The Darkness of Shadows

by Little, Chris

  “If you wanted Nat so badly, why didn’t you just come in and take her?” Val said.

  “If we enter another’s home without being invited, they get our powers,” I said.

  “Very good, Natalie. It’s an old custom that can’t be broken. So if either of you think you can use your powers against us, you can’t. It’s Walter’s house and he has the extra muscle tonight.”

  Score one for Nigel!

  “Gentlemen,” Walter said to the Goths, “bring Valerie to the gallery. And make sure she doesn’t do anything she or Natalie will regret.”

  They nodded and dragged Val behind the chairs.

  “You sick freaks!” Val said. “Leave her alone!”

  The first Goth slapped her hard across the mouth.

  “Don’t,” I said to the floor. “It’s not worth it.”

  “She’s right.” My father slithered next to me. He took my right forearm and twisted—hard. I choked back a noise.

  “Bastard!” Val screamed.

  “What did you say?” He twisted my arm further. I was sure my shoulder would pop out of its socket at any moment.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing, what?”

  “Nothing,” she swallowed hard, “Mr. Gannon.”

  “Not perfect, but we’ll work on that.” He let my limb drop and stared at me. “Now listen to me very carefully. If you do anything at all to ruin this, Valerie will pay the price. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  He led me to the circle and tugged at the zipper on the sweatshirt. I shrank away.

  “What did we just discuss?”

  “Sorry, sir.” I closed my eyes and tried not to throw up on him.

  He slid the sweatshirt off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

  “Take the rest of your clothes off and give everything to Walter.”

  I stripped—the process made slower by my injured arm—collected everything, and handed the pile to Walter. “Here, sir.”

  “Very good. Now lie facedown in the middle of the circle.”

  “Don’t!” Val said.

  That outburst cost me a smashing kick to my right knee. I inched my way to the appointed spot.

  “Gentlemen, tie her to the stakes.” The Goths secured my limbs to the shiny posts. “Natalie, behave.”

  The door opened. Nameless voices, both male and female, filed past me.

  “Walter, please seat our guests and make sure to serve them refreshments,” my father said.

  “Of course. This way please.”

  “Walter,” one of the unknown female voices said, “your taste still runs to the horribly uncomfortable and most unfortunate materials.”

  The plastic chairs creaked as the guests sat.

  My parents’ guests were staring at me. I recognized the two good-looking guys from the park—they both had their hair pulled back, revealing slightly pointed ears. Elves!

  The older couple was dressed in elegant clothing, like they were going out for a night on the town. Both had the same color eyes: dark brown, almost black. His silver hair was slicked back in a way that looked classy rather than sleazy. His skin was the color of a Tahitian vanilla bean. In contrast, hers was like a pint of heavy cream. She had waist-length, jet-black hair with not a bit of gray in it. His features were heavy compared to her delicate ones. They complemented one another as they gazed at me in wonder. The man smiled, revealing white teeth. I blinked. His canines were longer and pointed. The woman gave me a knowing smile—her teeth were similarly vampiric.

  The other couple was athletic looking and strong in their movements as Walter handed them their drinks. The man’s yellow eyes were moving over the room, searching, assessing. The woman had deep green eyes and sharp features. She watched the other people intently. They had an unmistakable, predatory air.

  Looked like Nigel was three for three.

  “William, your invitation was such an unpleasant surprise,” the dark-haired woman said. “Is this another scheme to bring you wealth and notoriety?”

  He said nothing. The truth can be one hell of a silencer.

  “You know the girl is like a daughter to her.” Her melodic tones pulsed into the air. “And I see you have Valerie here as well.”

  “That’s my business, Germaine,” my father said.

  “If you bring harm to one of Rita’s children, we will all pay the price.”

  “You’ve always been overly dramatic,” he said.

  “I promise you: if I die before you, at Rita’s hand …” She paused for effect, which she played well. “Whatever circle of hell I land in, I will be back for you, dear boy.”

  “If there’s anything left when Rita’s finished with him,” the athletic-looking man said.

  “True, Philip,” Germaine said.

  “That thing in the circle belongs to me!” my father said. “It’s mine to do with as I please. Rita has no say in the matter, nor do any of you.”

  ‘That thing,’ I guessed, was me. He confirmed my suspicions with a hard kick to the ribs.

  My mother leaned down to me.

  “These ghouls are useless!” She loosened one of the ropes. “Can’t even tie a knot properly.”

  “Enough of this,” Germaine’s companion said. “William, we’ve all seen doppelgangers. Cute pets, but worthless replicas. You’re wasting our time. Germaine, what time are our reservations?”

  “Gunther, please be patient,” my father said.

  “Can you deliver on what you’ve promised?”

  “Of course,” my father said. “Does everyone have a drink? Good. Karen, are you ready?”

  “Yes, William.”

  “Let’s begin.” My father’s voice resonated through the air. “Watch and learn, Valerie. This is the world your parents have kept from you your entire life.”

  The Goths brought a shriveled corpse into the circle and deposited it into the station by my feet.

  My father closed the ritual area with salt, rimming it like a giant margarita glass. Words in a tongue I didn’t recognize teemed through the cold room. The words turned into a chant between my father and mother, or doppelganger or whatever she was.

  I thought I knew pain. I didn’t know shit.

  A riptide of energy surged through me as the chanting continued. With pinpoint accuracy, the words they repeated coursed out the designs on my back, tearing them open. Scorching shafts of torment blasted through the scars. Blood seeped out of the lines and down my body, pooling at my sides and into the channels. I bled their evil.

  Light was coming from somewhere close. After a moment I realized it was coming from me—from my back.

  I didn’t know how much longer I could bear it.

  My mother continued the mantra, but made eye contact with me. I thought I heard her speak, but it was so quiet I might have imagined it.

  “It’s time. You know what to do.”

  No one was watching as I wrangled my hand free. My fingers slid to the salt dam. I flicked at it, displacing some of the white.

  Nothing happened. My mother had lied to me—shocking.

  She nodded. “Try again.”

  I’m not sure why, but I endured until there was a break in the line and bare marble showed.

  The light got stronger.

  The pain sped through me, the chanting faster. My body lifted off the floor. The restraints were the only thing keeping me earthbound—then gravity took hold and I crashed back down to the slab.

  “NO!” my father said.

  Luminous energy coiled into the air, ready to strike. It burned with the strength of a thousand photons. It found its mark—the corpse. A violent cloud surrounded the mound. The energy arced through bits and pieces of bones and dead flesh as a serpentine whorl shot skyward through the glass and into the night.

  Karen Benson Gannon’s soul was free.

  My father rushed to the body but was thrown back and onto his ass by a zealous aftershock.

  The pain go
t the better of me.

  “Nat, please wake up.”

  Quiet floated around me. Someone was holding me—I tried to pull away and was rewarded with searing pain.

  “Stay still,” Val said.

  I was dressed in the now-bloody sweatshirt and my jeans. I looked at her, confused.

  She shifted her hold, careful not to touch my back. “The Goths brought us to this bathroom and told me to get you cleaned up.” She was trying to be brave, but her voice betrayed her. “Sorry if I hurt you.”

  “Water please.”

  She leaned me forward so my back wasn’t touching anything and went to the sink. A pallet of reds swirled on the white tile floor. The room had no windows.

  Val put the plastic cup to my lips. I took a sip—it came right back up.

  “What was that light?” she said.

  “I think it was my mother’s soul. What happened to the doppelganger?”

  “She disintegrated after the light left.”

  “You have to get out of here,” I said. “They’re going to do really bad things to you. Please go.”

  “Do you know how to invoke the shield thing?”

  “Nigel said we just need to stay together. It creates an energy barrier on its own.”

  “I have to meet this Nigel.” She shifted her grip. “The way out is through that door and you’re coming with me. Come on.”

  She eased me up, then craned her long neck around the doorframe and looked both ways like we were crossing the street.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Girls, where do you think you’re going?” Walter appeared in front of us, his white ensemble sprayed with blood.

  I gave Val a sideways glance and nodded. She blinked in agreement. Walter didn’t have a chance.

  Val swept his legs, sending him to the floor. A surprised look crept across his face as he got up, unsteady. Several vicious punches landed in strategic locations, leaving him hamstrung. She leveled a kick to his lunchbox that sent him careening into the wall. Walter wasn’t moving after that one.

  Three Goths were waiting around the next corner.

  “Mr. Gannon requests your presence in the living room,” the shortest one said.

  Sarcasm from a dead guy. Perfect!

  Val glanced behind us. “‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat.’”

  A few more of the Goth family were about to join the fun.

  “Mr. Miyagi isn’t here to lend a hand,” I said. “We have to stay together for the shield to work.”

  She gave me the “yeah, right” look. She left my side and took a combatant’s stance.

  So much for the solidarity of our paranormal safeguard.

  It’s not like in the movies where the bad guys wait in line to fight the good guy. They came in hellbent from all directions, like brides at Filene’s Basement bridal gown sale.

  “We’ve been told not to hurt either of you,” the tallest one said, poking at Val’s breasts. “Too bad.”

  Val grabbed his hand, twisted it upward until it snapped, then swung him into a few of his buddies, black cloth and limbs flying. The others closed in.

  I was behind two of them. Val seized the opportunity and pushed one back over my extended leg. His head slammed into the wall.

  The two that remained knew they weren’t supposed to hurt us, but were puzzled over how to corral us.

  A single shot made it clear how we were ending our escape. Walter limped down the hall, the pistol pointed between Val and me.

  “I told you to keep them separated!” Blood dripped from his nose, down his chin, and onto his crimson-stained suit.

  My father was leaning on the bar in his Thinker pose. No movement, save for the vein in his temple pulsing like an angry neon sign. Circles of exhaustion were under his eyes. My mother said he’d be weakened by the ritual. Maybe for once in her life she’d told the truth.

  The Goths shoved us in front of the fireplace, making certain to keep us a few feet apart. The warmth of the flames was harsh on my back.

  “Gentlemen, you may leave.” My father nodded to Walter, who moved between Val and me.

  “Your blood and our ritual could have brought Karen back,” my father said. “Now your mother is gone and the last sigil lost.”

  “She asked me to help her,” I said.

  “You’re lying.”

  “She’s finally free of you.”

  “But you aren’t.” He took a sip of his cocktail.

  Fear and disgust closed in around me.

  “As for Valerie, the brothers would like to spend some quality time with her. Given that you’ve ruined the work of years, I’m inclined to let them.”

  “I won’t let you hurt Val.”

  He ignored me. “I will salvage this mess—you’re practically worthless without your mother to call the final sigil, but Valerie’s body should help me recoup some of tonight’s loss.”

  “Don’t you dare!” I felt behind me for something, anything. A handle met my fingers. The fireplace tools!

  “What are you going to do about it?” my father said.

  “You should burn in hell,” Val said.

  “A smart mouth, just like Rita.” His hand flew to Val’s face, but she was quicker. She blocked the blow and countered with a punch to my father’s throat.

  Eyes widening in surprise and pain, his hand went to his neck, gasping for air. She took his outstretched arm and twisted it behind his back. He jerked free.

  Val and my father danced around the battlefield of the living room: circling each other, striking, counter move, counter strike. She fought with a fierceness I’d never seen.

  Walter vied for and got my attention.

  “You were an easy mark, Natalie,” he said. “Always wanting a father to love you. All I had to do was play on that weakness. You still believe there’s good in people.”

  “You have me confused with Anne Frank.” I swung the poker up—it connected with his head and he staggered back.

  “Bitch!”

  Before I could raise the weapon again, Walter rushed me until my back was against the wall. Terebrating pain accosted me. What I needed to do was turn it into an ally, turn fear and panic into action.

  He twisted my wrenched arm until it cracked. I dropped the poker as he pressed closer.

  I slammed my left hand against the side his face and dug my thumb deep into his hazel eye.

  His response was high-pitched and loud as he pulled back. I dove forward, making a three-fingered grab for his trachea, exerting as much pressure as I could. He stumbled back, gasping, choking, blood and eye juice slipping between his fingers.

  I picked up the poker. Black iron and white skin were introduced more times than I could remember.

  I swung one last time—Walter crumbled to the floor, bleeding from many places. I’m not sure why it didn’t bother me.

  I turned back to find Val blocking a lunging punch. She slammed her elbow into my father’s temple. He floundered back a step or two.

  “Come on, you son of a bitch!” Val bounced from foot to foot, shaking her arms out, ending in a fighting stance. “Let’s finish this.”

  My father thudded toward her, wheezing and weaving, holding his head. Val was determined as her muscles tightened, coiled and ready for the attack.

  He dropped his hands and smiled.

  “Not this time.”

  He seized her surprise as his fingers latched onto her shirt and tossed her into the air like a shot put. The wall stopped her flight. Dazed, she tried but failed to get up.

  I stood before him, a broken and bloodied Rubenesque figure. A puree of fear and hatred pulsed through me.

  Strength is a funny thing. I’m not talking about physical strength either. It can come from many different places: your faith, your friends, your family, and sometimes even the least likely place—yourself. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, a clarity comes to you. A clarity that fills and calms you, giving you the strength to go on.

  Like the gentle
movement of the second hand of a watch, my sanity left me.

  I attacked my father with the strength of thirty-two years of pent-up fear, buried anger, shame, and fury. I shoved him onto the coffee table—it shattered under his weight. He was like a Weeble: he wobbled but he didn’t fall down. Weakened by the ritual, my ass!

  Val sprang up from the floor and executed a side kick, knocking him off balance. He backhanded her into the wall. She slid to the floor.

  He took her hand and started to squeeze. Val screamed. He unsheathed a knife.

  I sailed toward him and impaled him with the poker.

  He dropped the blade and plucked the rod out like it was a splinter. He raised his hand to strike me but I didn’t flinch. Instead, I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. My right leg wouldn’t support my weight and we both fell. He had me in a death roll—an alligator and its prey.

  Where was the fucking knife?

  I reached out and felt cold steel. Got it! I held it in an awkward left-handed grip, then slashed across his jugular.

  My father’s fury-filled rage smacked the knife out of my hand. He scrabbled to his feet and used one leg to push me onto my back. He stepped on my broken arm and I howled. He feasted on my misery as he dropped on top of me, hands reaching for my throat.

  My breathing was wild, tears raced down my face. Agony burned through the wounds on my back, bringing them to life. I arched upward as the pain continued volleying between dragons and sigils. And not to be left out, the runes joined the game.

  Something besides pain waylaid me. Power!

  My mother said there’d be residual energies left from the ritual. Channel and use them—but how?

  She said my mind and my hands were all I needed.

  It had been like that when I helped Val, healed the cut on her arm. Worry and love fueled my actions then. Now I had death in my heart.

  I was the highway for the collected energies—what I needed was an off-ramp.

  The designs of my back settled into my mind like touchstones, guiding me through the pathways, collecting the energies as I called them into my hands. A storm was building in my digits.

  His grip tightened, chasing the air from me. I wriggled my hands between us. My right arm wanted to tap out of the wrestling match, but I wouldn’t let it.