Painted Black (23 page)

“Look past the mirror. Concentrate just beyond the plane of the glass. Remember, this is a form of meditation, so complete relaxation is essential. After we leave the room, take a moment to clear your mind. Focus on your breathing. Try not to think any thoughts, just keep your mind blank. The third eye will open only after the conscious mind shuts down.”

Bobby rolled his eyes as he listened to Gysin speak. All that third-eye jazz was a little too esoteric for him. Besides, something about the mirror still upset Bobby, and he'd didn't felt comfortable with the whole experiment.

Gysin said, “Think not so much of it as a mirror, but as a portal.”

“A portal to what?” Brian asked.

“Why … the other side, of course.”

Brian was keen on seeing it through, so after making his feelings known, Bobby remained silent. It was Brian's party now.

Brian pulled Bobby aside. “Hey, man, I found a way to do this.” He pointed to an open window behind him. “You'll be out there, using the zoom lens and a tripod. You can shoot over my shoulder and still get the entire mirror in view. No glare because of the distance. If something appears in the glass, get a picture of it. Shoot at an oblique angle with a zoom.”

“But, Brian, that's impossible.”

The weight of Brian's hand on Bobby's shoulder surprised him. He wasn't a very physical person, but he shook Bobby hard.

“Wake up, Dust Bin Bob! Nothing's impossible! If there's one thing I've learned from being a Rolling Stone, it's that nothing, absolutely nothing, is impossible. It may be difficult, it may be hard as shit, but nothing is impossible. I would only expect you to do your best.”

The worried look on Bobby's face must have troubled Brian.

“It's all right, man. Nothing bad will happen. Why are you so spooked by this thing?”

Bobby's voice quivered slightly. “I don't like supernatural stuff. Never have. Gives me the creeps.”

“Hey, man. It's all part of nature. Too bad Clovis isn't here to hear you whinin'.”

“Nature, my ass. It's evil.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, this is just an experiment. Can you do it? Are you capable?”

Bobby sighed. “Aw, shit, Bri. … All right, I'll do it.”

“Great! Okay! Let's rock!”

“What if nothing appears in the glass? I mean, what if you're the only one that can see it?”

The Golden Stone shrugged. “Then shoot a picture of the blank glass every three to five minutes. We'll examine the film later.”

“The frame of the mirror is pretty small. Do you want me to stay well within those parameters?”

“Of course! We're only interested in things that happen
in the mirror
.”

“I don't know, man. … This whole thing sounds pretty squirrelly to me.”

Brian was losing his patience. “It would mean a lot to me, man. Look, I'll pay you extra.”

“Money's not the issue.”

“Humor me, Dust Bin Bob. Just sneak up and snap off a picture every few minutes. Easy as pie. If there is something going on inside the mirror, I want to see.”

“I wish Clovis was here.”

“But he's not, is he? He's conveniently sick. Leaving you alone to face the unknown.”

Gysin called Brian to the mirror.

“Stare into your own eyes, until your face dissolves, then look beyond.”

Brian glanced at Bobby conspiratorially. Bobby looked away, not wanting to goad him on. Gysin adjusted Brian's position.

“Stay here for as long as you can. It could take many hours. Remember, keep your mind blank.”

Gysin exited the room, leaving Brian Jones alone. Surrounded by a dozens of flickering candles, he stared intently into that strange little mirror. Brian glanced back over his shoulder at Bobby and winked.

Brian sat like a child with an expectant, curious look on his face. Candles flickered as the disturbed air rushed past. Bobby could see their reflection in the dark glass of the mirror.

Gysin and Mahmoud went to get something to eat, leaving Bobby skulking around the back window of the house with his camera. Feeling like a voyeur, Bobby watched Brian through the window. He sat very still, his glorious blond hair hanging down around his shoulders. Bobby noticed that his breathing had slowed. It was barely perceptible now by the slight rise and fall of his back. Bobby checked his camera. He had the right film and lens for the job, allowing for the lowest light. All he could now do was wait.

Twenty minutes passed. Bobby decided to take some pictures. As quietly as he could, he snuck up to the window, aimed the camera over Brian's shoulder and focused on the mirror. Its surface seemed as black and liquid as oil. Bobby took three quick exposures. For the next several hours, he took pictures every ten minutes. No change in the mirror.

Bobby felt silly carrying out Brian's request and was about to sod the whole thing, when something happened.

He was preparing to take another set of photos, and he aimed and focused the camera exactly as he had before, but now the mirror looked different. Instead of reflecting Brian's face, it seemed lighter. Bobby thought he could discern a cloudy image coalescing behind the glass. The camera whirred and clicked, and Bobby felt an involuntary chill.
Brian's doin' it, man. He's actually doin' it.
Whatever it was, Bobby got it on film, but it was like photographing smoke.

Slowly, the new image became more defined.

The reflection of a weeping young girl in a long white dress came into focus. Eleanor Rigby put her hand against the glass on the other side of the mirror. It was small and pale.

Her hand seemed to strobe and flicker as it touched the glass. It flashed in and out for second or two. Bobby was glad he'd chosen to use super high-speed film. He kept his finger on the shutter release button and the camera shot continuously for several seconds. The image faded. He stood ready to photograph the next. But none came. He stayed there for another hour, sweating as if he were in a sauna, waiting for some change. The image had not returned. He took a few pictures anyway, just for the hell of it. Bobby had the camera aimed the same way, about to depress the shutter release, when suddenly Brian's head turned. His face loomed in the camera's viewfinder, red eyes blazing, looking utterly mad. He reminded Bobby of the old naked Master of Skins. He had that same manic look. It startled Bobby and he pressed his finger down, taking another rapid burst of pictures of Brian. Brian's pale face, with bags under his eyes, nostrils flared, upper lip quivering, seemed to glare at him through the lens. Bobby captured it all.

“I'm … out of the group,” he whispered. “The Stones go on without me. …”

Bobby didn't know how to respond. Was Brian hallucinating? He certainly looked like he was tripping. He eyes were dilated and his mouth was dry.

“Brian?”

“Huh?”

“Brian? You okay?”

Brian blinked. “What's going on?”

“You were mirror gazing. Then you turned around said something to me. Do you remember what you said?”

Brian shook his head. “I don't remember.” He looked dazed.

“Let's get some sleep, man. We'll talk about it in the morning.”

“Did you take the pictures?”

“Yes,” Bobby said. “I took lots of pictures.”

“Was there something there?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think there was something there.”

Chapter Eighteen

Dear Doctor

“Get me out of here,” Clovis rasped. “Please … I'm gonna die if I stay here.”

“You're not gonna die,” Bobby said. “You're just dehydrated. We'll get you to a doctor today. You'll be fine.”

“I can't walk anymore. My legs are cramped.”

Clovis was unshaven and pale. The dark circles under his sunken, haunted eyes looked like
Night of the Living Dead
zombie makeup. He was alternately glistening with sweat or shaking and feverish. His voice was parched.

“I call upon the power of the great Dust Bin Bob,” Clovis whispered, “Please … Pull off another of your miracles, pardner. Take me home. Just get me the fuck out of here. I don't care about anything else.”

Mahmoud felt Clovis's forehead and shook his head. He left the room after conferring briefly with Gysin.

Bobby put a hand on Clovis's sweat-soaked, greasy hair. “Don't worry, old buddy, I'll get you out of here if I have to carry you on my back. And I might.”

“Is that a promise?”

Bobby said, “Damn straight.” Clovis managed a weak smile and held his hand out for Bobby to grasp. He squeezed his friend's hand. “I got you covered. We're getting out of here right now.”

The two buckets that Clovis had filled during the night, one from his diarrhea and one from his nausea, were reeking in a corner near the sleeping bags. Bobby picked them up and emptied them outside in a shallow pit, which he covered over. He found a towel and cleaned Clovis up as best he could. Clovis trembled uncontrollably. Gysin brewed him some weak mint tea with clean boiled water. Clovis sipped tentatively.

Gysin said, “The mirror gazing went well. According to Dust Bin Bob, he was able to photograph several images in the glass.”

Clovis looked at Gysin. “The mirror's a fake. You guys are wasting your time.”

“We won't know until the pictures are developed, but there was definitely something there,” Bobby said.

“Bullshit.” Clovis pulled the blanket in which he was wrapped tighter around his neck. “I've never felt so sick in my entire life. I can't believe you dragged me all the way out here for this dog-and-pony show.”

Brian Jones entered the room like a rock star, stretching from his ten-hour sleep resulting from the hash cookies.

“Jesus, those hash cookies kicked my ass,” Brian said. “How's Clovis today? Will he be able to travel?”

“He's not good,” Bobby said.

Brian went over to get a closer look at Clovis. He looked rough. “Yeah, you're right. We're definitely not shooting the album cover today.”

Presuming what Brian said was a joke, Bobby didn't laugh.

Bobby said, “I'm worried about Clovis. We can't waste any time getting him to a clinic.”

Gysin explained his plan. “We may have to carry him out. I sent Mahmoud to rent a camel, and he can ride on the camel until we get back to the Land Rover.”

Brian said, “How do we get rid of the camel when we get to the car?”

Gysin said, “The owner of the camel will come with us so he can lead the beast back to the village when we're done. Everyone in the village who owns a camel is in the camel-renting business. It shouldn't be a problem.”

Clovis moaned. He bent over the bucket and dry-heaved. When nothing came out, he leaned back and gasped for air.

“There's nothing left. I'm runnin' on fumes, boys. I'm empty. If I don't get some serious fluids soon, I'm gonna shrivel up like a prune.”

Gysin said, “There is no medical clinic here, but there is in the town of Chefchaouen on the way back. We should be able to get an IV in your arm in a few hours.”

“I'm too weak. I'll never make it.”

Bobby said, “We'll carry you out of here. We can take turns. I told Erlene I'd look after you.”

Clovis laughed, which turned into a cough. “That's funny. I told Cricket the same thing.”

“You want to carry me?”

Clovis shook his head.

Suddenly, a big silver-and-gray pigeon with a band of green iridescent feathers around its neck, landed in front of them. It lighted on Bobby's knapsack and looked at them. The pigeon nuzzled the knapsack and Bobby opened it to reveal a tiny wooden pigeon cage.

“Kevin's racing pigeon!” Bobby said. “He made it!”

“You mean that bird flew all the way out here to find that cage?”

“This is no ordinary pigeon. This is a champion racer. I let him go yesterday, and he's already been to Tangier and back. Racing pigeons have been clocked at over one hundred miles per hour with a tail wind. Once he leaves that cage, he'll always find his way back.”

“That's unbelievable.”

“Here's the unbelievable part. That bird will take a message back to the cage it came from.”

Bobby gently removed a small metal canister from the bird's leg. Inside the canister was a tightly rolled-up paper. Bobby carefully rolled it out and got out his pen. He wrote:

Message from Bobby. Finished our mission. Recorded Joujouka Musicians. On our way back. Clovis is sick. Needs medical help. Leaving today for Tangier. I'll call as soon as possible. See you soon.

Gysin watched Bobby roll the message back and place it in the canister.

“How did you get the idea for that?” Gysin said.

“I read an article on the plane about Morocco's famous racing pigeons. When I saw that the president of the local racing club was an English teenager, I paid him a visit and explained the situation to him. He was only too glad to help. There's not much to break the boredom around here.”

“How do you get the message across the ocean?”

“Telegram,” Bobby said. “I gave the kid some cash to cover the expenditures.”

“That is totally fuckin' brilliant!” Clovis rasped. “That's why Dust Bin Bob is the leader of us all.”

“Hold on, let's get out of here first,” Bobby said. “We still have a long way to go.”

Mahmoud returned with a camel driver leading a very pissed-off camel. The filthy beast spit and farted and took an instant dislike to Clovis. The camel, which had no actual name, appeared to be generally disagreeable.

Bobby helped Clovis to his feet. He howled with pain.

“My legs! They're cramping up something fierce!”

Bobby picked him up and swung him over his shoulder. Clovis let out a howl as his legs shifted.

The camel driver and Mahmoud forced the camel to sit and held the beast steady while Mahmoud and Bobby boasted Clovis up on the camel's back. Tears of pain streamed down Clovis's face, but he clenched his teeth and stayed quiet. He held on for dear life as the camel slowly rose to its feet. Clovis looked down and realized he was much farther off the ground than he imagined. A fall from here would be substantial. He held on tenaciously.

The effort to get aboard the camel exhausted him, and Clovis slumped forward. Mahmoud handed Clovis a bladder bag of weak mint tea, which hydrated him slightly. They started the journey back to the Land Rover on foot.

It was the first and only camel ride in Clovis's life. Every step was agony. Even the camel was miserable. Clovis's head throbbed, his cramps came and went every few minutes, and his fever spiked. But he hung on. They were on their way back. Soon he would be resting in a nice clean hospital bed sipping San Pellegrino bottled water.

They found the Land Rover just exactly as they had left it. Except for a fine cover of dust, it had not been touched.

The camel driver somehow got the unhappy camel to sit so Bobby and Mahmoud could lift Clovis off. He groaned as they moved his legs; they were still cramping terribly. Bobby gently placed him in the car and gave him some more mint tea to sip.

“Won't be long now, buddy.”

Clovis moaned.

The Land Rover started up and two hours later they drove into the ancient city of Chefchaouen. Mahmoud was able to obtain directions to the medical clinic. They welcomed Clovis and immediately put him on a IV drip and started the hydration process. Clovis sunken eyes and pale face frightened Bobby. He said a silent prayer.

One of the nurse practitioners said, “A few more hours and you might have suffered kidney failure. You're lucky your friends brought you here.”

“These men are my brothers.” He waved at Bobby, Gysin, Mahmoud and Brian, who were all standing around Clovis's bed.

“You caught a nasty bacterial infection. It wasn't going to go away without a healthy dose of antibiotics.”

“When can I leave?”

“Not so fast. We'll need to keep you here for several days for evaluation.”

“I want to get back to London.”

“No way. First you rest, then maybe tomorrow we'll talk about it.”

Bobby asked about telephones service and was pleased to find several private long-distance operators standing by.

He called the house on Southway. Cricket answered. Bobby had no idea what time it was back in Baltimore, all he knew was that he needed to talk to Cricket.

“Bobby?” she asked. “Oh, thank God it's you!”

“Hi, honey. We just got back to civilization. Clovis got sick and we had to take him to the medical clinic. He's all right, though.”

Erlene wrenched the phone from Cricket's hand. “Clovis? Clovis? Put Clovis on!”

Bobby handed the phone to Clovis. “Hon? Is that you?”

Erlene burst into tears. “Oh, baby! Are you okay?”

Clovis chuckled. “Yeah, these guys dragged my sorry ass out of there just in time.”

“What happened to you?”

“I ate some goat meat and got sick as a dog. Then I got dehydrated and rode a camel.”

“Serves you right for eatin' goat meat. That ain't right.”

“I'm in the medical clinic, and they gave me some antibiotics and some fluids and they say I might make it after all.”

“I'm coming to London to meet you. I can't stay away from you, baby.”

“But … I still have to work for Brian.”

“I know. How is Brian?”

“Why do you ask about him? I thought you hated him.”

“Because Eleanor Rigby gave me a message for him.”

Clovis chuckled. “Let's worry about that later. I need to rest now.”

“I'm coming, too!” Cricket could be heard to shout in the background. Erlene handed the phone back to Cricket.

“Bobby? I'm coming, too. I can't be away from you. If you have to stay and take care of Brian, then I want to be with you. We'll move back to Baltimore when we can.”

“It's great to hear you say that, because I can't handle it anymore myself.”

“Bobby? How in the world did you get that last telegram to me? It came from somebody named Kevin Cheswick.”

“Carrier pigeon.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“No. Kevin Cheswick is the son of a British diplomat stationed here in Tangier. He raises racing pigeons.”

“How clever. I never would have guessed.”

The trip back to London was uneventful. Clovis was fully recovered, although he'd lost some weight and he was still walking unsteadily. Brian flew first class, Bobby and Clovis sat together in coach. They'd managed to keep Brian out of the news for the time being. There were no crowds waiting for Brian Jones when they landed at Heathrow Airport.

Brian paid for a car and driver to take him to a five-star hotel. Then he dropped Clovis back at his flat before dropping Bobby off at his apartment.

Bobby hadn't been there for a while and he knew that Clovis had stashed Brian there. He expected the place to be messy, but as soon as he unlocked the door, he noticed how tidy everything was.

Bobby got an odd feeling that somebody was in his apartment. He thought he heard a sound in the bedroom. It sounded like a creaking floorboard.

Bobby's paranoia got the best of him.
Is Brian rubbing off on me?
He crept through the living room and peeked into the bedroom. The lights were off.

He tiptoed into the room and felt for the light switch. The feeling that someone was in the room was overpowering. He found the switch and flicked it on.

Nothing moved. Nothing jumped. Bobby noticed that the bed wasn't made. In fact, it was quite messy. In an apartment that had obviously been professionally cleaned, why would the bed be messed up? Bobby eyed the covers. They were flat as a quesadilla.
Nobody could possibly be under them, could they?
Bobby gripped the corner of the covers. He took a deep breath and jerked them away.

At that moment, something launched itself at Bobby. A blurred shape, naked flesh, blond hair, and a shiny knife.

Time slowed down as it often does in a physical crisis. Bobby's brain pieced all the clues together in less than a heartbeat. A naked woman with a long sharp dagger came at him from the bed where she'd been hiding. Her face was distorted, but he thought he recognized it.

She was on him so fast he couldn't react. She slashed with the knife, and Bobby's arm got in the way. The dagger sunk deep into the flesh of his forearm. Blood began to ooze out of the wound at an alarming rate. In a moment, it was all over the floor, making the room slick with blood.

“Brian!” she screamed. “I love you!” She thrust the knife into his side. It cut Bobby a glancing blow, nicking a two-inch gash under his left lower rib.

Bobby saw her face. It was Renee, her pretty face in a hateful grimace. Bobby's temper flared.

She thinks I'm Brian!
Bobby sure as hell wasn't going to die as a stand-in.
It's time to turn out the lights on this party.

Renee lunged again, the knife out in front of her. Bobby slammed his fist hard into Renee's face, causing her nose to crumple and start bleeding. Grabbing the knife out of her hand he twisted her wrist counterclockwise. She yelped as Bobby pressed her into an Aikido wrist lock that Cricket's father had taught him and applied the pressure. Her little wrist snapped like a twig, and she screamed. Bobby leveraged her arm behind her back and rode her to the ground, face-first. He twisted her arm back and put a foot on her back.