Wall of mirrors

Where did the years go? Ramona said to herself as she pirouetted before the wall of mirrors.  They seemed a great idea when she had them installed on her thirty-first birthday, but today they were a reminder of how far south her body had descended. She tossed her dyed blond hair and convinced herself she still had the magic. She was a beautiful woman, but tended to see the unlined face of twenty years ago, the taut body that took and gave pleasure to three husbands with her captivating eyes and even, white teeth.

In two months, she would turn sixty.

It took three trips to the altar before she found the one. Her first two husbands were duds. She concluded she had to kiss a few frogs before finding her prince. She frowned in distaste as memories of her first two husbands beset her. Neither was able to ignite a third of her smoldering passion.  Sex had been routine and mechanical. Rarely did she feel fulfilled, so who could blame her for eliminating the problems? A woman had to do what she had to do.

She smiled, thinking of the twenty years of marital bliss she’d shared with her beloved Steve.  Dave, her first husband, gave her the start she needed with the million-dollar insurance policy she’d taken out on him. It bought her present home - she looked around with a satisfied sigh. When Sam died, she expanded her home into a mini mansion. A few years later she met Steve, and finally had the whole package. Life was great.

“Ramona,” she said aloud to herself, "you’re still in there old girl.”

“Yes, you are.” She looked around to see who was speaking. She knew she was alone. Her heart beat rapidly. Her blood rushed to her head, causing her to pulsate with fear.

When she looked once more at the mirrors, they seemed alive, causing her image to distort. She was about to flee, but found she was immobile; her shoes were glued to the floor.

“Go ahead and run. You’ve made a habit of it over the years, my dear.”

She panicked. It was her first husband’s voice. She tried again to move, but couldn’t.

“You can’t face aging, can you, Ramona? You made sure I never had that problem, didn’t you? What did you use to take me out? I remember that last meal. You were too solicitous; I should have expected something sinister, my sweet devilish, little wife. The joke was on you because I loved you.”

“Stop it,” Ramona yelled at the mirrors that were inching their way toward her. “I will not stand here arguing with some damn mirrors.” She looked about anxiously. Her son left more than an hour before, and it would be another hour before Steve returned.

“How does it feel to be so helpless, so defenseless, Ramona?”

“Please, Dave.”

“Please what, Ramona?”

“I was not in my right mind back then.”

“Of course you weren’t in your right mind, which accounted for your marriage to Sam just eight months after you murdered me.”

“Don’t, please.”

“Does the truth hurt? At least, you’ve lived your miserable life these last thirty years.”

Ramona tried to move, but was rooted like a sculpture to the floor.

“What you’re feeling, Ramona, is what it felt like as I lay dying. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes as you sat there watching me writhing in pain. Was I that bad?”

“No. I wanted more. You were satisfied with a roof over your head and food in your stomach. I wanted more, so much more. Wherever the hell you’ve been, please go back. Don’t do this to me,” she pleaded.

“What can I possibly do to you?” Ramona heard shrill laughter coming from the mirrors, causing her brain to vibrate. She could feel herself spinning around, even though she stood ram-rod straight.

“I gotta go, Ramona. But honestly, turning sixty isn’t all that bad. What if you’d died at thirty?”

“I’m so sorry, Dave,” she sobbed.

“No you’re not. Look at what you did to my good friend, Sam.”

Ramona stopped crying. She felt doomed, thinking perhaps she was suffering a stroke, or some other neurological disorder.

“Hello, Ramona, sugar.”

It was too much. She closed her eyes, but the images in her mind’s eye were the same as those in the mirrors.

“Sam, why are you here? I had nothing to do with your death.” She felt a presence behind her.

Are they planning to kill me? she wondered.

“I didn’t say you did, but you didn’t grieve when the police said they’d found my car in that ravine. I heard them say my brake line was cut. They never arrested anybody, did they?”

“You don't know what you're saying. I tried to help. I even hired a private investigator.”

“Yeah, you did. Good ole Chuck Seale. Chucky couldn’t find his behind in a hall of lights. You needed to prove to the insurance company you were not involved so they’d pay. They figured you had something to do with my death, but they could never prove it.”

“I didn't Sam. I swear I didn't. Please stop tormenting me,” Ramona wailed.

“Look around you, Ramona. Who’s tormenting you?  As for my brakes, you didn't cut the line, but you know who did.”

She moved her head, and pivoted around. To her surprise nothing looked amiss.

“At least with me, Ramona,” Dave continued, “you got a million dollars. Did you use it to buy this mausoleum?” He laughed eerily at his own joke.

“Please go away,” she whimpered. “You were a brute; do you remember that, Dave? Do you remember the abuse?” She placed her hands over her ears in an effort to block out the voices.

“I think you got your men mixed up, Ramona. I never touched you in anger. But with three dead husbands, I imagine you'd get a few facts mixed up. How have you managed to deceive everyone, even the police?"

“I may have two dead husbands, but Steve is still alive.”

“Not anymore,” both dead husbands said in unison. The mirrors vibrated and looked like melting wax. There was a grayish illumination, emanating from an unknown light source.

“What do you mean, he’s dead?” Ramona screamed. “You better not hurt my husband,” she said as she crumbled to the floor. With her face in her hands, she rocked from side-to-side, pleading with the voices. “Please don’t hurt Steve, please don't. I love him, so much.”

“We know you do, you cold, conniving witch. You really do love him,” Sam said.  "For the next twenty-five years you will know what it means to be lonely. Many times, you’ll wish you were dead,” Dave said. His voice was fading and seemed to echo from a distance.

When she looked up, it was to see her image as it was earlier in the evening, except all the lines she hadn’t seen then were there. She sat crying softly. The party she'd been dressing to attend was pushed to the back of her mind. There was a certain finality about her life. She sensed it was ending, and felt loneliness descending slowly.

She waited for them to come; the ones who would destroy the only thing in her life that mattered. An hour later, flashing red lights stopped in front of her house. Soon she heard screams that went on and on and on....