“You’re sure?”
He smiled at her. “I’m sure.” She smiled back and moved over to her side of the seat, straightening her books, which had bunched up between them. Brody put the car back into reverse, finished backing out, and pulled away from the school, heading down Central toward Michigan.
Joan had one leg pulled up underneath her, sitting so she was facing him. “I really like your car,” she said. “How fast have you had it?”
“Maybe 80, 85.” He glanced over at her, took in her bright eyes, her smile, wishing she were still sitting as close as she’d been earlier. “It really starts shaking at around 75, so I’m kinda nervous about going any faster.” He’d read about people experiencing déjà vu but had never felt it himself until this moment. “It’s—it’s an old car, and—”
“My dad had an old car when he was a kid,” Joan said. “He swerved into a ditch and rolled it when one of the tie rods broke.”
“He was lucky to get out alive,” Brody said, wondering why he would say such a thing. His headache was getting worse, the pounding behind his eyes matching the beating of his heart.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Joan said. “He was lucky to get out alive.”
Her voice sounded . . . different. Flat. Robotic. Brody turned to face Joan, and that’s when a flood of visions cascaded through his mind.
A missed turn.
A red light.
A truck.
Impact.
Pain.
Fire.
Brody slammed the brakes, and the car screamed to a stop in the middle of the street. His window was open, and the smell of hot rubber wafted inside. Joan had slid from the front seat and lay in a heap on the floor under the dash.
a Brody rule put your belt on I know it’s stupid
“Jesus Christ, Brody!” she yelled. “What are you doing?”
Brody sat still for a moment, breathing fast and heavy, his mouth hanging open. His head was really pounding now and his eyes were tearing up from the pain. “I—I don’t know, I just saw—I saw—” he stammered, then realized Joan might be hurt. “Oh my God, are you all right?”
She was already crawling back onto the seat. A bright red welt appeared on her forehead where she had smacked the steel dashboard. “Why the hell did you slam on the brakes like that?”
Because I was going to drive right by Michigan and run a red light and get slammed by a truck, that’s why. Brody put a hand to his head, trying to soothe the throbbing thunder behind his eyes. Something was terribly wrong with him.
“No,” Joan said. “You don’t belong here.”
What? Brody looked at Joan and saw her looking past him, out the driver’s side window. Her face was blank, all the anger that was there seconds before completely gone. The hinges creaked. He felt the driver’s door open. A hand gripped his shirt and pulled.
shadow man
it’s the shadow man
Brody recoiled, pulling away from the hand gripping his shirt. When he turned, he expected to see something horrid and empty in the shape of a man.
But it was a girl.
She was roughly his age, maybe a little younger, or at least the splash of freckles across her cheeks made her seem so, with red hair and large green eyes. Brody’s first thought was that she looked much too young to be working at a gas station, as she was dressed in work coveralls, like a mechanic, and then he remembered.
He’d seen her before. Somewhere.
“Come on, get out of the car,” she said. “We have to go!”
Brody fumbled with his seat belt buckle, never once taking his eyes off her. He didn’t know her name, but she looked so damned familiar. He unlatched the buckle and tossed the loose belt toward the center of the bench seat.
“Brody, no,” Joan said, grabbing his arm. “You have to stay here.”
Joan was back to normal and looked so incredibly beautiful. The same girl whom he’d crushed on during study hall. The girl he wasn’t ever going to have a chance to be with but who was letting him drive her home.
she’d written B R O D Y balloon letters in the notebook
“I need you to take me home, Brody,” she said, gently caressing his arm. “You’re supposed to drive me home.”
“Come on!” the other girl shouted, yanking Brody from the car. He tumbled out the door and ended up on all fours in the road.
“What are you doing?” he shouted.
The other girl was looking around, nervous, jumpy, and motioned to Brody to get up and follow her. “We need to get out of the street before he shows up,” she said. “Come on, come on!”
Brody was about to ask who, but somehow, he knew.
shadow man
it’s the shadow man
Brody scrambled to his feet, fighting the pain in his head. He was weak and had trouble standing. The other girl put her arm around his shoulder and prodded him along, heading toward a gas station on the corner. Maybe that’s where she works, he thought. Funny how her helping him walk like this seemed awfully familiar.
“We need to get inside. Hurry.” She opened the glass door and stepped inside, immediately heading toward a back room, maybe an office. The place smelled like gasoline, oil, and axle grease. Papers were spread across a small desk—invoices, Brody guessed—that was flanked by a small swivel chair. A pinup calendar hung on the wall above a grubby phone, the handset blackened by the greasy hands that used it. Brody plopped down in the chair and put his head between his knees, wishing the pain would go away.
“You’re going to be fine,” the girl said. “It’ll pass.” She was looking out the office door, toward the gas station’s front windows.
She’s looking for him, Brody thought, then wondered how in the hell he would know anything about some shadow man. This was all crazy. So wrong. But the girl was right. His head was feeling better already. “Who are you?” Brody asked.
She smiled at him, and for the first time, Brody noticed how pretty she was. “You don’t remember me, do you?” she said.
“I know you?”
“Not really. But you’ve seen me before.”
Brody couldn’t recall ever stopping for gas at this station, but it was so close to school he figured he must have at some point. Maybe he’d seen her working here. But why did she remember him? “Um, here?”
“Yes. Out there. On the street.”
“On the street? But—”
She crouched down, balancing on the balls of her feet, her hands on her knees so she could look at him directly. “Look at me. Really look at me.” She had an urgency to her voice that made Brody a little nervous.
Brody stared into her eyes, studied the curve of her brows, the shape of her nose, the way her lips looked a little too small for her face, a face he felt he knew, but no more than any other face he might’ve glanced at in passing. She was pretty, so maybe that’s why he thought he’d remember her, but he couldn’t recall when.
“Dammit,” she said. She shook her head and stood. “You don’t remember me.”
But he did, in a way. “You do look familiar,” he said. “I just don’t remember ever—”
“It’s okay,” she said, turning away, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“What’s your name?”
She turned, and Brody could see a tear in her eye. “I’m Connie. Not that you’ll remember, anyway.”
Before he could respond, Brody heard Joan calling his name from outside the station. “Brody? You have to drive me home. You have to drive me home now.”
Both he and Connie peered out the office door and saw Joan standing in the middle of the street, hands at her sides, staring inside the station. The cars had stopped in the road. “Dammit,” Connie said, reaching for Brody’s hand. “Come on, we have to find someplace else. He’ll know we’re here!”
“Who?” Brody asked, wanting to hear her say what was already in his mind.
“Not a who, a what,” Connie replied, pulling Brody to his feet. Together, they made their way to the front
door.
“It’s empty, isn’t it,” Brody said. “Like a hole.”
Connie stopped and turned to face him. “You’ve seen it.”
“No, I—I haven’t. But I know what you’re—oh crap, I don’t know what to think.”
Connie shook her head. “Look, it’s okay. I know this is confusing, and you don’t have a clue about what’s going on, but if you know about that shadow thing, believe me, you’ve seen it before.”
“But I don’t—”
“You’ve seen it, okay? You have. Somewhere, you have.” She turned and tugged at his hand. “And if we don’t find another place to hide, it’s going to find us, thanks to your girlfriend out there.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brody said, amazed at how quickly the words had popped out of his mouth.
“Oh yeah?” Connie laughed as they stepped outside. “She’s awfully pretty. Are you sure?”
“Maybe she would be, if I—”
“Brody, you need to drive me home, okay?” Joan again, still standing in the street staring at them as the duo turned left and headed down the sidewalk, walking quickly. “You need to drive me home.” And then, as if switching personalities, she said, “She doesn’t belong here.” Flat, deadened voice.
“Come on, Romeo,” Connie said, “we need to find another place where what’s-her-name won’t be able to find us.”
“Her name’s Joan.”
“Okay, Joan, then. She’s going to get us killed.”
“Killed?”
Joan tugged harder. “The shadow man, genius. Now come on!”
Shadow man. He didn’t like the sound of that. Brody took a quick glance back at Joan and saw her standing in the same spot, still staring into the station. Like a statue.
“Look, there’s a theater up ahead. We’ll hide inside there.”
“Connie, wait.” She didn’t. “Wait,” Brody said loudly, pulling his hand free.
“What the hell are you doing?” she said, her eyes flashing.
“I need to know what’s going on.”
“Look, it can wait, okay? I’ll tell you what I know when we get inside the—”
Brody watched the blood drain from her face and her eyes widen as she stared past him down the street.
Brody turned, knowing what he was going to see.
He (it) was there. A shadow in the shape of a man, running down the street toward them. “Oh crap.”
“Come on! Hurry!” Connie screamed, breaking into a run.
Brody sprinted after her, amazed at how fast Connie was running, especially in work boots. “Where are we going?” Brody asked through ragged breaths.
“Just run!”
Brody looked over his shoulder and saw it. Closer, gaining on them. It was moving so fast, too fast. “It’s going to catch us!” he yelled.
“In here!” Connie yelled, darting into an alleyway between two buildings. Brody followed, knowing there was no way they were going to get away from the shadow man. He watched as Connie pulled open a side door to the building on their right, motioning him to follow as she ran inside. He grabbed its handle before the door swung shut, just as he heard Connie make a noise he couldn’t quite place: not a scream, not a moan, but a combination of the two?
“Connie!” he yelled, standing in the open doorway. The inside was impossibly black. He looked back outside and saw it, the shadow man, walking down the alley. Not running, but walking quickly, as if it knew there would be no escape and there was no need to hurry.
As Brody moved into the open doorway, he heard the shadow speak.
“Nooo,” it said, more of a hiss than an actual voice. Brody looked back, and it waved an arm at him as if waving him off. It doesn’t want me to go in here. Brody stepped inside and slammed the door.
He was encased in darkness, unable to see his hand in front of his face. He fumbled with the door handle but could find no lock. And then he couldn’t even find the door handle. He backed away a few steps, waiting for the door to slam open, but nothing happened. Five seconds . . . ten . . . fifteen.
Nothing but silence, apart from his own breathing. He turned around, still unable to see a thing, and called out, “Connie? Connie, are you okay?” His voice echoed in the darkened space. He listened, trying to hear movement. If Connie had tripped and fallen, maybe she had hit her head and was hurt. Still, he could hear only his breathing and the thudding of his heart.
“Connie? Where are you?” He took a few tentative steps forward, baby steps. “Connie!” Louder this time. “Connie! Answer me! Are you okay?”
Again nothing.
But then, he saw something up ahead. A pinpoint of light. Small, barely visible, but it was there. “Connie? Is that you?” Brody started walking toward the light, taking small steps, tapping his foot where he intended to step, just in case there was a hole in the floor or a stairway going down or something else he couldn’t see that would cause him to fall and break his neck.
The light grew brighter as Brody crept ahead. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the floor in front of him, barely enough to tell if he was going to step into some sort of bottomless chasm. Jeez, don’t be such a pussy. How many buildings have bottomless chasms in them, right? “Connie? Are you there?”
Still nothing.
As he neared the light, Brody could tell it was a keyhole. There was a door, and it had an old-fashioned doorknob, the kind that took a large, old-timey key. The kind of keyhole someone could peer through.
Which is exactly what he did.
The light on the other side of the door wasn’t very bright, but it was still much brighter than the room he was in now. He reached out and turned the knob, thankful that it wasn’t locked. The latch opened with a loud click. Brody slowly opened the door.
He found himself in a long hallway, shadowy and dark, but still lit enough to have guided him here through the keyhole. As he stepped inside, his mind grappled with what he was seeing. He wasn’t too sure, but he didn’t remember the outside of the building looking so fancy.
“Connie?” he whispered. “Are you here?” He stepped down the hallway, trying to tread as lightly as he could, the floorboards creaking slightly with each step. He was intruding, creeping through someplace he shouldn’t be.
But was that true?
This place. So foreign and yet so familiar. “Connie?” he whispered again. “Where are you?” He stood perfectly still, listening. There were no voices, no sound, no movement. Nothing. Maybe she hadn’t come through the door and was still inside the darkened room. Maybe she really had fallen and hurt herself, and he had passed right by her in the dark.
He had to check.
Brody turned around and stepped to the door. Beyond, there was no darkened room. Not anymore.
He saw a bedroom.
He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of sadness so great, so painful, that he had to close his eyes. And when he did, he knew what had happened here, in this very room. Not something he had witnessed, but something he had been told.
A person died here. A person whom he had loved.
And her death had been his fault.
Brody opened his eyes, hoping the room was gone, but it was still there. Every corner of the room, every crease in the sheets, every fold of the blankets was as it should be, because she would want it this way.
He felt something in his hand, heavy and cold. A revolver, blued steel and wood. Familiar. He raised the weapon and popped the cylinder, spun it, and slammed it shut. He’d never handled a gun before, but this, this was his.
Then from behind, footsteps.
He wheeled around and saw an older man standing in the hallway, staring at him. He was tall, thin, balding with gray hair at the temples. In his hands he held a tray of food. “Good evening, sir,” the man said. “A fine weapon.”
Brody’s head began to pound again, throbbing hammer blows behind his eyes. He dropped the gun. The pistol thudded loudly against the wooden hallway floor, then he fell to his knees and g
ripped his skull.
The man stood there, expressionless, watching. Then he spoke again. “I assume you’ll be taking dinner in your office again, sir?”
Brody felt a trickle of blood run from his nose and heard the stream splatter against the floor. He heard himself begin to scream.
At that moment, the day ended for sixteen-year-old Brody Quail.
Chapter 17
CONNIE
Darkness.
A place without feeling, without perception. Silent and cold. A simple nothingness, smothering and all-encompassing, an endless unseen landscape. A place where time doesn’t seem to exist, for if it did, insanity would creep and creep, building in intensity until the fire it fueled would blossom into a white-hot explosion of despair, of hopelessness, until the flame would flicker out and die.
But even then, she believed, there would be no death. No release.
Only the dark.
She was aware of every single moment. Unable to speak, to see, to move. Shackled to the shadows by invisible chains.
Her name was Connie. Her name was all that was left.
Just a name.
What she had been, no more. Her existence, what she could remember of it, came in flashes, glimpses of places and people, but they were short lived, convoluted, broken.
And they were beginning to disappear.
When this nightmare began, no one would listen to her. No one believed. The people she loved and trusted would laugh, explain it away, or simply ignore her pleas for help. She would slip away into this dark place, and there was nothing she could do. Time and time again she could feel a painful cold in her arms and legs and a twisting certainty in her gut that the darkness was calling her, that it would not be denied.
And it never was.
The darkness would envelop her, shroud her senses, and there she would stay until she emerged somewhere familiar once again. Those moments were becoming less and less frequent now, sometimes only lasting minutes at a time. Her time as Connie, her life with the people she knew, was fading.
No one seemed to care.
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