Walking Shadows

by Narrelle M. Harris

  I messed about on the net, obsessively checking the inbox for a reply from Gary that didn't come. I made myself not panic about that. He had been perfectly all right the last time I got paranoid, and the previous danger was no longer anything like imminent. I didn't like that thought path, so I killed time with Spider Solitaire.

  When the phone rang I jumped like it had bitten me. It rang out. Rang again. Steeling myself, I picked it up.

  Dad was checking that we were all still on for the evening, and confirming the address of the restaurant where we were meeting. He dropped a clumsy hint that he could meet us at home with the car. I told him a lift was sorted and that we'd see him there. Any embarrassment caused by the obvious avoidance of telling him where we lived was less of an issue than making sure he didn't know. I wasn't ready for that yet.

  Kate came home, with our darling Oscar in tow. She laughed at Oscar and me greeting each other like long lost pals, although some of my enthusiasm was tempered by the discomfort of my bruises. Oscar seemed to sense something was wrong and nosed my hand with an enquiring whimper.

  "He's put on weight," I observed.

  "Anthony spoils him," said Kate indulgently.

  "More walks for you," I told Oscar. Oscar yipped a happy agreement to the plan. I fed him and played peek-a-boo around the sofa with him while Kate showered. Finally, Oscar collapsed, panting, on the carpet and rolled onto his back to show me his rounded belly for tickling.

  It can take Kate up to an hour and a half to get ready for a night out when she's pulling out the stops, whereas, left to my own devices, I rarely take more than 15 minutes. Less if I decide to let my hair go au naturel.

  Kate wanted to put up my hair and do my make-up for me, though. It felt nice to let her, and it took my mind off everything else. Dressed in a long, smoky grey skirt with pale blue highlights and a matching top, my hair pinned up high with a tail of hair cascading over my shoulders, I actually looked pretty good. Kate was stunningly curvaceous in her lavender-and-cream halter-neck dress and heels.

  The buzzer blatted. Anthony's filtered voice stated that he was waiting downstairs. We left Oscar chewing on a dog treat and took the lift down.

  The tall, dark, Adonis-like love of my sister's life greeted us with an all-encompassing smile, though the sunniest part of it was saved for Kate. Anthony's short, wavy hair curled appealingly over his brow and highlighted his kind, brown eyes. A shiny silver hoop glinted in one ear and, combined with a faint scar under his right eye (from an aggressive childhood game of football, he said), he had a rakish air. It would have been easy to dismiss him as an untrustworthy buccaneer, if it wasn't for his underlying sweetness and generosity. He made a point of including me in the conversation on the slow walk across the river into town, solicitous of my still-healing injuries.

  Dad was waiting with a jittery smile at the restaurant Kate had booked. He kissed Kate and then me on the cheek and shook Anthony's hand while Kate made the introductions.

  Dinner was bearable, apart from the awkwardness inherent in the fact that this was a difficult reunion compounded by the first meeting of the boyfriend. Strangely, Dad seemed more intent on making a good impression on Anthony than in checking out Anthony's credentials.

  Painfully aware of Dad's drinking, no-one ordered alcohol. Instead, it turned into Lansburys all round, the alcohol-shy person's alternative to plain old soft drink. Lemonade, lime juice, with Angastura bitters providing bite and the hint of alcohol without any actual boozy effects, over ice. Which matched the atmosphere.

  Conversation was stilted and revealed the gap containing all the things he had missed in the last few years. He thought I was still part time at the library and I hadn't informed him I was studying again.

  Dad moved on to asking Anthony about his work as a lawyer.

  Anthony took the opportunity to praise Kate as the firm's legal secretary instead.

  "We wouldn't get half as much done without her," he said, looking at her with adoring pride, "She's so organised, right on top of things every minute. I keep telling her she should finish her law degree. She'd be a gun in court."

  Kate flushed with pleasure, and Dad nodded vigorously in agreement. "Kate was doing very well at university. I told her at the time she should keep up with it, but…" He faltered and reached for his Lansbury so he'd have something to do besides talk about it.

  The 'but' was Paul's death, just over three years ago now. A lot of things didn't go to plan after that.

  Anthony came to the conversational rescue. "So, Mr Wilson, what are you up to now you're back in Melbourne?"

  Dad soon invited Anthony to call him Bill and spoke about his discussions with a private tennis club to coach the rich and over-achieving.

  We managed to survive dinner sober and civil. Effort was being made all round, and Anthony proved adept at tactful diversion whenever the atmosphere got a bit stiff, which was often. He talked about his jazz band; he and Dad compared notes on their travels in Europe; he told witty anecdotes about the office and altogether proved himself worthy of my sister's affections.

  "I've got an idea," said Anthony, damn him, "There's this great reggae-ska-salsa trio playing tonight at the Diamond. Why don't we check it out?"

  I thought that Dad would opt out but he eagerly agreed with the suggestion. He was clearly still hoping the evening was going to improve: an optimism I did not share.

  Queen Street wasn't far away and naturally, with Kate and Anthony side by side, Dad fell to keeping pace with me.

  "What's up honey? You're limping."

  "Mishap with a staircase," I said, keeping the story straight, "I'm a bit banged up, but I'll live."

  "Good to hear it. And. Well. I thought you seemed down tonight, too."

  "Just tired, Dad."

  "All right."

  Having done his fatherly duty, we walked on in silence until Anthony paused in front of a short stairway up to a plain office building. He was greeted by name in the dowdy wood-panelled foyer by a leggy dark-haired woman. As the gatekeeper to the club, she set the tone with panache. Her black, sexy-chic outfit had been designed around a pair of gorgeous high-heeled shoes of the type I could never have the courage to buy, let alone wear.

  Into the drab lift, which made the foyer look flash, and onto the fifteenth floor, where we emerged into a surprisingly charming, moodily lit room filled with dark polished furniture and the elegant yet slightly decadent air of a 1920s Manhattan speakeasy. To the right was a display case bearing a giant 'diamond' of royal blue glass. The walls were adorned with dozens of black ink caricatures, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on an urban panorama of spires, domes and office buildings glowing with blue- and yellow-washed lights.

  Smartly uniformed staff mixed cocktails at the bar with nonchalant efficiency. I recognised one of the young guys and spent a second trying to place him before realising I'd seen him at the Gold Bug. He gave me a puzzled not-placing-you look too, and otherwise didn't acknowledge me.

  The manager stood at one end of the bar, greeting people as they arrived. He knew Anthony and led him immediately to a semi-circle of lavishly comfortable leather seats in front of the stage. A tealight candle cast a cosy glow from a frosted glass bowl in the centre of the table.

  Glasses of chilled water followed, accompanied by a wine list. Anthony exchanged a few quiet words with the host, who nodded and departed briskly to attend to matters.

  "I've asked them to whip up something special for us," said Anthony, looking very pleased with himself. He obviously enjoyed springing this place on people. "The band'll be on in about half an hour."

  Talk fell to music. Anthony's band, my Dad's bygone days of '70s glam rock and impossible platform shoes. He started to tell the story of how he'd met Mum at the police-run Blue Light Disco and faded out.

  "Anyway, that's old news," he said after a minute. "I know Anthony and Kate met at their office," he continued, with a forced smile. "How come you haven't snagged someone yet?"

  My boy
friends keep killing or getting killed by vampires, except when they're turning rental properties into heroin labs.

  "I've been busy," I said after a moment, "Work. Study. You know."

  "I suppose it's been hard for you, since last April."

  Oh please, do not go there.

  "Last April?" Anthony asked.

  Kate jabbed him in the knee and memory dawned at the same moment Dad said, "When those Goth murders happened."

  "That's all long past now, Dad. I try not to talk about it," I said in what I hoped was a quelling tone. Kate backed me up with a fierce frown, and Dad was suitably quelled.

  "As long as you're okay," he mumbled.

  A pang of pity struck me, he looked so abashed.

  "Yeah, I'm doing fine," I offered a small smile. This was a reconciliation, I reminded myself, not an opportunity to creep Dad out about my life.

  Conversation dried up.

  Anthony slapped the tabletop in an unnecessarily expansive gesture. "You guys should see the view from the balcony. It's fabulous." He jumped up, and we all obediently followed. Checking out the view gave us something to do besides not talk.

  The balcony was already well populated with people carrying cocktails and cigarettes. A tiny bit of room was available for us at the chest-high steel railing. Anthony took great pleasure in pointing out the landmarks in the glittering darkness. To the left were the lights of the northern suburbs. Shifting around to the east, the glass cone encasing a 19th century shot tower, the dark humps of the distant Dandenong Ranges, the old post office clock tower, and the floodlit spires of St Patrick's Cathedral beyond Spring Street. We couldn't see the river between the buildings to the south, but the Eureka Tower on the opposite bank thrust up like a deformed memory stick, its golden tapering upper floors waiting to plug into some alien USB port.

  I commented on the view, all the time wondering if any vampires were out there on the rooftops, looking back at us.

  "In the daytime," Anthony was saying, pointing past the Tower, "You can see the yachts on the Bay."

  "Back in a minute," said Dad and he ducked inside, presumably to go to the gents.

  Kate was leaning against Anthony, the two of them admiring the view. Anthony's arm was around Kate's waist. They looked so good together.

  "Catch you inside," I said. The only indication they'd heard me was a waggle of the fingers from Kate.

  Returning to the atmospherically lit interior, I peered through the crowd looking for Dad, figuring he was better company than none at all, by a very small margin. At least I could keep him occupied and let Kate and Anthony have some alone time on the balcony. However, Dad wasn't at our table, which was now laden with four identical fruity looking cocktails.

  A sip proved my suspicions - a refreshingly crafted mocktail of juice, coconut milk and sundry mystery ingredients. The only things missing were those ridiculous paper umbrellas and alcohol. That Anthony was a smart boy. Through the walls of floor-to-ceiling glass I could see the two of them on the balcony, failing to admire the view in their wholehearted admiration of each other.

  I sipped some more, scanning the room for Dad.

  Instead, a familiar, wildly out-of-place shirt hove into view.

  On second glance, Gary and his bright shirt were not entirely misplaced. The dress code, I noticed, tended towards the eclectic, when it wasn't veering off into the plain eccentric. I had immediately warmed to the venue because of it.

  Gary had spotted me too, and was making a beeline for me.

  "Gary, what the hell are you doing here?"

  "Hi."

  "I mean, of course, 'hello'. I didn't mean to be so cranky yesterday. It's good to see you."

  "You too. And I've been following that kid. Abe. He was headed this way a minute ago."

  Shocked doesn't begin to cover it. The cocktail went everywhere, I started so violently - down my shirt, over the table, onto my shoes. The glass slipped from now wet and sticky fingers and after a moment of fumbled juggling, Gary plucked it out of my hands and put it down with a solid clunk on the table.

  "Where is he? Is Evan with him?" I cast wildly around the room for them.

  "I only saw Abe. I lost him downstairs. I'm sure he's on his way up."

  "Tell me what happened."

  "I'd run out of biscuits for next time you visited, so I went to the shops this morning. When I got back, I saw Abe out the front of my house. I waited until he left and then I thought I should follow. See if your friend was really dead."

  My heart was thundering in my chest. "Is he?"

  "Maybe not. I followed the kid for hours, but I lost track of him somewhere around Richmond, around the warehouses near Burnley Station."

  "Abe's not as badly hurt as you all thought." Perhaps that meant Evan was less injured too.

  "That, and he's healed up pretty fast. I've noticed that the older we are, the faster we mend."

  "He didn't see you following him? Or smell you?"

  "I don't think so. Vampires don't smell of much, anyway."

  "So how did you track him?"

  "It wasn't hard. He didn't know I was there. I don't think he was trying to be stealthy. He seemed really preoccupied, actually. When I caught up with him again on Swan Street he was really agitated. I got close enough at one stage to smell blood on him."

  Dread dragged at my heart. "Blood? Do you think he…?" The question hung there, Gary failing to make the connection, and I had to finish what I didn't want to say. "Do you think Abe bit Evan? Turned him?" I would have wished Evan dead before I wished that on him.

  "No. He wasn't, you know, lively or anything. Just kind of… smeared."

  Not much comfort there. "Have you told Magdalene or Mr Smith about this?"

  Gary gave me a funny look. "No."

  A brief respite from anxiety came with the answer, followed by deepening suspicion. "Why not?"

  "When you thought Evan was dead, it made you sad. I thought if he was still alive, you wouldn't be sad any more. I was trying to find him, but Abe came here instead. I think he's tracking you again."

  "What? Why? How?"

  "I don't know why they want you."

  "Unless it's still to use me to get at you."

  Gary did not look comfortable with that idea. "As for tracking you, he knows your scent now, and he knows you hang around the city." I thought of the night I'd met Evan in the mall. "He got to the city before sunset and he's been going all over, trying to pick up a fresh trail."

  "Where is he now?"

  "He went round a side street and started climbing. I thought I'd take the lift."

  "How did you know I was here? And if you tell me you could smell me I'm going to belt you one."

  "You're wearing that jasmine perfume," Gary said defensively, "And I heard you talking on the balcony."

  "You recognised my voice from the street?"

  "Yeah." As though that was obvious.

  "Have you seen him yet?" I had been darting looks all around throughout this exchange, with no sign of Abe. He was pretty distinctive, and with the additional distinguishing feature of being blood-smeared I would have thought impossible to miss.

  "Not yet." Gary cocked his head, listening. Paused. Looked up at the ceiling.

  A bright blue bank logo could be seen glowing at the top of a neighbouring building through a long, wide skylight. Mostly, the glass reflected the warm candlelight and the golden brown of the low-lit dance floor. I wondered, with a growing sense of wrongness, what was casting the black shadow in the glass on the edge of the skylight nearest to me.

  The shadow moved.

  I started violently again, legs jerking against the table and spilling the untouched drinks.

  The shadow crawled spider-like across the surface of the glass. Abe looked down at me, his expression sly. Then he saw Gary, and the expression intensified into something hungry and wild. He crawled on, towards the balcony.

  Towards Kate and Anthony.

  "Gary, get out of here!" I pushed pas
t him while he was still staring upwards. As I shoved, he turned and we staggered together onto the parquetry dance floor. I tried to push him in the direction of the lifts but he stuck to my heels, following me to the balcony door. Where we collided with Dad.

  "Whoa there, kids," he held up his hands, "What's the hurry?"

  Explaining would have taken several hours and a PowerPoint presentation. I tried to shove past him and he grabbed me by the shoulders. "Hey, sweetheart." That's when I smelled the alcohol on him.

  "I don't have time for you."

  "That's no way to talk to your father," Dad's hands tightened, hurting my bruises and making me wince.

  Gary's hand closed over Dad's right wrist and forced it ungently off my shoulder. Dad, gasping in pain, snatched the other hand back as well.

  "Ease up Gary, that's my Dad." I didn't like my father much right now, but I didn't want Gary to break his tennis hand. Outside, I could see Anthony and Kate canoodling, but no sign of Abe.

  "You're hurting her, Mr Wilson," Gary said in a low, stern voice. He angled Dad firmly aside, and Gary and I shouldered on through the crowd to the glass door.

  "Kate, get inside, we've got trouble," I began urgently, thrusting open the door. Never mind the fact they were mid-snog. Anthony gave me a look of mild surprise at the interruption. Kate was instantly tense and alert.

  Before I could elaborate, the aforementioned trouble swung nimbly from the eaves onto the balcony beside us.

  Kate half swallowed a shriek of fright and Anthony instinctively moved to stand between her and the strange new arrival. A boy in dirty jeans and a tattered, blood-stained T-shirt. A bloodless cut across his cheek was almost closed and the top of one ear was missing. His arm, I also noticed, was peculiarly shaped. It can't have been straightened after the car accident and had mended crookedly. Glancing down, I could see one of his bare feet was also twisted out of true.

  Pity and revulsion made me feel sick.

  Abe measured Anthony up speculatively before tilting his head to regard me and then Gary frostily. The intensity of the look he gave Gary was terrifying.

  I stepped towards Abe. God only knows what I thought I was going to do.