All Things in the Shadows

by B. D. Messick

  To the girl with the awesome name...and the mother who named her.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  About the Author

  Also by B. D. Messick

  ALL THINGS IN THE SHADOWS

  Copyright © by B. D. Messick

  ISBN: 978-1-68046-623-2

  Fire & Ice Young Adult Books

  An Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.fireandiceya.com

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design by Fantasia Frog Designs

  Chapter One

  “Get down!” I yell into my headset as a rocket propelled grenade screams toward our position, trailing a line of smoke and fire behind it.

  Amanda rolls to the right and throws herself behind a burned-out wreck of a car. I barely have time to find cover before the RPG strikes the ground directly between us. Dirt, smoke, and debris fill the air for a few moments, obscuring my vision.

  “Manda! You okay?” I shout.

  “Affirmative. That was too close,” comes the reply. “Did you see where it came from?”

  “Yeah. Second floor, third window, building to your right,” I say as I study the bombed-out warehouse through my binoculars.

  I scan the area for additional threats, but all seems quiet.

  “All clear.”

  “Roger that,” Amanda replies.

  I switch to my rifle and sweep the scope across the crumbling, brick facade searching for any movement. I watch Amanda slowly stand and laze the third window with her hand-held missile launcher. At the last second, I spot a flash of movement past the second window opening, one floor up.

  “Third floor! Third floor!” I yell.

  A split second later, Amanda's rocket screams from our position, trailing the same stream of smoke and fire as our assailant's. The missile hits the building and explodes in a massive fireball, sending shattered bricks and splintered wood back toward us. I have no idea if she had time to adjust her aim or not. We may have just wasted an opportunity to take out the target.

  “Tell me you adjusted.” I watch for any movement in the smoldering space between the second and third floors.

  “I adjusted,” she replies with a slightly cocky tone.

  “Good girl.”

  Suddenly, I'm startled by a low-pitched beep invading my ears. I look down at my iPhone. It's blinking 6:15am in large, red numbers. I touch the screen to silence it.

  “Time's up. I'll see you at school,” I say into the headset.

  “Roger that,” Amanda responds with a giggle.

  I shake my head. “You're such a dork.”

  “Affirmative. See you later.”

  I switch off my Xbox and hang the headset on the little plastic hook stuck to the right side of the television. I start gathering my stuff as mom’s voice drifts up the stairs.

  “Eve. School.”

  “Coming.” I check my makeup and hair in the mirror. I don't wear a lot of cosmetics; my green eyes are my best feature and the last thing I want to do is hide them behind a bunch of crap. I tie my hair into a quick ponytail and head downstairs.

  I'm one of those people who don't really stand out in a crowd, I sort of blend in. Sometimes though, I think people don't even notice me, like I'm not even there, but maybe that's just in my head.

  I have my backpack slung over my right shoulder as I stroll into the kitchen where Mom is standing by the table doling out portions of scrambled eggs onto two plates. Two other small dishes are filled with bacon, and toast smeared with butter and grape jelly.

  My mom is a real ‘looker’ as they used to say; tall, lean, and perfectly proportioned. Her white tennis shoes squeak softly on the faded brown linoleum floor as she moves about the kitchen.

  She sets the pan back on the burner and looks at me with a smile that's full of love. “C'mon honey, sit down and eat.”

  “I don't know if I have time,” I reply, but the aroma of the bacon is almost hypnotizing, and I find myself pulling out my chair and sitting before I know what I'm doing.

  She sits down on the opposite side of the small, square, glass and wood table. I sprinkle a bit of salt on my food followed by a liberal dose of pepper.

  “Would you like some eggs with your pepper?” she asks, smiling and we both laugh. “So, what's on your schedule for today?”

  “I've got a test in Calculus and finals review in English,” I reply between bites of egg and bacon.

  “Are you prepared?”

  “I think, at least for the English stuff, not so sure about the math.”

  She nods her head and smiles, tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. “I'm sure you'll do fine, you always do.”

  Normally, I'd agree. Most classes have always been easy for me. I have more A's than B's and I've never gotten any worse than a B-, but lately things at school, and everywhere else have been ... difficult. The closer I get to my seventeenth birthday, the more I can't seem to concentrate for long and I'm constantly seeing things, like flashes of movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look, there's nothing there. It's very distracting, and a little bit worrying. Sometimes, I even hear voices, or more like whispers, although I can't quite make out what they're saying. I'm not even sure if they're talking to me or not.

  Because I can't tell my mom any of this, I lie and say, “Yeah, you're probably right.”

  A few minutes later, I step onto the sidewalk in front of our place. It's not a big house like some of the others on our block, but it's still nice. We live in Collinsburg, east of Pittsburgh. It's not New York, or even Chicago, but it's still a vibrant place, full of people, and a bustling downtown. I don't know how Mom affords the place on her salary as a freelance graphic designer, but we always seem to have enough. We're not rich, we're comfortable. I'm sure she could make a lot more in a bigger city, but she always says she prefers small town life.

  I guess I always assumed my dad left her some money when he passed away. I never knew him, he died when I was an infant, saving me from a fire in our old house. Mom doesn't talk about him, and she doesn't even have a picture of him since they were all destroyed that night.

  I fling my backpack over my shoulder and start down the sidewalk to school. We only live about ten blocks away and even though the bus comes right down
our street, I prefer walking. It's warm out for April, maybe about fifty-five degrees this morning.

  About halfway there, it begins.

  It's hard to describe what I ‘see’. It's almost like I'm catching glimpses of something in my peripheral vision, but I can never get a clear image of whatever it is. I don't even know what they are, or even if they're people or just things. All I know is, it's annoying and then it gets worse, like it always does.

  The whispering.

  It's fairly easy to ignore the things I think I'm seeing, I can simply close my eyes, but it's harder to close your ears. The whispers, if that's what they are, blend in with the background noise, but every now and then I think I can make out a word or two. I'm not sure if they're meant for me, or for someone else.

  I just wish they would stop.

  As usual, I put my earbuds in, turn my music up and keep my eyes on the sidewalk in front of my feet. Sometimes I even close my eyes while I'm walking. Even in this small town, most people get out of your way, and the ones that don't keep moving even if you bump into them.

  By the time I make it to school, the bell for first period is already ringing and I'm one of the last kids through the doors. They swing shut behind me, banging loudly in the nearly empty hallway. I wish they could block out the voices in my head, but they can't.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as the doors close behind me, the voices begin in earnest again. Sometimes they’re louder and sometimes softer, like they’re passing me by, but there are so many, it’s making my head hurt. I lean against the wall, my forehead pressed against the hard, cold tile. Hundreds of students are rushing past me on their way to class, all of them ignoring me. Flashes of movement snag the corner of my eye, forcing me to reflexively turn my head to look. There’s never anything there, but the movement is starting to make me dizzy.

  I make my way along the wall, passing the first set of lockers until I finally reach the bathroom. I slip inside and head to the closest stall, slamming the door and plopping down on the seat. I start rubbing my thighs up and down while breathing slowly; in through my nose and out through my mouth. I start to calm the voices and the light headedness begins to pass within a few minutes.

  Standing slowly, I test my balance, and everything seems okay, at least for the moment. After exiting the stall, I walk over to the sink and splash some water in my face. The second I look up, the bell rings for home room.

  “Shit!”

  I rush out, water still dripping off my face as I dash down the hall. As I turn the corner at the end of the corridor, Mr. Hilderhoff is standing there talking with two other students. He spots me immediately.

  “Miss Torino,” he calls and waves to me.

  I walk over, sighing as he pulls a blue slip of paper out of his pocket.

  “Why are you late, Miss Torino?”

  “I had to stop in the bathroom.”

  “You should plan for that,” he responds with not a drop of sympathy.

  He hands me the little piece of paper.

  “Get to home-room and give Mrs. Wallace the slip.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When I get to the door, I pause for a second before walking inside. Everyone, including Mrs. Wallace looks over at me.

  “Late again,” she says.

  There are a few snickers scattered throughout the room, but most of the students remain silent. They’ve all been through this themselves.

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry can’t save you from everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I walk over and hand her the slip and turn to take my seat.

  “Are you going to be late tomorrow, Miss Torino?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  I glance over at Amanda, and she rolls her eyes as I’m walking down the aisle to my desk. I sit down across from her and shake my head.

  “Well, now that Miss Torino has deemed to honor us with her presence, we can take role.”

  After a few announcements, and a couple more jabs from Mrs. Wallace, the first period bell finally rings and we all head out.

  “See you at lunch?” Amanda asks as we exit the room.

  “Sure,” I reply, already deflated for the day.

  Amanda pats my shoulder. “Forget about her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just be good the rest of the day,” she says with a grin.

  “Oh, that’s funny.”

  Amanda laughs and then disappears into the mass of students crowding the hallway. I turn and head down toward my first class, concentrating on keeping the voices as calm as I can.

  “Am I boring you, Miss Torino?” I hear Mr. Copton ask.

  My head snaps up and I jump when I realize he’s standing right next to me. I slowly lower my phone under the desk.

  “No. Sorry, I was just—”

  “Just what? Texting?”

  I sigh as he holds his hand out. My shoulders slump and I hand him my phone. He takes it and walks back up to the front of the class.

  “What do I always say?” he asks.

  “School is for learning, not for texting,” I reply.

  I look over at Brittany Hanson, and she scoffs at me with a nasty little smile before turning back to her friends and sharing a quiet giggle.

  “Now, if we can get back to it. Who can answer number five?” Copton asks.

  Finally, class ends, and I head to gym, but things don’t get much better. We play ‘wood floor hockey’ as I call it. I’m pretty good at it, but I’m almost always the last one picked. I try and not let it get me down, but it’s not easy. At the end of class, I walk into the locker room to change and shower, but as soon as I do, a bunch of the other girls look up and stare from their little grouping. After a few moments, they gather up their stuff and head around to the other side of the lockers. Some of them shoot me nasty looks, but many of the others simply follow after them, their heads hanging, refusing to make eye contact.

  The sound of their laughter and mumbled comments echo through the room. Two or three other girls stay on my side, but no one says a word to me. I sit down on the edge of the bench, and try to ignore it, but I can’t.

  When lunch comes, I head outside and around the back of the school. Amanda is waiting for me, all smiles as she looks up from the bench. Before I even reach her, she shakes her head.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  I sit down and open my lunch, pulling out the sandwich my mom made for me last night.

  “That’s crap and you know it. You can tell me.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  I take a bite of sandwich, but I don’t feel like eating.

  “Those bitches in gym class again?”

  I don’t answer right away.

  “They should just go fuck themselves.”

  “I think that’s what they think I want to do to them.”

  “They should be so lucky.”

  I laugh and at least part of the pall from the day begins to lift.

  “Thanks, Amanda.”

  “No problem.”

  We take our time finishing our lunches before heading back inside just before the bell rings. Amanda reaches over and brushes her hand against mine.

  “See you in Science,” she says.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  The rest of the day goes better than the first half, but I still can’t wait for school to end. As soon as the final bell rings, I push my way through the throng of students, out the doors and down the steps.

  When I get home, I turn the key in the lock, and push the door open. A rush of warm air hits me, intermingled with the smell of potpourri and live flowers. My mother loves plants in the house, especially anything that blooms. They're everywhere; in every window and locale where the sun hits for even the shortest amount of time.

  “Mom?” I call out, but there's no answer, which is fine because I don't really feel like talking about my day anyway.

  I
drop my backpack just inside the door before heading into the kitchen. I know Mom hates when I leave my stuff in the hall, but right now, I don't really care. I open the fridge and look for something to drink. Pushing aside the orange juice, milk, and bottled water, I spot three cans of beer in the back. I've drunk a few of them, without my mother's knowledge of course, but I didn't really enjoy it. I don't understand how getting drunk can make you feel better. All it did was give me a headache the next day.

  I grab a small bottle of orange juice and head to my bedroom. As soon as I turn the corner in the hallway, I immediately notice that my door is open. I never leave my bedroom door open, ever. I frown slightly as I walk inside and for a moment I don't see anything odd or out of place, except my laptop screen is up and powered on, but then, out of the corner of my eye I spot a dark shape by my desk. I turn my head, expecting it to vanish like they always do, but instead my breath catches in my throat as the figure of a girl becomes more distinct, less hazy like my normal sightings. She's sitting at my desk, using my computer.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask, angrily.

  She whips her head around, staring straight at me, a slightly stunned look on her face. She's about my age, long dark hair framing a face with delicate Asian features. She's pretty, with high cheekbones, bright blue eyes that almost look like they're glowing, mainly because her pupils aren't black, they're white. She's dressed in blue jeans, a red button-down shirt with a black leather vest over the top, and black boots that have seen better days. You might not even notice her on the street, but the knife tucked into her belt and the sword hanging at her side certainly makes her stand out.