Within the Shadows

by Brandon Massey

  The dream had been so real.

  In her last pager message, she’d promised him that he would dream about her. Her words must have acted upon him like a post-hypnotic suggestion.

  The digital clock read 2:21. It was a long time until morning. He needed to get all the rest he could, as he had a full day ahead of him tomorrow.

  First, he wanted to clean himself up. He switched on the lamp. He checked to ensure that he hadn’t stained the sheets—Carmen would never let him live that down if he had—then pushed out of bed and padded to the adjoining bathroom.

  A red silk thong hung on the knob of the bathroom door.

  It hadn’t been there before he’d retired to bed. He was absolutely certain of it.

  And it looked like the same thong Mika had been wearing last night.

  He lifted it off the knob, sniffed it.

  It had the fragrance of jasmine on it, too.

  In the bathroom, Andrew laid the thong on the vanity, and cleaned himself up.

  He didn’t know where the thong had come from. His first thought was that it belonged to Carmen, but she would’ve had to sneak inside his room and drop it on the doorknob while he was sleeping, and he couldn’t imagine her doing such a thing. She was a flirt, and he suspected that she liked him as more than a friend, but this didn’t seem to be her style.

  And Mika? It looked like hers, smelled like hers . . . but how could she have gotten in the house? Carmen had turned on the security system. The alarm would have wailed like crazy if someone had broken inside. It couldn’t have been her.

  The logical explanation was that Carmen had done it. Maybe she was more assertive than he’d assumed. It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman had surprised him.

  He smiled to himself. Carmen was a nice girl, but she had a little freak in her, didn’t she? It turned him on.

  He changed into a fresh pair of boxers. Twirling the thong around his fingers, he crossed the hallway and went to Carmen’s bedroom. The door was partly open. He spied her in the darkness, wrapped in sheets.

  A bright light flashed in his face. Carmen asked, “Who’s there?”

  Shielding his eyes against the glare, he said, “It’s just me.”

  “Oh.” She lowered the flashlight. “What is it?”

  “Can I come in for a sec? Want to show you something.”

  She murmured a yes. He sat on the side of her bed, and dropped the thong between them.

  “You forgot this,” he said.

  She spot-lit the garment with her heavy-duty flashlight. She always slept with the light nearby, she’d confided to Andrew once. As a single woman living alone, it made her feel safe.

  “What’re you talking about?” she asked. “This isn’t mine.”

  “It has to be yours. It was hanging on the doorknob of the bathroom.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s not mine.” She pushed the thong away as if it were something filthy.

  “Stop playing, girl.”

  “I’m not playing . . . what’s that noise?”

  He heard it, too. It sounded like people talking and laughing.

  “Must be the TV,” he said.

  She clicked on a lamp, flung back the sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “But I turned the TV off before we went to bed,” she said.

  Both of them looked toward the hallway.

  He suddenly knew that they had a visitor in the house.

  Chapter 17

  They checked the control panel of the security system, located on the wall beside the door of her bedroom. The red “Secure” light burned.

  If someone were in the living room watching television, the motion detector component of the system would have picked up the movement and triggered the alarm.

  Unless the visitor was not an ordinary, flesh-and-blood person.

  “You sure you turned off the TV?” Andrew asked.

  “Positive,” she said.

  Dampness lay across the back of his neck, like a cold towel.

  What would Mark Justice do in this situation?

  Justice must have become acclimated to the weird things happening to Andrew, because he promptly replied: Don’t be a punk. Go check it out, brotherman.

  “Okay,” he said, sounding braver than he felt. “I’ll check it out.”

  “I’ll go with you. You lead.” She placed the flashlight in his hand. “This makes a good club.”

  He almost told her that, due to the nature of the suspected intruder, he doubted any weapon whatsoever would offer any help. But he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to frighten her. He was scared enough himself.

  She punched in the code to disarm the security system. He led the way down the hall, Carmen close behind.

  The living room was around a bend. He reached around the wall, flipped the light switch. Light illuminated the area.

  The television was on. The movie playing struck him as comically ironic: The Sixth Sense.

  The room was empty.

  He released a pent-up breath.

  Carmen left his side and entered the kitchen, turning on lights.

  Nothing else appeared to be out of place in the living room.

  Maybe a power surge had turned on the television. It had been storming for much of the night. Stuff like that happened, didn’t it?

  Although his intuition gave him a different explanation for the TV, he was determined to find a logical answer.

  “Drew, you better come in here,” Carmen said. Her voice was troubled.

  Dread lay heavy on his shoulders. He walked into the kitchen.

  She pointed to the refrigerator.

  A collection of colorful alphabet magnets clung to the refrigerator door. Carmen had bought the magnets months ago to entertain her nephew, who was learning how to read.

  The letters had been arranged into a phrase.

  CAINT RUN ANDREW

  His heart whammed like a bass drum.

  The ghost had followed him.

  Carmen looked at him, her eyes haunted.

  “Looks like you’re not the only guest at my house tonight.”

  Andrew never imagined that the first time he’d share a bed with Carmen would be under circumstances like this.

  The discovery in the kitchen had put both of them on edge. The message was clear to him: there was no escaping his ghostly companion. Whoever it was, and whatever it wanted, it was following him. There was little point in staying at Carmen’s house, or anywhere other than his own home, again.

  But tonight, he didn’t want to be alone, and neither did Carmen. Nothing unusual had ever happened in her house, she said, and it creeped her out. In spite of the ghost’s earlier message telling Andrew that there was nothing to fear, an almost primitive anxiety, like a child’s fear of the dark, held sway over both of them. Sleeping in the same bed was probably the only way either of them would feel safe enough to shut their eyes that night.

  Earlier in the evening, they had talked about him attempting to talk to the ghost. But he’d been too frightened to try anything when they found the message on the refrigerator. Perhaps tomorrow, in daylight, he’d summon the nerve.

  They kept the bedside lamp on, placing it on its dimmest setting. Neither of them wanted to sleep in the dark. Not tonight.

  Beside him, Carmen burrowed under the sheets.

  “Never thought something like this would land us in bed together,” she said.

  “I was just thinking about that.”

  “I bet. Don’t think you’re gonna get some.”

  “Damn, I’d gotten my hopes up.” He was kidding—partly. He had to admit to a healthy curiosity about what might happen between them in such close quarters.

  “I’m not that easy,” she said. “Unlike some women you know.”

  “Ouch. You’re still upset about that, huh?”

  She closed her eyes, didn’t respond.

  “Now I get the silent treatment?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “Go to
sleep, Drew.”

  “Come on, I wanna talk about this.”

  “What’s there to talk about? You slept with a woman you hardly knew, a woman who turned out to be a psycho, and it’s none of my business, like you said.”

  “You’re definitely acting like it’s your business.”

  She yawned—a bit dramatically. “I need to get some sleep, Drew.”

  “Are you jealous?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you are.”

  “Are you jealous of me dating other men?”

  He paused. “Maybe . . . a little.”

  “All right, so maybe I’m a little jealous of you seeing other women.”

  It was as close as they’d ever gotten to confessing their true feelings for each other. Would they finally cross over the line, come clean about their emotions?

  “Then what’re we gonna do about it?” he said. “Both of us being a little jealous and all?”

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  She was putting the onus on him. Waiting on him to initiate. She was old-fashioned like that, he knew. No matter how much she liked a man, she wasn’t going to chase him. In her opinion, a real man would have the guts to make the first move.

  He wanted to take their relationship to the next level. Truly, he did. But with all the crazy things going on in his life, was this the right time? He was scared to death of making a mistake with her. He cherished her too much to ever want to hurt her.

  “Listen, Carmen, can we have this conversation later? I don’t think this is a good time.”

  She sighed. The sigh was full of disappointment.

  “Yeah, Drew. You’re probably right. Bad timing.”

  “When things settle down, though, I want us to have a heart-to-heart about it.”

  “Well, until then, I just want to make it clear. All flirting aside, I don’t do the friends-with-benefits thing.”

  “Understood,” he said. “And respected.”

  “Good.”

  “Good night, Carmen.”

  “ ’Night, Drew.”

  She rolled over, away from him.

  She was upset. It bothered him, but he was trying to handle this as best he could. He didn’t want to rush into something and wind up regretting it. Like he’d done with Mika.

  But Carmen was different. He’d known her for years. He already loved her as a friend. He didn’t doubt that he could love her as more than a friend.

  But he was scared. Carmen offered the possibility of something deeper than he’d ever had before. A soul-to-soul connection. The promise of such intimacy, while exciting, frightened him. What if he wasn’t ready to give up the freedom of the bachelor life? What if he wasn’t good enough for her? What if, God forbid, they got bored with each other?

  Too many questions. No satisfying answers. He shoved the thoughts aside, to be revisited later.

  His mind turned back to the red thong he’d discovered in the bedroom.

  Carmen denied that it was hers, and he was inclined to believe her. Could the ghost have been responsible?

  That didn’t feel right to him, either. The ghost was concerned with leaving messages and getting his attention in a more straightforward manner.

  How about Mika? After all, it looked like hers, smelled like hers.

  But that would mean she’d gotten into the house. Slipped in and out with the stealth of a ninja, evading detection by the alarm system. Which seemed highly unlikely.

  But he had to admit that it was possible.

  He’d known Mika for only one day. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to trail him to Carmen’s house. The truth was, he knew so little about her that she could be capable of anything.

  Anything.

  It took him a long time to get back to sleep.

  Chapter 18

  On Thursday, Raymond and June had an early lunch at Gladys and Ron’s Chicken and Waffles, near Stonecrest Mall in Lithonia.

  That morning, he’d had an appointment with Dr. Price, the neurologist to whom his physician had referred him. Since it was on short notice, Dr. Unaeze had called on his behalf to book the visit, stressing the urgency of Raymond’s situation.

  June accompanied him to the neurologist. He underwent a cranial CT scan, a test to evaluate the brain for abnormalities and to visualize vascular masses. The scan results indicated that there was nothing wrong with him. Dissatisfied with the test results in light of Raymond’s complaints of intense headaches, the doctor scheduled an MRI for next Monday. The MRI promised to provide a more detailed picture of his brain—and what might be wrong with him.

  At the rate his life was deteriorating, Raymond wondered whether he’d still be sane by next Monday.

  Sitting at the restaurant table, they perused the lunch menus. After a moment, he put down his menu and gazed vacantly outside the large front windows. He didn’t have an appetite.

  What he did have was a growing anxiety that science would fail to diagnose and solve his real problem—the recurring dreams. Brain scans . . . MRIs . . . sleeping pills . . . none of them would help him. Maybe he should talk to a shrink. Or a psychic.

  That he was even considering such things was unusual for him. He’d never been to a psychiatrist, never called a psychic hot line. But he was running out of options. He was open to almost anything that might help him.

  June looked up from her menu. “What’s on your mind, honey?”

  His evasive response was automatic: “I’m supposed to meet my boy at the driving range this afternoon. Just thinking about seeing him again.”

  “Ray? Honestly.”

  He dragged his hand down his face. Avoiding the truth was pointless. June knew him well enough to know what really bothered him.

  “June, I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I’m worried.”

  Her eyes were kind.

  “We’re going to get help for you. The MRI next week—”

  “It won’t help. Got nothing to do with the problem.”

  “The dreams?”

  Lips tight, he nodded.

  He didn’t like to talk about the dreams anymore. He was beginning to feel superstitious about the nightmares, as if discussing them aloud would guarantee their return.

  The server arrived to take their orders. June ordered fried chicken and a waffle; Raymond asked for the same entree. If he didn’t at least attempt to eat, June would worry.

  “You still don’t remember what the dreams are about?” she asked.

  He shook his head. Wished she would change the subject.

  “Last night, before you screamed in the kitchen, I thought I heard you shouting,” she said. “You said something about Andrew going inside a house. It’s like you were warning him to stay out. Does that trigger anything?”

  He felt the blood drain out of his face.

  Her words brought the dream images crashing into his thoughts, with terrifying clarity.

  Noticing his sudden anxiety, June leaned forward.

  “What house, Ray?” she asked. “I know you remember, I see it in your eyes. Will you please tell me?”

  Ordinarily, she allowed him to confide in her at his own pace. Now, she was determined to pry the truth out of him.

  He slumped in his seat.

  He was too worn out to keep up the lies. And too worried.

  She waited for him to speak. Her hands were clasped together, her knuckles milky white.

  He’d thought he was the only one going through this hell. But she was suffering, too. He had been so focused on himself he hadn’t realized how badly his problems had affected her.

  He felt like an ass. She had always been in his corner. He was wrong to block her out.

  But could she help him?

  He didn’t know, but he was weary of shouldering the burden on his own.

  He hunkered forward and planted his elbows on the table.

  “All right,” he said. “This is what’s been going on . . .”

  Fifteen
minutes later, Raymond finished talking.

  The food sat on the table, growing cold. Neither of them had touched their meals.

  “So am I a certifiable nut case?” he asked.

  “Of course not. Don’t joke like that, you’re fine.”

  “Fine? How can you say that I’m fine?”

  She picked up her silverware and sliced into a chicken breast. “These visions you’ve been receiving are messages. Someone is trying to tell you something.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know exactly. My guess is that it’s something from a spiritual plane.”

  “You believe in stuff like that?”

  “Certainly. Don’t you?”

  It was funny. They had been married for over a dozen years, and he’d never known about her belief in the supernatural. It wasn’t something that had ever been a subject of conversation between them. He had unpeeled another layer to his wife, and it was a surprising discovery.

  “Since I don’t have any other explanation, I guess I do believe,” he said. “But why is this happening to me?”

  “Because you’re responsible,” she said.

  “Responsible for what?”

  “Saving your son,” she said.

  Her words sent a shiver through him. She was right. He knew it in the very core of his being. He was responsible for saving Andrew. Hearing her say it to him drove the truth home, deep into his soul.

  How ironic. He’d neglected his son for his entire life. Now he had to rescue him.

  “But what am I supposed to save him from?” he asked.

  “I’ve no idea. Has he told you that anything unusual’s happened to him lately?”

  “No. I’ll ask him when I see him this afternoon.” He sighed. “I wish I understood all of this better.”

  “We’re going to find out the answers,” she said. “Together.”

  She was so confident that his spirits lifted. He took a bite of chicken, chewed with gusto.

  “Where are we going to start with this?” he asked.

  “Research,” she said in a crisp tone. She had been a research librarian at Georgia State University for almost twenty years. But he never would have thought to seek her help decoding the mystery that had consumed his life.