Laura saw an unusual picture in the mirror. In close-up it “showed” a dandy in an impeccable suit and with a mustache a la Poirot. He leaned over the bed on which Michael lay sleeping, and inserted a bloody knife into the guy's hand. He said something at the same time, but so unintelligibly that Laura did not understand a word. She only saw how his lips moved and how they then twisted into a mocking grin. The angle changed a little - now the mirror showed the same room, but from the other side. - No! No! – Laura screamed in surprise. She must be dreaming. She closed her eyes tightly, then opened her eyes, but the picture in the mirror remained: she, Laura Jones, was lying on the floor next to Michael’s bed, blood oozing from a wound in the area of her heart in a pulsating stream...