“I insist.”
I hesitated, but followed after her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Val heading for Tina.
Boy, can I clear a room or what?
Mrs. Guerrero led me to the kitchen, took my cane, and leaned it against the table. She took my hands in hers and looked up into my eyes.
“Ma’am, Tina was—” I said.
“There was no reason for that.”
It caught me off guard—sometimes she acknowledged Tina’s layered cruelty, but most times she didn’t.
“I’ve caused her a lot of grief,” I said. “She needs someone to hate and I’m …” I felt the first tear escape.
“Hush.” Mrs. G pulled me into a hug. She and Val were the only people I let touch me.
I try so hard to maintain a hardass image and now this.
“Let it out, honey.” She rocked me ever so gently. Her strength always amazed me. After a minute, her grip loosened.
“Tell me what is bothering you.”
“Nothing.”
“Natalie.” The Mom tone was clear. “You hardly touched your dinner. You have lost weight, you are not sleeping, and you have been avoiding me. Is there something I have done to upset you?” The last part was punctuated with a hurt tone.
“Hel—I mean, heck no! It’s just the migraines have been really bad lately.”
“I am sorry.” She frowned. “Perhaps it is time we find you another physician. They are always finding new ways to help people.”
I gave her a halfhearted smile. “Ma’am, sometimes you have to accept the reality in front of you and move on.”
She gave me the once-over, and I squirmed. Mrs. Guerrero was a human lie detector. It was one of the things that made her a great prosecutor.
“What is going on?” she said. “This is not about your headaches or Augustina.”
“I’m wiped out is all.” I grabbed a tissue from the counter.
“Natalie.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please stop by in the morning. We can talk more privately then.” She narrowed her eyes. “Promise me. No disappearing acts.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I reached for my backpack. “Would you do me a favor please?”
“Of course.”
I pulled out the wooden box. “Would you give this to Val for me?”
“I think you should give this to her yourself.”
“Please?”
She sighed and put the gift on the table. I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door.
“I will see you tomorrow.” It was more of a command than a statement.
“Yes, ma’am—thank you.”
I left the Guerrero kitchen and headed into the night.
By the time I got home, the migraine was close to being full-blown. My vision was going and the nausea was coming.
I walked in and tossed the keys on the counter. The apartment was dark, cool, and quiet. Thank you, air conditioner.
I couldn’t concentrate on packing. I’d do it in the morning.
I stared into the mirror over the bathroom sink. What little color my gray eyes had seemed to have drained and darkened the circles beneath them. I was beyond tired.
I traced the scar on my face. I’d never be pretty, but I’d come to terms with that a long time ago. The scar was just part of who I was—and it reminded me of what not to become.
I shut the light off and headed to the living room, where I collapsed into the big butt chair and closed my eyes. My pistol was on the side table within easy reach. Exhaustion overran my consciousness and took me to a place of dreams and shadows—a place I always dreaded.
My father was waiting for me.
He grabbed my arm, swung me around and slammed me into the wall. My shoulder popped. Dislocated, I knew from experience.
“You have to make everything so difficult,” he said. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m an idiot?”
He filled my vision, and behind him there was nothing, only darkness.
“Sir, please, what—”
He pressed his forearm into my collarbone. I heard a sound like a waterfall of ice cubes cascading into a glass.
“You are MY daughter.”
I heard the click of the retractable baton. He raised it in his left hand, holding me with his right. In a blur of motion the baton connected with my right knee. The pain in my knee overwhelmed the pain in my shoulder. He drew back again and delivered another blow, then another, and another. I was screaming, but there was no sound, not even from the baton when it cracked down on me.
He lifted my chin in his hand. My stomach roiled.
He touched his forehead to mine and, with his finger, traced a path from the corner of my left eye, around my cheekbone, down to the corner of my mouth. I felt something cold against my tear-stained cheek, then he drew the blade along the path he’d made with his finger. Blood wept down my face. He took my arm in his hands and examined it.
“‘Between the idea and the reality, between the conception and the creation, falls the shadow.’” His grip tightened. Behind him, the shadows started moving, taking on a life of their own. “Natalie, you are my shadow. You betrayed me today—I can’t afford that.”
He snapped my arm like a twig.
I woke up screaming.
Good God it was loud! My shirt was damp with fear. Just a dream—which didn’t make me feel any better.
The phone started ringing. I struggled out of the chair and grabbed it on the fourth ring.
“Hello?” I rubbed my right temple and tried to wish the pain away.
“Hey,” Val said. “I wanted to thank you for my gift. I love it.”
“This couldn’t wait until morning?”
“It’s almost eight o’clock, slacker. I’m on my way to a breakfast meeting with a new client.”
I checked the clock and sighed. “Okay. See you later.”
“You sound awful,” she said. “Headache? More nightmares?”
I hated that she knew me so well.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry about Tina.”
“I’ve got these huge ex-supermodel shoulders for a reason.”
She snorted. “Your shoulders have a lot on them already.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Talk to me.”
“What your sister said …”
“She’s a bitch. And we both know the world revolves around her.”
“You better pay attention to the road.”
“Look, Tina needs to trade in her thong, put on her big girl panties, and get over it. Mom adores you.” I could hear the grin in her voice. “I just put up with you.”
“I’m just tired.” An understatement—I felt like I’d been taking body blows 24/7, and I was well past exhaustion.
“I’ll stop by later. We’ll catch a movie, get some dinner, and you can tell me what’s really bothering you.”
“Be careful. Bye.” I hung up.
I decided to shower. Maybe then I could shake this headache, get packed, and get my ass on the road before Val showed up.
I settled down to packing and the stupid phone rang.
“Dammit!” I said to the duffel bag. I grabbed the handset and checked the caller ID: R. Guerrero.
I put it down.
Mrs. Guerrero’s voice held a bit of tension. “Natalie, if you are there, please pick up the telephone.” Discord hummed over the line. “Mrs. Edwards called me this morning. It is imperative I speak with you.”
The phone continued to ring all morning: Mrs. Guerrero, Mrs. Edwards, Val. You get the sequence. The answering machine was getting a workout.
This leaving thing was a lot harder than I thought.
The phone rang yet again.
Val’s voice was a mixture of fury and desperation: “Pick up the goddamned phone!”
My life was decorated with bad decisions, but leaving wasn’t one of them. Val and her mom meant the world to me. I dragged the duffel bag out to my 1974 Toyota
FJ40. It would get me to my destination, I was certain, even if my mechanic wasn’t.
There was a man standing by my truck.
He was taller than me by a few inches, putting him at six foot four. Even in middle age, he maintained a quarterback’s physique. His brown hair was cut short, as it had been in the past. His eyes were a mosaic of grays and blues. My father.
I went numb, then terror ran through me with the turbulence of a piranha attack—ripping flesh from bone and leaving only cold memories.
He smiled. “Natalie. It’s good to see you.”
“Why are you here?” Of all the things I planned on saying to him, that was the best I could do just then. “What do you want?”
He had the balls to look surprised. “I came back for you. You also have some things that belong to me,” he said. “I’d like them back.”
“I don’t have anything of yours,” I said. My brain screamed at me to shoot him, but my elbows were locked and I couldn’t make my hands unclench.
“Your grandparents tell a different story.”
My fingers twitched. I had no idea what he was talking about.
He sighed. “I made a mistake the last time I saw you—”
“You made two.”
“I always assumed it was you who … no.” He snorted. “Of course you didn’t have the nerve. Your mother might have, but she would never betray me—”
“What are you talking about?” I needed to stall. Think, Pooh, think!
“The pages, Natalie.” For the first time, he looked impatient. “I hope you’ve taken good care of my work.”
“I don’t have any pages.”
“Those pages are the product of decades of work!” He took a step closer. “Where are they?”
My brain tried to coax the rest of my body into motion.
“You were always a visual learner.” My father dropped to his knees, reached under the truck, and snatched Rufus, the neighbor’s cat. He’d been watching the show, too slow and stupid to stay away.
My father snapped his neck. The cat went slack in his grip.
Good God! Rufus did obnoxious cat things, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be caught up in this crapstorm.
“Watch carefully,” my father said. “Not an ideal setup, but you’ll get the idea.”
He grabbed my cane, looked around the yard, and settled on the dirt patch where my landlord was supposed to plant some grass.
“This will do.”
He drew a circle and placed the dead cat in the center. He paced the circumference, then stopped to scrawl in the dirt. Once satisfied, he produced a knife and pricked his finger. The blood welled up and he smeared it on the limp body, chanting in low tones.
I should be running, shooting, anything. Instead, I stood motionless. I’d always known my father was crazy, a monster. Now he’d turned into something I had no words for.
A tentacle of light sprang into existence and wound around the circle.
He was like a master sugar artist, pulling and shaping, bending and twirling the beam with his hands. After a while he snapped his hands up, then down—the light shot straight into the late Rufus.
Rufus shivered and stumbled to his feet, dazed. My father swept his foot across the line, breaking it, and the cat took his leave.
What the fuck just happened?
“Do you see what this is all about now?” My father brushed away the drawings.
“You need serious help.” And I needed a reality check. He murdered Rufus, then brought him back to life—that, or this father-daughter reunion had splintered what little sanity I had left.
“Rita’s powers have faded—she can’t protect you anymore.” The vein in his temple was pulsing, his anger was rising. “Give me the pages. With you and your mother by my side—”
Fucking maniac! My mother had been dead for years. But hey—when in doubt, stick with what you know.
“I don’t have your stupid pages.”
His eyes drilled into mine. He took a step forward, then stopped.
“You really don’t have them,” he said. He reddened with anger. “What a waste of time—”
“I feel the same way about you.”
My pistol was halfway out of the holster before he grabbed it and tossed it away, his hot breath on my face. He moved a lot faster than I remembered.
“Do you recognize this knife?” He held the blade up. “It’s one of my favorites. Remarkably graceful grind, dramatic full.”
How could I forget? That big-ass blade still scared the crap out of me.
“So for $19.95, did it come with steak knives or just the oven glove?”
He thrust the blade into my lower abdomen and jerked it up to my sternum. Warm, wet blood soaked through my clothes. Great, I was an episode of CSI.
My father withdrew the knife and disappeared into a state of nonexistence.
I wasn’t sure what was happening as I fell backward and hit the ground hard. Flashes of light volleyed about. Brilliant colors fluttered by. I tried to get up, but Val’s gentle hands kept me down. There was movement everywhere around me.
“Nat, look at me,” Val said. She took my hand—it was slick with red. Must be blood—mine, I guessed. I’m quick like that.
“You … okay?” My breathing was labored, rough. “Your … mom?”
“We’re fine. Where the hell are the EMS guys?”
“They are en route.” Mrs. Guerrero was kneeling on my other side. When did they get here?
Val squeezed my hand—I was too weak to return the gesture.
“Mom …”
“Keep talking to her.” Mrs. Guerrero touched my stomach and murmured something too low to make out.
The world around me started to tremble, reverberate. It felt like the life was leaving my body. The shadows were coming. Not like before, though. Not threatening, like the nightmares.
“He … can’t … hurt me … any … more,” I said.
“Who?” Val said.
A futile exhalation.
“Who did this to you?”
My voice was fading, my breathing ragged. “Father …”
“Cut it out!” Val’s eyes never left mine. Tears slid down her cheeks. “You’re fine, you’re going to be fine …”
I tried to say goodbye and that I loved them. The noise began to fade as I drifted into the stillness and the peace the shadows offered.
This time, my mother was waiting for me.
Blood was everywhere: on the walls, the floor, the furniture, her. I listened for my father but there was nothing.
“Ma’am?” I said. The life was leaving her eyes—I could still see the hatred in them.
“He needs me to finish the ritual.” Her voice was raspy. “I never … should have had you …”
I turned away from her, away from the blood. The acrid stench filled my nostrils and I gagged. I needed to get out of there before my father came back. I tried to stand, but couldn’t. I was slipping, couldn’t find my feet with all the blood.
Sirens, howling. Sirens meant strangers—strangers were coming to see all my secrets.
“Natalie?” It was Mrs. Guerrero.
If I stayed still, didn’t make any noise, they wouldn’t see me, they would leave. Instead, I saw Mrs. Guerrero sitting down with me.
“Your clothes …” I said. “Blood’s hard to get out.”
She tried to touch me and I moved away as best I could.
“Honey, please, you are safe now. I will stay with you. I promise.” She touched my leg. I flinched.
“Oh, child, what have they done to you?”
I woke up.
I was pretty sure I wasn’t in hell, because I smelled fresh linens that had been hung out in the sun to dry. Hell wouldn’t smell like sunshine and clean sheets.
What happened? Think. Oh crap! It was something to do with my father. I started to panic. Where the hell was I? Machines to the left of me, clowns to the right. Lines ran out of my arm and into an IV pole. Leads, or whatever
they were called, were attached to various parts of my body. Something—oxygen I guess—was up my nose.
There were two chairs facing each other by the window. Someone was using them as a makeshift bed—I couldn’t see who, since the person was covered by a blanket.
I ripped the thing off my face as I tried to sit up. Bad idea. Pain shredded through my stomach.
The figure by the window stirred.
“Nat?” Val’s voice was sleep-muddled. “You’re awake!”
She threw the blanket on the floor, hopped off the chairs, and was by me in the blink of my eye. I winced as she grabbed me and hugged me hard.
“How do you feel? I have to call Mom.” More questions followed. They were rapid fire and there were too many of them to answer anyway.
“Water … please.”
Val held the cup for me while I took a sip from the straw.
“You okay? Your family?” I said.
“We’re all fine.”
I saw what I thought was a blanket on the bed, but it turned out to be a quilt. One of Mrs. Guerrero’s.
“Mom brought it from home for you,” Val said.
Mystery of good-smelling stuff solved.
A nurse came in, surprised to see me awake. She shooed Val out and did nurse things. She made a quick trip out of the room and returned with doctors, who did doctor things. Just what I loved, strangers touching me.
“How’s the pain level on a scale of one to ten?” Dr. Poke and Prod said. “Ten being the worst imaginable.”
I tried to hide the grimace. “It’s a one.”
“You’re not a very good liar, Ms. Gannon. Just press this button and the pain meds will start.” He demonstrated on the line going into my arm. “If it becomes intolerable, call the nurse.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I shifted away from him.
“If it wasn’t for Mrs. Guerrero, you wouldn’t have made it,” one of the other young doctors said.
“What did you say?”
A nurse stopped him and ushered him and the others out of the room.
“My name is Helen.” Her voice was like bourbon and cigarettes—she smelled of the latter. “I’m a friend of Mrs. Guerrero’s. If you need anything, let me know.” She padded out of the room on silent nurse shoes.
The Darkness of Shadows Page 2
