Chapter 9: Enter El Matador

“Yo soy un hombre sincero,” Julio César López Renaldo sang to himself as he entered the closet in his parents’ home and examined his reflection in the strangely located mirror. He’d wondered at the mirror hundreds of times since his father’s unsolved murder some twenty-three years before – when Julio was yet un niño pequeño – a toddler. The self-proclaimed ‘honest man’ was, however, conflicted. He was wearing a ring his mother gave him when she left this house for the last time. Hospice. Cancer.

Estrella Elena had given him the emerald embedded in a platinum ring and explained, “This was your father’s. The only time he wore it was when he entered his study, but he was wearing it when he was found murdered in the hall.”

Then she repeated the often-told story, “He also wore a traje de luces, as if coming from the Plaza de toros. The suit was not one of his. There was not a bit of metal on it, and except his ring, nowhere on him for that matter. The sequins were made of ancient all-natural materials like jet beads, beetle wings, and shells. As you already know, he was stabbed through the heart from behind with a big knife or sword. I think he died quickly.”

Julio looked at her with a question, “Why the ring now, not back when I came of age?”

“I think the ring had something to do with Juan’s death, and I did not want to lose you as well,” his mother sighed. “Now, it is I who will be leaving...”

Julio shook away the memory of his last talk with her before she died. “Concentrate. Look for something different in this closet. You’ve been in it a thousand times before. Diferente!” He chided.

He ran his fingers around the mirror’s frame, searching for a button or catch. When he happened to touch the mirror itself, his ring finger, followed by his hand, disappeared, and he was unable to pull it back. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the mirror into an empty, bright white room. Really empty. Really white. He suspected that he was no longer in Mexico City.

Julio turned and looked behind him for an exit, but the back of the mirror was gone, and only a featureless wall identical to the others remained. The movement caused his pants to slip. He realized that his belt’s metal buckle had disappeared, and his watch was missing.

“Welcome Hero,” came a melodious voice, I am Merrie, Hero Greeter. You are wearing the ring of the dead Hero, Juan Luis Renaldo. Who might you be?

“Soy su hijo,” the startled man responded in his native tongue, then answered again in the language she appeared to use. “I am his son. My name is Julio César López Renaldo, but where am I? What is a Hero Greeter?”

Julio turned back to face the voice, and his jaw dropped. Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Eyes! Green eyes were the first feature he noticed. Then the waist-length chocolate brown hair, gathered in a braid thrown over her left shoulder, and a dazzling smile. His arena’s ruedo-honed reflexes came into play and he bowed as he declared, “A la orden, señorita – most assuredly at your service!”

“Please follow me, and I’ll explain,” she said, reached, took his hand, and led him through a self-opening door and into a conversation pit with two burgundy-red leather chairs facing each other across a low table. She released his hand, indicated he should be seated, and took several booklets from the table.

“From your reaction, I can only conclude that your father left no explanation for any future Hero that might use his ring. A successor, like you, his son. These booklets will give you more details for the summary that I am about to give you.” Julio nodded as she continued, “You have entered a place named ‘Crossroads’ that functions much like a hub airport in your world. There are three ‘stations’ connected by Crossroads. One is your world, another is ‘Chaos’ – a primitive world with technology much like your world’s dark ages – and a more advanced world named ‘Cassandra’.”