, so I tiptoed down the stairs, following the sounds. A horn honked, and the house speakers whispered: “We are coming. Be ready.”

I ran upstairs, my mind ablaze, trying to make sense of the whispered threat. I didn’t know what to think as I snuggled up to him, cold from my barefoot excursion.

Jerry smiled at me during our early Saturday breakfast and took my hand across the table. “Why were you in the library last night?”

“I heard a noise, so I went down to see if Alexa was activated.” I could feel his eyes boring into me.

“Please, Baby, do not wander around when you hear noises. Wake me. We are on the neighborhood's outskirts, and it might have been a prowler.”

“I know. I was PULLED downstairs. You slept so soundly; I didn’t want to wake you. I thought I heard a whisper through our home speakers.

“That’s sort of impossible – are you okay? Did you drink or smoke a little?”

“Don’t insult me! Of course I didn’t.”

Jerry had met me a year into my sobriety, so he always worried.

Anxiety overtook me when Jerry said he would not be home for dinner. I wanted to go with him, but he said I couldn’t. I had another cup of coffee and was heading out for a walk when I got a text from an unknown number: Remember, we will be there at 5 p.m. I dialed the number, but it wouldn’t go through. I marked it ‘spam and delete.’

Jerry texted later to say I should have a good day, and he’d be home to tuck me in.

The afternoon was gorgeous, so I read outside for an hour, then picked up a snacky-type dinner at the market. I ate my snacks in the library on the tufted loveseat, snuggled into its warm velveteen, a plush coverlet over my knees.

I must have dozed. The house played music softly,

The mirror had become a movie projector, scene after scene scrolling across it.

I heard banging sounds. My heart lurched when I realized a break-in had woken me from my nap. The food tray lay beside me. I reached for my cell phone, but it was turned off. How can it be turned off? I just shut off its alarm.

“You go upstairs, and I’ll look around down here.” A male voice, then steps up the stairs. Soft footfalls into the dining room. “Wow, some cool china. Maybe they have real silver.” They rifled through the china cabinet drawers, tossing the silver-plated items onto the floor. I couldn’t hear either of them walking on the carpet. I hid behind the drapes, holding my breath.

The French doors of the library opened on their own; a man in coat tails and a ribbon tie at his neck stood there. He didn’t seem to see me peeking from behind the drapes. One of the burglars came into the room.

“Get gone, Dude, I’ll shoot.” He had a pistol in his hand.

The man moved his fingers, and the gun flew to him. He tossed it outside. My phone rang. They both looked at it. He flicked his hand again, and the phone glided from the loveseat into his hand.  “Hello?” He put it on speaker. “She’s not here.”

Jerry’s voice: “Who is this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He hung up and motioned to me. “You, behind the curtain. Come here.”

I tried to resist, but my feet obeyed him; soon I stood in front of him. How did he know I was there? The burglar tried to run, but the man waved his hand, freezing him in place.

“It is here, isn’t it?” He pulled my chin upward with one finger.

“What?”

He growled at me, a sound from the depths of hell as anyone could imagine. “Where is the mirror?” I pointed to it, and he slapped me so hard I fell to the ground. “Where is it?”

I looked to where we had placed it, but it was gone. He walked to the staircase, and then glass crashed. The other burglar’s body fell to the ground. We watched it through the window as it fell. The coattail man turned his hand, and the body spun once, then landed with a small bounce on a concrete bench. Blood ran from the man’s mouth and eyes, dripping down and turning the concrete a deep purple, fading to a rust color.

A whoosh of wind lifted the drapes' hems and rattled the windowpanes. At the door was a dark-haired, voluptuous woman with blazing violet eyes. “You!” She pointed at me, and the movement sent me into the front hall. My back slammed into the stair railing. “And you!” She was glaring at the man in the coat tails. “You find it. Now!” He ran as she raised her arms. The movement made him spin in circles; when he stopped, he whimpered and fell.

My phone rang. She answered without touching it. A raspy voice came through: “It is there. She brought it. I want it, Vanessa. Don’t come back without it. You have one hour.” The clock read 4 o’clock.

Marching toward me, eyes boring into me, she pointed. “Where is the mirror, Sabrina?”

“I don’t know. It was in the library. It’s heavy, and I can’t move it by myself.”

Tires screeched outside. Jerry. I willed him to stay outside, but he didn’t. He entered through the French doors. It was Jerry, but it wasn’t. I can’t explain it, but I knew this guy, who looked like my partner, wasn't Jerry. I watched him, saying nothing.

Vanessa cowered when lookalike Jerry entered the room. “You threw her against the railing?” She backed away. Jerry made a circle with his hand, and Vanessa’s neck cocked sideways, and she fell to the floor. Her chest didn’t move, and her eyes glazed over.

My phone rang. Without anyone answering it, the raspy voice came through the phone: “Bring it back. Time is running out. Did you take care of Vanessa?” Jerry answered aloud. “Yes.”

He approached me. “So, my sweet, now you are in it. I’m so sorry. You shouldn't have bought that mirror. It is your undoing.”

“Jerry…”

“I’m not your Jerry. I used his body for a bit and then – well, he’s dead, Rina.” I began to cry. “That’s right, get it all out. The clock is ticking.” I was sobbing. “OK! THAT IS ENOUGH. 5 minutes is enough. Now where the fuck is the damned mirror? You don’t want to die, do you?” He shook me and laughed, then suddenly backed up.

An arrow through his heart pinned him to the wall. He wiggled like a worm on a hook but couldn’t free himself. I turned slowly, my heart flip-flopping, needing to see but scared to death to.

Rhonda stood at the door, a crossbow in her hands and arrows slung over her shoulder. “Hi, Sabrina. Don’t move, please. These arrows are tipped in precious metals and titanium. Let’s wait for Jerry to finish dying. And do not DARE to start crying again!” My lip was trembling, but I controlled myself.

“Vanessa and fake Jerry failed The Boss, so he sent me. I knew the minute you walked into the store that you have potential. Now you are coming with me and will be apprenticed.”

“No, my husband…”

“Is dead. Jerry is dead. The mirror is on its way to The Boss, our boss, as we speak. You can stay here if you want, but at 5 o’clock this house and all the belongings will burn to the ground. You can live and learn; or you can stay here and die.”

               Copyright © 10/22/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin