Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  After an uneventful night, Mark needed to use the facilities again before he left, so he tiptoed up the staircase at the side of Jill’s apartment building and let himself in. Out of respect for her, he didn’t even look over at the couch, going through her bedroom to the bathroom. As he was coming out of her bedroom, there was a light tap on her door. He looked at the couch; she hadn’t moved. Carefully turning the lock, he opened the door and was standing eye to eye with a man in his late thirties.

  “Who are you?” the man asked, with attitude.

  Mark thought for a second that he might be Jacob Parker, but remembered Parker was older. Still, he couldn’t take any chances.

  “I’m keeping watch here. Who are you, sir?” Hoping the sir would defuse his obvious hostility.

  “Watch against what?” he asked.

  Mark slipped out of the door, shutting it firmly behind him. “If you tell me who you are, I’ll answer your questions,” Mark said calmly.

  “I’m Jill’s boyfriend,” Fred said, anger mounting. Wondering if this was the statey Jill talked about, Mark held out his hand to shake, but Fred wasn’t cooperating. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Mark opened the door again quietly, putting his fingers up to his mouth. “She’s on the couch,” he whispered.

  Fred peeked in and could see a mound covered with a blue blanket. “She stayed there so I could use the bathroom if I needed. Jacob Parker is stalking her, as you probably know, and I was assigned to keep watch. My car is right outside.” Mark pushed the lock in before he closed the door again.

  “Well, get back to your car,” Fred replied. “You’re not needed now.”

  “My shift ends at eight, so I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Mark said, smiling. He thought about the key, but he wasn’t handing it over to Fred, who obviously didn’t have one. As if reading his mind, he asked for it.

  “Hand over her key,” he said, holding his hand out.

  “I’ll hang on to it,” Mark said, looking over his shoulder as he descended.

  Fred was furious. He turned to her door again and tried the locked handle. He banged hard this time, and Jill popped up off the couch, disoriented, frightened that Mark would need to knock instead of letting himself in with the key. Unless it wasn’t Mark. She hesitated. Who else could it be? Her father would never come over so early. She ran to the window and pulled up the shade. Mark was leaning against his car, watching. He pointed to the door, giving it the thumbs-up.

  Going back to the door, she called, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Fred, goddamnit. Unlock your door!”

  She hesitated for a second, shocked he would be so aggressive and wondering if she should address it before she let him in. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door.

  “Fred, keep your voice down before a neighbor calls the police.” The ludicrousness of what she’d said not sinking in until later. She and Mark were the police. He looked at her with an expression she’d never seen before. Does Fred have anger management problems?

  “I got up at the crack of dawn so I could surprise you today, and your door is answered by a thug who, I noticed, has a key.” She explained the scenario, repeating what Mark had already told Fred.

  “The idea of a protective detail wasn’t mine, and I disagreed with its need, but now I’m not so sure,” she said, her meaning clear.

  “What? You think you need protection from me?” He was livid, his nostrils flared, face pale.

  “If you don’t calm down, I’m shutting the door,” she said softly. It was obvious he was trying to pull it together, breathing deeply and relaxing his shoulders. She didn’t know this Fred. Minutes passed while she patiently waited.

  “Are you going to let me in?” he asked, calm now, but she could detect he was not happy about something beyond Mark’s presence, suspicious and agitated.

  She stepped aside to let him pass. He walked in, looking into her bedroom. The bed was still neatly made up, unslept in. She didn’t miss his observation as he looked to the couch, the blankets askew, her pillow on the floor. Then he looked at her. She was dressed in her standard sleeping garb: a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants. But Fred knew what she had on didn’t mean she wasn’t entertaining a man.

  The first time they’d slept together, he was surprised that she didn’t make more of an effort with her appearance. He was used to glamour girls who wore sexy negligees and provocative undergarments meant to entice. Jill was simple. He had the feeling she wasn’t really into it, or that she could take it or leave it, at least with him.

  Initially the quality that attracted him was that she was completely unself-conscious. He remembered the first time he saw her, wearing a Wayne State Justice sweatshirt, and then later at the lake, watching her get up from her beach chair, a Tigers baseball cap on with her long ponytail sticking out of the back, wearing a pale-colored bathing suit that accentuated her tanned skin and lean body.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she said, stifling a yawn.

  “If you’re going to have one,” he said. He couldn’t get the edge out of his voice, and if she noticed it, he couldn’t tell. He watched her moving around the little kitchenette of her apartment. He knew he was being unreasonably critical of her but couldn’t stop. It occurred to him that in the almost three months they’d been dating, she’d never cooked a meal for him.

  “Does your stove even work?” he blurted out.

  Jill spun around with a stunned look on her face and then burst out laughing. She pointed to the burner the teakettle was placed on. “That burner does. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve never cooked me dinner,” he answered, pouting. “Usually, a woman fixes her man a special meal to show how much she appreciates him.”

  “I thought I made that clear when we first met. My father is a chef. Why on earth would I know how to cook?”

  “Well, how about because you’re an adult woman. If we’re ever going to get married, shouldn’t you learn?”

  She looked at him with an expression that he interpreted as are you crazy? “No. And who said anything about getting married?”

  “Do you think I would drive across the state for just anyone?”

  “I’m not sure why you came, to be honest,” she said.

  “I missed you,” he said. “That should be obvious.”

  She wasn’t going to give any affirmation, his anger precipitating her irritation.

  “You’re in a snit because a cop was using my toilet. I’m not sure how your behavior translates to missing me.”

  She prepared his coffee, trying to remember if he took anything in it. So rather than ruining it, she took it to him black. As unobtrusively as she could, she glanced out the window. Mark’s car was still there.

  “Well, I did. I guess it was stupid of me to have expectations. I thought you missed me, too.” He went on and on about how humiliating it was for him to have her door answered by a cop. Not once did he mention concerns for her safety.

  “Fred, we’ve talked in a circle. You’re angry about the cop. Get it off your chest, have your say, so we can move on. Or leave. I’m not arguing with you about it all day.” She went back to the kitchen to get her coffee.

  As he looked around her apartment, at the minimalist decorating and hand-sewn curtains, the simple furniture, he decided none of it appealed to him. The very chair she’d been sitting in was a ratty cast off from her crazy grandmother who Jill had claimed had psychic powers that she’d inherited.

  Then out of nowhere, a darker thought occurred to him, his imagination taking flight. Anger and jealousy mounting, he stood up to leave. Jill thought it was too bad he made the trip to see her for nothing; she was still relieved he was going, but more than a little suspicious. What had suddenly changed? She’d watched his expression evolve from frustration to outright loathing.

  “You’re right. I’m going to go. Sorry for bursting in unannounced. And I’m sorry you’re having trouble with your defendant.”

 
She put her coffee cup down and walked him to the door. He didn’t try to kiss her, didn’t even look at her. He walked through the doorway and said, “So long,” to her over his shoulder. She backed up into the apartment and shut the door quickly, feeling compelled to lock it. Irrationally, he’d made her feel guilty, but worse, she was frightened.

  Hurrying to the window, the idea that he might confront Mark was a concern, but when she looked down, Mark was gone. Pushing her sleeve up to check her watch, she saw that it was after eight. He’d have no reason to think her safety was in jeopardy with Fred, but the notion that she’d been alone with him suddenly scared her.

  Fred pulled away from the curb in his bright blue patrol car, giving it a little extra gas to show her who was boss. He wasn’t gone thirty seconds when Mark’s dark unmarked car drifted back into its spot, from down the block where he’d been observing from a distance. Looking up at the apartment as he got out of his car, he waved and pointed at himself and then to her stairs. She smiled and nodded her head, her heart bounding in her chest.

  “Don’t you need to get some sleep?” she asked when he came to the door.

  “I can sleep when I’m dead,” he answered. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fred showing up like that was really strange. He’s only been here twice and only after days of preparation. I don’t feel right about it, like there’s something more. I’m glad you were here.”

  “I have the feeling he wasn’t too happy about that.” Mark couldn’t put Jill and that lanky pencil neck together in his imagination. He supposed it was a good thing.

  “He’ll get over it,” Jill said shortly. “Are you going home?”

  “No, I’m not going home. You need to get a Christmas tree today, and decorations, and start your Christmas shopping. And probably finish it since Christmas is a week away.”

  “Oh, is that right,” she said, smiling, happy. “And who do I need to buy gifts for?”

  “Your cousin’s kids,” he said. “Remember?”

  Jill didn’t like a man pushing her around. After dealing with former boyfriend Alex, she was especially sensitive to insincerity as a means of manipulation. But there was a quality about Mark that was disarming, and she couldn’t be offended by him, no matter how bossy he was being. Big muscles and an intimidating job no longer played a role in how she perceived him. He was Santa Clause and Superman rolled into one, gigantic body. Realizing she hadn’t thought about Jacob Parker or Fred Cooper, she wondered what harm it would do if she went shopping with him.

  “Right, my cousin’s kids,” she said, distracted, trying in vain to get the picture of Mark bench pressing her out of her head. “So what shall we call this outing? An extension of my protection detail?”

  “Christmas shopping and lunch with a friend. I’ll be off the clock, but if we see any creeps, we’ll take ’em down.” Then in one quick move, he squatted down and stuck his left hand out as a pretend gun and, squinting along his pointer finger, aimed at a pretend assailant. His antics caught her off guard; she covered her mouth to stifle the laughter, but it was hopeless. Her neighbors would wonder what was going on.

  “Oh, my god, you’re insane,” she yelled, laughing. No one had reduced her to tears in a long time, and the purge was amazing. She was holding on to her side, laughing, and it fed his energy, encouraging him to continue. As he horsed around watching, this beautiful woman lost her self-control and reserve, becoming animated, slapping her knee and jumping up and down. He had no way of knowing she hadn’t laughed like this in a while, and it was more than therapeutic for her, it was healing. Later, she would marvel that she was even capable of having so much fun. Out of respect, he waited down in the car while she showered and got dressed, and then they went to his apartment while he got ready to take her shopping.

  His apartment was not what she expected; top-of-the-line furniture and decorating magazine chachkas led her to believe an old girlfriend might have had a hand in the original design. But his mother’s collectibles and the paraphernalia of a single man kept the theme from sterility. Gun and sport magazines were arranged neatly on bookshelves; a chess game in progress, only the thin layer of dust surrounding the pieces testifying to time passed since the last move. While he got ready to go out, Jill wandered around, trying not to snoop. His bookshelf was revealing: heavy on Henry James and Robert Ludlum. She noticed he had a Book of Common Prayer and a Bhagavad Gita, copies of books by Bill Clinton and Dick Cheney. Wondering if these were books from his personal library or more cast-offs from his mother, she decided to ask him later.

  The Christmas tree was last. It was mammoth, at least eight feet tall, and loaded with an array of mementoes spanning the past five decades of cartoon characters, from tiny Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls to a set of Star Wars figurines. She could spend all day looking at the items, wondering which ones held special memories for him.

  In minutes he was finished, coming down a hallway from what she assumed was his bedroom. Quick flash to Fred Cooper’s seedy apartment—the ratty furniture that smelled of unwashed bodies, the dusty electronics piled up on a cardboard shelving unit—juxtaposed against these shiny, stylish and clean digs of Mark zipped through her brain. She had decided she’d never spend the night at Fred’s, only sitting on his couch after she spread her coat out over the cushion. But here, well, she could live here if she had to. Snap out of it, Zannos!

  “All set,” he said.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him; Mark Castro was gorgeous. And fresh out of the shower he was more than gorgeous; he was delectable. Waves of something she thought might be embarrassment cruised through her body, thinking he must be able to tell why she was rendered pretty much speechless. This phenomenon had never happened to her in memory.

  “You ready to go?”

  “I’m intrigued with your Christmas tree,” she said, the tremor in her voice obvious only to her.

  He walked over and fingered a small elfin figure that had wire-rimmed glasses and was on wooden skis, holding ski poles two inches long at the most.

  “This is my favorite,” he said. “See the broken pole? I broke it when I was a kid, wasn’t supposed to be playing with him.” He took another small ornament off its branch, a penguin driving a sports car. “I loved this one, too. I can see the appeal it would have to a kid.”

  He looked down at her, at her beautiful profile as she looked at the ornaments, smiling. “Do you want them?”

  “The ornaments?” She looked up at his glistening eyes.

  “No. Kids. Do you want kids? You didn’t answer when I asked last night.” She tried not to search his face too carefully, afraid he’d read everything she was thinking in her expression. But she looked into his eyes before answering.

  “Yes.” She was shocked. She wanted kids. But she didn’t add, “I want them with you.”

  He reached for her coat and held it for her while she put her arms through, his knuckles grazing her sweater, and they didn’t speak again until they reached his car, and then it was small talk, both avoiding but aware of the unspoken, unbelievable chemistry that flowed between them. Mark took Jill to two huge malls in the suburbs, where they were so engrossed in the process of shopping and each other, they didn’t notice the admiring glances they got from onlookers. Neither thought of what was happening to them as falling in love.

  Returning to Greektown from their shopping trip, the Christmas tree strapped to the top of an unmarked cop car, they spent the rest of the afternoon decorating it with lights and the few ornaments Jill bought. “It looks cold,” she said. “It needs some history. Do you want to walk to my dad’s place? We can eat dinner, and hopefully he’ll let me pick through his decorations.”

  “Sure,” Mark said. “I should pay this time.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’ll insult my dad if you try to pay.”

  They bundled up again against the cold, walking side by side as close as they could without touching. Unlike the night before when they walked the blocks to Gus’s in s
ilence, tonight they talked like old friends. Carolers on the corner of Beaubien and Monroe were singing the last chorus of “Away in a Manger” as the couple approached. The beautiful voices mingled with the city noise. Her emotions building, Jill tried to hide it from Mark, fussing with her hat.

  Bless all the dear children

  In Thy tender care

  And take us to heaven

  To live with Thee there

  The depth of the feeling the song stirred, the image of the young Mary giving birth to a tiny baby in the freezing night and having nothing for him, it moved her, and she couldn’t stop the sadness from flooding over her. The last words, blessing dear children but taking them to heaven Jill felt was a contradiction. Why allow children to suffer? Wasn’t that the purpose of Jesus dying on the cross? It was an old argument; her yiayia would say the mystery was that she wouldn’t understand everything to her satisfaction.

  They listened until the carolers started to sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”. “Do you want to keep moving?” he asked softly, looking down at her.

  She nodded. Somewhere between the carolers and Gus’s she’d unconsciously reached for Mark’s hand, not letting go until he opened the door for her. Gus and a gentleman wearing a Greek fisherman’s hat, a popular item sold in the local tourist shops, stood at the counter talking loudly in Greek. Gus looked up at Jill.

  “My daughter,” he said, gesturing toward Jill. She nodded in their direction, but he didn’t expect her to come over. Jill led the way to the private table, and Mark pulled her seat out again. She was feeling so emotional it was disconcerting. Grabbing for his hand?…She was afraid she might be having a meltdown. Probably Fred showing up and that damn Jacob Parker prowling around has me on edge.

  “Are you okay?” Mark asked.

  She nodded, afraid to speak until she could trust her voice. “The carolers were so beautiful; it reminded me of Christmas when my mother was alive. I guess it just made me sad.” Avoiding having to examine the real reason she was so moved, Jill was grateful that Mark didn’t ask her to elaborate, patting her hand as a friend would.