Within the Shadows

by Brandon Massey

  “Can I . . . can I ask you something, Dad?”

  “Huh?” Dad put down his beer. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’m not sure how to say this. But . . . why can’t we talk?”

  Wearily, Dad settled into one of the wicker chairs. Studied the floorboards as if the words he wanted to say were engraved in the wood.

  “I don’t know, young buck. I’ve wondered the same thing. Guess the years have messed us up.”

  “But I don’t want it to be that way.” Emotion clutched Andrew’s throat in a vise grip. “I want to be able to talk to you. But I can’t.”

  “Do you resent me, Andrew?”

  “Resent you? I used to hate you, for ignoring me. Why’d you ignore me like that?”

  Dad looked up at him. Redness outlined his tired eyes.

  “I was scared, son.”

  “Scared?” Andrew suddenly—and he hated to admit it to himself, but it was true—wanted to punch his father in the face. One round-house slug in his dad’s mug to express all the anger he’d kept bottled inside for so long. “Scared of what?”

  “Scared of what? Shit. Let me tell you. Scared of trying to raise a son and fucking it up, like my daddy fucked up with me. I know, you don’t know a damn thing about your granddad, but that man . . . shit, he was like a robot, never showed any emotion, just worked himself to death and grunted half the time. I never felt like I knew how to be a father, Andrew. Didn’t have any good examples. That’s a sorry-ass excuse, but it’s the truth.”

  It was the first time his father had ever given an explanation for his behavior. It was almost childishly simple. I was scared.

  As if Andrew had never been scared while growing up without his father around.

  Andrew struggled to find words. To keep a lid on the rage that boiled in his heart.

  Dad looked at him, watery-eyed, like a guilty criminal awaiting a verdict.

  “You could’ve at least tried,” Andrew finally said.

  “I know that now,” Dad said. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty. Know what made me call you a few months ago and invite you to play golf?”

  “I’ve been wondering, yeah.”

  “My dad—your granddad—died,” Dad said. He wiped his eyes. “I hadn’t seen him or talked to him in at least twenty years. But I went to his funeral. When I looked at him in that casket . . . Christ, it was like looking at a goddamn stranger. I didn’t feel anything. Didn’t shed a tear. And I hated that, hated that this was how we’d ended up, me walking by his casket and feeling nothing. This was my father, Andrew. My flesh and blood. But he was nothing to me.

  “I decided, on the spot, that I was going to get off my sorry ass and start being a father for you, ’cause when I die, I don’t want you to look in my casket and feel like you’re staring at a stranger.”

  Andrew gaped at his father. Speechless.

  He realized that tears had begun to flow down his cheeks.

  Dad sniffled. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Yeah?” Andrew blinked back tears.

  “I need to ask you to forgive me. For not being there. For everything.”

  “Dad, I . . . I . . .” Tears had completely blurred Andrew’s vision.

  His voice faltered. He couldn’t grant his father the forgiveness he sought. Not yet. He wanted to; forgiving his dad would roll away the weight on his own heart. But he couldn’t honestly speak those absolving words. Not until he learned to trust his dad. And he couldn’t trust him yet. He was scared that he would abandon him, as he’d done so many times before.

  “Can’t,” Andrew said, shaking his head.

  Dad got up. He gripped Andrew’s shoulder.

  Andrew trembled so violently it seemed he would shatter into pieces like a ceramic figurine.

  “You don’t have to say it yet, son,” Dad said in a soft voice. “I’ve got to earn your forgiveness. We can’t erase the past so easily. It’s gonna take us some time. But I will be here for you, from now on. I’ll lay down my life for you, if it comes to that.”

  Dad pulled him into an embrace.

  Not accustomed to a hug from his father, Andrew was as limp as a rag dog in his Dad’s strong arms. Hot tears streamed down his face.

  Finally, he lifted his arms, which felt as heavy as logs, and hugged his father back.

  Watching them from the kitchen window, Carmen smiled.

  They had dinner on the deck. Hamburgers, chicken breasts, potato salad, and baked beans. They sipped icy glasses of sweet tea, which Dad had brewed, claiming that it was his specialty. Andrew was doubtful at first, but his dad was right; the tea was delicious.

  He learned something new about his father all the time.

  As they ate, his attention continually wandered to his dad. His father’s confession had forced Andrew to evaluate him anew. The old, familiar box into which he’d placed his father no longer fit. In a sense, he felt as if he were getting to know his dad for the first time. And he liked what he was learning.

  Getting to truly know his father was the first step toward forgiving him, and developing his trust in him.

  By unspoken agreement, at dinner, they avoided mention of Mika, ghosts, and the estate. Their conversation touched on a diverse range of ordinary topics—music, movies, sports, current events, politics—everything except the extraordinary circumstances that had drawn them to the house in the first place.

  Andrew welcomed the lighthearted conversation. It was a major stress reliever. Part of the human survival instinct, he reasoned, depended upon our ability to find optimism and pleasure even in the midst of the most desperate situations.

  As the afternoon edged toward evening, the shadows deepened. Andrew lit the two torches posted on the deck railing, to provide light and keep insects at bay.

  “I want you guys to answer me one thing,” Dad said, as Andrew returned to his chair. “When am I gonna need to put on my tux?”

  Carmen giggled. Andrew shrugged.

  “Depends on when you plan on going somewhere that requires you to wear a tux, Dad,” he said.

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Andrew smiled.

  Dad touched Carmen’s arm. “Look at this girl here. She’s fine, smart, has a good job, knows how to cook—”

  Carmen was laughing.

  “—and puts up with you!” Dad said. “Aren’t gonna meet another one like her. You need to get to it. I want some grandkids while I’m young enough to enjoy ’em.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know if I want kids, Dad.”

  “Hey.” Carmen bopped his arm. “You better be kidding.”

  “I was kidding, man.” He rubbed his arm. “Are you gonna abuse me like that if we get married?”

  “Only when you deserve it,” she said.

  “There you go, girl, lay down the law.” Dad chuckled. “Take it from me, son. Do whatever your woman says. Your woman is always right.”

  “I like you,” Carmen said.

  “Even when she’s wrong,” Dad said, and both he and Andrew burst into laughter.

  Out on the lake, the geese suddenly took to the air in a frenzy of flapping wings and squawking.

  Andrew’s laughter died in his throat. Dad and Carmen quieted, too.

  Everyone felt it. Something was wrong.

  Andrew’s plate flipped over. The half-eaten hamburger and a gob of potato salad splatted to the floor.

  “What the hell?” Andrew got to his feet.

  A breeze had been drifting across the yard, but the air around them abruptly grew cold.

  “Sammy?” Carmen said.

  The patio door slid open, whammed shut. Opened and banged shut again.

  Dad’s eyes were haunted. “Let’s get inside.”

  They hurried inside the house and went to the computer.

  Sammy’s invisible fingers raced across the keyboard.

  GO SHES COMENG HEAR GO SHES COMENG HEAR GO SHES COMENG HEAR

  Chapter 50

  Andrew opened the front door. The
Rolls Royce was parked in the long driveway, headlights burning like predatory eyes.

  Shit. What would Mark Justice do now?

  Justice answered immediately: Do you need to ask me, buddy? Get your ass outta there!

  He didn’t see Mika, but he quickly slammed the door, bolted it.

  Fear shone in the eyes of his father and Carmen.

  “We were supposed to be safe here,” Andrew said. “How did she find us?”

  “Doesn’t matter now.” Dad gathered the papers on the coffee table and stuffed them in his briefcase. “We’ve got to move. Can we take the boat docked in the back?”

  “Checked it earlier today. It’s ready.”

  “Then let’s go,” Carmen said. She slung her purse over her shoulder.

  Andrew snagged the holstered revolver from an end table in the living room and slipped it on. The gun hadn’t worked against Mika, but arming himself had become a reflex reaction.

  Someone pounded on the front door.

  Dad raced across the kitchen to the patio door, Andrew behind him, Carmen close on his heels.

  The front door blew open.

  Clad in a tight black cat suit, wild hair matted on her head like a warrior’s helmet, Mika stood in the doorway. Her eyes appeared to glow like molten jewels.

  She was beautiful. And terrifying.

  Andrew tore his attention away from her. Dad scrambled outside onto the deck. He followed him.

  But like a leash jerking a dog, something snatched Carmen away from the doorway and back inside the house. She screamed.

  “No!” Andrew lunged to grab her.

  The door clanged shut in his face. The lock snapped into place.

  Carmen was trapped inside with Mika.

  Mika’s invisible power had hooked Carmen into the kitchen and tossed her across the floor. She tumbled over the tiles, her shoulder rapping against a cabinet. A hiss of pain escaped her clenched teeth.

  Rubbing her shoulder, Carmen rose on wobbly legs.

  Mika marched into the kitchen.

  “It’s you and me, bitch,” Mika said. “You’re not keeping my man away from me anymore.”

  Fear pinched Carmen’s guts. Mika possessed powers that she didn’t comprehend, had talents that she could never match. She was, to put it bluntly, superhuman.

  But Carmen had never been a quitter, and she sure wasn’t going to start now. She’d be damned if she rolled over and died for Mika.

  Adrenaline flooded her nervous system, electrified her muscles. She’d taken a kickboxing class several months ago, and felt the same jittery energy now that she experienced back then when she plunged into a bout. But this time, the consequences of losing were fatal. That cold truth only heightened her intensity.

  Looking around, she snagged the knife off the counter that she’d used to peel potatoes, only a short while ago. It was long and sharp. Crouching, she brandished the blade.

  Outside, Andrew hammered the patio door, tried to force it open, to no avail. No doubt, Mika had locked it. To guarantee a showdown between them.

  She wanted to tell Andrew to run away, but she didn’t dare take her attention away from Mika for a second. This woman was like a rattle-snake that would bite you if you took your eyes off her.

  “You’re not standing between us,” Mika said. “I won’t let you. He’s mine.”

  “Get a clue, Mika, okay? Andrew doesn’t want you. He wants me.”

  Mika’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, her eyebrow twitching.

  Carmen clutched the knife. Prayed under her breath.

  Roaring, Mika charged forward.

  Perhaps she underestimated Carmen, because she didn’t raise her arms to defend herself. As she surged forward, Carmen swiped at her. The knife sliced across Mika’s forearm, opening a long, thin cut.

  Mouth contorted in pain, Mika cradled her wounded arm. Blood leaked between her fingers.

  If she can bleed, then she can die, Carmen thought.

  “You bitch,” Mika said.

  “Bring it on.” Carmen raised the blood-streaked knife. “I’m not running from you.”

  Resolve shaped Mika’s face into an iron mask.

  Lowering her head like a bull, she came at Carmen.

  Chapter 51

  Raymond sprinted across the path of rocks that led to the dock. Ahead, the pontoon boat awaited in the water, shrouded in the evening’s growing darkness.

  If they could reach the boat, maybe they could get away.

  He didn’t know where they would go once they boarded the boat. Across the lake, presumably. Somewhere far away from the insanely powerful woman. Although it seemed that no matter where they went, she could find them.

  After the breakthrough he and his son had experienced earlier, there was no way this night could end in disaster. That would be the cruelest joke life could play on them—to rob them of the newfound closeness that had escaped them for so long. No, they had to live.

  Behind him, Andrew was shouting.

  Raymond stopped. Turned.

  His son was still on the deck. He was at the patio door, straining to open it, failing, pounding against it.

  Through the kitchen window, Raymond glimpsed Carmen inside, with Mika.

  Dammit, no.

  The girl didn’t stand a chance against that fiend. But neither did any of them.

  Still, he couldn’t leave Carmen behind to die.

  He started back toward the house.

  A mechanical roar came from somewhere ahead. A car. Getting closer.

  He spun—directly into the arc of a pair of bright headlights.

  A Rolls Royce sedan thundered across the backyard and bore down on him, grille gleaming like a mouthful of steel teeth.

  Vainly, Andrew tried to get back inside the house to help Carmen. But the door would not open.

  He didn’t know how to kill Mika, or even how to hurt her. But he couldn’t leave Carmen in there to fend for herself.

  Finally remembering his revolver, he pulled it out and aimed at the lock.

  A bellowing car engine, and his father’s bleat of terror, distracted him.

  He turned in time to see Dad dive out of the path of the Rolls Royce, which had plowed across the backyard like a bulldozer.

  As Dad got to his feet, the sedan braked. The driver’s side door swung open.

  Walter, the ageless caretaker, climbed out of the car.

  Andrew’s eyes widened.

  I’ll be damned. I bet he was driving Mika around town all along.

  Standing well over six feet tall, Walter towered over Dad. He looked at Andrew. And winked.

  Remember me? that wink said.

  Walter moved toward his father.

  Although Andrew had a gun, he didn’t trust his aim at the distance of twenty or more feet that separated him from the caretaker.

  So he shouted at his father: “Run, Dad!”

  Dad didn’t need to hear him say it. He dashed toward the lake.

  Moving with the agility of a much younger man, Walter chased after him.

  Indecision froze Andrew.

  Should he help his father? Or help Carmen? Both of them were caught in dire situations.

  He noticed that the Rolls Royce’s trunk had popped open. Something was inside.

  Or rather, someone.

  That can’t be who I think it is, my eyes are fooling me.

  Dazed, temporarily forgetting everything else, he walked off the deck to look closer.

  Mika came at Carmen, hard and fast.

  Letting out a battle yell, Carmen thrust with the knife.

  The blade sank into Mika’s belly. Deep. All the way to the hilt.

  Mika screamed—a ragged, blood-choked sound. She collapsed against Carmen, expelled a seemingly final sigh.

  Gagging, Carmen pushed Mika off her, somehow having the presence of mind to pull out the knife, too.

  Mika dropped against the floor on her back. Her eyes, glassy as a doll’s, gazed sightlessly at the ceiling.

&nb
sp; A heavy flow of dark blood seeped from her abdominal wound.

  “Jesus,” Carmen said. She shuffled to the counter, threw the knife down. Blood stained her fingers. Hurriedly, she used a dish towel to clean her hands.

  Mika lay on the tile, a circle of blood widening beneath her.

  She had killed the woman.

  She felt a strange mixture of elation, and nausea. Wanted to whoop with joy and vomit at the same time.

  As it was, she simply hugged herself.

  Mika wasn’t invincible, as they had thought. Andrew said he’d shot her earlier, but perhaps she’d been wearing a bulletproof vest or something.

  It didn’t matter. She was dead now.

  She looked through the window. Andrew had walked off the deck and was plodding toward the Rolls Royce, which somehow had ended up in the backyard. What was he doing?

  “Bitch.”

  Terror lanced Carmen’s spine.

  She turned.

  Mika was getting up.

  She was no longer bleeding.

  Dear Lord, help me.

  Carmen reached for the knife. But as if it were an arrow shot through a bow, the blade flew off the counter and across the room, where it clattered to the floor.

  “I’ve had enough of you,” Mika said. Standing, she balled her hands into fists.

  Carmen made fists, too. She lowered into a fighter’s defensive stance.

  Time for those kickboxing classes to pay off.

  Slowly, she and Mika circled each other in the middle of the kitchen.

  Mika was a few inches taller than she was. Long-limbed. Impossibly fit. With supernatural regenerative powers. She owned every advantage, physical and otherwise.

  But Carmen wasn’t backing down. She couldn’t.

  Make a move. Let’s tangle.

  Outside, Andrew screamed.

  Automatically, Carmen looked toward the window.

  Mika took advantage of the interruption. She backhanded Carmen across the face. Hard.

  Carmen cried out and stumbled, her hands going to her struck jaw. She’d never been hit so hard in her life. She half-expected to see a loose tooth on the floor.