In the Shadows

by Jill Nolan

  My brothers and friends are all away at school. It feels like I'm alone in this town with everyone being away, and that feels like a relief. Even when my friends were here, I didn't see them much, and I wasn’t great company when I did. They learned quickly that I didn't want to talk about anything related to what happened. It was nice to have them around sometimes, to hear them bicker with each other. Normally, I would have participated, but it was more effort than I felt like expending.

  For the most part, I just want to be left alone. Alone, but not completely alone in the house at night. I can’t tell my parents that, though. They would have understood and stayed home, but they deserve a night out. My emotions have been such a roller coaster ride, and they’ve taken the brunt of it, seeing as I live with them. I’ve ranged from needy to emotionless to bitchy with them. Yeah, they definitely deserve a break from me.

  It's just as well. I can handle one night, and after tonight, I'll know I can handle more. Plus, now I don't have to hide my drinking. I already have to make a separate shopping trip so that I have vodka and wine on hand without my mom judging me and asking if it's a good idea to drink so much. It's not like I get drunk every night. Some nights I just need a little something to shut down my runaway thoughts and get to sleep. Some nights are worse, and I obliterate myself with alcohol in an attempt to stop the memories and the feelings they evoke.

  This is shaping up to be one of the bad nights, probably because I'm alone, and I'm all too aware of that fact. I'm still stuck in those two nights that changed everything, and my brain is choosing tonight to bombard me with flashbacks. It knows that there's no one here to hold myself together for. I can scream and cry, stomp around and lash out with no one to witness my grief and loss of control.

  I don't want to deal with those emotions though, even if it feels like an eventuality tonight. So, I try to focus on the movie, on how adorable Sandra Bullock is, but even she can't keep out the flashbacks. Well, that's why I have vodka. I chug the rest of my drink, willing myself to stay together, at least for a little while longer. The alcohol has already gone to my head, but I'm not drunk. Yet. When I do inevitably lose the battle with my emotions, which I'm sure will happen in next hour or so based on the increasing frequency of the memories banging around in my head, I can only hope that it will at least be cathartic.

  I've cried a lot over the last month, always with restraint when they're home, not wanting either of my parents to overhear and know just how hard it is for me to deal with what happened. My family and friends have helped me a lot, giving me love and comforting words and distraction and even laughter. I'm sure I would be completely drowning in misery without them, but I still have all of these overwhelming emotions that make me want to curl up and die.

  The hardest part is feeling like I can't talk to anyone about what I'm feeling. I can't tell anyone the whole story, and even if I could, they still wouldn't be able to understand.

  The only person I can be real with is Cody, but I still don't tell him everything. He's currently my closest friend, visiting me every weekend. I'd probably be going crazy without him to talk to. He's not without his own suffering, both from the friends he lost that night and other things he's dealt with.

  “Keegan?”

  I scream, jumping off the couch, trying to think where the nearest weapon is.

  “It’s me,” Mason says.

  Mason holds his hands up like he's harmless. He even wore his human skin. That's not enough to completely relieve the fear inside me. I calm down slightly, but I don't relax. I probably have a crazy look in my eyes as I face the man who saved me and almost killed me.

  I remind myself that he didn’t mean to attack me and that it wasn’t him that killed my friends; it was Sam.

  I almost believe that.

  I know that having seen Sam and how he forced Mason to attack me should have been proof of what he's capable of. Logically, I know that the memory in my head is something he planted. Yet, I can't seem to completely let go of the idea that it was Mason, because that's all I see in my head, and it feels real. Sometimes I wonder if Mason was working with his brother, and he took the fall for what Mason did to make me doubt my own memory. What if Sam isn’t even dead? But that would mean Cody’s been lying to me too, and after how close we’ve become, it hurts to think he could be capable of doing that to me.

  "What are you doing here?" I hiss. I have a lot of conflicting emotions for Mason. I am simultaneously furious at him and glad to see him.

  “Can we talk?”

  “You could have knocked.”

  “That’s never been our style.” His words hint at our more intimate encounters, bringing with it an ache for him. For a few moments we just stare at each other. So many emotions rush through me, leaving me confused and a bit dizzy. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him. Sometimes it felt like I needed him so badly, I would fall apart all over again if he wasn’t there to hold me. I came so close to texting him a few times, but doubt stayed my hand. Doubt that he was innocent, and doubt that he even wanted to see me. Because if he really wanted to see me, wouldn’t he have come before now?

  He walks toward me slowly, as if afraid I’ll run away. And part of me screams to run, to get away from this monster masquerading as a man. Still, another part of me awakens at his nearness, and I stay still as he stops a few feet away. He's staring at my exposed neck, at the multiple red, jagged, still-healing scars he left there.

  "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'd do anything to take it back. I wasn't in my right mind. The things he put in my head..." He puts his head down, ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Keegan."

  I don’t know what to say. Tears well in my eyes, but I try not to let them spill over. I want to say it’s okay, but it’s not.

  "Why are you here?" I ask.

  "I had to see how you were, if you're doing okay."

  "You want to see if I'm okay? A month after—" I take a breath, desperately trying not to breakdown. "I'm glad you're here now, a month later, to make sure I'm doing 'okay.'" I know it's not exactly fair to blame him for not being here. Each time Cody visited, I told him I didn't want to see Mason, but each time it was a lie. Or maybe just a half-lie. Sometimes I wanted to see him just so I could scream at him. Other times I wanted to talk and snuggle like we used to. Still, he should have been there immediately, to beg me for forgiveness for almost killing me. I thought for sure he'd come. Even though I pictured myself yelling at him to leave me alone, I still wanted him to come, to fight for me, to show that he cared, that he was remorseful, that Sam forced him to attack me. But he never came, never even tried.

  Until now. And even though there's been a million times I've wanted to talk to him, I still feel angry and hurt and betrayed by him. I try not to, but deep down, I blame him for everything that happened.

  "I wanted to come earlier. It killed me not to be there when you woke up at the hospital and every day since. I didn't want to hurt you any more than I already have. I didn't think you'd want to see me."

  "I didn't want to see you," I say icily.

  "I tried to give you time to heal. I—"

  "Am I supposed to be all better now?"

  "No, of course not. I just wanted to talk."

  "Fine, then talk." I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to continue. I stare at my feet covered by fuzzy socks. I'm in athletic shorts and a baggy shirt, greasy hair thrown up in a messy bun, looking like a complete train wreck. Not that I care.

  "Have you remembered what really happened?"

  "No."

  I did try once. That night ended in me self-medicating with alcohol. I know eventually I'll have to really try, but I've been too busy avoiding my memories to dive into them headfirst.

  "You know that I didn't kill them, right? That what you saw wasn't real?"

  "Yeah."

  "You don't sound confident about that."

  I just shrug.

  "Why did you quit school?"

  "I took the semester off. I needed time to heal." I
leave out the part about not wanting to face everyone at school. I've mostly been living as a recluse, only going out as necessary, and always with a scarf to cover up the wound on my neck. I have this waking nightmare of going back to school, and every person I run into would ask me about what happened, and everyone else would stare at me when I come into the room, and I’d be known as the freaky scarf girl who survived a bear attack. And even my friends would be weird around me or they'd ask me stupid, insensitive questions, like my extended family does when they come to visit. I have no idea if that’s actually how it would go, but I'm in no place to deal with the stress of that.

  "So, you're going back for the spring semester?"

  "Yeah," I say, but even I hear the unsureness in my voice. My plan is to go back in January, but sometimes, I think I should wait until next year, when most of the friends Allison and I had in common have graduated. As much as I miss them, it would just be easier to not have to deal with them. I don't want to mourn her loss all over again with them. My other option is going to another school, which sounds like too much effort and too much change.

  "Why haven't you been getting out more, visiting your friends?"

  "What are you, stalking me?"

  "I think you'd have to leave the house more than once a week on a liquor run for it to be considered stalking." I don't give him a response other than the narrowing of my eyes. "Why haven't you been going out?"

  "Because I don't want to. I'm not exactly in the mood to go to fucking bars and parties like nothing ever happened."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of hanging out with your friends, going to the library, a restaurant, a museum, something that gets you out of the house. You can't hide yourself from the world forever. You need to do something."

  "No, I don't. I don't need to do anything right now," I snap.

  "So, you're just going to sit around and drink? That's your life now?"

  "Yeah, well, the shit in my head doesn't quiet itself."

  "Does alcoholism run in your family?"

  "What? No. I'm not a fucking alcoholic."

  "Not yet, but it looks like you're working towards it."

  "Screw you. Feel free to leave at any time." I'm fuming now. How dare he come here and judge what I'm doing with my life and how I'm handing my grief. I'm keeping my head above water the best I can right now. At least I'm not out fucking killing people like he tends to do when he gets upset.

  "Keegan," he says, exasperated. "I'm sorry; I'm not trying to berate you. I'm just worried about you."

  "So worried that you waited a month until you visited me?" I didn’t mean to put any emotion into my words, but I can hear the hurt in them.

  "I was trying to give you space to work through everything. Week after week, you told Cody you didn't want to see me."

  "You never even tried!" I yell at him.

  "I tried to do what was best for you! I didn't—I don't know what to do here." His voice breaks at the end, but I hardly notice.

  "Why don't you just leave." Tears spill over and run down my cheeks. It does hurt, him being here, but I don't want him to leave me alone either. I don't know what I want. My head is such a goddamn mess right now.

  He puts his hand through his hair with his head down. "If I were a better man, I'd let you go and never come back. I’d let you find someone normal that makes you happy and can give you a stable life, someone who doesn’t kill people to survive and who hasn't hurt you. But I'm not that guy, and I’m far from a good man. I can't give you up. Not yet, not without a fight.”

  Chapter 42

  After Mason left last night, I had that breakdown. Since I knew he could still be right outside, I went to the basement to let out my emotions, crying and screaming and punching things. And then I preceded to drink myself to sleep. I was planning on doing that anyway, but I still blame him for today's hangover.

  By early afternoon, though, I’m already feeling much better. Mom told me to enjoy the easy hangovers when I'm young.

  My phone vibrates, alerting me to a text...from Mason. Meet me at Meadow Park?

  Meadow Park is only three blocks away from my house. He wants to meet me after the disaster that was last night? Do I want to meet him? Yes.

  And no.

  I don't know.

  I'm busy, I text back. That one line took me five minutes to come up with. I typed out more than ten responses before just sending that.

  I stare at the screen until his response comes through: No you’re not. Meet me at the park or I can meet you at your house.

  What the hell? Is he seriously threatening me to get me to go to the park? Well, screw him, he can come over if he wants, but he's not getting in my house again. He must think I care whether my parents meet him or not. I don't. Not really.

  Then I run through what would happen if he came over. I’d have to tell my mom not to let him in. Then there would be questions, and I'd have to make up a story. I'm not in the mood for any of that. My mom would probably let him in anyway, since she’s always polite, and then he'd probably charm her, and I'll look like the crazy person for forcing him to leave.

  If he’s going to force me to see him, it would be better to do outside of the house.

  Goddammit. I have to go meet him. Fine, I text, throwing my phone down in frustration.

  ◆◆◆

  When I get to the park, which is completely empty on a Monday afternoon, I find Mason sitting on the jungle gym. I climb up a ladder and sit across from him.

  "You can't threaten me into meeting you."

  "Sorry," he says, not looking sorry. "Old habits." A small smile pulls at his lips, and I look away to keep from smiling too. When I look back at him, he's serious again.

  "Last night didn't go how I planned. I wanted to try again."

  "Okay," I say carefully, wondering where he's going with this.

  He takes a deep breath. "You have no idea how sorry I am that I wasn't there to prevent what happened to your friends, that I didn't find my brother before he did that. But what you remember of that night wasn't real. That wasn't me. I need you to know that.

  “The next night, when I attacked you...that was real, even if my head wasn't right. I almost killed you, and I will regret that forever. That is the night that haunts me. I want to say you can't blame me for that, but fuck, I blame myself." His eyes are glassy and full of pain. He puts his head in his hands, trying to collect himself. His anguish brings tears to my own eyes. I want to comfort him, because he looks as broken as me, but something holds me back.

  He picks his head back up and continues, "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you. It's not because I didn't want to be. I know it's been hell for you, and I didn't want to add to that. I would do anything to take away your pain, to help you get through this. You are the one light that shines for me in this terrible pitch-black world, and I can see that light dimming, and I won’t let it go out. I will do whatever it takes to get you to shine again. If, in the end, you want me out of your life, I’ll let you go, but I won’t just give you up without trying to make this work."

  I never realized how much he's been suffering during this. Selfish me again, thinking I'm the only one hurting. He's had to live with what he's done, even if he wasn't exactly in control. And he's had to live without me, which seems to be tearing him apart. I can barely comprehend how he could care for me that much.

  My anger at his absence disappears. Now I just feel bad. I should have texted him, tried to talk to him. It’s not like I haven’t wanted him around; I thought about him every day.

  I don’t know how to say that I’m sorry too, and before I can try, I burst into tears. I pull my legs up and put my head against my knees to hide my face. I'm vaguely aware of him crawling over to me. Then he's sitting next to me and his arms are around me. I let myself be pulled into him. I'm so fucking sick of crying, but him holding me makes it better. Being in his arms again feels right. I missed his touch more than I knew.

  “I know you've got some terrible
videos playing in your head starring me, but I won't let anything like that ever happen again. Please don’t give up on us."

  The raw pain in his voice almost breaks my heart. I don’t want to give up on us; I want to be with him, but it doesn’t seem realistic.

  “You bring death wherever you go, and I just can’t…I can’t handle anymore death.”

  “I do; I don’t have a choice about that. But you don’t need to be a part of that aspect of my life. Look, I'm not asking to pick up where we left off, I'd just like to spend time with you. It can be on whatever terms you want."

  "Okay," I say, conceding. Part of me feels like this is doomed, but the other part of me is feeling hopeful for the first time.

  Chapter 43

  I sit up in bed, panting, terrified. I dreamed of Sam again, chasing me through the woods. It's been almost two months since the event, and I've had nightmares most nights.

  I no longer have many nightmares about Mason. He’s been visiting me almost every day for about a month now, except for the last few days that he’s been out of town. He takes me out a lot, sometimes just for a walk or a hike, other times out to eat or to museum. He even took me to the zoo, which he hates because of the way the animals are kept in too small enclosures for our amusement. I feel bad about that too, but I just love seeing the animals up close. Sometimes we watch a movie at my house. He’s even met my parents, though I introduced him as a friend. He holds my hand sometimes, and we started cuddling during movies, and once in a while he kisses my forehead. Twice we kissed. Part of me wanted to keep going, but then horrible images would rip through me, and I’d have to distance myself from him again.

  In this nightmare, I was trying to run from Sam as fast as I could, but it felt as if I were running through water. I knew he was catching up to me and that there was nothing I could do about it. I woke up just as I felt his claws sink into my back. Even as I regain my senses, I can still feel his nails tearing through my skin.

  He’s dead.