Shadowed Silence

by E. A. Darl

  “Well, let’s just say I want to buy this bag of chips,” said the second man sarcastically, setting a bag of potato chips on the counter.

  Mitch reached for the chips, his mind racing. What was it that Carmine had said about robberies? Did he say anything about robberies? Go along with it, or was there an alarm button he needed to push? He was drawing a complete blank.

  In a heartbeat, the other young man was at the front of the store, a handgun trained on the two intruders.

  “Turn around and walk out of here right now and you won’t be reported,” he said evenly, advancing slowly on the would-be thieves.

  They began to back away a step at a time, until the one with the gun turned his weapon on the younger man.

  The hooded vigilante took another step forward, putting himself between the two thugs and Mitch. He lifted his gun until it was aimed squarely at the face of the armed intruder. “I mean it,” he said. “Walk out of here right now and you won’t get shot. You won’t end up with a police record, either. I’m giving you one chance to make a better decision.”

  Mitch could see the hesitation in the face of the gunman, and his partner grabbed his arm.

  “Come on, this isn’t worth it. This guy could have pushed the alarm button already.” He tilted his head to indicate Mitch. “Let’s get out of here before the cops arrive. Come on man.”

  The gunman glanced between Mitch and his protector and dropped his arm. Both of them turned and ran from the store, disappearing into the night.

  Mitch released the breath he was holding and sat down hard on the stool. “Shit, that was close.” He looked at the hooded man in front of him. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out.”

  The young man turned around and Mitch realized with a shock that he recognized his rescuer.

  “Kenny?”

  “Hey Mitch. You all right?”

  “Yeah. Holy crap, man, how did you know?”

  “I heard a rumor that someone might try for this store tonight. The hard part was making sure I was here before they got here.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Kenny shrugged. “I owe you one.”

  “In what way?”

  Kenny looked at Mitch carefully, choosing his words. “Mitch, your dad gave his life to save mine. I’m the kid he was protecting the night he got shot. I’m the one that called for help.”

  Mitch stared at Kenny blankly, the blood draining from his face as he wrestled with renewed grief, anger and a strange mix of gratitude.

  “Look Mitch, I never wanted him to interfere. I wanted to die when he was shot. Your dad was such a great guy, and a good cop. You can’t know how sorry I am. That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “No, it shouldn’t have.” Mitch struggled with his thoughts. “But that was my dad. He cared about everyone. I know he did what he felt he needed to do. I know it wasn’t your fault, Kenny.”

  Kenny looked at his shoes and pushed a small pebble across the floor. “Um, there’s something else. I heard your dad’s last words.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Kenny looked up at Mitch, anguish in his eyes. “He said he was sorry. Sorry he couldn’t keep his promise to you, Mitch.”

  Mitch swallowed and nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “For what it’s worth, your dad not only saved my life, but he changed it as well. I was making some bad decisions, and what he did changed everything for me. I smartened up, because of him. I don’t want to die on the streets. I want to work to help kids not get sucked into that life. I still have my connections, but I try to help kids make better decisions.”

  Mitch just stared at him. “I...I don’t know what to say, Kenny. I’m glad for you, though. Good for you. I’m really glad you were here tonight. Thanks.”

  “Like I said, I owe your dad a huge debt. Your dad saved me, so I’ll be around to keep an eye on you. As long as you’re in town, I’ve got your back. Okay?”

  Mitch smiled. “Okay, Kenny. And thanks again.”

  Kenny moved back to the coffee machine. “All right then, now I can get my coffee and a couple donuts, if that’s all right with you.”

  Mitch gestured expansively towards the coffee and donuts. “Take what you want. It’s on the house. The donuts will get tossed out in the morning when the fresh ones come in anyway. Take them all.”

  Kenny laughed and filled a bag with the last of the donuts. “Thanks, man.” He picked up his coffee, tucked the bag of donuts under his arm, and moved towards the door. He paused, one hand on the door. “There’s just one more thing, though you might not want to hear it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Um, the person who called the cops to stop the fight in the first place?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That was Kendra. I’m sorry man. She has, um, connections with that gang. She was afraid, uh, a certain person in the gang was going to get hurt and called the cops to stop the fight. I know that sucks, but you need to know that. Kendra’s the reason your dad was there that night.”

  Chapter 12

  Breakup

  Mitch was seething with rage as he paced back and forth in front of Kendra’s house. She wasn’t home when he got there, and her mom said she would be home in about forty minutes. He told her that he would wait outside. Mitch paced the sidewalk for ten minutes, waiting for her to return. He had no idea what he was going to say, but launching into her when he was this angry was probably not a wise choice, or healthy. Giving up on waiting outside, he got into his car and pulled away from the curb, driving a block away to park in front of a school playground. He got out and stared at the still swing set, and then shook his head. Exasperated, Mitch flopped down on the dry grass and laid back, draping his arm over his tired eyes. It had been a while since he had been awake during the day and the sunlight seemed harsh. He rolled over on his stomach and buried his face in his crossed arms, closing his eyes.

  Mitch wrestled with his thoughts. He still didn’t know what to say to his girlfriend. Was she responsible for his dad’s death? Was it intentional? On top of everything else, did she have a part in destroying his world, too?

  Dad, I miss you, he thought for the millionth time. When did everything start to change? Was it when you died, or was it long before that? When the farmers started selling off their farms? When the city stopped funding the schools? When stores started closing up and people started leaving town? Was it when the government moved in with their own secret plans that didn’t help the city at all?

  At least they had finally let everyone know what they were up to on that one. But a top-secret, government-run greenhouse? That was just weird. They said that this was the first of its kind, a way to deal with the drought. Soon all the cities would have their own facility to provide the town with food. Their claim was that they could grow more food in a controlled environment, and would be able to produce enough to supply each town. The problem was that they brought in government workers to finish the facility. None of the jobs went to the people of the city who desperately needed jobs. They said it was because of security concerns. Security? How much security did a greenhouse need? They had allowed people to see the partially constructed facility from a distance, from behind tall chain-linked fencing that was topped with barbed wire. From what they could tell, it was going to be huge, but how much of the structure was going to be administrative buildings, and how much was going to be the greenhouse itself, it was hard to tell.

  Whatever. Mitch had more pressing concerns right now. He pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the time. He still had thirty minutes to wait. Crap. Where was she at this time of the morning? He should be at home, asleep right now. He closed his eyes again and fought against the wave of fatigue. If he weren’t careful, he’d end up taking a nap on the dry grass.

  A brief hum past his ear made him open his eyes. Two feet from his face was a small, green dandelion, topped with a bright yellow flower. In a playground full of dry grass, there were a few stunted, green weed
s, and the stubborn dandelion was the most prevalent of all. A few of them even ventured bravely to put out a flower here and there.

  The hum came from a small bee, and Mitch didn’t move, watching the fuzzy insect carefully. When was the last time he had seen a bee? Surely, there were still bees around, but it seemed like they were rare. He remembered, as a small kid, hearing bugs all summer, moving around the grasses, flying amongst flowers, grasshoppers chirping as they launched themselves into the air to avoid being trampled by small boy feet. Mitch tried to remember if he had seen any bees at all this summer, but as far as he could recall, this was the first one.

  He studied the busy insect, smiling at how it worked its way over the flower, collecting pollen and parting the flower petals with its efficient feet. The furred abdomen wiggled as it moved back and forth, getting the most out of this rare food source.

  A small detail of information clicked into place with a larger puzzle. Bugs. That was what was missing this summer. It wasn’t just the lack of rain; it was the lack of bugs. Why were there very few bugs? This seemed connected to everything somehow. The environment was changing and the bees were disappearing. The vanishing bees were a symptom of a larger problem.

  Did the government know about this? Of course they did. They were here building a giant greenhouse weren’t they? They know something they aren’t telling us, he thought. This is so much bigger than a few bees or farms being abandoned.

  The bee finished its task and launched itself into the air to find another flower. Mitch rolled over onto his side, propping his head with one hand. The bee didn’t care about government conspiracies, massive greenhouses, or the slow decay of one city. Its only job was to collect pollen to make honey, so that is what it did. In the face of ecological decimation, one bee kept making honey, because that was what it was programmed to do. Despite widespread problems, it did what it could to make a difference where it was, and it did what it could, using the only skill it had.

  Mitch quelled the rising unrest in his chest. Make a difference where you are. He thought of Cory, and of Pam, who left town to go to college. He thought of his mom, determined to follow her to greener pastures, as it were. He thought of the bee, as it hummed its way to the next flower and the next.

  Where’s your hive, little bee, he thought. Who are you making honey for? Are you really making a difference with your efforts?

  The bee didn’t care. It had a job to do.

  KENDRA WAS HOME BY the time Mitch returned to her house. She seemed uncomfortable to see him, but came out onto the front porch, closing the door behind her.

  “You look tired,” said Mitch.

  “So do you.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Mitch glanced out at the quiet neighborhood for a moment and then back at her.

  “What’s this job you have, Kendra?”

  She shrugged. “I help some friends out with some special-order deliveries.”

  “Friends?”

  “You can’t tell me who I can be friends with,” she said, holding her head up defiantly.

  “No, that’s not what I’m trying to do.” He sighed, clenching his jaw reflexively. “Where were you the night my dad died, Kendra?”

  The look on her face was all the answer he needed.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Look, Kendra, I know you called the cops that night and my dad got shot. I want to know your involvement in it.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders defensively.

  She crossed her arms and took a step away from him. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I...I was just trying to stop a fight.”

  “Why were you there at all?”

  She shrugged and looked at him. “Again, that’s none of your business.”

  He took a step towards her, his fists clenched by his sides. “My dad died in that alley that night, Kendra, and I want you to tell me your part in it. Is my dad dead because of you, Kendra? Is he? Dammit, I want to know.” He was shouting as he advanced on her.

  She backed away, holding her hands up in front of her. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on me Mitch. So help me, you will pay if you hurt me.”

  He stopped and exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know. Why did you call the cops that night?”

  “I already told you, I was trying to stop a fight. I didn’t know it was your dad who would show up, and I didn’t know he was going to get shot. It’s not my fault.”

  “But why were you there? You haven’t told me why you were involved at all.”

  She shrugged again, a tiny smile on her lips. “I’ve found a new opportunity. One that is going to allow me to help the people of this town, and make some money.”

  He looked at her blankly. “You’re in a black market gang.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “You don’t understand. They are helping people.”

  “No they are not. They steal goods and sell them to people at jacked up prices. They are using the desperation of people to line their pockets. That’s wrong.”

  “Not if it helps people.”

  “It doesn’t,” he shouted. “What about our plans, Kendra? We were going to see the world.”

  “Your plans, Mitch, not mine. You’re a nice guy and all, but you lack ambition.”

  “Ambition?”

  “I don’t want to be poor, Mitch. I can’t. I can’t live off the land and not know where my next meal comes from. I don’t want to be without money. You understand don’t you?”

  He took a step back, incredulous. “Kendra...”

  “I’ve got someone who is going to look after me. I’ll have everything I need. You go on your little trip, and if you make your fortune in the world, you come see me when you get back.” She smiled sweetly.

  Mitch’s stomach churned. “You can’t be serious. That’s what this is all about? Money?”

  “It’s over Mitch. I’m sorry. I’ve got to look after myself. Please don’t bother me again.” With that, she blew him a kiss, turned and went back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Mitch didn’t think it was possible for his heart to shatter into pieces that were any smaller. He was wrong.

  Chapter 13

  Major Decision

  Mitch clocked out when the morning shift arrived at 7:00 a.m. and lifted a hand to them in greeting as he left. If he hurried, he could be at home in bed, before Mom was up, and wanted to talk. He pulled out of his parking spot just as the sun broke above the horizon. He squinted and pulled down the visor. It was already hot and was likely to get hotter. He was glad he was going to be at home, asleep in a dark, air-conditioned room during the worst of the heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal but wasn’t hungry. The fact that his jeans were hanging loosely on him had nothing to do with his eating habits, he was certain.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  He was half-asleep when he turned the last corner towards home. He wasn’t really watching when he veered into the driveway, as he just wanted to get inside and go to bed. His head was pounding, and he tried to ignore the constant, nagging nausea in his stomach.

  The rending crash jolted him fully awake. The pressure of his seatbelt prevented him from impacting the steering wheel, but it still knocked the wind out of his lungs. He didn’t have time to wonder why the airbag didn’t deploy, but the car was so old, they probably didn’t work anyway.

  “What the hell?”

  When his vision cleared, he looked up and realized that he had clipped the fence running along the length of the driveway, knocking a couple boards out of the fence.

  “DAMMIT! Mom is going to kill me,” he yelled at no one in particular.

  He unhitched his seatbelt and got out of the car to assess the damage. The bumper folded in a bit on the driver’s side, but the fence took the most damage. T
he car was probably still drivable, and while he could probably ignore the misshapen bumper, he couldn’t hide the broken fence from his mom.

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he told the clear morning sky, rubbing fingers over his tired eyes. In a sudden burst of rage, he picked up one of the broken fence boards and began beating the hood of his old car, smashing the splintered wood down on the faded paint job repeatedly until small dents began to appear. He continued with the front corner of his car, pounding the bent fender and raining blows on the headlight until he heard a satisfying shattering of glass. He didn’t realize he was sobbing and venting his anger in vicious snarls and shouts of unhinged rage. He didn’t even realize his mother had come out of the house until she wrapped her arms around him and dragged him away from his car, pulling the shattered fence board from his shaking hands.

  “Come inside Mitch. Come on. Just leave it. Let’s go inside. Come on.” She led her sobbing son up the porch stairs and through the front door, ignoring the curious looks from neighbors who had come out of their houses to see what was going on.

  She lowered Mitch onto the sofa and sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around him as he curled into a ball against her, crying like a baby.

  “What’s going on baby? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “I broke the fence,” he said, he cries muffled by her arms.

  She chuckled. “No Sweetie. I mean, what’s going on with you?”

  He pulled away and sniffled, wiping his eyes against his sleeve. “It’s not fair, Mom. None of it. Nothing’s fair.”

  “I know, Sweetie. You’ve probably lost more than any of us. I know you’re hurting.”

  “I’m just...mad, that’s all. It’s just one damn thing after another.”

  “I know.” She was silent for a moment, rubbing his back soothingly. “When was the last time you talked to the counsellor?”

  He sniffed again and dropped his head in his hands. “It’s been a while. It’s hard to make an appointment when I work nights.”