Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  She crossed the street, just two short blocks from Greektown, when something hit her from behind, again. She drew in breath—freezing cold air that was near paralyzing. Ridiculously, she thought it must be a tree limb falling on her. Two attacks in a week would be too coincidental. But the assailant didn’t stop with a slug. He grabbed her and started dragging her, his hand smashed up against her sore mouth. Second nature, she went into survival mode and bit down as hard as she could on his hand. She felt her front teeth break skin, tasted sweat and blood. It angered him further, and he kicked her in the thigh. But the bite had made him pull his hand away, and with his hand out of her mouth, she started to scream louder than she thought possible, yodeling screams.

  “Help me! Please help me!” she screamed repeatedly. Don’t let him take you away. The whole time she fought him, forgetting the terrible pain in her ribs, kicking her legs as he attempted to drag her to his car, a large, light-colored older car, a Cadillac. He grabbed her around her neck, but her strength surprised him, hampering forward movement while she kicked and screamed. She was not getting in his car.

  “Jacob Parker!” she screamed, twisting and turning, glad for yoga and her limber body; he was having difficulty holding on to her, and she finally broke free, but he swung at her, and she went flying again. This time, however, she kept her face up when the ground came at her, and as she twisted around to face him, she got her weapon out in one smooth move and aimed it at his chest, firing to kill. Grabbing his body and crumpling over, Jacob Parker didn’t make any dramatic moves like he would have with a bigger gun. She was sorry because she wanted to see him fly in the air with his guts spattered all over. Tears flying, she got out her phone and dialed dispatch with difficulty, gun still in hand, screaming codes for an attack on an officer with a wounded suspect, and gave them her location in between gulps for air.

  Rolling over to her knees, she got up from the ground with difficulty but kept her eyes on him at all times, noting curtains that moved aside as her neighbors peeked out. That they didn’t come to her aid saddened her. A flood of remorse mixed with humiliation washed over her, and she gasped a sob, trying to hold back from losing control. Unwanted tears streamed down her sore face, but she didn’t make a sound. The impulse to stomp her boot on Jacob Parker’s face in case he might try to attack her again was strong. She stood far enough from him that he couldn’t grab her ankle, keeping her weapon aimed at his head if he tried. His chest was moving, and seeing it moved her, emotion swinging between fury that she hadn’t killed him and relief that he wasn’t dead.

  Sirens in the distance alerted her that help was on its way. Why in the hell is he out of jail? She turned around as a man from the neighborhood ran toward her. “I saw you through my window. Are you okay?” It was someone she was familiar with, who she saw regularly. “I was afraid to come out before.”

  “It’s over,” she said, pointing to Parker.

  “Your mouth is bleeding,” he said.

  “It’ll be okay,” Jill replied. “You better get back in your house.”

  He nodded at her. “Sure you’re okay?”

  “I am now,” she said, trying to breathe normally. He left her, and as the sirens got closer, Jill felt her body betray her, shaking uncontrollably as she sank to the ground on her knees again. If she could stay upright, being on her knees would be acceptable. Her gorge rose, and she willed herself not to throw up. Cars with blue lights swirling screeched to a stop, and men in uniform screaming into their radios ran toward her as she gasped for breath.

  “Are you shot?” the officer asked.

  Jill slowly shook her head, drawing in breath between words. “No. I have a broken rib…I’m having trouble breathing.”

  An officer kneeled alongside her and put his arms around her, talking to her cop to cop, reassuring her. As he softly spoke, her breathing became less labored, and she actually laughed at a silly joke he told while concentrating with all of her being not to throw up.

  Soon an ambulance arrived with EMTs on board. Jacob Parker was alive, but he’d need emergency surgery. The technician and the officer helped her stand up and walk to the back of a second vehicle. A plastic mask slipped over her face, but away from her poor mouth, delivered cooling oxygen, and immediately she felt better. In the confusion and flurry of activity, she looked up in time to see Mark running toward her, his face contorted with fear. The technician moved aside so he could get to her. He grabbed her hand, but neither could speak for a moment.

  “We were out in the field, and someone told me Parker was going to be released, but I couldn’t get to my phone. I wanted to warn you,” he said with panic. “I wanted you to wait for me, but we were taking too long.”

  “I heard you,” she whispered. “I heard a warning, but I didn’t heed it. I didn’t know it was from you.” He helped her stretch out on the gurney. Jill told him about the psychic message to wait. He held her hand, trying to stay professional in the back of an ambulance.

  Remembering Gus, she gasped. “Oh my God, my father is going to have a fit.” She tried to get at her phone but each movement caused her a spasm of pain, making breathing difficult.

  “I’ll go tell him,” Mark said. “As soon as you’re settled, I’ll go.”

  The technician started an IV in Jill’s hand and finished wrapping gauze around her wrist just as they pulled under the portico of the ER. The doors opened, and Jill saw Albert run toward them. He and Roger had just arrived at Gus’s apartment with a tray of hors d’oeurves when a colleague called with the news. Another siren competed with hers, and they looked over as police officers hauled Jacob Parker out of the back of an ambulance, handcuffed to the side of the stretcher.

  “How’s it possible he’s still alive?” Albert asked.

  “Just lucky, I guess,” Jill replied sarcastically. “Is my father okay?”

  “He will be,” Albert said. “He’s coming here; you can’t prevent it.”

  She sat back and closed her eyes as her stretcher, surrounded by concerned hospital staff, pushed through the automatic doors.

  22

  By nine that night, it was lightly snowing out. The apartment above Gus’s Greek Grocery was packed with concerned family and friends but lacked the festive atmosphere usually present for Christmas. Anna and Maria kept the hors d’oeurves that Roger had prepared coming, and the alcohol flowed as groups clustered together, whispering. Dido was in her kitchen on the other side of the stairwell, baking cookies and praying for Jill in a loud enough voice that when the conversation next door ebbed, her lilting Greek echoed through the drywall.

  John and Nick drove in from Saugatuck, alone. Exasperated with his brother, Nick was sure he needed medical intervention, that he had a severe depression that no one had recognized when he was living in the shadows of his brothers, wife and marriage.

  Paula came with Peter and Joan. Their daughters, Sally and Jennifer, were taking a separate car. The young women were excited about the chance to spend Christmas in Greektown for the first time.

  “Girls, I don’t know who you think will be there,” Peter had said when he realized they were taking two suitcases apiece. “It’ll just be family. Who are you bringing all of these clothes for?”

  They planned on ditching the party and spending time at a club or two before Santa came.

  “Dad, its Greektown. We’re going to the casino after dinner.”

  Liz wasn’t going to Greektown for Christmas. After a delightful evening at the pub in Lansing, her head cleared, and she felt hopeful for the first time in days. While she was talking to the bartender, she made the decision to drive to Southfield and spend Christmas with her sister’s family, anything to get out of the negative energy field of her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  “It just won’t be the same without you,” Paula said. “If you change your mind, it looks like we’re all spending the night.”

  After Andy and the boys took over the empty bedrooms in Gus’s apartment, he repurposed the third-floor bedrooms int
o a dormitory of sorts. A down-at-the heels bed and breakfast with modest furnishings and one bathroom shared by all, it turned out to be a fun place when an overnight visit in Greektown was necessary during Christmas and New Years.

  While Gus was sitting in the ER with Jill and Mark, Estelle poured drinks and acted as host in absentia. Nicole and Andy played rummy with Peter’s daughters. Big Andy smoked a cigar and drank retsina with his brothers. Delaying dinner until news reached them about Jill’s well-being, Maria made the decision that they couldn’t wait any longer when the door opened, and a banged up Jill walked through followed by Gus, Albert and Mark.

  “Dinner is served!” Maria yelled as everyone surrounded the new arrivals. The noise and confusion was deafening, but soon, they sat down around the huge dining room table, with Andy’s boys, yawning, sat at their little table under the window. Gus and Maria directed the gigantic trays of food as they made the circuit around the table.

  Andy was tired from his day of baking and cooking, but he felt immeasurable satisfaction listening to the comments. “Oh, look at this lamb,” or, “I’m having a little of everything!” When it appeared that everyone had a plate full of food, Maria banged her fork on her water glass.

  “I just want to repeat how happy we are that Jill is okay and able to be with us tonight and that we are all together, once again. And remember our sister Sophie, may she rest in peace.” Glasses raised as the toast rang out.

  “Merry Christmas!” Gus said. “Let’s eat.”

  For the next forty minutes, the scene was like the old Greektown, with women hovering over the backs of chairs, urging people to take more food, decibels increasing with the retsina consumption, laughter and someone getting upset and crying.

  “We’re so glad you’re okay,” Estelle said to Jill.

  “Me, too,” Jill replied, and everyone laughed. “I didn’t want to spend the night in a hospital room while my family ate like pigs.”

  “Hurry up,” Uncle Peter said. “We have to start a poker game, and it’s getting late.”

  “Sorry,” Jill said. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

  “God forbid we miss out on poker,” Aunt Maria replied. “What about church?”

  “What about it?” Nick said. “Poker takes precedence over God.”

  The women looked over at the small boys and put their fingers to their lips. “Shush! Not in front of the children,” they said in unison.

  The end of a meal was Jill’s least favorite part of family dining: the crumpled napkins, always one or two on the floor, bread remnants on the linen tablecloth, water glasses covered with greasy fingerprints, piles of dirty plates stacked to the side, ready for pick up by whoever could be pressed into service. The end was always when any intrigue might take place.

  Jill looked out over the dining table and had the strangest sensation, as though she wasn’t present at all, a specter observing from a different spiritual plane. Even her ears were blocked like being underwater, with sounds and voices melding together, yet understandable. Mark and Roger were in a deep conversation with Aunt Paula about the effects of trauma, Paula sharing stories of her nursing days with a focused audience, while she poured wine into her glass with an increasingly unsteady hand.

  Turning her head slowly, Jill watched her cousins, Andy, Sally and Jennifer, whispering with Nicole and Albert, every so often one of them bursting out laughing. Maria and Nick were trying to coax something out of John, Jill picking up just enough of their Greek conversation to figure out a marriage was at stake. The rest of the siblings and their significant others were laughing and debating, unaware of a potential catastrophe brewing. The only person who wasn’t taking part in the conversation was Jill. I have nothing to talk about with my own family, she thought, sadly. I’m not that interested in any of them.

  “You okay?” Mark asked. She turned to look at him, consciously having to refocus her eyes. “It might be time to call it a night. It’s been a rough day for you.”

  “No, not yet,” she said. “I want to go to church. But thank you for reminding me. I was just feeling sorry for myself because I have no conversation. I forgot I took Percocet.”

  “I’m surprised you’re upright,” Mark said. “We probably should have stayed in tonight.”

  Dreading the attention turning to her, she went back to observation, hoping he’d resume his chat with Paula. But she was distracted, watching John at the other end of the table.

  He was growing tired of his brother and sister talking at him. “Please, leave me alone,” he cried out in Greek. “Focus on your own problems, will you, please? I’m a grown man.”

  “You two leave John alone,” Peter said, Andy and Gus murmuring in agreement.

  “Yeah,” Paula said loudly in English, standing up. “Leave poor John alone. Let him break his wife’s heart. Treat him like a little boy and let him get away with ruining his life. That’s the loving thing to do. That’s the Zannos way.”

  Jill bowed her head. Oh, lord, not on Christmas Eve.

  “Paula, shut up,” Nick called across the table, standing up and walking toward her.

  “No! Why should I? Maybe if Gus here,” and she pointed at Gus, “had controlled his slut of a wife forty years ago, you’d be a different man today. Everyone looked the other way while you screwed your way across the state. So what if you had a wife at home. No one gave a shit about me.”

  After the initial gasp and murmuring whispers, the silence was painful, the word slut echoing off eardrums. Unlike the last time Paula dragged Christina’s name through the mud, this time everyone understood there was a measure of truth to her words. It was still difficult to hear, especially on Christmas Eve.

  “Are we going to rehash that garbage again?” Maria asked. “Nick, take charge, please. I still have dessert to serve.” The younger guests chuckled, but not for long.

  “She’s talking about my mother,” Jill whispered sadly to Mark, who looked mortified but didn’t reply, taking her hand to squeeze and nodding his head. Jill looked over at her father, worried, imagining what he was thinking. Unconsciously judging Gus when he didn’t get up right away and put a stop to the slander, she was regretful that his lack of loyalty was displayed for the whole family to see.

  His head down, Estelle was whispering in his ear. He nodded, and there was some activity under the table, away from prying eyes. Pushing her chair away from the table, Estelle clapped her hands and shouted silence in Greek.

  “Well, everyone, I have a surprise for you tonight!” As she held out her hand, her left hand ring finger to be exact, gasps rang out in the room for the second time in five minutes. Jill saw the gold signet ring that had once belonged to her papou’s father, her great grandfather. The story behind it was family history; he took care of the bills of lading at the Port of Athens, and his pinky ring carried the seal of the company. He kept a small inkpad in his pocket, and after he examined a shipment and confirmed it was complete, he’d stamp the invoice with the ring signifying that it was ready for payment. The ring was one of the few valuable items Nick and Eleni brought with them from Greece to the United States.

  Seeing the ring on Estelle’s manicured finger increased Jill’s despair. Things were certainly going to be different around here if someone not even related to the family was going to wear her papou’s ring. As Estelle had requested, silence reigned over the room as Jill observed the response such news generated coincidently following the insult of Christina. It was a double whammy against her mother’s name.

  First, she looked at Gus’s face. He was watching Estelle with a shy smile. Jill felt betrayed; hadn’t she just asked him if marriage was in their future, and he’d said no? Then to Dido, who was gnawing on a lamb bone like a scavenger, subtly shaking her head in disgust. Did she know what had just transpired? Eavesdropped on Gus and Estelle’s whispered conversation?

  Gus’s siblings were shocked. Jill couldn’t decide if it was because Paula called Christina a slut and no one came to her defense, or that
Gus’s engagement announcement came after Paula’s proclamation, or because Estelle wore the special ring. She wasn’t even sure Gus had the authority to give the ring to Estelle.

  “Gus asked me to be his bride this evening. Life is so short, and we aren’t getting any younger. He’ll speak to you in a minute, but we hope that our news will put an end to the disrespectful talk about Christina. She was Gus’s wife and Jill’s beloved mother. We all need to remember that. And I speak for Gus when I say that if her name is ever maligned again the way it was tonight, the responsible person will be asked to leave and will no longer be welcome here at our home.”

  Relief palpable that someone had addressed what Paula said, the general chatter started again, but no one acknowledged the engagement.

  The Percocet wearing off, Jill’s senses were once again acute, as was the pain in her ribs. Mark had reached under the table to take her hand during Paula’s tirade, and Roger had unobtrusively moved away from Paula over to where Albert sat, looking for safety in case things got out of hand. He later said he didn’t know whether they should leave, but there wasn’t an opportunity. Pushing her chair away from the table with Mark’s help, Jill stood up, glancing over at Paula, who was showing the evidence of too much wine.

  “If I may make a toast,” she said, lifting her water glass. “To my father, who’s opened his home to us unselfishly every Sunday and for every holiday for as long as I can remember, and to Estelle, and, of course, to Dido, who’s lived next door to our family since they came to America. Congratulations!”

  Cheers went up for Gus and Estelle. No one mentioned the ring. Maria was smirking, thinking her brother was either a liar or a chicken, afraid to back away from Estelle; she hadn’t decided which yet.

  “Dido, you’ll be my grandmother,” Jill said.

  Laughter rang out, but Dido didn’t think it was funny. “I always felt like it regardless,” she said, her nose in the air.