Chasing Shadows

by Liana Hakes-Rucker

  He's standing on his balcony leaning over the railing. "Good. You have fun last night?"

  "At the party?"

  He laughs. "Yeah."

  I smile. "Sure. Thanks for having it. I liked your place."

  "Yeah thanks for coming." He's coming down his steps. "You didn't stay long." He says in a normal tone once he hits ground level. Is he going somewhere, or did he come down here just to talk to me? That would be weird.

  "Yeah." I say

  "But you had fun?" He asks.

  I shrug and smile. "Sure I had fun."

  "Would you come again, if I had another one?"

  I push some hair back, realize I want it up and begin to twist it into a clippie while I'm answering. "Why not? Especially if people I know are there."

  "Cool." He nods.

  "K."

  "I gotta go." He says stepping towards the alley.

  "Have a nice day." I'm a little relieved. He wasn't here to talk to me. He was talking to me on his way somewhere. Geeze, self, not everything is about you. He waves. I wave and walk off in the other direction. Okay. That's that. I check my phone, 5:04. Holy hell what am I going to do? What did I used to do? That's right! Music! I smile and dig out my ear buds. Cool. I walk north up the alley and then west over the Clark. I walk south for a block on Clark before moving west again to that road that runs by the train tracks. It's quieter back here. Not that I can hear anything, just that I prefer having less people to dodge. This road is nice. The little businesses on the corners: a frame shop, an interior design store, are the kinds of places a customer would have to know about and seek out. I'm sure they get absolutely no walk-ins. I contemplate becoming their first... Nah.

  The sun is finally setting. I cut east again back to Clark. I don't want to miss where Clark and State split off at Joe's. I want to go that way. My meandering walks are a mix of known routes and adventure detours. I get an intersection in mind and head there. Then I try and get lost. Then I get another landmark in my head and try to find my way back to it. As I go, I attempt to remember which places are particularly attractive in case I decide to go to them again. In this way I've visited almost every area from here to Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd and a few south of there off the green line. It's still chilly out, but it's not snowing and the wind isn't bad. I breathe deep and wonder if I'll be able to make it all the way down to the chocolate factory on Kinzie before I need to double back to the loft. Man, this is a nice day. Good to be lost in my own head again.

  ***

  Still walking. My feet are getting tired. I wonder if I'll be able to get Qasim to rub them for me. There's no telling what favors I'd be willing to exchange for a good foot massage. I smile. I'm lost again. It's not like being lost in a foreign land or, you know, the woods. Not that I've ever seen the woods except on TV. I'm told there are wooded areas all over the country. Maybe I should learn to drive. I could get a car and drive my ass outside of this city. What would that be like? But back to the point, being lost in this city always feels pretty safe to me. You can just head east if you start to get nervous. Eventually you'll hit the lake and know where you are.

  I'm coming into a more retail oriented area. It looks like a little town square. I check my phone, 8:45. I should start trying to figure out where I am soon. This is pleasant. Store windows cast cheerful swaths of light across the sidewalk. I laugh. There's a little bar here with outside tables. It's cold. What are they thinking? Somebody in management must be one of those perpetual optimists, weirdo. Oh look, a glass. Huh. I guess they had at least one patron who took them up on their offer to drink and freeze. I'm about to pass by when I get this sick feeling so I stop. The glass, my eyes keep going back to it. Its one of those octagon shaped tumblers with the little air bubbles in the base... Oh! Duh. That's where I've seen it. In my house. No big deal, I'm sure lots of people use glasses like that. Except, of course, that the one in my house appeared the first night I ever followed the shades. I sigh and remove my ear buds. Well shit. I hope I'm not late for Qasim, but I don't see any way around it. I'd better go in and get me a beer.

  With resigned movements I dig out my ID and some cash. I look at the windows, heavily tinted. I can tell there are people in there, but I can't guess at their character. I look up and down the street... No one around. Last I check for the name of the bar... I don't see a sign. Maybe it's broken. Oh well. Here goes nothing. I step up and open the door. The interior is smoky. The music is loud. I look around, seems respectable. There's an ethnic mix and a good representation from each gender. I don't look out of place except for my hair. No one is looking at me directly. So far, so good.

  I keep thinking I'll see a shade somewhere to give me direction, but they're conspicuously absent. I maneuver my way to the bar and order a Bud Light. The bar tender dutifully checks my ID and takes my money. I lean on the bar and hold the beer with both my hands for a minute. What now? I take a sip before turning to face the room. It's all dark wood and neon signs in here. Not bright, but not a hole like some places can be. Do they serve food? There are some peanuts on the bar. I reach over and grab a couple.

  "Miss Jones." A woman says, startling me.

  I check her out, frizzy brown hair... She looks a little familiar but I'm not placing her. "I'm sorry." I say. "I forgot your name."

  She smiles without much humor. "Darcy Burns."

  Hmm, nothing. "Sorry, still not clicking with me. Where do I know you from?" I feel a little nervous now, like I should be keeping my voice down.

  The smile is still there. It's disconcerting. "The Station."

  Oh! "Officer Burns." I nod. I wonder why I'm here.

  "We tried to call you today. You're wanted for questioning."

  I blink wide. "Really? What did I do now?"

  Officer Burns shakes her head. "It's not bad. There isn't a warrant. We just need you to come in."

  "Oh. Now? Because I have plans tonight." What is that feeling?

  She shakes her head. "I'm off duty. You want to come join us?" It doesn't sound like a question as much as an order.

  "I guess." I say quietly. I don't know if she heard me. I shouldn't have come in here. She turns her back to me and I follow her to a table. There's a guy sitting there with thinning hair. Now that I know to picture him in uniform it seems obvious. "Officer Clark." I say as I sit down.

  "Miss Jones." He nods. "Interesting to see you here. You meeting somebody?"

  I laugh nervously. "You I guess." They both just look at me. I shrug and wonder what it is that I'm supposed to be learning and when I can leave. Why don't I see my shades?

  "So what brings you here?" Burns asks.

  "I don't know." I say. "I walk around a lot. I was just headed down the street and I saw the tables outside. The glass out there actually, it looked familiar so I thought I'd come in and see what this place was like. I didn't know it was a cop bar." Now they're looking at me like I'm nuts. See? See where the truth can get you?

  Clark shakes his head. "You're an odd girl, you know that?"

  I smile. "It's the brain damage."

  Burns sips her beer. "I was going over your file. Actually there's not that much, brain damage, I mean."

  I sip my beer. I like it. It's cold.

  Clark holds my eye contact. "I bet you see some interesting things. You walk all night?"

  I nod. "Some nights, when I'm off work. A lot of nights."

  Officer Clark shifts forward a bit. "You're not scared to be out alone at night?"

  I look at him to be sure but he seems legitimately interested. "Not really. I know it isn't one hundred percent safe ,but neither is breathing, neither is smoking. Speaking of which, can I smoke? You mind?" I'm feeling so jittery. Maybe a cigarette will help.

  "Go ahead." Clark says. He turns to Burns. "Can we ask her about the photos?" Ah, so that's what this is about. I light up.

  Burns shrugs. "You ever been mistaken for somebody else?"

  I laugh. "Hell if I know. I know what you mean, and yes sometimes, like I
told you the last time we talked. It's just, how would I know if the person is making a mistake? I could be anybody."

  "Did you ever notice anyone following you?" Clark asks.

  I shake my head. "No. I can be pretty oblivious."

  "You don't seem very surprised at my question Miss Jones."

  "Call me Meegan, please. The Miss Jones stuff is getting on my nerves. Makes me feel like I'm in trouble." I hope that's what's giving me the feeling.

  He smiles. "Okay, Meegan."

  Nope, not any better. "And do I have to call you Officer Clark? You're not even on duty right now." I gesture towards his beer.

  "You can call me Aaron." The look on his face, his tone, they should put me at ease.

  "And you? Can I call you Darcy if you're not actually interrogating me?"

  She bristles. "No. You can call me Ms. Burns if Officer is too intimidating for you."

  I smile. "Okay."

  "You didn't answer the question, Meegan." Aaron says.

  "You didn't ask a question, Aaron." I avert my eyes. I feel a little prickle on the back of my neck. Not the cool familiar touch of a shade. More like someone's watching me. I take a swig of my beer while scanning to room. Everything seems fine.

  Aaron nods. "That's fair. Are you surprised that we want to know if you suspected someone was following you?"

  Dread... "No." I want to turn in my chair and check out what's behind me, but I know that'd look suspicious.

  "Why not Miss Jones?"

  Oh hell, I can't put it off. I turn. My eyes scan the bar, scan the tables... Oh shit. I whip back around. I have no idea what my face is doing. I can see my hands shake though. It's the buzz cut guy, the home depot killer, Spade Man, here in a cop bar. My heart is racing. I look up at Aaron and Ms. Burns. They're staring at me like I'm crazy. This is not going well. Note to self: no new places unless I actually see a shade, not just some dumb ass glass.

  "I gotta go." I murmur. I stand abruptly and book it to the door. I don't care what the Officers think. I have got to get out of here. The cold air hits me like a punch in the face. I tremble and speed walk to the end of the block. As I turn the corner I look behind me. No one's there. Thank God. I take deep breaths and try to slow my heart rate down. Maybe he didn't see me... whatever. I check behind me again, still alone. Trembling makes it difficult to work the zipper on my jacket. I have to stare at my hands to make them obey me. There, the zipper catches and I pull it up. I'm just raising my head again when I feel a horrible shock on my ass. I'm aware of the sidewalk rushing towards me and then nothing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Oh this is not comfortable. I feel drool on my chin. My palms are warm from scrapes. At least I imagine that's the warmth because I can't see them. They're stretched upwards and behind me. I think I'm tied to a pole. I feel something cutting into my wrists. I shake my arms but my weight is hanging on them. I extend my hands and feel around up there. I guess it’s a hook, or something above me on the other side of the pole that my wrists are hanging from. As my awareness begins to crystallize, I can tell that my feet are tied together and lashed against the same pole. Whatever's holding me here is thin and jabs into my skin. I'm cold. I'm just in my underwear. Now come on, what's that about? If you're going to strip me, why not go all the way? Why leave my bra and panties intact? What sinister plan involves skivvies? Fuck, my wrists hurt. I turn my head to wipe the drool off on my shoulder. Now I bend my neck further to try and see my feet. I have just enough slack to do it. Are those zip ties? Well that makes sense. I take a few slow breaths and look around. Well, this is familiar isn't it?

  I'm in a long, low room with support pillars every so often throughout the space. Ahead of me I see a little metal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. There are boxes all around. Yup. This is the same room where I saw Madeline die. Awesome. Who's gonna come watch me die? Something I never noticed last time I was here, air ducts. Big, square, metal air ducts crisscross the ceiling... great. I'll just look at those while he beats me to death. God, I'm so stupid. As I'm thinking of it now, I'm sure the blond guy must have left out the back of the bar. He was probably waiting for me where the alley entrance is... Damn it. I wish I'd crossed the street. I wish I'd gone straight to Qasim's band practice at 7. I could be sucking face right now. Fuck. Fucking shadow people got me into this damn mess.

  Ah... there it is: that delightful coolness that somehow takes away the pain of being so cold all over. I look down. There's a deep dark shadow pooled on the floor. It’s stretching little tentacles up and caressing my feet. How much do these things know? Does it know I'm going to die? Have they all been trying to get me killed? Have they been helping me?

  "Am I an idiot for following you guys?" I whisper. It shimmies back and away, out of my field of vision. "Traitor." At least you could stick around while whatever happens happens.

  Christ, I feel alone. But hey that jumpy feeling of dread is gone. Maybe I can make a good showing. Of all the things Madeline Cross was, I know she was ballsy. I sigh. Guess it’s my turn. And as if on queue there's a noise from the far end of the room. Sure enough, here comes the big guy. The look on his face is grim as he crosses the room towards me. I don't know why, but I expect him to say something with that sad, worn out look. He doesn't. He just continues up at a constant rate of speed. He's almost to me when I see that he's drawn his left fist back. Oh fuck. Slam! His big meaty fist contacts my stomach driving me against the cement pole. A whoosh escapes me. I don't even yell because I can't breathe. Shit this hurts. My eyes water. After a second my body does its survival thing. I gasp, sucking air back into my lungs, and now I'm overtaken with a fit of coughing. I guess smoking a pack a day has not prepared me to take a beating. When I'm quiet again the man addresses me.

  "So, Meegan Jones, Why did you ruin my life?"

  I stare at him. Is he serious? "I don't know what you mean."

  Slam! Crack! He gets the same spot. Some animal noise escapes through my gritted teeth. What was the crack? Was it a rib or my spine? I can't tell. All of it hurts. I gasp some more. I can still feel my feet so there's a chance its not spinal damage. Tears are dripping down my face and I'm not afraid anymore. This sucks, but a few more good solid punches and I'll be dead. I wonder if there's a heaven. Damn. I should've thought of that yesterday. I'm breathing close to normal now. The blond man is staring at me. Is he waiting for something? I meet his eyes.

  "What?"

  He laughs a little. Good, glad to brighten his day. "Why did you ruin my life?" He asks again. His tone is so reasonable, nothing like the rage he had for Mads.

  I sigh and that leads to coughing which sends shooting pain through my whole torso. I grit my teeth. "I saw you kill Mads." I manage.

  He nods. "So, you decided to investigate. You found out who I am. You discovered Luis Finch's dark room when months of police investigation couldn't. You called it in. You wrecked my career. You dug up everything I ever did wrong and dragged it out for the department. They haven't pieced it together yet, but they're about to, soon. Do you know what its like for a cop in jail? I can't go there. I'll have to kill myself, and for what? To avenge your stupid whore cousin? Did you even know her? What do you have some touching childhood memories of that bitch? Because she was a stupid, stupid whore. She was not worth my life! Do you understand me? Do you have any idea how many criminals I've put away? My life means something. I've done a lot, everything, for this city. Seventeen years of service and you ruined all of it over what? Over a sick, evil, little prostitute!"

  Damn he's sure giving me a lot of credit. I take shallow breaths to keep the pain down. "So, you're a cop."

  He looks at me dumb founded. Now anger replaces confusion and he draws back and slaps me. Fuck. I taste blood. I can tell he didn't use his full force because I'm conscious.

  "Tell me why!" He growls. "Give me something. Tell me your cousin had some big, fat, heart of gold. Tell me why you ruined my life."

  I take it he's telling me that I'm not Kelly Morgan.
How does he know? I brace myself, this is going to hurt. "She's not my cousin. Kelly Morgan, as far as I've been able to find out, is no blood relative of mine and I never knew her. I just said she was my cousin to get information." I close my eyes and wait for the blow... I wait... Well shit. Maybe he wants me to see it coming. I can't stand to wait anymore so I peek.

  He's looking at my eyes. "So you destroyed me just because you could. Maybe you are her cousin and don't know it, because you're both stupid bitches." He winds up but stops mid swing when I open my mouth.

  "Is that cop cussing? Are the only bad words you know bitch and whore? Is calling me stupid the worst you've got? Try cunt bag, cum catcher, ass wrangler, fuck twat, thunder cunt..."

  Slam-crack-whack, a punch and a slap. I grin through the pain. This man has no imagination. I see him draw back his foot. Oh hell. I watch it arc in slow motion. I'm still as bent as I can get from trying to breathe so I have a perfect view as his size unholy-huge boot makes contact with my twat.

  "Fuck!" I yell when the scream wears itself down. "Ah, fuck, bastard, fuck!" Jesus H. Christ, this hurts. I can't even see straight. I wonder if more traditional forms of torture would be better. Would having a couple of fingers cut off be easier to take? I better not think on it too hard. I look up. Oh yeah, the air ducts. I was supposed to be watching the air ducts while this happens. I grunt and lift my face. I bet my nose is broken. "I know your name is... what was it? Evan Sturgis. But who is Harley?"

  He looks at me stupid. "I'm Harley."

  I grunt some more. "You're Evan. Where would somebody get Harley out of that? You a motorcycle cop?"

  "Sturgis." He says.

  I look at him. Blood is dripping out of my mouth. "I don't get it."

  He tilts his head like he's studying a new species. "There's a motorcycle rally every year in Sturgis. It’s a big thing."

  "Huh." I say, tasting snot as it runs down my face. "So Sturgis is a place." Damn. There is so much pop culture I'm not aware of, it's crippling.