Walking Shadows

by Narrelle M. Harris

  Gary sat beside me while Kate bustled off to the kitchen. He stared at me for a moment and blurted: "So you, ah slept with him; that guy."

  The one that tried to kill you. "Yes."

  He didn't react and my stomach curdled. I tried to speak and couldn't. What was I supposed to say to him? What was I supposed to think of myself, and my extraordinary capacity for choosing completely the wrong man?

  "I just wondered," Gary finally said, "Why him?"

  What a good question.

  Meeting his gaze wasn't easy. When I did, I didn't find censure. I couldn't quite label what I did see in those not quite expressionless eyes. Bewilderment? Curiosity? A little hurt. A little confusion. "I'm sorry," blurted off my tongue.

  "You didn't know who he really was, did you?"

  "No. But…"

  "Then why are you sorry?"

  "I liked him, and he just tried to kill you!"

  "That's not your fault."

  "So why do you want to know about… him? What I did? Why I…? I don't want you to be angry with me. What happened with Evan wasn't about you. At least, I didn't think it was."

  "I'm not angry." Gary seemed genuinely surprised at that notion. "It's just that I don't know why anybody ever chooses anybody else. Nobody ever picked me, back when… I could have been picked. I don't know how it's supposed to work. And the thing is, you're smart, and you get people, at least more than I do, so I keep thinking, he's trying to kill me, but there's got to be more to it. You chose him that day, so I wondered… why."

  Why indeed. Surely if Evan was a complete homicidal maniac, I'd have noticed. There had been something about Evan, and at the time it had seemed a long way from mean and crazy.

  "He was at the markets, at the tent where I bought your painting on Sunday. He understood the pictures without having to talk about it." And there was the answer. "He felt like a kindred spirit, I suppose. He was easy to talk to." I sought for a way to simplify it. "And he made me feel pretty."

  "You are pretty."

  I tried to smile.

  "When you're not all banged up, anyway." Ah Gary. The leaking tears turned into a snort of laughter. That made my ribs hurt. I subsided with a sigh and Gary patted my hand.

  "I didn't know what he was," I said, "I just wanted to feel good about something."

  "After Ballarat. Yeah." He began to draw his hand away from mine but I captured it and squeezed.

  "Not your fault."

  Gary considered this. "He does look like Daniel, a bit." He spat on his thumb, which he then wiped delicately across my cheek bone and along the socket of my bruised eye. I winced and he drew his hand away. "Might help," he said. He cocked his head, listening. "Kate's at the door. She's been there a little while. Why doesn't she come in?"

  "Eavesdropping, probably. Like you do."

  "I don't eavesdrop. I just hear everything."

  "You could try sticking your fingers in your ears and humming."

  A fleeting smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Then I'd miss all the stuff that people won't tell me."

  "Ha."

  "So should we tell her to come in?"

  "She'll figure the jig is up any second now and come in of her own accord."

  Sure enough the door opened and Kate bustled in with such an expression of fierce lack of interest that it only confirmed our suspicions.

  "You. Out." she said to Gary, "Lissa needs to rest now."

  Gary rose, pausing at the door to say: "I'll be right out here, Lissa. No-one's going to hurt you." Another fleeting smile. "Or me. You get some sleep."

  "You can stay in Lissa's room," Kate told him.

  "Gary?" I strained to raise my head from the pillow, "Thank you for rescuing me."

  "Likewise."

  My eyes were drooping shut, so I only realised he'd gone when the door closed. I had a moment of fright that brought my eyes surging open again, but Kate was there, promising me that Gary was right outside. She opened the door briefly to demonstrate, and there he was indeed, looking pensively through at me. Then she shut it again.

  She carefully stripped my shirt and jeans off me to better inspect the damage. I didn't want to know about it. I was too tired. She took the heat packs and applied them to my knee and a new icepack to my face. The scent of wheat and lavender surrounded me like an extra blanket.

  Lying down on a soft bed was so nice. Kate fussing, Gary on guard outside my door. "Thank you for letting Gary stay."

  "I only let him because he knew it was about you, not him," Kate said softly, "Now, go to sleep."

  She lay down on the bed next to me. It was like when we were little, after Belinda died, and we couldn't bear to be alone. Paul used to lie next to us, in his racing car pyjamas, and we'd tell each other stories until we fell asleep.

  I missed Paul. I missed Belinda. I missed how good life had been when we were young, when the four of us fought and played and got up to mischief, like siblings do; and Nanna let us help her make biscuits every weekend; and Dad brought us presents and told outrageously funny stories whenever he came home from a tennis tour; and Mum dressed up for him, and wore her special perfume, and even let me wear some dabbed behind each ear.

  When I closed my eyes on the memories, tears squeezed out. I pressed my face to the pillow, hiding them. But Kate knew.

  "Don't cry, Lissa." Her hand reached for mine. Fingers twined. "You're home now."

  "I'm sorry, Katie." For nearly getting myself killed and leaving her all alone. For every way I'd ever failed her.

  "Everything's going to be fine." She squeezed my hand.

  "Love you, Katie."

  "Love you too, sis. Get some sleep now."

  I had never been so grateful to do what I was told.

  In the morning, judging by the reflection in Kate's make-up mirror, my bruises had improved. My eye was still discoloured but looked less like I'd collected the peak hour 96 tram on the side of my head. A distinct line of healthy pink skin existed where Gary had rubbed his spit-slicked thumb.

  One hundred per cent more effective than mum-spit.

  Kate stirred. "How are you feeling?" she asked, sitting up.

  "Okay."

  "You should take the day off. I'll call for you if you like."

  "I'll go in."

  "You don't have to."

  "I want to." I needed to. I needed order and routine and something normal, and was prepared to fight like a tigress for it if Kate insisted.

  Fortunately, Kate let it go. "Can I ask you something?"

  That instantly made me wary. "If you do it very quietly. Gary's hearing is exceptional, remember."

  "Are you in love with him?" she breathed into my ear.

  "After what he did to us?" I breathed back, startled.

  "Not Evan. Gary."

  My brain seized up. In love? With Gary? It would have been sort of funny if it hadn't been so utterly impossible.

  "No, Kate. I am not in love with Gary."

  "Everything you do for him, I don't get it."

  "I'd do it for you too."

  "But I'm your sister and he's..." she failed to find an adequate description that wouldn't offend me.

  This was a very strange conversation to be having in such whispered tones.

  "He's my friend. I owe him my life."

  "But…"

  I had never wanted to tell her this part. I had never wanted her to know what I had nearly done, but I finally realised that it would never make any kind of sense to her until I'd confessed all.

  "Last year, with the murders and Daniel, and everything that was happening, I didn't just wonder what it would be like to be turn, I asked Gary to do it."

  I needed to make it absolutely clear. "I asked him to turn me into a vampire."

  She gasped and tried to draw away. I clutched her hands to hold her with me till the end.

  "And he wouldn't. He refused to let me do that to myself and told me all the reasons why it was a bad idea. I was so disappointed. Then you and Mum came ove
r, and I found out what Mum had done, and that you wanted it too. That's when I realised how right he was, and I knew I really and truly would rather die than turn, and I'd do anything I had to, to not let it happen to you. I don't just mean Gary rescued me from harm. I mean I owe him my life, and everything that matters in it. He taught me the value of it, even though he doesn't have that himself. And he tries so hard, Kate. If some of the living people I knew tried half so hard to be human it would be a much better world."

  She gazed at me, at a loss. She still didn't get it.

  "So, yeah," I said, still whispering, but fiercely now, "I love him. Like a best friend or a brother or something. I don't pine for his touch in the dead of night or any of that storybook crap. I'm not in love with him. But I'm not giving up on him. Apart from you, he's the only person I know who has never let me down."

  Kate wore her Thinking Face, the one she used to get after arguments with Nanna. I decided that was a good sign. Kate had rarely fought with Nanna, and her Thinking Face usually indicated that she was taking some important issue on board.

  She nodded, took a breath, and said: "We'd better get ready for work."

  "Yeah." I sighed.

  Gary had made himself thoroughly scarce. I could hear the television behind my closed bedroom door. Between the residual stiffness and the pain, bathing myself was a challenge, and Kate rose to the sisterly sacrifice of assisting me, which was both embarrassing and more comforting than I wanted to acknowledge.

  An inspection of my reflection in the bathroom mirror only brought the reassurance that I was still standing. Gary's vamp-spit ministrations had reduced the bruising and swelling around my eye but the rest of me wasn't so hot.

  The right side of my body looked like someone had been throwing textbooks at it. Those really heavy, hardback ones full of six syllable words and fold out pages of diagrams, with the sharp corners and 60 pages of indexing. The bruising hadn't even fully come out yet, and the swelling would take a while to settle.

  North to south, the inventory of bruises explained the stiffness. My right shoulder and elbow; ribs and hip; right leg, mid-thigh to knee. It looked like I'd fallen down a flight of stairs and then, dissatisfied with the result, thrown myself down them a second time.

  Still. Nothing broken. A bit of grazing. No serious cuts. It could have been worse.

  Kate disappeared to fetch clothes for me, and I overheard a brief, murmured conversation before she returned with clothes chosen primarily for how gentle they'd be against my skin. The burgundy red skirt draped nicely past my knees and covered the bruise there without pressing on it. The soft, long-waisted forest green shirt had loose three-quarter sleeves and covered the ones on my shoulder and upper arm and was light enough that I wouldn't be too warm in the summer heat.

  Kate took up her own ablutions while I limped to the bedroom to find some shoes.

  Gary was stretched out on the covers with a small stack of books on his left and Brigadoon playing on the TV.

  "How was your night?" I asked.

  "I read a lot. Figured I'd watch some films for a while."

  "Brigadoon?" He watched musicals only when I made him, I'd thought.

  "You file them alphabetically," he pointed out.

  "So you thought you'd watch them in that order?"

  He looked at me like he didn't understand the problem, and I laughed.

  "Want to help me find my shoes?"

  "Where are you going?"

  "To my library."

  He paused in the act of getting off the bed. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

  "Generally, going to work is always a good idea. It's what they pay me for."

  "Lissa…"

  "It's you they're after, not me. Evan doesn't know where I work and he doesn't know where I live. And I'm not going to let that arsehole keep me prisoner while I wait to see what he's up to. I'm going, and if he shows his face I'll smack it with a hardcover epic fantasy and call the cops."

  Gary blinked. So did I. Even I hadn't been prepared for my own vehemence on the subject. The sense of panic I had at not going to work was peculiar, as though I was certain that if I acted like everything was normal, it would become true.

  "You hang tight here," I ended firmly, "I'll get a taxi to and from the library. I'll be careful, and I'll come right home after my Internet class."

  "We can't do this forever, Lissa. I can't stay here. Kate's made that pretty clear."

  "One more day, then we'll think of something else."

  He made a small noise of reluctant agreement and proceeded to follow my instructions to find a pair of slip-on shoes for me. He knelt to hold them for me while I steadied myself against his shoulder, then offered me his arm to help me into the living room.

  Kate was there, dressed and ready to go, with a bowl of cereal ready for each of us. Gary handed me off onto a stool, gave Kate an apprehensive look and disappeared back into the bedroom.

  "What's with him?" Kate scowled.

  "You make him nervous." I took a breath. "Don't worry about it, Kate. Gary and I will find a place for him to go."

  "Like where?"

  "I don't know. I'll think of something."

  CHAPTER 20

  It wasn't the most successful day at the office ever. I caught a taxi in and explained myself away as a clumsy numbskull who fell down lots of stairs. Shelving was out of the question. I could hardly hold the heavier books, let alone reach the upper shelves. The enquiries desk was fine and I took on a lot of back office admin.

  For half the day, every time I caught a glimpse of someone tall entering the library I froze in the middle of whatever task I was doing and held my breath until I was certain it wasn't Evan. I had the same reaction to short blond visitors.

  The usual routines eventually worked their balm and my Internet class, as always, brought me perfect delight. Mr Crawford was in the process of building a website to showcase his vast collection of 1940s theatrical memorabilia and Mrs Ng had very nearly mastered the desktop publisher for the recipe book she was compiling for her many children, "so they can make food like their grandmama's!". My lovely oldies were solicitous and sweet in reaction to my injuries, and Mrs Ng wanted to make me chicken soup with hot mint.

  At the end of the class, Beatrice helped me pack up.

  "Lissa, I want you to take the rest of the week off."

  "Thanks, Beatrice, but I'm fine."

  Beatrice folded her arms and gave me a Look which reminded me intensely of Kate. "Lissa, you've hurt yourself quite badly, you're exhausted and you're jumping at every sound. You haven't taken any leave since you started full time. Take a few days and look after yourself. Come back on Monday looking less like something that even the cat refused to drag in and I might let you in the door. That's not a suggestion, Lissa. If I see you here tomorrow morning I'm putting you straight into a taxi home."

  My attempted protest was skewered by a sharp, steely look. I wondered if she ever had to unsheathe it on her missus. "Yes ma'am."

  "Cheeky beggar," she admonished, but she put that Look back in its scabbard and did it with a smile. "I'll call a taxi for you."

  The apartment was quiet when I got back. Truth be told, I had started to feel thankful that Beatrice had taken the decision out of my hands. I was sore as hell and my head ached.

  Gary was sitting on the floor beside my bed again, reading, when I opened the door. He glanced up. "Hi."

  "Hey."

  He shifted to allow me to slump onto the edge of the bed. "Beatrice has exercised her veto on my going back to work until Monday." I subsided into silence and Gary returned to his book. He was up to Great Expectations now. I wondered vaguely if he was going to decide that Miss Havisham was undead now.

  From where I sat I could see he was wearing a fresh pair of jeans, with no sign of the holes Oscar had made in the last pair. "How's your leg?"

  Gary pulled up the leg of his jeans. "Not a scratch," he said, showing me a hairy leg without permanent scarring.

 
; "You were very patient, putting up with Oscar like that," I said. "Did it hurt?"

  "Not as much as getting stabbed."

  "Or shot?"

  "Or that."

  "When did you get shot?"

  "Oh, ages ago." At my sceptical look, he continued, "Ahhh… 1982. I was running an errand for Magdalene. It turned out not to be what she thought it was. Or at least, not what she said it was."

  A sheepish expression stole over his features. "I really should have figured out about then that she wasn't to be trusted."

  "She got you shot, and you didn't work that out?"

  "I wasn't really paying attention."

  "So when did you work it out?"

  "Oh, about 10 months ago." He rolled his eyes, presumably at his own naiveté. "Like I said. Slow."

  "Darn that undead brain." I laughed weakly. "Who shot you?"

  "Some gang member or other. I can't remember which side he was on. I didn't duck in time. Took hours for it to close up, too. Smith thought it was pretty funny. He was just a kid then. He kept asking to look at it."

  "And?" My brain was getting jammed trying to assimilate this, "Did you let him?"

  "A couple of times. Until he asked to shoot me again so he could see it from the start."

  "Oh?" I said faintly.

  "I went home instead."

  "I see." More faintly still.

  "That was years ago. I stopped doing those sorts of errands," he said, belatedly realising that his diverting anecdotes were not offering much comfort.

  "What kind of 'errands' do you mean, exactly?"

  "Messages, mostly. Nothing serious. Nothing, you know…"

  "Dangerous?" I suggested incredulously.

  "Not usually." Gary fell silent, watching me with a troubled expression. "I didn't kill people for them or anything." He looked away. "That was when I said I wouldn't do it any more. When I found out that's what Mundy and Magdalene organised for them, sometimes."

  This was not the best time to find out that my much-vaunted best friend had once been a bag man for the mob. Even if he had no idea what was in the bag, which I completely believed. Gary could be clueless on a truly monumental scale.

  "Why did you start doing these errands for them in the first place?"