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Shade 01 - Shade

Page 24

by Jeri Smith-Ready


  After my fall, we sta­yed ho­me for Christ­mas ins­te­ad of tra­ve­ling to see my grand­mot­her. Aunt Gi­na tri­ed to co­ok a tur­key her­self and spent half the day on the pho­ne with Grand­mom get­ting tips. I gu­ess it tur­ned out okay, but I co­uldn’t tas­te much of an­y­t­hing.

  It felt li­ke Lo­gan had di­ed aga­in. My body was he­avy and numb, even af­ter I stop­ped the pa­in­kil­lers. I had no idea whe­re he’d go­ne or when and if he was co­ming back, des­pi­te sco­uring the In­ter­net for ru­mors. No one had se­en him or he­ard from him in al­most three days. Zac­hary had be­en right-I wasn’t re­al­ly over Lo­gan, not by a long shot.

  I was sit­ting at the tab­le fi­nis­hing my (sto­re-bo­ught) pump­kin pie whi­le Gi­na did the dis­hes, when the pho­ne rang for what se­emed li­ke the for­ti­eth ti­me that day. I tri­ed to think which co­usin hadn’t cal­led yet to wish us a Merry Chris­t­mas.

  Gi­na ca­me out of the kitc­hen. “Ho­ney, it’s Dylan.”

  I to­ok the pho­ne. “Hel­lo?”

  “Hey.” Dylan fell si­lent. For a mo­ment I won­de­red, with my he­art in my thro­at, if he was hol­ding out the pho­ne so Lo­gan co­uld spe­ak. “Re­mem­ber how you guys al­ways used to co­me over on Christ­mas night af­ter you got back from yo­ur gran­d­mom’s?”

  “Ye­ah.” The Ke­eleys wo­uld play mu­sic and ser­ve yet mo­re fo­od, and then we’d all watch It’s a Won­der­ful Li­fe. “What abo­ut it?”

  “Not­hing. Just… that was co­ol.”

  It hurt to re­mem­ber exactly how co­ol. “How is it over the­re?”

  “Ever­yo­ne’s crying. Do you wan­na co­me over?”

  “Do­es yo­ur fa­mily want me the­re?”

  “Si­ob­han do­es. My dad sort of do­es. So I gu­ess if we had a vo­te, it’d be ti­ed, two and a half each.”

  “Why don’t you and Si­ob­han co­me he­re? We co­uld dri­ve thro­ugh Hamp­den and lo­ok at the lights.”

  “Aw, that’d be awe­so­me! Hang on.”

  Dylan drop­ped the re­ce­iver. He was go­ne for se­ve­ral mi­nu­tes, and I won­de­red if he’d for­got­ten I was on the pho­ne. May­be he’d got­ten wrap­ped up in one of his new ga­mes.

  Then sud­denly he was back. “Okay-we’ll-be-right-the­re-bye!” He hung up.

  In less than an ho­ur, Si­ob­han was dri­ving Dylan and me down 34th Stre­et, a tra­di­ti­on Gi­na and I had mis­sed this ye­ar, bet­we­en her ob­ses­si­on with Lo­gan’s ca­se and my ob­ses­si­on with, well, Lo­gan.

  The Chi­ef­ta­ins’ Christ­mas CD pla­yed on the car spe­akers as we craw­led with the he­avy traf­fic, un­der rows of lights that stretc­hed abo­ve the nar­row stre­et.

  Ela­bo­ra­te disp­lays co­ve­red every sur­fa­ce of the shops and row ho­mes. It was an unw­rit­ten law in Hamp­den-you had to put up Christ­mas lights, even if you didn’t ce­leb­ra­te the ho­li­day. Which just pro­ved that the­re we­re for­ces in this world stron­ger than re­li­gi­on.

  “He’s not he­re in the car with us, is he?” Si­ob­han as­ked.

  “No,” Dylan and I rep­li­ed in uni­son, kno­wing she me­ant Lo­gan. Then aga­in, the light disp­lays ma­de the stre­et too bright to see ghosts.

  She lo­we­red the vo­lu­me. “Last night Mom and Dad we­re up la­te wrap­ping pre­sents. They we­re tal­king in the­ir bed­ro­om, and I gu­ess Mom was in and out get­ting sup­pli­es, and she left the do­or open.” Si­ob­han pa­used. “They want to mo­ve away.”

  “What?!” Dylan grab­bed the back of her se­at. “Mo­ve whe­re?”

  “Anywhe­re-” Her vo­ice fal­te­red. “Anywhe­re Lo­gan’s ne­ver be­en.”

  “I’m not go­ing!” He po­un­ded on his knee. “I fi­nal­ly ha­ve fri­ends at that la­me-ass new scho­ol.”

  “Dylan, you don’t ha­ve a cho­ice,” Si­ob­han sa­id.

  “But you do. You and Mic­key are eigh­te­en. You co­uld get an apart­ment and I co­uld li­ve with you.”

  “We’re go­ing to col­le­ge.”

  “So go to col­le­ge he­re!”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she snap­ped. “Mic­key and I want to get away as much as Mom and Dad do, if not mo­re. Too many me­mo­ri­es. Even dri­ving he­re…” Si­ob­han flap­ped her hand at a Christ­mas tree ma­de out of hub­caps. “Lo­gan used to lo­ve Ham­p­den.”

  “He still do­es,” I told her. “He can co­me he­re any ti­me he wants.” Alt­ho­ugh may­be not at the mo­ment, with all the­se red lights and gi­ant San­tas.

  She wi­ped her eyes, smud­ging mas­ca­ra on­to the si­de of her fo­re­fin­ger. She rub­bed her thumb aga­inst the sta­in. “May­be if we mo­ve, if he do­esn’t ha­ve us to ha­unt, he’ll pass on.”

  “Um, I got news on that,” Dylan sa­id.

  I spun to fa­ce him, pro­vo­king a sharp pa­in in my bru­ised rib. “From Lo­gan? What did he say?”

  “If we win the ca­se, he wants to mo­ve on in pub­lic. Star­ting to­mor­row, he wants me to spre­ad the word so ever­yo­ne can co­me.”

  “Ever­yo­ne?” Si­ob­han sa­id.

  “Post-Shif­ters. Es­pe­ci­al­ly tho­se with ca­me­ras.”

  I let out a harsh la­ugh. “Lo­gan is pas­sing on as so­me kind of per­for­man­ce?”

  “A grand fi­na­le.” Si­ob­han snor­ted. “Clas­sic.”

  “‘Bla­ze of glory,’ he says.” Dylan lo­oked at me. “It might be kin­da co­ol if Lo­gan and I find the right pla­ce. It has to be so­mew­he­re ne­ar the co­urt­ho­use, so­mew­he­re he’s be­en be­fo­re.”

  “The Gre­en Derby,” Si­ob­han sa­id. “The pub whe­re Mic­key and I are pla­ying next month. Lo­gan’s be­en the­re, and it’s only a block away.” She slap­ped the knob of the ge­ars­hift. “I can’t be­li­eve I just hel­ped him in his di­va-ness.”

  “You want to see it as much as we do,” Dylan told her. “I me­an, you can’t see it. But you can see all the pe­op­le who can see him. Do­es that ma­ke sen­se?”

  “Ye­ah. It’ll be ni­ce to he­ar one last crowd scre­aming his na­me.”

  I la­id my he­ad back and sta­red thro­ugh the winds­hi­eld, un­til my eyes lost fo­cus and the stre­et be­ca­me one wi­de blin­king sun.

  Lo­gan’s lo­ve af­fa­ir with the world wo­uld ha­ve one last go­od-bye kiss. If only we co­uld ha­ve that too.

  “What if you guys lo­se?” I sa­id. “What’s Lo­gan go­ing to do? Won’t he di­sap­po­int the crowds if he do­esn’t pass on?”

  “He tho­ught of that,” Dylan sa­id. “Says he’ll do a short con­cert.”

  “And he’ll ex­pect us to play for him?” Si­ob­han snif­fled, then her bre­ath hitc­hed in­to a sob. “Why co­uldn’t he just go to be­gin with? Why do­es he ha­ve to ma­ke it so hard?” Her vo­ice stretc­hed to the bre­aking po­int. “Why do­es he ha­ve to be such an as­sho­le?”

  I pul­led a bunch of fast-fo­od nap­kins from the do­or poc­ket and han­ded one to Si­ob­han. “He’s not be­ing an as­sho­le,” I sa­id qu­i­etly. “He’s just be­ing Lo­gan.”

  “Sa­me dif­fe­ren­ce.” She co­ve­red her mo­uth. “No, I don’t me­an that. He was a go­od brot­her. He was a swe­et guy.”

  “He still is,” Dylan and I sa­id to­get­her.

  “Shut up!” Si­ob­han to­re anot­her nap­kin from the stack in my hand. “You pe­op­le are such fre­aks, you know that?”

  “We’re fre­aks?” Dylan sa­id. “That guy over the­re bu­ilt a Christ­mas tree out of Natty Boh be­er cans and Old Bay se­aso­ning jars.”

  Si­ob­han la­ug­hed. “Okay, go­od po­int.” She drag­ged the nap­kin un­der her no­se and ac­ross her che­ek. “I wish I was a fre­ak too.”

  * * *

  My aunt went back to work af­ter Christ­mas, on­ce I’d mas­te­red the crutc­hes eno­ugh to get m
yself to the bath­ro­om and kitc­hen and back to the so­fa. I sta­yed ho­me, sin­ce I co­uldn’t dri­ve with a spra­ined knee, and I did not want to sha­re her twel­ve-ho­ur days at the of­fi­ce (tho­ugh I re­al­ly co­uld’ve used the mo­ney).

  Lo­gan didn’t co­me over any­mo­re. I lay awa­ke each night in the li­ving ro­om, wa­iting but ne­ver cal­ling. He kept his vow to stay away, and even tho­ugh I knew it was for the best, each mo­ment wit­ho­ut him felt dar­ker than the one be­fo­re. The un­cer­ta­inty and fe­ar rob­bed me of sle­ep, un­til I felt li­ke a sha­de myself-scat­te­red, sta­ticky, and in a very pissy mo­od.

  Zac­hary cal­led on­ce, but only to dis­cuss our re­se­arch pro­j­ect. I knew he was gi­ving me spa­ce, but his ab­sen­ce felt mo­re suf­fo­ca­ting than his ho­ve­ring ever co­uld.

  Two days be­fo­re Lo­gan’s tri­al, I tri­ed to dist­ract myself by stud­ying for mid­terms. Me­gan was sup­po­sed to co­me over to ke­ep me com­pany and sha­re my cal­cu­lus mi­sery, and then we we­re go­ing to her ho­use for New Ye­ar’s Eve.

  The do­or­bell rang half an ho­ur be­fo­re she was sup­po­sed to show up, which was odd. Me­gan was ne­ver on ti­me, much less early. I ma­de my way to the do­or and pul­led the cur­ta­in asi­de to lo­ok on­to the porch.

  Two men sto­od the­re. The tall one in front, with a he­ad of dark, bowl-cut ha­ir, fa­ced the do­or. His part­ner was slightly shor­ter, with light brown ha­ir in the sa­me odd style. The se­cond man had his back to me, scan­ning the stre­et. They we­re dres­sed li­ke DMP agents, but ins­te­ad of whi­te uni­forms, the­irs we­re so­lid black.

  Obsi­di­ans.

  I step­ped back, al­most lo­sing my ba­lan­ce on the crutc­hes. Be­fo­re I co­uld mo­ve aga­in, the dark-ha­ired man held a bad­ge up to the do­or’s win­dow.

  “Ms. Sal­va­to­re,” he cal­led. “We ne­ed to spe­ak.”

  I chec­ked the de­ad­bolt to ma­ke su­re it was loc­ked. “Can you co­me back la­ter when my aunt’s he­re?” I ha­ted ad­mit­ting I was alo­ne, but the­re was no way I was let­ting them in­to the ho­use.

  The agent le­aned clo­se to the win­dow. “The­re are so­me things she’s bet­ter off not kno­wing, cor­rect? Things abo­ut Lo­gan Ke­eley?”

  My blo­od tur­ned to ice. They must ha­ve known he’d tur­ned sha­de, if only for a few mo­ments. Did they ha­ve de­tec­tors? Wo­uld they hunt him down, trap him in a box and ke­ep him on a shelf fo­re­ver?

  I un­loc­ked the do­or and ope­ned it. “Just for a mi­nu­te.”

  The dark-ha­ired man ga­ve a slight bow be­fo­re en­te­ring. “I’m Agent Falk. It’s a ple­asu­re to ma­ke yo­ur ac­qu­a­in­tan­ce.” The ot­her agent fol­lo­wed him in, but didn’t int­ro­du­ce him­self. He sta­yed at the do­or, watc­hing the stre­et, as Falk wal­ked in­to the di­ning ro­om.

  “May I?” He po­in­ted a small lap­top ca­se at the tab­le.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Agent Falk qu­ir­ked his chin. “We want not­hing but to help you ac­hi­eve yo­ur po­ten­ti­al.”

  “Po­ten­ti­al for what? Se­e­ing ghosts? I’m not exactly uni­que that way.”

  “No, not in that way at all.” Wit­ho­ut sit­ting down, he la­id the lap­top on the tab­le and ope­ned the lid. The com­pu­ter was al­re­ady on, with so­me sort of da­ta­ba­se prog­ram run­ning. Falk pul­led down a list of nu­me­ri­cal fi­les. He se­lec­ted one, and the hard dri­ve hum­med.

  The pic­tu­re that re­sol­ved in the cen­ter of the scre­en squ­e­ezed my he­art to the si­ze of a gra­pe.

  Lo­gan, as he was in li­fe. As he was the night of his de­ath, ons­ta­ge, on one knee. The pho­to was pro­fes­si­onal qu­ality, cap­tu­ring him with the mic at thro­at le­vel, sen­ding his bril­li­ant blue lust-for-li­fe ga­ze up abo­ve the ca­me­ra.

  Up in­to eter­nity.

  I sank in­to the cha­ir clo­sest to the com­pu­ter and let my crutc­hes fall aga­inst my lap. “Whe­re did you get this pic­tu­re? We­re you the­re that night?”

  “Not per­so­nal­ly. We ha­ve ope­ra­ti­ves who wo­uld blend in at a punk con­cert much bet­ter than I wo­uld.”

  “Why we­re you fol­lo­wing him be­fo­re he di­ed?”

  “Ms. Sal­va­to­re.” Falk slid in­to the se­at ac­ross from me. “You know you’re the First. We know you’re the First. By de­fi­ni­ti­on, the­re’s only one First. The­re­fo­re, everyt­hing you do, ever­yo­ne you know, is of in­te­rest to us.”

  I squ­e­ezed my hands bet­we­en my kne­es, as my fin­gers had sud­denly tur­ned cold. “You fol­low me.”

  “Not all the ti­me. God knows we don’t ha­ve the re­so­ur­ces. But as you co­me of age, our cu­ri­osity grows.”

  “Why? Am I go­ing to spro­ut wings when I turn eigh­te­en? Grow a se­cond he­ad or an ele­venth toe?”

  Falk didn’t la­ugh or even smirk. “Ho­nestly, we don’t know.” He shif­ted the com­pu­ter in front of him and tap­ped the scre­en with both in­dex fin­gers. “Things ha­ve grown mo­re in­te­res­ting sin­ce the de­ath of yo­ur boy­f­ri­end.”

  My fist clenc­hed, wan­ting to smash this guy’s no­se. In­te­res­ting. He was tal­king abo­ut the worst thing that ever hap­pe­ned to me li­ke it was a sci­en­ce pro­j­ect.

  “Lo­gan’s pre-Shift,” I sa­id. “What do you want with him?”

  Falk sig­na­led the ot­her agent, who slip­ped his hand out of his poc­ket. In his palm he held a small disc ma­de of ice-cle­ar crystal.

  Falk spo­ke. “Do you re­cog­ni­ze this de­vi­ce, Ms. Sal­va­to­re?”

  “It’s a sum­mo­ner. It can call a ghost who’s tag­ged by the DMP. We use them in”-my ton­gue stut­te­red along with my pul­se-“in the co­urt­ro­oms. To get ghosts on the wit­ness stand. It lets a ghost go so­mew­he­re they ne­ver went du­ring the­ir li­fe.”

  “Cor­rect. Sum­mo­ners are ma­de of cle­ar qu­artz, which acts in op­po­si­ti­on to ob­si­di­an. A tag­ged ghost must ap­pe­ar anyw­he­re the sum­mo­ner is ac­ti­va­ted.”

  “Lo­gan is tag­ged.” I tri­ed to ta­ke slow, de­ep bre­aths to calm my ra­cing pul­se, but the ban­da­ges on my ribs wo­uldn’t stretch far eno­ugh. “His tag gets re­mo­ved af­ter the tri­al. That’s the law.”

  “Of co­ur­se it is. Any ba­sic so­ci­al stu­di­es class te­ac­hes that sta­te and fe­de­ral laws apply to ghosts as well as the li­ving. Af­ter all, they’re pe­op­le too.” Falk tap­ped his na­ils on the tab­lec­loth. “Ho­we­ver, the law be­co­mes rat­her fuzzy when ap­pli­ed to sha­des.”

  “Lo­gan’s not a sha­de.” My vo­ice crac­ked on the last word. “You can’t hold him.”

  “Actu­al­ly, we can. Ac­cor­ding to the re­adings from his tag, he’s ex­hi­bi­ted the me­taphy­si­cal sig­na­tu­re of a sha­de on se­ve­ral oc­ca­si­ons, inc­lu­ding Sa­tur­day night at this ad­dress. Co­in­ci­den­tal­ly when you to­ok an inj­uri­o­us fall. It’s mo­re than eno­ugh evi­den­ce to hold him. His pa­rents can sue to re­le­ase him, but most of the­se ca­ses are ti­ed up in le­gal lim­bo for…” Agent Falk put a thumb to his sharp chin, as if cal­cu­la­ting. “Fo­re­ver, ac­tu­al­ly.”

  I grip­ped the ed­ge of the tab­le. “They ne­ver get out?”

  “Sha­des are far too dan­ge­ro­us to set free. The­re­fo­re we’ve de­ci­ded that the only fe­asib­le so­lu­ti­on is in­de­fi­ni­te de­ta­in­ment.”

  “They di­sap­pe­ar,” I whis­pe­red, then tur­ned to the ot­her agent. “Is that what hap­pens?”

  He re­gar­ded me with eyes as cle­ar and cold as the crystal in his hand. “We must pro­tect the chil­d­ren.”

  His vo­ice slit­he­red down my spi­ne, twi­ning bet­we­en each ver­teb­ra.

  “I know sha­des are dan­ge­ro­us,” I sa­id to Falk, “but w
hat if we co­uld help them turn back in­to ghosts?”

  “Re­ha­bi­li­ta­te them?” The arch of Falk’s eyeb­row scre­amed his skep­ti­cism. “It wo­uld be li­ke tra­ining a ra­bid dog to gu­ide the blind.”

  My an­ger sur­ged at the com­pa­ri­son. “What do you know abo­ut sha­des, or ghosts, or anyt­hing? Wit­ho­ut us post-Shif­ters, you wo­uldn’t even know that they exist.”

  “But we do know, and we’ve de­ve­lo­ped ways to le­arn mo­re, with or wit­ho­ut the help of post-Shif­ters.” The agent nar­ro­wed his clo­se-set brown eyes. “If Lo­gan Ke­eley mo­ves on, he will ce­ase to be a thre­at, so we wo­uld ap­pre­ci­ate it if you wo­uld do everyt­hing in yo­ur po­wer to ma­ke that hap­pen.”

  “I don’t ha­ve that po­wer. If his fa­mily wins the­ir ca­se, he’ll mo­ve on. If not-”

  “If not, he’ll be what we con­si­der an ‘at risk’ ghost. Too ne­ar to sha­ding to al­low his fre­edom.”

  I pic­tu­red Lo­gan loc­ked up in a Black­Bo­xed ro­om or on a shelf in so­me DMP va­ult for ye­ars, may­be de­ca­des. May­be fo­re­ver. My own mind se­emed to sha­de at the tho­ught.

  “Ple­ase…,” I whis­pe­red. “Lo­gan’s a go­od guy. He just gets a lit­tle ex­ci­ted so­me­ti­mes.” I tur­ned to the shor­ter agent. “What if he we­re yo­ur son? Or yo­ur brot­her? Wo­uldn’t you want to gi­ve him a chan­ce?”

  “That’s what we’re do­ing with this vi­sit,” Falk snap­ped. When I lo­oked at him, he smo­ot­hed his hand over his thro­at and down the front of his black uni­form. “So you can warn him. En­co­ura­ge him.”

  “Why?” I twitc­hed my sho­ul­ders, which prick­led with fe­ar and con­fu­si­on. “Why not col­lect him now, if you think he’s a risk? And why help me ke­ep his sec­ret?”

  “Ah.” Falk clo­sed the lap­top. I wan­ted to grab it back to see Lo­gan’s full-co­lor pho­to aga­in. The agent fol­ded his hands on the com­pu­ter’s sil­ver lid. “The Ke­eley ca­se has gar­ne­red a lot of me­dia at­ten­ti­on. De­ta­ining him pri­or to his tri­al wo­uld cre­ate a pub­lic re­la­ti­ons night­ma­re and throw a spot­light on our in­de­fi­ni­te de­ten­ti­on prog­ram. We can’t af­ford to lo­ok bad just as you post-Shif­ters are co­ming of age. Rec­ru­it­ment is the de­part­ment’s num­ber one pri­ority, so that we can bet­ter un­ders­tand ghosts.”

 

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