Shadow of the Past

by Thacher Cleveland

  Everything had started innocently enough. They moved from the den to his bedroom so they'd have more room to spread out. They laughed when both their hands went for the same sheet of paper and they touched by accident.

  She'd felt it coming almost an hour before when they inched closer to each other and when there was a lull in the conversation Steve leaned forward to kiss her. She’d had plenty of time to think it over and make a decision as he drew near.

  When he leaned in to kiss her, she moved forward to kiss him with no hesitation.

  She knew it was wrong, but there was a small, angry part of her that didn’t care about that. This was familiar ground for her. No matter how sweet it was with Mark this didn’t have any of the reassuring, consoling or comforting he seemed to require. It was simple, and that was something she didn’t even realize that she’d been missing.

  “Do you . . .” Steve asked, pausing, and then simply arching his eyebrows.

  “What?” she started, but realized what he was talking about before the whole word got out of her mouth. “Oh. God no.”

  “Ouch. You don’t have to sound so grossed out by it,” he said, raising himself up on an elbow to peer down at her.

  “Well I’m a virgin, and I’m not going to just give it up that easily, okay?” she snapped, scooting away from him. Her nakedness quickly went from turn-on to handicap.

  “Oh.” He had a quizzical expression on his face. “I didn’t realize that you hadn’t done it before.”

  “Is that surprising?” she said, sitting up and trying to remember where they had thrown her clothes.

  “Well,” he said with a slight smirk, “I guess it was a little presumptuous, but hey, that’s fine, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she snapped, wrapping her arms around her chest. It was kind of chilly without him on top of her and all of the excitement and passion she'd unconsciously stored up was leaving as quickly as it came.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting up and moving next to her. “You don’t have to get defensive. I mean, I know it was kind of a stupid thing to think about, this being our first, y’know, and--”

  “Our first what?” she said. “Affair? Fling? Fuck? What exactly is this to you?”

  “Hey, ease up, okay? I’m not the one who’s . . .” he cut himself short, but she could clearly see where he was going.

  “Oh that’s nice,” she said, getting to her feet. Modesty had suddenly taken a back seat to wanting to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. “You’re not the one who’s fucking around on her boyfriend, right? I’ll clearly throw over someone I care about for a cheap lay, right? You’re just surprised that I haven’t screwed the best friend of all my boyfriends, right?”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  “Congratulations, you’ve got me figured out. I’m just some cheap slut who was looking for a good time, and you were the only big stud who could give it to me. Does that make you feel better about this now? Why don’t we just say I threw myself at you so you can be completely innocent in all of this, okay? Let's just say that I seduced you and make me more of the bad guy?”

  “Like you didn’t?” he yelled, his voice rising to match hers. “Like you weren’t giving me the eye since the first day that we met? Like you haven’t wanted to be right where we are now since then?”

  “Jesus, listen to yourself,” she said, snatching her bra up off the floor and trying to get it back on as quick as possible. “All your helpful advice, setting yourself up to be the good guy, the best friend, all so you could fuck me quicker, is that it? Some prize you are.”

  “Don’t start,” he snapped, wagging a finger at her.

  “What, are you going to start threatening me now, is that it? Smack me around and tell me that I better not say anything about this to anyone? Please,” she said, waving a hand at him dismissively and gathering up the rest of her clothes from around the room. “I’ve been intimidated by bigger assholes than you, Steve. You’re not even in their league.”

  “Wow,” he said, sitting down on his bed. “And here I was admiring Mark’s taste in girls.”

  “That’s funny,” she said, buttoning and zippering as fast as she could. “I was going to say the same thing about his taste in friends.” Finally finished, she turned and stormed out, the notebook paper crumpling underfoot.

  She almost made it out of the house without getting her purse from the den, which would have been a real disaster. Of course, it’s not like anything else about this night was going very well anyway. She glanced at the VCR clock as she left, and saw that it was almost 1:30. She and Steve had been occupied far longer than she had thought. The only thing to be thankful for was that Steve hadn’t been exaggerating about his parents being out all night. She didn’t want to top the evening off by running into his parents as she burst out the door, hair mussed, clothes a shambles, smelling like pencil lead and sex.

  On top of everything else there was Mark. It had been so easy to push him to the side during, and even right before. She was still angry at him for asking her not to come here, and clearly, Mark knew what Steve was capable of more than she did.

  What she’d said to Steve wasn’t a lie. She’d been in that situation before but this was the first time that she had actively cheated on a guy that she still wanted to stay with. All of the others she’d just used it as an easy way to get out of something she didn’t want anything to do with anymore.

  Despite everything that had freaked her out so much with Mark the last thing she wanted was an easy out. Things with him were scary, insane and incredibly difficult but at least he was genuine. Even if it was genuinely screwed up.

  And now she’d completely betrayed him.

  She could either try to pretend that the whole thing hadn’t happened, but there’d be no way for her and Steve to try to get along without Mark sensing that something had happened. Of course, she could tell him everything, but that would probably just destroy him.

  It was a long, cold walk back to her place and she couldn’t tell if she was chilled from the outside or inside. She was able to remember the way home clearly enough. Of course, she’d have to explain this to her folks, and since Ryan was surely home by now he’d probably come up with some wildly lame and believable excuse for where she was, which they would ask her about and she’d have no way to follow through on. She was glad she’d left her phone at home, doing so to give her an excuse for when her parents (or Mark) asked where she was and why she hadn’t answered any calls.

  She was walking fast, her mind leaping from one thing to the other so she didn’t even see the flashing lights when she walked around the corner. It was only when a car flew past her that she looked up and noticed them. Lots of flashing lights. All different colors, all clearly coming from the same place. Police, ambulance, and maybe even a fire truck or two. At first her only thought was that maybe she should go around that block so that she didn’t have to answer any questions about why she was out so late, but then she realized that wouldn’t be possible.

  This was her cul-de-sac. She was walking faster before she even realized it, and then she was running as fast she could. As she got closer she could see there were at least four police cars and two ambulances in the driveway, and a fire truck pulled up on her lawn. When she got closer she could hear the occasional chirp of a siren, radios crackling with static, and her mother screaming.

  After that, everything became a blur.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It took a couple of tries for Ryan to get his key into the lock, but he finally got it to work. With an agonizing slowness, he pushed the door open, straining his ears for any noise coming from the house. He nodded to himself several times, very enthusiastically. His entrance was a flawless masterstroke of almost-sober coordination, and it confirmed his status as a God among men. He stepped very slowly and deliberately into the house. He tried to shut the door with the same amount of quiet he had opened it with, but he slipped a
nd the door slammed closed much louder than he had intended it to.

  Leaning against the wall for support, he checked his watch and realized that it was only almost 1. He’d decided to call off the movie, and instead found himself looking for a decent bar in this god-forsaken suburban hell-hole. He’d found one in the next town over, a blue collar dive bar with the right combination of cheap beer and an atmosphere that assured you that you’d be left alone.

  He nursed beers until the few sober bits in his head reminded him that he’d have to drive back home. He’d waited until he could stand without wobbling over and then drove very carefully back home. He thought it’d have taken him longer, but apparently he was a better drunk driver than he gave himself credit for.

  He pushed off from the wall and headed for the steps and his “guest room.” He’d taken everything he could with him to college, knowing that his folks were going to move again, but he’d expected that they’d at least put his stuff in a room for him when he showed up. Oh no, not his folks. His stuff was still in boxes in the basement. Behind a giant wall of other boxes.

  It was so nice to feel welcome in your own home.

  He started up the stairs, listing against the rail as he tried his best to keep the noise to a minimum. He’d made it a couple of steps up when he realized he couldn’t see anything. He stopped, waving his hand in front of his face and watching his arm disappear at the elbow in a blackness that stretched everywhere in front of him. He looked over his shoulder to make sure he’d hadn’t just gone blind, but everything back there was how it should be.

  He could feel his brain screeching to a halt as panic drove the drunkenness from his mind and tried to comprehend what he was seeing. He turned back to look up the stairs when the fog of blackness completely enveloped him, not just shutting off his vision completely, but filling his senses with the stinging of burning ash.

  He coughed but he could barely hear it, like the black fog was sealing off his ears as well. He took an unsteady step back, trying to find a way to negotiate the stairs, blind, backwards and with limited sobriety. Just as he put an exploratory foot back to find the next step, something touched his chest and pushed him backwards with surprising force.

  He tumbled back, one arm catching the railing and slowing his fall some, but he still felt his ass crash down on a step and then slide down two more before he tumbled out of the senses-sapping darkness. Before him, the smoke fog had made its way down the stairs, coalescing into a vaguely human shape.

  Ryan stumbled to his feet, his lower back suddenly flaring in pain and his elbow buzzing likewise. There was a long, drawn out scraping sound, and a thin line of brilliant silver appeared in the midst of the fog. When the shrill, grinding scrape finished, the man-shaped fog stopped at the bottom of the steps and the line of silver was held aloft above it.

  Ryan stared up at it, and then it disappeared. There was a rush of wind past his face, and then a flash of burning pain.

  He cried out, putting a hand to his suddenly wet cheek. It was blood, he realized, feeling it begin to run down the side of his face.

  The shape of the smoke-fog had solidified more, with full arms and legs, and even a hat and long cloak that stretched out curling smoky tendrils all across the staircase. Under the brim of the hat, where eyes were supposed to be, two pools of flame erupted with a silent explosion.

  Ryan jerked back in surprise, and then the blade reappeared, the tip not an inch from his nose and still wet with his blood.

  “So. You’re the brother.”

  “Wha . . . what?” There was no mouth, just the merest suggestion of one dimpled in the swirling blackness.

  “The girl. Where is she?”

  “What?”

  He didn’t even see the point of the blade move. There was a blur and then a sting in his other cheek. When it returned, the tip was wetter and redder.

  “Where did she go?”

  The tip of the blade was drawing closer, and Ryan took a step back, hypnotized by the sight of his own blood dripping onto the floor of his parents prized new home.

  “Are you in there, or am I just talking to myself?”

  It wasn’t until that moment that he realized who this thing had been talking about, and the pain his cheeks was forgotten. He opened his mouth to make a threat of his own, but he was interrupted by a call from the top of the steps.

  “Ryan? Chrissy? Is that you two?”

  His father was in his pajamas and bathrobe, hair askew on his head, and had taken a few steps down the stairs until he realized what he was seeing was most certainly not the kids sneaking in after curfew that he expected.

  “What is going on here?” Harold Baker said, his voice trembling with terrified indignation.

  “Oh, be quiet,” the figure snarled. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” It spun around, launching the blade at Harold Baker and impaling him in the leg. With a yell of surprise and pain, the elder Baker tumbled down the stairs, landing in a pile at the feet of the Shadow Man.

  “The girl,” he asked Ryan again. “Where is she?”

  Ryan darted forward, the pain in his face and back forgotten at the sight of his father lying in a heap with a sword sticking out from his leg. He didn’t make it a step before something smashed into his face and then again on the other side, sending him down to his knees.

  “I’m not screwing around,” the Shadow Man said. “Tell me where the girl is and I might let you and your father live. Keep being a moron and I’ll kill you, your father, your mother, and when I’m done I’ll really hurt the girl.”

  “I don’t know! She was supposed to be here, I don’t know where she is, I swear!” Ryan said, head now swimming from pain instead of liquor.

  The Shadow Man stared at him with his flaming eyes for a moment, the only noise his father’s moaning behind him.

  “I’m not convinced. Maybe watching Daddy suffer will jog your memory.” He turned, pulling his father upright and leaning him against the wall next to the stairs. He reached down and pulled the blade from his leg, drawing a fresh yell of pain out of him.

  “Motherfucker!” Ryan charged at the figure’s back. There was a rustle like cloth and the darkness swirled around him as the figure sidestepped him, and then there was a sharp, piercing pain right above his heel. The leg seemed to go dead underneath him, dropping him down to his knee. He looked up, now at eye level with his father, and suddenly there was an incredible pressure on the back of his neck, and it felt like every sensation in his body left him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t getting any air.

  And then he was gone.

  “Isn’t that touching,” the Shadow Man said, pulling the blade from the back of Ryan’s neck. The body dropped down at his father’s feet. Blood sprayed onto the floor, but flowed around the Shadow Man’s feet, leaving him untouched.

  “Still awake?” he said, leaning down and snapping his fingers impatiently in front of Harold Baker’s face. The eyes focused, and then widened in horror as he saw his son laying prone in front of him, his blood flowing all over the floor. Harold looked up, his face ashen and mouth gaping open and shut.

  “Good,” the Shadow man said, placing the tip of his blade just below Harold’s breastbone and using just enough pressure to keep him in place, but more than enough to make a small stain of blood appear in the center of his expensive pajamas. “I didn’t hit any of the major arteries in your leg, so you won’t bleed to death for a while. All I want to know is where your girl is? Do you know, or as you as clueless as your other offspring?”

  The father was just gaping at him, his eyes blank, stunned and filling with tears. “You’re utterly useless, aren’t you?” the Shadow Man said, and then pushed the blade through muscle until it hit drywall. Baker gaped even more, and the tears (and blood) flowed freely now. The Shadow Man withdrew the blade with a flourish, snapping it back home in its sheath, covered with fresh tribute for his Lord.

  “I’ve called the police,” came a strangled cry from up stair
s.

  “Good for you,” he said, watching the elder Baker slump down to one side, his breath coming faster and more shallow. He turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll let myself out,” he said.

  As he passed through the kitchen towards the back door, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled a long strand of fire, covering the counter and fancy technological doo-dads. They hissed and melted, the fire quickly spreading up the fancy window curtains and wall

  The porch door opened for him and he strode through as the fire roared behind him. His power was growing, and he could feel more of his Lord’s righteous fury boiling through him with every drop of blood he brought back to Him. He jumped from the balcony just as the electric widgets and kitchen appliances exploded behind him, shattering the fancy, opulent windows behind him.

  But before he could deliver his latest tribute, even if it wasn’t what he had intended, he had one more stop to make.

  Jack was cold. He tried to roll over and wrap more blankets around himself, but his body was pinned to the bed. He tried again, and felt his breath being slowly squeezed out of his chest. Panicking, his eyes fluttered open, and he met the gaze of the two pools of flame peering down at him.

  “Hush now, we don’t want to wake Daddy,” the Shadow Man said, his voice low and rumbling. Jack didn’t think he could make any noise if he tried. The Shadow Man was straddled on top of him, his weight pressing down on Jack. One of his hands was right next to his head, and the other held a long, silver blade pressed against Jack’s throat. Behind him, darkness swirled angrily, almost completely blotting out the rest of the room.

  “We had an agreement,” the Shadow Man said, pressing the blade closer to Jack’s neck. “You’re useful, but only if you can follow instructions. If you can’t, that makes you a problem. Maybe I should just end you right now.”