When the Shadows Come

by Breck, Alyssa

  The man’s black boots didn’t make a sound as he walked across the pine wood floor. A brown bottle of Budweiser hung loosely from his grasp. “What can I do for you, darlin’?”

  “This gentleman is from the State Police. He’s investigating Mallory’s murder. I remembered you were here that night. He wants to ask you a few questions.”

  Larry stuck out his hand. “Lawrence William Walker, the third.”

  “Detective Nathan Claiborne. Thanks for giving me a few minutes of your time, Mr. Walker.”

  “Not a problem. We’d all like to see this son of a bitch caught for what he done to Mallory.”

  “What can you tell me about that night?”

  “I got off work at seven and came here like I do on most Friday nights. It’s payday, and I like to unwind before I go home.”

  Nathan nodded. “Did you know Mallory?”

  “This is a small town. Everybody knows everybody. Not like personally, of course. I knew who she was, but it wasn’t like we was friends. She was a pretty lady. She stood out in a joint like this.”

  “Had you seen her here before?”

  “She’d been here a few times, but I wouldn’t say she was a regular like me and Roger.” Larry angled a pudgy finger toward a younger man standing beside the pool table at the back of the bar.

  “Do you recall seeing anyone out of place? Besides Mallory, that is.”

  “There was this one guy in a uniform. We all come in here in our work clothes though.”

  “What made him stand out?” Nathan asked.

  “He never took off his sunglasses. Figured maybe he was high or something. It was just weird, you know?”

  Nathan nodded. “Do you remember anything about the uniform? The color or any branding? A name tag?”

  “I didn’t stare at him much. I’m pretty sure the pants were dark. Either gray or black and the shirt was white, short sleeved. He was clean. Not like us roughnecks. Didn’t notice a name tag.” Larry stroked his beard and took a pull off his beer.

  “Tall, short? Heavy, thin?”

  “He was probably a little shorter than me and slim. Dark hair. That’s about all I can tell you. You never think you need to remember details about someone until you do.”

  “True.” That was a good point and eyewitness testimony was notoriously unreliable. It was looking like his most promising witness was going to be someone he couldn’t put on the stand; the murder victim.

  Chapter 9

  “I have an idea.” Mallory sat on the leather couch with her legs tucked underneath her.

  After so much time, it still gave Carolina a weird feeling to see ghosts. It was a mixture of sadness and fear. Sadness because these phantasms’ lives were cut short and fear because Carolina wasn’t entirely sure what their powers were. There was also hope that there actually was an afterlife. That a miserable existence on earth wouldn’t just end with a few shovels of dirt and decay.

  “What’s on your mind?” Carolina slid a copper marker between the pages of the book she’d been reading.

  “Can you draw the guy if I can describe him?”

  “Well, if you can remember more than the fact that he was average looking.”

  “My memory is starting to come back. I think I can describe him pretty good.”

  “Okay. Yeah. I can draw him. Give me a minute to grab my stuff.” Carolina kept her art supplies on a shelf in the spare room, the same room that held her paintings. Her father had encouraged her to put them out, but she just didn’t have the ego for it. She didn’t paint or draw for anyone but herself. She enjoyed the process and the creativity; the task of taking a blank canvas and making it into something beautiful. Sometimes she painted people, but mostly she liked flowers and fruit. Scenery. Pretty rooms. Fields of flowers.

  She selected a heavy bond paper and a set of charcoal pencils with blending erasers. She carried the items back to her study.

  Mallory still sat on the couch and stared into the fireplace. Yellow and orange flames licked up toward the charred brick chimney. “I hope that’s not where I’m going when this is over.”

  “I have a theory about that.” Carolina set up the paper on an easel. “I think that if you’re going someplace bad that you go immediately. You don’t get to hang around to clean up any messes. It’s an immediate game over when you’re unredeemable.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Mallory, what is it that you think you may have done that would land you in one of the circles of hell?”

  She leaned her chin into the palm of her hand. Her dark hair hung over her left shoulder. “Nothing specific. I just wasn’t a good person. I wasn’t kind. I didn’t do charity work. I always fell asleep in church. I was an asshole to you and God knows how many other people I left as collateral damage in my wake.”

  “You’re doing something good now, Mal. You’re helping to stop this guy so he won’t kill anyone else, and you’re also helping Gabriel.”

  “I’m trying.” Mallory turned toward Carolina. The dead woman still wore the same outfit. There was no fashion show in the afterlife. Mallory wore a light-colored summer dress with a wide neck. Black ballerina flats covered her feet. “Let’s do this.”

  Carolina pulled up a chair to the easel. “I’ve never done this before, so bear with me. What shape was his face?”

  Mallory touched her own chin. “It’s kind of long and oval. Not round at all. He’s thin.”

  Carolina sketched the outline of his face. “What about his hair? How was it cut?”

  “A little shaggy, but not too long. Like it covered his ears but didn’t reach his shoulders.”

  “Okay. And you said it was dark?”

  “Yes. Deep brown. Like coffee.”

  While she wasn’t using color for the sketch, the hue of his hair would determine the shading. “Beard or moustache?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you pull up a chair and sit here by me so you can see what I’m doing.”

  “I haven’t mastered moving objects yet,” Mallory said.

  “And I should know that.” Carolina laughed and got up to pull a chair next to hers. “There you go.”

  Mallory sat down and looked at the drawing so far that really only amounted to an oblong circle with crudely sketched hair.

  The finer details would come later. But, first, Carolina needed a baseline to work from.

  “Eyes? Shape? How far apart are they?”

  Mallory crossed one leg over the other. “His eyes are round and not too far apart. Can I say his eyes were average?”

  “That’s fine. Once I get to details, you can tell me if what I have is good or if we need to change anything.” Carolina added circles for the eyes and started to outline the nose. “How about his nose?”

  “His nose was straight, average. Nothing really stood out.”

  “Did anything about him stand out? Any scars?”

  “No. But his eyes were weird.”

  Carolina paused with the pencil in midair. “What do you mean by weird?”

  “They were blue.”

  Blue wasn’t a weird eye color. “Blue like mine?” Carolina turned to Mallory and opened her eyes wide.

  “No. Yours are like the color of the sky. His were darker, like a lake and the color was flat. You know how people’s eyes shine when they smile?”

  Carolina nodded then scratched at the tingling in her wrist. “Yeah. There’s like a light behind their eyes.”

  “Exactly.” Mallory combed her fingers through her hair in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “There was no light in his.”

  Carolina’s mother had always said that the eyes were the window to the soul. She had a hard time imagining a soul behind the eyes of this man, especially after Mallory’s description. What sort of person did the things he had done?

  “Do you think people are born bad?” Mallory asked.

  “That’s an age-old question. Nature versus nurture. I think maybe it’s a little of both. Kind of like
the perfect storm. I think some people are born with a predisposition to be assholes.”

  “Like me?”

  Carolina gave Mallory a sideways glance. “Not exactly. I mean, there’s a difference between being an asshole and being depraved. But like with this guy, was he born with this predisposition to be a killer? And then did the perfect set of circumstances turn him into one? Like, what kind of childhood did he have? Was he loved? Was he abused?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Carolina tilted her head to the side to look at her drawing. “It does matter. But that’s not an excuse, in my opinion. There’s still a choice to be made on what kind of person you become. There are plenty of people who suffered from abuse and don’t become abusers themselves. And they certainly don’t turn into serial killers.”

  “My parents are good people,” Mallory offered. “My mom is kind and loving and there’s not much she wouldn’t do to help someone. My dad isn’t as kind, but he’s not cruel either. He’s just more practical-minded. Why was I such a bitch?”

  “Look at it like this, if you’d had shitty, abusive parents, you might be the one out killing people for kicks. You were lucky. I don’t think you ever deliberately hurt anyone. You were just self-centered and obnoxious.”

  “I did hurt people on purpose. I knew I was being mean. I just didn’t care.”

  “I can’t grant you absolution, so it’s really not necessary for you to confess to me. You’re doing the right thing now, Mal. Let’s focus on that.”

  Mallory sniffled and wiped under her eye with her pinkie like she was worried about smearing her mascara. “He cut off my hair.”

  “What?”

  “He cut it all off after I was dead. That probably shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Why would he do that? Killing me wasn’t bad enough?” She sobbed and covered her face with her hands. “He took some of it with him.”

  “He took some of your hair?” Carolina started to touch her, to give her shoulder a squeeze but then she pulled her hand back. She wanted to comfort Mallory, to offer some reassurance that everything would be okay, but it wouldn’t be. It was too late for that. And the last time they’d tried to touch, Mallory had disappeared and Carolina didn’t want that to happen while they were in the midst of getting this guy’s face down on paper.

  “He put it in his pocket like a damned gum wrapper.”

  “I’m sorry he did that.”

  “I’ve always been strong. Confident. I didn’t let anyone push me around. But, I wasn’t strong that night. Not strong enough.”

  “Mallory, you have to know that there’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. He’s evil.”

  “I stopped going to church while we were still in high school. But that night, out in the dark with my back flat on the cold dirt, I prayed. When he forced himself inside me, I begged God to help me, to make it stop. I wanted to see some kind of sign that God exists, but there was nothing. Just the pain and humiliation. When God didn’t answer, I begged the man to stop.” Mallory’s voice hitched and she rubbed her palms on her thighs. “He just smiled and told me to shut up. He said that it would all be over soon. That’s when I knew I wasn’t going to make it out alive.”

  From the corner of her eye, Carolina saw the shadow climb up the wall. Then another and another until there was an inky black blot against the beige-colored paint. She got the feeling they were restless. They fed on energy and maybe the vibes being put out by both her and Mallory were fueling them.

  Mallory continued. “My hands were taped together with duct tape. I couldn’t even fight back. When I tried to kick him, he punched me in the face. Have you ever been hit like that?”

  Carolina shook her head. Beyond a swat on her butt as a child, she’d never been struck. Especially not by a man.

  “I felt the bone under my eye crack. The more he hurt me, the more excited he seemed to get. He didn’t just enjoy my pain. It was like it was his foreplay.”

  Carolina swallowed hard. A lump had formed in her throat and tears burned her eyes. It was one thing to read about a crime in the newspaper, but it was entirely different to hear a firsthand account. She couldn’t imagine the fear that Mallory must have felt; the pain, the humiliation. “He’s sick.”

  “I tried to reconcile that. To think he wasn’t normal. He had to be messed up in the head. But, looking in his eyes, I don’t think he was sick, Carolina. I think he was just evil and like every bad thing I’d done in my life had been stored up inside him, and he was punishing me for all of it.”

  “No, Mal. Nothing you’ve ever done could justify what he did to you. Nobody deserves that.”

  “He said I did. We all did. He said I was a whore and that I should quit crying because he was just giving me what I wanted.” She looked at Carolina. “I didn’t want it.”

  “I know.”

  “He knocked me out in the parking lot, but I don’t remember how. The next thing I remember was that I woke up in the backseat of his car with my hands duct taped together. I wanted to throw up, but I was afraid to choke. He had tape over my mouth, too. My mind raced on how I was going to get away. You know how we all have these fantasies of how we’d escape if something like this happened. All of that fake bravado just disappeared, and I just wanted my mom. It was like I was trapped in a bad dream. All I wanted was to get out of this alive. But, you know,” Mallory took a deep breath, “when he was pushing himself into me, all I wanted was to die. When he finally wrapped his hands around my throat, I was relieved. I was ready to go.”

  Carolina’s stomach tightened and roiled. The coffee she’d had earlier threatened to come back up. She didn’t know what to say to Mallory. There was nothing she could say. Maybe Mallory just needed to tell her story. Maybe she needed someone to know what happened to her beyond the clinical facts that her corpse told the police.

  “I wish I could say something that would make you feel better,” Carolina said.

  Mallory gave a weak smile. “Nobody can make this better, but I’m glad you’re listening to me.” She cleared her throat. “Now, let’s get this picture done.”

  It took over three hours of Mallory’s descriptions and Carolina trying to draw something she couldn’t see. It was harder than it seemed and there were a lot of eraser marks, but they now had a composite sketch of the man who’d murdered Mallory.

  THE SOUND OF OFF-KEY music was faint, coming from another room. Carolina sat up and moved the blanket. Mallory had still been there when Carolina fell asleep. Listening to Mallory’s recount of her murder along with the effort to make the drawing had worn her out.

  She stood up and walked down the hall in her T-shirt, pajama pants and socks. She pushed the door open to her art room.

  The little boy was seated cross-legged on the floor with a dark wood violin propped up beneath his chin. For his age, he played beautifully, and Carolina stood with her arms crossed over her chest and listened.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “I learned to play this year at school.”

  “You’re very good.”

  “Thanks. I’m better now than I was before. I didn’t even need to read the music to play this song.”

  “I like it.”

  He set the bow next to his knee and let the violin slide down his chest. “They let me go today.”

  “Oh, Gabriel. I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s okay. Now we can all be free.” He plucked the strings on the violin. “I like your pictures. They’re pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  Carolina walked in and sat down beside him, crossing her legs.

  “I like to draw.”

  “What kinds of things do you like to draw?” she asked.

  He smiled and moved closer to her. His dark brown eyes grew wide. “Cars and trucks and dinosaurs. I’m especially good at dinosaurs.”

  “What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

  “The long necks. The brachiosaurus. They’re like old-fashioned giraffes.”

  Carolina laughed.
“You’re right.” Children’s thoughts were so much purer. Seeing things through their eyes was refreshing.

  “What’s your favorite thing to draw?”

  “I like to paint flowers and gardens and things.”

  Maybe someday I’ll draw as good as you do,” he said. “I guess, I’m supposed to go now, huh?” He squinted one eye and looked up at her. “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “You’ll know when it’s time. Stay here with me until then.”

  “Can I tell you what happened?”

  A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She was emotionally drained from Mallory’s retelling, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell this child that she didn’t want to hear his story. “Sure. You can tell me anything.”

  “My hospital room had baby giraffes and elephants painted on the walls. I was in the corner but no one could see me. I watched my dad write on some papers. Then the lady doctor hugged him and hugged my mom.” Gabe continued to play with the strings on the violin.

  “The nurse touched some buttons on the big machine next to my bed and took the blue tube out of my mouth. My mom sat down on the bed and pulled me onto her lap. My dad sat next to her. They cried a lot and my mom kissed me a lot. My dad held my hand and rubbed my leg. My mom kept saying that it was okay for me to go. And that they loved me. I wish I could have told them that I loved them, too.”

  “They know you love them.” Carolina wiped the tears off her cheeks. “They know, sweetheart.”

  “It didn’t take too long. The doctor came back in and plugged that thing in her ears and put the round thing on my chest. She touched my forehead and nodded at my parents. My mom pulled me up on her shoulder and hugged me real tight. Then they both crowded onto the bed with me. My grandma and papa came. I hate that I made everyone so sad.”

  “It’s really hard to lose someone we love. They will get better with time. They have lots of good memories of you.”

  “I hope so. I don’t like them being sad.”

  “I know. I don’t like it either.”

  “Where’s the other lady?”