by Allie Jean
Chantal’s immediate reaction made her want to shove Nick back into the apartment, to hide him from the real world. However, when she paused to gape at him standing sentinel in her doorway, his appearance wasn’t close to that drab palette. His skin tones were a rich golden color, almost resembling that of a California surfer. Even his hair had lightened to a dirty blond color, standing up into a messy Mohawk. He looked every bit the menacing boyfriend, and it seemed he planned to play up that image.
“And who the hell is this, might I ask?” Tony asked, having the nerve to sound jealous at Nick’s appearance.
“Um . . .” Chantal didn’t know how to answer that question. She glanced uneasily between Nick and Tony. Both of them stood still, rigid spines and puffed up chests. The testosterone level kicked up a couple notches as they sized up one another.
“Did you touch the lady?” Nick asked. Tony took his question as an invitation for conflict.
“I don’t recall it being any of your business,” Tony said. Being a man much smaller in stature, Tony didn’t seem deterred. He stood tall and proud, not bowing down to Nick’s more domineering demeanor.
“Anything that happens to this woman is my business,” Nick retorted, unwavering. Chantal scoffed, affronted by what his words implied. Tony picked up on her dissension, and attempted to capitalize on it.
“She told me she had no ties here, or was that a lie?” he asked turning to look at Chantal briefly before standing his ground to Nick.
“The point is, I’m inside her apartment, and you’re out in the hallway,” Nick retorted smugly. Chantal had heard enough.
“Okay, that’s enough. Nick, you have no say one way or the other, however, Tony, you are not welcome here. You have one minute to get the hell out of here or I’m calling the cops,” she warned as she shook the phone at him. Nick whirled to look at her, shocked. Tony turned an odd shade of purple, backing up a step as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Chantal rolled her eyes and glanced over at Nick, before she addressed her would-be boss.
“Look, Mr. DeLuca. I could care less what your reason was for grabbing my ass, but there is no way I would work for someone the likes of you.”
“But—” Tony began, seeming a loss for words.
“Good night.” Nick smiled, reaching to shut the door in the man’s flustered face. At the last moment, just before the wood met the jamb, Nick felt a sudden force of resistance. He glanced out the door to see that Tony had blocked it.
“I will talk to her,” he said, his tone low and menacing. His eyes were sharp and dilated, glaring at Nick with a fierceness that seemed to come out of nowhere. Something sinister fueled his actions. A type of manic possession gripped him, and Nick recognized what ensnared the poor man at once.
“Chantal, get back!” Nick cried, pushing hard on the door to close out the manager who’d gone psychotic with jealousy. Tony shoved hard, putting his weight into the door. Nick took a second to push Chantal back, a second that prevented him getting enough of himself braced on the wood before Tony bulldozed his way through, clambering into the apartment with a loud clattering noise.
Chantal stumbled as she was forced out of the way, watching aghast as Tony lunged at Nick with the ferocity of an enraged beast. Nick tried to subdue Tony without hurting the man realizing now that he had no control over his actions.
“She’s mine!” Tony screamed, his hands reaching for Nick’s throat. Nick jolted out of the way, sending the man careening into the wall at full speed. Tony toppled onto the ground, a thin stream of blood trailing from his slack mouth.
Chantal cupped her mouth to muffle the scream working its way out, trying to understand what had just happened. Nick began searching the dark apartment after he pushed the front door wide to allow as much hallway light in as possible.
“We need to leave.”
“Leave? What just happened?” Chantal asked, gesturing wildly at Tony’s immobile body. Nick came over, glanced at the man for a brief moment, before he grabbed Chantal’s arm and headed out the door.
“Wait!” Chantal called, tugging against Nick’s impenetrable strength. He headed out into the hallway, ignoring Chantal’s protests and shouted questions. He pulled her down the stairs, past the closed doors of her neighbors asleep in their beds.
“Nick!” she yelled as he dragged her behind him. Nick paused for a moment once they were outside. The cold bitter air hit her cheeks, and she noticed for the first time that she’d left with just her flimsy sleep tank and shorts on. And she was barefoot.
“Let’s go,” Nick said, pulling her down the block at a fast pace. The streets were vacant, wet from the late summer rain. A few cars drove by while she obviously was being dragged against her will, but no one paid them any attention. Chantal stumbled, trying to avoid anything that could cause her bare feet pain. Nick seemed oblivious.
“Nick, where are we going?”
“Away from here,” he answered and pulled her into a darkened alleyway. “We need to get you safe. That man was possessed, specifically enthralled to come after you.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“That man was taken by Jealousy,” Nick said, pointing toward her apartment building two blocks away. His eyes held an urgency that Chantal didn’t understand. “He wasn’t himself.”
Confused, Chantal stared at him, unable to formulate a question. Her mind reeled with what she’d seen, trying to piece it all together. She opened her mouth to speak, but a faint sound near them stopped her cold.
Nick flashed in front of her, pushing her back onto the cold, stone wall, his arms spread wide to shelter her. His eyes were fixed toward the end of the alleyway, as if he could see something there she couldn’t.
“Hold onto me,” he said. She thought about arguing but a steady keening noise from the dark end of the alley made her obedient, and she wrapped her arms around him, clasping her wrists for good measure. “Close your eyes. It’ll help with the dizziness.”
They melted into the darkness, becoming part of the shadows. Chantal watched, wide-eyed, as the world around her disappeared. Even her own skin lost its pigment. Her body felt light, like it weighed nothing more than the clothes on her back. The sense of smell and hearing were heightened, but her vision was oddly two-dimensional, flat and without definition.
Nick traveled at an unimaginable speed. The dark environment around them twisted and bent, becoming a form manipulated and contorted by his will alone. Streams of gray and black whizzed by her, leaving her confused and disoriented. She blinked her eyes a couple of times, trying to regain her equilibrium. She should have listened when Nick told her to keep her eyes closed, but she wasn’t willing to miss anything that could explain what was going on or why.
Her grip on Nick tightened when she was hit with a wave of nausea. Just as she thought she couldn’t take any more, objects began to solidify into recognizable forms: a building, a city street, a darkened car zooming past.
The nausea subsided as everything around her slowed to a normal pace. Her arms around Nick’s waist felt heavy; even the effort to bring air into her longs seemed a chore. Vertigo clutched at her head, making her feel unbalanced.
“I told you to close your eyes.” He chuckled.
Chantal kept her arms around Nick’s waist, afraid that if she were to let go, she’d tumble to the ground in a nauseated heap. She noticed Nick checking if the shadows were safe.
Shadows.
It seemed to come back to the darkness. Everything that had come out of the gloom wanted to harm her in some way. Even the boy, with his prophetic declarations and chilling persona, left her with more unanswered questions.
Chantal’s head hurt, and she closed her eyes against the pain.
“You okay back there?” Nick asked
She sighed, not knowing how to answer his question. Nick laughed, making her a little ticked off.
“I need answers, Nick,” she said, letting go and stumbling as she tried to regain her footing. She sho
ved hard against his sturdy back, wanting him away from her for a moment or two, but her strength failed her; pushing him was like shoving against the Hulk. She got nowhere pretty fast.
Nick’s skin morphed from the normal flat gray color back to the golden tone it had been in her apartment when he confronted Tony.
“I know you’re confused,” he said.
“Confused? I’m downright flipping my shit, Nick. And why are you smiling?”
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he said.
“Oh, no. You don’t get to do that.”
“What?” he asked.
“That,” Chantal retorted, gesturing to his vaguely innocent, yet playful, expression with a pointed finger. He shrugged again, his expression stoic and back to business before he looked behind him toward the busy streets beyond. His eyes narrowed for a moment as if trying to focus on something far away.
“Nick.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“I don’t know. You just seemed like a ‘Nick’ to me at the time.”
“A dark shadow in the corner of your room looked like a ‘Nick?’”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, what’s your name, then?”
“Mathias,” he said, taking a step closer. Before she could react, he had her in his arms, cradling her like a baby as he began walking.
“What are you doing?” she yelled. She tried to wriggle loose, but his grip was firm.
“Can’t have you walking New York streets without any shoes on,” he said with a laugh. “Might step on something questionable and then where would we be?”
“Yeah, right. Such a gentlemen,” she said, poking him in the chest. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get fresh with me?”
He laughed, his head thrown back as if what she said was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Chantal huffed. “Well you didn’t seem to have a problem before, dragging me shoeless into a darkened alleyway.”
“We were in a hurry,” he said. “It would’ve looked a little suspicious for me to be carrying a half-clothed woman as I ran down the street, don’t you think?”
“Oh, and this doesn’t look strange at all,” she muttered as Nick took a step out of the alleyway. Ignoring her, his movements were cautious. Chantal kept quiet, deciding it would be better not to distract him.
“I know I haven’t told you much,” he said, hushed. “But there will be more answers coming soon, I promise.”
Chantal watched him carefully. She didn’t want to interrupt him but she couldn’t stand the awkward silence as he walked.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To a church,” he said. “It’ll be safe there.”
Shocked, she glanced around her, trying to figure out where they were. They hadn’t been in the flat, shadow world for very long. They couldn’t have traveled too far.
“Mathias,” she said, trying his real name on for size. “Seems kind of old school.”
“My father found it fitting to name me after the apostle that replaced Judas,” he said, smirking as if at a hidden joke. Chantal noticed when he smiled that it softened his features, somehow making him look more human.
“Judas, the one that betrayed Jesus?”
He nodded. “You see the irony, right?”
“But I think I’ll still call you Nick.”
He shrugged.
“Your skin, it changed color.” She touched his arm near his birthmark. Nick’s eyes traveled down to where she touched him, a frown on his face. Chantal pulled her hand back, afraid she’d offended him.
“Like I said, we’re born with the gray skin of the Fallen, but we can change it to that of our birth mothers.”
“Was she an American?” Chantal noticed that he didn’t really have a foreign accent.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I was found in an orphanage in Israel. The priests didn’t know much about me, only that my name was Mathias and I wasn’t local.”
“Who found you?” she said, gauging his reaction. His countenance shifted, and for a moment, his skin lost its coloring. His telling eyes glossed over, the memory obviously painful.
“We’re here,” he said, pausing just outside a grand cathedral.
The cathedral stretched high toward the heavens, covered in strategically placed stained-glass windows that continued along the sides of the huge building. A large pyramid-shaped staircase was in front of the large front doors. The steeples were stone, and Chantal wouldn’t have been surprised to see a few gargoyles glaring down from their perches. It seemed out of place somehow.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s safe, for now.” Nick started up the staircase taking two at a time.
“I can walk, you know,” she said. He laughed at her again, but despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help the way his laughter made her feel. It made her want to smile along with him. Choosing the petulant action, she grumbled instead.
Nick let her down once they reached the top, making a grand bow to her as if he were nothing more than her humble servant. Despite her mood, she smiled playfully and mock-punched his arm, earning another beautiful chuckle.
“After you,” he said, pulling on the large iron handle.
The door creaked open, revealing a candlelit foyer preceding another set of doors. Nick followed, always her protector.
She noted that despite their relative safety, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread she still felt.
Holding one open for her like the gentleman he’d claimed to be, Nick waved her through the door, still in a teasing mood. Bowing to him this time, she entered the church. Her breath caught in her throat, and the hairs on her body prickled as she stared at the altar. Chantal stood frozen in place, as that strange sense of déjà vu came over her once again.
Elaborate wooden pews stretched the length of the large hall. Their simplicity seemed out of context in such a holy, ornate place. The candelabras lining the walls cast muted light onto the surroundings. Shadows danced along with the flickering flame, but they seemed to be missing something. Chantal looked around as she walked down the center aisle, expecting to see people kneeling, paying homage. However, there was no one. Sadness filled her heart.
The crucifix above the altar drew her attention, as if she could feel it connect to some missing part of her. It served as a reminder, something for the missing people to serve and pray to, and honor above all else. He seemed so lonely with no one to admire the beauty of his sacrifice. A lone lamb, forgotten.
He was emaciated, hung from that wooden cross, His cross. His torture and subsequent death screaming from his wasted features. The image resonated pain and fear from deep inside her. She moved closer to Him. She recognized His face, the expression so familiar it left her feeling cold and breathless. She looked at His eyes, seeking answers, relief, but found none.
She’d seen this cross before, somewhere in her nightmares.
“This is where they come,” Nick said, and it took a lot of effort for her to tear herself away from the man on the cross.
“Who?”
“I’ll show you,” Nick said, taking her hand. His hand in hers was warm and comforting, and she glanced at him through the tears clouding her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying.
He took her along the altar to a hidden door just off the platform. The narrow corridor beyond gave her a sense of claustrophobia.
“The nuns keep them hidden. Away from those that seek them out.”
“Keep what hidden?” she asked, her voice wavering with emotion and trepidation.
Nick looked at her with compassion and understanding. “The others like you.”
The hallway seemed endless, dark and dank, smelling of stale breath and mothballs. She imagined they traveled parallel to the elaborate stone walls of the cathedral. She couldn’t be sure, but the corridor had to lead somewhere. After a few feet, the ground began to tilt downward, making Chantal feel as if they were heading underground.
“What is thi
s?” she asked, fear and anxiety evident even to her. Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he kept a steady pace down the narrow tunnel, following the hint of lighting toward his destination. He held her hand in a firm grip, offering her just the smallest sense of security though her alarm bells were sounding off.
For the first time, Chantal began to question herself and her decision to follow Nick. The fact that this, after all she’d witnessed, happened to be the first time she had second thoughts made her angry with herself.
What did she really know about him, after all? Nothing, in all honesty. Yes, he could kill a shadow beast and turn his skin different colors, but she didn’t know him as a person. Could he be trusted? Her gut told her she could. She’d be dead right now, if it wasn’t for him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. Why did he make her feel so safe?
“You have no clue what I’m thinking.”
“Yes, I do.” The cocky tone to his voice set her teeth on edge.
“What?”
“You’re wondering what you’re doing down here, with me. A shadow that came to life and killed a Seeker in your apartment.”
“No, I’m not,” she said.
Nick laughed. “You girls are so predictable.”
“Girls?” She slowed her pace, yanked her hand away, and rested a fist indignantly on her hip at his blatant dismissal of her womanhood.
Nick glanced back, giving her a wide, playful grin. She felt her face flush. He could be quite handsome at times, she mused against her will. She hated feeling so conflicted, so confused. Yet, being with him felt more natural than anything she’d experienced, at least that she could remember.
Nick grabbed her hand again and they picked up speed. They rounded a corner, and Chantal found herself standing in front of a large metal door.
“Is this it?” she asked, noting the thick, strong-as-iron looking door.
Nick nodded, his gaze fixed on the door. There didn’t appear to be any way to open it, no key access that she could see.
Nick stood motionless before it. His palms rested at his sides, his breathing calm and paced.