Shadow People

by James Swain

Milly drew back, clearly alarmed. “I suppose I could call her.”

  “I would be forever in your debt.”

  “What exactly would you like me to say?”

  “Ask her to stop intruding. Order her, if you have to. Just make her do it.”

  They fell silent. On the other side of the path, a dozen feisty black crows lined the limb of an oak tree. They were the jackdaw variety, and perched in a militarylike formation. They’d migrated with Milly from the town of Ipswich, Massachusetts, decades ago, and had taken up residence in the park across the street from her apartment. Witches had many unusual powers, including the ability to hold sway over dogs, cats, and birds. The crows were Milly’s pets, and would have done anything their master asked.

  “Are you implying that Holly can’t be reasoned with?” Milly asked.

  “Holly is out of control. She’s messing with my life, and refuses to stop. I’m afraid if I talk with her, I’ll lose my temper, and ruin whatever’s left of our friendship.”

  “So you still care for her.”

  “How could I not?”

  “But she’s making you miserable.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “A truer definition of love I’ve never heard.”

  Peter gritted his teeth. Milly was letting her feelings for her niece cloud her judgment. It was understandable considering that they were both witches, and that Milly had trained Holly to cast spells, scry, and perform other strange rituals that made up the witch’s playbook. Milly would side with Holly no matter what her niece had done, and he rose from the bench.

  “I need to go. Thanks for listening.”

  “Ever since you were a child, you’ve run away from your troubles,” Milly said. “It’s a defense mechanism, I suppose. Well, dear Peter, you can’t run away from this. You’ve been in love with Holly since she was a little girl. I saw it one night when you were babysitting for her, after I’d come home from the theater. The way you looked at her told her you were in love. But since she was much younger than you, and you were a proper young gentleman, you did not act on your impulses. Admit it.”

  “That was a long time ago,” he said defensively.

  “Love never dies.”

  Milly was right. He still had strong feelings for Holly. If he hadn’t, he’d have found some nasty way to blow her off. But he couldn’t do that to Holly. He cared about her too much to cause her pain. Maybe Milly was right, maybe he loved Holly more than he realized.

  “Yes, I love Holly,” he said, “but I love Liza more. We live together, for Christ’s sake, and she’s my best friend. Why can’t you see that?”

  “You love Liza more now,” Milly said. “But that might change. Liza is normal, and you are not. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but relationships with nonpsychics don’t work out, at least none that I’ve ever heard about. Don’t throw away your feelings for Holly just yet.”

  “Liza and I are doing great,” he said. “We’re a team.”

  “How long have you and Liza been together?”

  “Two years.”

  “And how long has she known you’re different?”

  “I told her last month. It wasn’t easy, but we’re working it out.”

  “How much does she know?”

  “Enough.”

  “Everything?”

  “No, not everything.”

  “So you haven’t told her the true origin of your parents’ powers, or yours.”

  Peter felt the air escape from his lungs. “Not yet.”

  “Still keeping secrets from her? That will never work in a million years.”

  “I’m going to tell her. I just have to find the right time and place to do it.”

  “Oh, no, here he comes,” Milly said under her breath.

  Milly’s eyes shifted their focus as an elderly fellow wearing gray sweats and a sweatshirt tied around his waist came jogging down the path. He was downright handsome for his age, with a mane of snow-white hair and a runner’s lean physique. A smile lit up his face at the sight of Milly. Cupid’s arrow had struck, Peter guessed.

  “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Peter said. “He’s cute.”

  “The man is practically stalking me. I can’t stand him.”

  “You’ve been out with him?”

  “Just once. Dinner and a movie. It was a terrible mistake.”

  “You made it through dinner and a movie? I’d say you’re doing great. Introduce me.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “Come on. Love never dies.”

  “Be still.”

  Milly’s beau was veering toward their bench, ready to strike up a conversation. Milly was having none of it, and raised a crooked finger to ward him off. In all the world, there was no greater force than a witch’s crooked finger, at least not that he knew of. With that single finger, oceans could be parted and skies made to darken. It was a power not to be used lightly, and he was surprised that Milly used it now. From the oak trees a single kamikaze crow exploded in a beeline for the elderly gentleman’s perfectly coifed head. He saw the bird coming in time to halt his forward progress and raise his hands in self-defense, exactly what Milly had intended.

  “Go away,” the man said.

  The bird did the opposite, and continued to buzz his head, while doing arcing somersaults befitting an aerial show. Peter could not help but laugh under his breath.

  “You think this is funny?” Milly scolded him.

  “I was thinking of filming it, putting it on YouTube.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!”

  Love is blind. It was also stupid, deaf, and incredibly dumb. Milly’s beau would not give up, his feelings for the old witch too great. He came toward them while continuing to do battle with the crow, his arms flailing like a crazy man just released from an asylum. Milly raised her crooked finger again. More crows exploded out of the trees and added to the first bird’s aerial assault, forming a cloud of black around the poor man.

  “Have them pluck his eyes out,” Peter suggested. “That will do the trick.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” Milly said with a stern face. “I made the mistake of giving him my phone number. He won’t stop calling me.”

  “You gave him your phone number? This sounds serious.”

  “A moment of weakness.”

  Milly’s beau continued to inch toward the bench. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that this man was truly in love with Milly. There was also no doubt that Milly had found him attractive. So why was she trying to scare the fellow half to death?

  Milly raised her crooked finger a third time. A barking dog ran down the path trailing a leash. Dogs in New York came in three sizes: large, medium, and symbolic. The dog belonged to the third category, and could have fit comfortably in a lady’s handbag.

  The barking mutt nipped at Milly’s beau’s ankles. Canines were clearly his weakness, and he began to head back the way he’d come, but not before glancing over his shoulder and waving good-bye. He’d be back tomorrow, Peter was sure of it.

  The crows returned to the trees and quieted down. Taking a tissue from her purse, Milly blew her nose. Her eyes were wet with tears.

  “What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

  She took a moment to gather herself. When she spoke, her voice was filled with pain. “Back when I lived in Ipswich, I knew a man named Henry Quinton. Henry was decent and strong and a perfectly normal fellow, and I absolutely adored him. He was a banker, and made a nice living, had a boat and a membership at a country club. We dated for a while, then one day out of the blue, he got down on his knee, and popped the big question.

  “I wanted so desperately to say yes! Having a normal life seemed terribly attractive to me. But for it to work, I knew that Henry had to know who I was. That trust had to be established from the start. It was the only way a marriage could possibly work.

  “So I sat dear Henry down and told him the whole story. It wasn’t easy, bu
t I did it. I even did a little demonstration for him, and persuaded a stray cat to do tricks for us. Henry was stunned, to say the least.” She paused to wipe her eyes. “A few days later he broke it off. No reason was offered, nor did I need to hear one. The act itself spoke volumes. I moved to New York City soon after, and have never been home since.”

  “I’m so sorry, Milly.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I didn’t tell you this story for sympathy, but as a warning. What happened to me can happen to you and Liza. And if she breaks your heart, your life will never be the same.” Milly glanced at her watch and shook her head. “I must be gone. Think about what I’ve told you. Don’t break things off with Holly just yet. You might regret it one day.”

  Milly rose from her spot on the bench and Peter did as well. She offered a peck on the cheek and the faintest of smiles. She was in his corner, he realized, and always would be.

  “Good-bye, Milly. Be safe,” he said.

  “And you as well, dear boy,” she replied.

  33

  Peter escorted Milly out of the park, and watched her cross the street to the Dakota. Only after she’d gone inside the building did he hunt for his limo. Herbie had parked in a striped No Parking zone at the corner of Columbus and 72nd Street. Limos were status symbols in New York, and drivers could park just about anywhere, and not get towed.

  Peter climbed in and made himself comfortable in the backseat. His driver looked preoccupied, with an open textbook in his lap. The partition slid back.

  “Where to, boss?” Herbie asked.

  “Let’s go home. What are you reading?”

  “A book on accounting. I’m taking some night classes at CCNY. I’m studying entertainment management.”

  “They really have classes devoted to that?”

  “Sure do. Most entertainers are bad businesspeople, present company excluded.”

  “How do you know that I’m not a bad businessperson?”

  “Well, you’re not broke.”

  The truth be known, he still didn’t know how to balance a checkbook, and relied on Liza to take care of the household finances while a team of well-paid accountants kept track of the money he made at the theater. They were soon gliding down Broadway. There were many people like Herbie in the city. They worked long days, yet still managed to pursue other careers during their off-hours. New York was a city of dreams, and everyone had a dream he or she was chasing. Not so long ago he’d been one of those dreamers, and knew how powerful the urge could be.

  His cell phone vibrated. He sometimes thought of his cell phone as a little pet that clawed his leg whenever it craved attention. It was Liza. Despite what Milly had said, he believed their relationship really did have a chance. Psychics could have relationships with nonpsychics. It just took a lot of work, no different from any other relationship he’d ever had.

  “I’m on my way home,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Good. You need to get here soon,” Liza said.

  “What’s wrong? You sound stressed out.”

  “I am stressed out. We have company.”

  He and Liza rarely entertained at home, preferring the solitude of the brownstone after the labors of performing the show each night. He didn’t like the sound of this, and sat up in his seat. “And who might that be?”

  “Dr. Sierra and his friend Hunsinger are here.”

  “You can’t be serious. What are they doing there in my home?”

  “You’re losing your temper. Please calm down.”

  “What did you expect me to do? Break out in song?”

  “Peter, control yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. Now tell me, what are they doing there?”

  “I forgot to cancel our session this morning. Dr. Sierra had asked Hunsinger to come to his office and meet with us. When we didn’t show, they decided to come here. I stupidly gave Dr. Sierra’s receptionist our address when I booked our session.”

  “Why didn’t you just slam the door in his face?”

  “I couldn’t. Dr. Sierra begged me to let him in. He made it sound like life and death.”

  Peter’s blood started to boil like so much bad poison. His brownstone was his sanctuary where he went to escape from the world. Sierra and Hunsinger had no right to be there. In the mirror he caught Herbie giving him an eyeful. He twirled a finger, and the limo accelerated.

  “Where are they now?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Sitting at the kitchen table. I made them a pot of coffee.”

  “That was nice of you. Maybe they’d like some pancakes.”

  “Please don’t be angry. I went with my heart, and my heart said let them in.”

  “Why not tell them to go to a restaurant? I would have met them there. Why let them in?”

  “Hunsinger is very frail and he can hardly breathe. I think he may be dying.”

  “So?”

  “Peter, this isn’t like you. These men want to speak with you, that’s all. Why are you so afraid of talking to them? What harm can it cause?”

  Since he was a kid, he’d lived in other people’s homes, a year in one apartment, the next year in another apartment. He never had his own room or furniture that was his. He’d longed for those things, and for a special place to call home. The brownstone was that place, and he didn’t want men like Sierra or his friend to step foot inside.

  Liza broke the silence. “Do you want me to throw them out?”

  “No, let me,” he said.

  * * *

  Sometimes, mind reading was easy. Herbie knew exactly what was on his employer’s mind as he pulled to the curb in front of the brownstone. Throwing the limo into Park, he hopped out and stood on the sidewalk with his arms outstretched. As Peter climbed out, Herbie grabbed him in a bear hug. Herbie was a big man, and made Peter his prisoner.

  “Boss, calm down. You act like you’re gonna hurt someone,” his driver said.

  “I just might.”

  “Ain’t worth it. Trust me, I know.”

  As a teen, Herbie had run with a gang and had shot a man. He had done hard time in a maximum security prison called Sing Sing, and had come out a changed man. He spoke from experience, and Peter took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. His driver smiled sheepishly and released him.

  “Feel better?” Herbie asked.

  “Come to mention it, yes. You’re a great hugger.”

  “Thanks, boss. Not mad at me, are you?”

  “No. Thanks for doing that.”

  Peter headed up the front steps. He had a temper, no doubt about it, and he was fortunate to have people like Herbie there to stop him when his emotions got the best of him. The door opened and Liza came out wearing drab workout clothes.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I’m managing.”

  She led him down the hallway to the kitchen, where his two unwanted guests sat at the table sipping java. Both looked up as if startled out of a daydream. Sierra was the first to rise and seemed apprehensive and more than a little nervous about being here.

  “I’m sorry to come barging into your home like this,” Sierra said.

  “It must be important,” Peter heard himself say.

  “It is. Please let me introduce my friend. This is Richard Hunsinger.”

  The second man slowly came out of his chair. He was little more than skin and bones, and wore a black shirt buttoned to his neck, and black slacks that hung loosely around his waist. His hair was flecked with spots of white that looked like snowflakes, his eyes sallow and pale.

  “Hello,” Peter said stiffly.

  “Hello, Peter,” his guest replied. “Do you remember me?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “We met long ago. You and your parents came to see me. Think hard.”

  “Is this a quiz?”

  “It will be easier this way. Please,” Hunsinger said.

  “How long ago was this?”

  “You had just celebrated your seventh birthday.”

/>   Peter tried to imagine a younger version of Hunsinger. After a few moments, it dawned on him who this person was. Hunsinger was the bogeyman he’d been seeing in his dreams since he was a kid, the strange man in black who’d made him cry.

  In his dream, Peter was in a study with a scary painting of Jesus Christ hanging on the cross. Jesus’s face was filled with so much pain that he’d avoided staring at it. Beneath the painting sat a man wearing black clothing and the gravest of expressions. The man motioned for Peter to step forward, only Peter wouldn’t budge. The man gently took Peter by the hand, and pulled the boy toward him. Peter had started to cry. His parents were standing nearby, and he looked to them for help. His mother was crying as well. But she would not help him.

  A strange dream, for sure. But now the young magician knew otherwise. It had actually happened. Hunsinger was real, and had known his parents. For that reason alone, Peter needed to hear what the man had to say. Maybe then the dream would go away, and be replaced by some other unexplained mystery from his youth.

  “I remember you now,” Peter said. “My parents brought me to see you, although to be honest, I have no earthly idea why. Did I do something wrong?”

  Hunsinger picked up his coffee cup as if to take a drink. Instead, he stared into its depths as if it held the secret to the universe. He had the kind of honest face that Peter associated with people with a clean conscience. He’d not met many people he could say that about.

  Hunsinger looked up. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

  “All I have left are dreams.”

  “I hope your dreams are not painful.”

  “Actually, they are. You made me cry.”

  “It was a difficult time. Dr. Sierra met with your parents on several occasions, and he referred them to me. Your parents brought you to me, and I examined you and gave them my opinion.” His voice had gone weak, and he paused to catch his breath. “Dr. Sierra and I always wondered what became of you. When Dr. Sierra called to tell me that he’d found you, I asked him to arrange a meeting. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “At first I did mind, but now I’m glad you came,” Peter said. “Now, would you please tell me who you are, and what this is about? The suspense is killing me.”