The Darkness of Shadows

by Little, Chris

  “Will you sit still?” I said.

  “I am.”

  “Tina didn’t hurt me … I got dizzy … fell. My fault, all of it. Hate when you fight with your mom.”

  “You better not be lying to me about Tina. And the fight with Mom was a long time coming. Go to sleep.”

  “Where’d you go before? Thought he got you. You okay?”

  “Pissed, but fine. They sent me on a wild goose chase.”

  “What did they do to me?” Agitated fear crept through me along with the other memories that surfaced with it. “I tried to get away. Too many of them.”

  Val’s hand took mine. “It’s over. How do you feel?”

  “Don’t know. Hurts some. Strange. Did they give me drugs? Told them no. I can take it.” My head was swirling. I tried to wet my lips, but my tongue weighed about fifty pounds.

  The straw appeared again. I squinted at it.

  “No drugs … please.”

  “You’re nothing like your mom.” The conviction in Val’s voice sent a wave of relief through my worn-out body.

  “Val?”

  “Yes?” Her gentle voice was hovering close by.

  My eyes were closing without my permission, the lids heavy with guilt.

  “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?” she said.

  “To have …” I struggled to finish the words as I looked into her beautiful face. “… your mom love you?”

  Her eyes seemed wet and shiny, making the flecks of gold in them shimmer.

  “Shh, go to sleep.”

  “Make me an angel.”

  “Just a little bit. Then you have to sleep. I’m going to stay with you, okay?”

  I nodded. Val would stay with me when things got bad. The warmth of her body quieted me as she lay down beside me.

  Her voice was soothing, the words were soft and melodic.

  “… Make me an angel, That flies from Montgomery, Make me a poster, Of an old rodeo, Just give me one thing, That I can hold onto, To believe in this livin’, Is such a hard way to go …”

  Spending time with Tina was like being stung by fire ants. One was kind of annoying, a few were bothersome, but an entire colony could bring death to a sensitive person.

  She was coming for an extended visit.

  “I do wish you would stay,” Mrs. Guerrero said.

  “Ma’am, you don’t get to spend much time with Tina,” I said. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You are such a thoughtful person.”

  Yeah, that’s me.

  Tina sashayed in, brandishing colorful lacquered talons.

  “Hey, Mom.” She pulled out a chair and plopped down with the flair of the drama queen that she was. “What a day!”

  “Hi, Tina,” I said as I headed down the hall to my room.

  “How was your session?” Mrs. Guerrero said.

  A few months back, a woman dinged Tina’s precious BMW. It was a minuscule mark, happens all the time in parking lots.

  What happened next was caught on a grainy cell phone video. The woman apologized, but that wasn’t good enough for Tina. Tina’s huffing and puffing turned into a sirocco of weave pulling, bitch slapping, and charges being filed.

  Community service and court ordered anger management were Tina’s sentence. I felt sorry for the counselor who pulled that duty.

  This wasn’t her first dance with the authorities either. She was lucky her mom was a lawyer with a profusion of people that owed her favors and a blindness for her daughter’s indiscretions that would make Helen Keller shake her head.

  “What a waste of time. Work’s insanely busy. Johnny complains that he doesn’t see me enough. I’ve got better things to do,” Tina said.

  “Would you prefer the alternative?”

  “Please, you would never let that happen. What do you think about the color?”

  “Augustina.” The warning shot fired over the bow.

  “The counselor wants me to talk about my feelings. How last century is that? And you saw what happened—that person pushed me too far. I feel like I’m being singled out.”

  “I am disappointed with your decision.”

  Tina put on her innocent little girl voice. “I’ll go next week. I promise.”

  Sure, and I’d start a diet and exercise program the same day.

  “Mom, really I will. Now what do you think of the color? It’s called Satanic Sunfire.”

  “Let me see …” Mrs. Guerrero sighed. “The color is very you.”

  “This new salon is fantastic! You’ll love it! We’ll do manis and pedis next week.”

  I pushed the End button on the cell. Called travel agent, check. Called contractors, check. Mapped out a few possible locations for a final meeting with my father, check.

  I grabbed my cane and plodded toward the kitchen and the aroma of fresh-baked shortbread. The sun filtered through the windows and reflected off the copper pots, making beautiful designs on the walls that danced as the gentle breeze blew the branches outside. Mrs. Guerrero was enjoying her afternoon tea at the kitchen table, with a plate of the divine cookies waiting to be sampled. An organic seed catalog was on the table, open to the medicinal herbs section, and a few newspapers lay next to it.

  Another serial killer was on the loose. The press was having a field day: “Death Toll Rises in Dragon Slayer Killings.” “Dragon Slays Again!” “Another Dead: Dragon Slayer Blamed.”

  What a world we live in.

  She saw me looking. “I hope I am the one to prosecute that individual when he is caught.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry about staying with you so long. The contractors are taking longer than expected.”

  “There is no need to apologize. Would you like some tea and shortbread?”

  “Yes please.” I wriggled in my seat.

  “What is it, dear?”

  “May I ask you a few questions?”

  She took on a guarded mien as she went back to her chair. A heavenly scent of rosemary and lavender danced toward me.

  “Oh wow. That smells really good. Love rosemary and lavender,” I said.

  “I made a poultice for your wound. You said you had questions for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for making the po … poultry?”

  “Poultice, dear.”

  “Right.” I tried to choose the right words, but ended up blurting them out. “Mr. Young said you know my father.”

  Was that a slight twitch in her left eye? Probably not—she didn’t have any tells.

  “I would not believe a word that Walter Young uttered even if his tongue were notarized. He is a rabble-rouser.”

  I choked on the tea. “Ma’am, I mean you no disrespect—”

  Her words were like a controlled burn. “I told you previously of my involvement with your father. There is nothing else to be said, and I have no cause to mislead you.”

  Why was I questioning her? After my mom died, Miguel and Rita Guerrero took me in. It was the first time in my life I felt safe, dare I say, loved. The Guerreros’ compassion and love knew no boundaries.

  But what Walter said about her being a Healer kind of made sense. The doctors said if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Guerrero, I wouldn’t have survived. And the medication mishap … I should’ve died …

  “The other day, those people saw my back?” I shivered at the thought of them touching me.

  “They are good friends of mine. They will not betray you.”

  I blinked at the last part.

  “Would you please tell me what happened?” Mrs. G said. “To cause … that?”

  “My father would carve me up and my mother would do her part with a pencil torch or a soldering iron.”

  “You should have come to us. We could have helped—”

  “Doesn’t matter now, ma’am.” I shifted in the chair. I was still uncomfortable talking about it, even though it was so long ago. My parents said they’d kill Val if I ever told anyone and only Val knew that. There was no sense in tel
ling her mom about it now.

  She nibbled a piece of shortbread. “You are feeling better, are you not?”

  “Yeah, I am.” For a change it wasn’t a lie. The story seemed hinky to me, but I was also crazy, so go figure.

  “Now, I would like to ask you something.”

  Fair’s fair. “Okay.”

  “Why do you hide from me?”

  Didn’t see that one coming. “Ma’am, if I showed you who I really am, I’m afraid that you wouldn’t … like me anymore.”

  “Nothing could be further from the truth.” She frowned and waited for me to continue.

  I picked up the cup and a slight tremor flowed through my hand.

  “Your hand—”

  She didn’t miss a thing.

  “I’m okay,” I said, not knowing if I was.

  “Mrs. Carey is coming over in a bit.”

  I guessed it wasn’t to watch American Idol. More poking and prodding awaited me.

  “Would you excuse me please?” What the hell was going on?

  “Certainly—we will finish this conversation another time.”

  I stood and grabbed the table.

  It felt like someone was trying to rip me in half. The pain sent me and the chair crashing to the floor. The sunlight still glinted off the copper pots but was no longer soothing to look at.

  Mrs. Guerrero was by my side in an instant. She touched my shoulder and I shied away. She reeled back as if her hands had been dragged across a cheese grater.

  “Ma’am, best if you leave me here. If I fall on you, you’ll get hurt.”

  She considered the differences in our heights and weights, and nodded.

  “I will call Valerie,” she said.

  “Please don’t. She’s at Krav Maga class. She needs … a break.”

  The kitchen door opened, and in her best Ricky Ricardo imitation, Val said, “Luuucccyyy, I’mmmm hooommme!”

  She took in the picture before her: me on the floor, her mom with the phone in her hand, poised to dial.

  “Oh crap! What happened?”

  “Valerie, would you please help Natalie to her room?” Mrs. G dialed as she talked. “Hello, Helen. It is Rita.” She continued the conversation in the family room.

  “Okay, ready?” Val’s lean, muscled arms were under mine. She was still sweaty from class.

  “Yep.”

  We were in motion, upward and forward to my room.

  “Can’t do anything by myself.” I tried not to wince as I lay down.

  “You’ve had a rough couple of days and it followed you into today is all,” Val said.

  “Hey.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You reek.” I smiled.

  “Shut up! You know I don’t shower in public places.” She smiled back. “So, what really happened?”

  “We need to talk, but after you take a shower.”

  “Be right back. Relax.” She winked and padded out of the room.

  Light footsteps approached my room. Too light to be Val’s—they belonged to Mrs. Guerrero, who was carrying a tray with a glass of amber-colored liquid and a few other things.

  “Mrs. Carey is tied up at the hospital,” she said. “May I look at your stomach?”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you sit up?”

  “Think so.” I pushed myself up and was met with pain pills. “No bloody way!”

  “The pain is getting ahead of you. You will not be able to rest if you do not take your medication.”

  “I’d rather not, ma’am, if it’s all the same.”

  “All right. How about we try the poultice I made for you?”

  She never gave up that easily. Maybe she was just tired of my crap.

  “Okay.”

  “I will need to touch your stomach. Will that be all right?” Mrs. G said.

  The aroma of rosemary and lavender filled the room. I inhaled and relaxed with the scents calming my very being.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry I pulled away from you in the kitchen. When your friends were holding me down …” I took a careful breath. “It’s just hard for me. And I’m sorry to give you a hard time about the drugs—”

  “I am sorry we had to restrain you, but you know I would never let anyone harm you. And I know of your mother’s … troubles.”

  Did everyone know about my mother’s “troubles”? Jesus H. Christ! No secrets in a small town.

  Mrs. G removed the bandage and her breathing changed.

  “Such needless violence,” she said. “The longer I live, the less I understand.”

  “If this upsets you, I can do it.” Hell, I didn’t want to look at the ugly thing either, but if it saved her some grief, I’d do it.

  “I am almost done,” she said. As quickly and efficiently as if Nurse Helen were there, the wound was clean.

  A Healer speeds up the healing process …

  “Did you go to med school?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  I pointed to my stomach. “At my apartment. And you helped stitch me back up the other day.”

  “Oh.” She let out a small laugh as she applied her magic salve.

  It was cold against the angry scar. I sucked in my breath, which brought Mrs. Guerrero’s attention to me. “I’m fine. Just surprised me.” I felt calmer, and my breathing eased back to normal. The poultice turned into a soothing warmth, like flannel pajamas and warm cocoa. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You are more than welcome. My parents were in the medical field and we were taught at an early age to help. Now, take some tea.”

  I thought her parents were … hell, I couldn’t remember. I gave her a doubtful look.

  “What’s in it?”

  She sighed. “It is lemon and chamomile. And a few herbs that will help you sleep. More than that, child, you do not want to become dehydrated.”

  The tea tasted funny though. No sugar. Blech!

  “Ma’am?”

  “Yes?” She was a whirlwind of activity.

  “How come you didn’t become a doctor?”

  She chuckled. “You have many questions tonight, do you not?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You may ask me anything you wish.” She looked pensive. “I thought my talents would be better served as a lawyer. Sometimes I wonder if I made the proper choice.”

  Self-doubt from Mrs. G? I’d never heard that before.

  My movements and thoughts were slowed. I looked at her elegant face. The fine lines around her eyes were etched more deeply than they had been a few days ago.

  “Ma’am, I’ll check into a hotel.”

  “Hush.” She smiled as her tiny hand passed over my face and trailed down my stomach. She was murmuring something I couldn’t hear. Her feather-like touch sent peaceful warmth through my body and mind. The pain eased and my eyes lost focus.

  “Rest, child, rest.”

  Per Mrs. Guerrero’s orders, I was resting. She’d chosen a few books from her library that she thought I’d enjoy. They had big words in them. I opted for my father’s virtual vacation guide instead—it had words like kill and dispose of body.

  Val was sitting cross-legged in the wing chair, her laptop poised on her knees, typing away.

  “We need someplace remote,” I said.

  “I’ve already scouted out the roads with traffic cameras,” Val said.

  “Maybe we should stay local.”

  “Where?”

  “The Fairfield industrial park. It’s been abandoned for years.”

  She chewed on the location for a moment.

  “I like it.” Her eyes went to the screen and the keys started clicking. “Let me see about security cameras in the area.”

  I went over my list of things to buy: disposable gloves, duct tape, heavy-duty plastic drop cloths, an insanity defense. Well, the last one wasn’t something I’d find at Target, but I figured it was a good idea.

  “The area looks good, but we need to take a ride to check it out,” Val said.
/>   “Have you heard from Karl?”

  “Not yet.”

  I turned my attention to the box from my grandparents’ lawyer next to the bed. The cardboard was musty and the scent escalated up as I dug deeper. Other than their letter, I hadn’t combed through the contents yet.

  The book that called to me the most was the one in the worst condition. Covers ripped off, no clue as to the author or authors. A few pages in held the title: The Art of Healing.

  I perused the well-worn pages. Detailed illustrations that rivaled those in Gray’s Anatomy, and sort-of understandable text graced the pages.

  A bit of the dedication remained. To our Native American friends, who have shared and taught us so much.

  Chapter 1 was filled with all sorts of goodies. Healers are the doctors of the preternatural community. An extensive knowledge of anatomy and physiology is required. Their hands are their instruments.

  Techniques to relax the patient include whispering and a hand pass over the eyes, while using a subtle energy to relax them. Mrs. G did some whispering and hand gestures when she was taking care of me. I’d thought it was a mom-thing.

  Depending on the severity of the injury, a Healer can combine powers with other Healers to save the patient.

  She and her friends could’ve pooled their collective powers to save my ass the other day.

  Val picked up a thin volume. “This is about Healers and Protectors.” She read aloud. “‘The relationship of a Healer and a Protector is like a witch and her familiar—they find one another. The kinship is lifelong. Energy is shared between them, a delicate balance that provides a guardianship for both.

  “‘The Protector’s role is similar to that of a Samurai. They value honor above life. They are the warrior aristocracy of the preternaturals.’” She grinned. “According to this, I’m your bodyguard.”

  “I’m getting you a T-shirt that says SECURITY.”

  “Uh huh. And you’re like a doctor. Paging Dr. Nat. Dr. Nat, pick up line two.”

  “Ha ha. Don’t quit your day job,” I said.

  “Your grandparents and their special community had one hell of a fantasy life. This stuff isn’t cheap to produce.” She stood up. “I’ve got a conference call. I’ll be in the family room if you need me.”

  She headed for the door but stopped, her arms pinwheeling out to catch her balance. “Whoa!”