Chapter 4 The Double Mirror
# Chapter 4: The Double Mirror
"Arms up," Carl instructed, his voice gentle but allowing no room for refusal. Andrea complied, raising her arms as he slipped the wedding dress over her head. The heavy silk cascaded around her, settling with a soft whisper against the fitting room floor.
They were alone in the private bridal suite of Elégance, Boston's most exclusive wedding salon. The appointment had been scheduled for Andrea and her maid of honor, but Melissa had called that morning with a convenient case of food poisoning. And somehow, Carl had appeared in her place, explaining that Leland had urgent business matters and had asked him to assist instead.
"Perfect," Carl murmured, circling Andrea with a critical eye. His fingers brushed her shoulder as he adjusted the neckline, the contact brief but deliberate. "Though I think we should take in the waist slightly. You've lost weight these past weeks."
Andrea met his gaze in the three-way mirror. "Stress," she said simply.
Carl smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "Wedding planning is always stressful. But worth it for the perfect day." His hands moved to her waist, pinching the fabric with experienced precision. "Hold still."
As he worked, Andrea studied him in the mirror. In the two days since her discovery in the basement, she had forced herself to maintain a façade of normalcy while observing every detail of the brothers' deception. Carl's impersonation of Leland was masterful—he had clearly studied his brother for years, perfecting every mannerism, every vocal inflection. Only now, knowing what to look for, could she detect the slight differences: the way Carl's smile formed a fraction of a second too quickly, how his fingers tapped patterns that Leland's never had.
"I've taken the liberty of making some adjustments to the design," Carl said, interrupting her thoughts. He reached for a garment bag hanging nearby and removed a pair of long, fitted sleeves fashioned from the same silk as the dress. "These will complement the gown beautifully."
Andrea examined the sleeves with forced enthusiasm, noting their unusual construction. The inner seams were thicker than necessary, with small bulges at regular intervals. "They're lovely," she said, "but I preferred the sleeveless design we originally chose."
Carl's expression hardened for an instant before smoothing back into pleasant insistence. "Trust me, these will elevate the entire look. Leland will be stunned." He slipped the first sleeve onto her arm, fastening it with hidden hooks. "See how elegant?"
As the sleeve settled against her skin, Andrea felt something hard press against her inner wrist—a small device, no larger than a button, cleverly concealed within the seam. Similar pressure points dotted the length of her arm as Carl secured the sleeve.
"What are these?" she asked, keeping her tone merely curious.
"Structure," Carl replied smoothly. "To maintain the perfect shape throughout the day. Every bride needs a little hidden support, doesn't she?"
Andrea recognized the evasion for what it was. The devices sewn into the sleeves were almost certainly listening devices, designed to monitor her every word on her wedding day. The question was: why? What did Carl fear she might say or do during the ceremony?
"They feel a bit restrictive," she said, flexing her arm experimentally.
"You'll get used to them." Carl secured the second sleeve, his movements efficient and practiced. "Beauty requires some sacrifice, after all."
As he worked, Andrea's mind returned to the previous evening, to a memory that had haunted her sleep. She had been pretending to nap on the living room sofa when Leland—Carl—had received a phone call. He had stepped onto the balcony, closing the door behind him, but Andrea had crept closer, straining to hear through the glass.
"It's progressing exactly as planned," he had said, his voice barely audible. "She suspects nothing beyond normal pre-wedding jitters." A pause. "No, the body is perfectly preserved. The ceremony will proceed on schedule." Another pause, longer this time. "Don't worry about the ring. I have the original. She'll never know the difference."
The conversation had confirmed her worst fears—not only was Leland dead, but Carl planned to proceed with the wedding, with himself in the groom's place. But who had he been speaking to? Was someone else involved in this elaborate deception?
"There," Carl said now, stepping back to admire his work. "Absolute perfection."
Andrea studied her reflection. The dress was undeniably beautiful, transforming her into the kind of bride featured in luxury magazines. With the addition of the sleeves, it had taken on a more traditional, almost Victorian quality—appropriate for a Montgomery bride, Carl had noted earlier. The thought made her shudder internally.
"It's stunning," she agreed, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. "Leland will love it."
A strange expression crossed Carl's face at the mention of his brother's name—a mixture of pain and something darker, more possessive. "Yes," he said after a moment. "He would have."
The slip was momentary, but revealing. Andrea filed it away with the growing collection of evidence she was gathering.
"Would have?" she echoed, watching his reaction carefully.
Carl recovered instantly, his smile returning. "Will," he corrected. "He will love it. English was never my strong suit." He began unfastening the sleeves, his fingers working nimbly. "We'll have these tailored and ready for the final fitting next week."
As Andrea changed back into her regular clothes, her thoughts drifted to another disturbing memory—one from the early hours of that morning. She had awakened to find "Leland" gone from the bed. Following a faint sound, she had discovered him in his study, seated before the mirror, mouth moving silently as he practiced signatures on a notepad.
Leland's signatures.
Over and over, he had written his brother's name, adjusting the flourish of the "L," the curve of the "M," until each iteration was indistinguishable from the original. Beside the notepad lay a voice recorder, from which Leland's voice emanated in a quiet loop: "Andrea, my love. Andrea, darling. Andrea, sweetheart." Carl repeated each phrase, matching the inflection perfectly, recording his own version, then comparing the two.
It was this memory that now strengthened Andrea's resolve. Whatever happened, she could not go through with this mockery of a wedding. She needed to escape, to expose Carl's deception, to learn the truth about what had happened to the real Leland.
"Ready?" Carl asked as she emerged from the changing room. He stood waiting, her coat held open for her.
"Yes, thank you." Andrea slipped her arms into the sleeves, acutely aware of his proximity.
As they left the bridal salon, Carl placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward his car—Leland's car, technically, a sleek black Audi that Andrea had always associated with her fiancé. The gesture was so familiar, so characteristic of Leland, that for a moment Andrea felt a wave of disorientation. How long had Carl been practicing these touches, these movements? How long had he been preparing to step into his brother's life?
"I thought we might stop for lunch," Carl said as they drove away from the salon. "There's a new place on Newbury Street that Leland mentioned wanting to try."
The casual reference to Leland in the third person was another slip—small but significant. Andrea nodded, using the moment to study his profile. The resemblance to Leland was remarkable, but now that she knew what to look for, the differences were evident: a slightly sharper angle to the jaw, a faint scar near the hairline that Leland had never had.
"That sounds lovely," she said. "Though I'm surprised you'd know about it. Didn't you just return from Tokyo last month?"
Carl's hands tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. "Leland and I speak often, even when I'm abroad. Brothers share everything, you know." His smile was tight. "Especially twins."
This was new information—or perhaps a new lie. Leland had never mentioned being a twin, had always described Carl as his younger brother by two years. Andrea filed this discrepancy away with the others.
At the restaurant, Carl ordered for both of them without consulting her preferences—exactly as Leland would have done. He chose her favorite wine, remembered her allergy to shellfish, even requested dressing on the side for her salad. The performance was flawless, down to the way he held his wine glass, the angle at which he tilted his head when listening.
"You know me so well," Andrea commented, watching for his reaction.
"Of course I do," he replied, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You're going to be my wife."
The possessive pronoun hung between them, its implication unmistakable. Andrea forced herself to squeeze his hand in return, to smile as if the statement brought her joy rather than terror.
"Just a few more days," she said, raising her glass in a toast. "To our perfect wedding."
Something flickered in Carl's eyes—satisfaction, perhaps, at her apparent acceptance of the situation. "To perfection," he agreed, clinking his glass against hers.
As they ate, Andrea strategically steered the conversation toward memories—specific moments from her relationship with Leland that only he would know. She watched as Carl navigated these potential pitfalls with remarkable skill, sometimes deflecting, sometimes offering details that could only have come from extensive research or surveillance.
"Remember that weekend at the cape?" she asked. "When we got caught in the rainstorm and took shelter in that little lighthouse museum?"
Carl smiled, not missing a beat. "How could I forget? You were wearing that blue sundress that got completely soaked. The museum curator gave you his jacket to wear over it."
The detail was correct, but Andrea had deliberately chosen this memory because of what had happened next—something she and Leland had never shared with anyone.
"And then?" she prompted.
"And then we waited out the storm, looking at those old maritime maps. You were fascinated by the sea monster illustrations on the edges." Carl's confidence never wavered.
Andrea nodded, concealing her triumph. The real Leland would have mentioned their impromptu engagement—how he had fashioned a temporary ring from a piece of string, getting down on one knee among the lighthouse exhibits, promising to replace it with a real diamond when they returned to Boston. It had been their private engagement, preceding the official one by three months. She and Leland had agreed to keep it their secret, a moment that belonged only to them.
Carl didn't know. For all his research, all his surveillance, there were still things about her relationship with Leland that remained private. The realization gave Andrea a small sense of victory, a confirmation that the bond she had shared with the real Leland couldn't be entirely replicated or stolen.
After lunch, Carl suggested they return to the apartment to review wedding details. As they entered the penthouse, Andrea noticed a thick folder on the coffee table—wedding arrangements, meticulously organized with Carl's characteristic precision.
"I've been meaning to ask," Andrea said casually, removing her coat. "Has Leland mentioned anything more about his medical appointments? He seemed concerned after his last check-up, but won't tell me the details."
The question was calculated, designed to probe what Carl knew about Leland's actual medical condition. Had he been ill? Was that part of the story true?
Carl's expression darkened momentarily. "You know how he is about health matters. Always private." He moved to the bar, pouring himself a drink with practiced ease—the exact amount of scotch Leland preferred, two ice cubes, no more. "Nothing serious, I'm sure. Just routine tests."
Andrea pressed further. "It's just that I found a prescription bottle in the bathroom. Something for pain? I looked it up—it's usually prescribed for serious conditions."
Carl turned, his movements suddenly sharp. "You shouldn't go snooping through medical matters, Andrea. It's unbecoming." The mask of Leland slipped slightly, revealing something harder beneath. "My brother—I mean, I prefer to handle health issues privately."
The slip confirmed what Andrea already suspected. Whatever game Carl was playing, it involved Leland's health—perhaps a genuine illness that Carl had exploited, or one he had fabricated entirely as part of his plan.
"I'm sorry," Andrea said, adopting a contrite expression. "I was just worried. You're right, it's your business."
Carl's posture relaxed slightly. "Forgiven." He crossed to her, placing a kiss on her forehead—exactly as Leland would have done. "Now, about the seating arrangements..."
They spent the next hour reviewing wedding details, Carl demonstrating an encyclopedic knowledge of their guests, family relationships, and preferences. His attention to detail was both impressive and disturbing. Nothing had been overlooked, from the specific shade of the napkins to the exact timing of the ceremony.
As evening approached, Carl glanced at his watch. "I should start dinner. I promised you Eggs Benedict, didn't I?"
Andrea blinked in surprise. "Did you? I don't remember that conversation."
"This morning, before you were fully awake," Carl said smoothly. "You mentioned craving them. Don't you remember?"
She hadn't spoken to him that morning, had barely seen him before leaving for her fitting appointment. Another slip, another thread unraveling in the tapestry of his deception.
"Of course," she lied. "I'd forgotten."
In the kitchen, Andrea watched as Carl prepared the meal with expert precision. Leland had been an excellent cook, particularly proud of his Eggs Benedict—a recipe he had perfected over years. Carl's technique was identical, down to the specific motion he used to whisk the hollandaise sauce, the exact moment he added the lemon juice.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Andrea asked, leaning against the counter.
Carl didn't look up from his work. "Our mother taught us both. Leland may have mentioned that she was something of a culinary enthusiast before she died."
Another fabrication—Leland had often told Andrea that his mother had never cooked, that the Montgomery household had employed a professional chef throughout his childhood. His own cooking skills had been developed later, during college years in Paris.
"Right, of course," Andrea said. "I'd forgotten that detail."
The meal, when served, was perfect—indistinguishable from Leland's signature dish. Andrea complimented it enthusiastically, watching as Carl accepted the praise with the same modest smile Leland would have offered. The performance continued through dinner, through their evening routine, into the bedroom where Carl—still maintaining his role as Leland—reached for her with familiar intimacy.
"Not tonight," Andrea said gently, feigning a headache. "The wedding stress, you know."
Something flashed in Carl's eyes—frustration, perhaps, or suspicion—but he nodded understandingly. "Of course, darling. Get some rest."
Later, pretending to sleep, Andrea listened as Carl rose from the bed and moved quietly to the adjoining bathroom. The water ran briefly, and then she heard it—his voice, no longer attempting to mimic Leland's deeper tones, speaking softly into what she assumed was a phone.
"Yes, everything is proceeding as planned. The dress has been modified with the monitoring devices." A pause. "No, she suspects nothing. The wedding will take place on schedule, and afterward..." Another pause. "Yes, I understand the importance of timing. The transfer will be complete once the marriage is legally binding."
Transfer. The word echoed in Andrea's mind as Carl continued his hushed conversation. What transfer? What would be complete after the wedding? The questions multiplied, each more disturbing than the last.
As Carl returned to bed, Andrea maintained her steady breathing, her appearance of peaceful sleep. But inside, her mind raced with newfound urgency. Whatever Carl had planned would culminate at the wedding ceremony. She had less than three days to discover the full truth and find a way out of this nightmare.
The next morning, Andrea awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of movement in the kitchen. For a brief, disoriented moment, she imagined it was Leland—the real Leland—preparing breakfast as he often had. Reality crashed back as she remembered what she had discovered, what she now knew about the man impersonating her fiancé.
She rose, wrapping herself in a robe, and padded to the kitchen. Carl stood at the stove, his back to her, humming softly—a habit of Leland's that he had apparently adopted as part of his performance.
"Good morning," she said, forcing warmth into her voice.
Carl turned, smiling—Leland's smile, practiced to perfection. "Good morning, beautiful. I made your favorite."
On the plate before her: Eggs Benedict, prepared exactly as they had been the previous evening. The precision of it, the repetition, struck Andrea as oddly mechanical, like a program running through its predetermined functions.
"Thank you," she said, taking a seat at the counter. "It looks perfect."
"Only the best for you." Carl placed the plate before her with a flourish. "Always."
As Andrea ate, she noticed a small box on the counter—a jeweler's case from Tiffany's, tied with white ribbon.
"What's this?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer.
Carl's smile widened. "A little pre-wedding surprise. Open it."
Inside the box lay a platinum wedding band, identical to the one she had seen on the corpse's finger in the basement freezer. Andrea's stomach turned, but she maintained her expression of delight.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, removing the ring from its velvet nest. Inside, barely visible, was an inscription: "From Leland, with eternal love."
The irony of the words—eternal love from a dead man—was almost unbearable. Andrea slipped the ring onto her finger, noting how perfectly it fit, how seamlessly it paired with her engagement ring—the replacement Carl had provided after the "loss" of the original.
"Do you like it?" Carl asked, his eyes fixed on her face with that now-familiar intensity.
"It's perfect," Andrea replied, the word taking on new, terrible significance in the context of their shared deception. "Absolutely perfect."
Carl's satisfaction was palpable, his confidence clearly growing with each successful step in his elaborate plan. As he turned back to the stove, Andrea studied his movements, the set of his shoulders, the angle of his head. In that moment, she made her decision: she would not wait for the wedding to escape. Tomorrow, while Carl attended the rehearsal dinner setup, she would flee—taking with her whatever evidence she could gather about Leland's fate and Carl's true intentions.
For now, though, she would continue the performance, matching his deception with her own. The stakes were too high for any other option. Somewhere in the apartment, perhaps in the basement laboratory, lay answers about what had truly happened to Leland Montgomery. And Andrea was determined to find them before she became another specimen in Carl's grotesque collection.
