Reggie smiled.
“My son, always trying to change the rules.”
“Wanna play again?”
Tyler Ellison shook his head, and the court disappeared, replaced by a sparkling sea and a white shoreline. Chills never ebbed, but Reggie loved Mediterranea, which provided the illusion of warmth more than any corner of The Land of Light. He was instantly thankful his father brought him here. Palm trees swayed, a couple made love not far away, and a man sat in a lounge chair, reading. Two beach chairs materialized, and Reggie and Tyler sat.
Each corner of The Land of Light had its own rules. Here, words weren’t allowed or even possible. This was a place of peace and solitude.
Reggie stared at the ersatz sun, and a pang of guilt gnawed at him. Here he was, in this perfect place while Michelle struggled. By her side through everything—that’s where he wanted to be.
Tennis was one thing, but he couldn’t change the rules of The Game of Light and Shadow.
Suddenly, a small black dot appeared in front of the sun. Reggie, at first, thought it was a bird. Then the blotch slowly grew into a line.
Panicked, doing his best not to show it, he touched his father’s shoulder and pointed up at the anomaly.
Looking up, Tyler squinted.
The line kept growing, faster now.
They stood.
Reggie concentrated on other corners of The Dominion, trying to return home. But Mediterranea didn’t fade as it should have.
They were locked here.
The sky darkened, the black line becoming a crack.
Taking notice, the others on the beach stood and stared skyward. Concerned expressions were shared. Then, one by one, all of the other tourists disappeared, heading to places of safety. This wasn’t their battle.
Two blue tracers blazed through the sky, and the ocean became dust as the world morphed into a flat, endless desert, a wasteland that provided no shelter.
A breach, Reggie thought, but how?
He tried to conjure a weapon—gun, sword, knife, anything—but it was no use. Saw the same efforts coming up short for his father.
The tracers swirled then swooped—brightening slashes against the darkening horizon. Then horrible things, riding the light, materialized in the gray.
Waggling serpent tails attached to heads of prehistoric-looking cats, sharp teeth bared, eyes like embers of a raging inferno.
Closer and closer they came.
Reggie and Tyler ran.
2
Sabrina’s taste still lingering on her mouth, Michelle tried to sleep but couldn’t. She grappled for rational thought but it was distant. Consumed by pure emotion, she couldn’t stop smiling. She’d never been kissed that way, like it meant something.
It probably hadn’t, she told herself. Probably just an experiment; further research for Sabrina’s journey as a writer. She realized that she didn’t care if that was the case. The moment had been amazing, regardless of anyone’s motivation.
Why did I say no to sex? Michelle wondered. She felt like she’d say yes now, so it wasn’t a matter of being ready. It had more to do with being hurt; more accurately, fear that Sabrina would get hurt.
What seemed like an eternity of frantic passion—though daylight had still shined through Sabrina’s bedroom window—ended when Michelle had, without clear cause, stood and said, “I need to leave now.”
Sabrina hadn’t tried to stop her. Casually, she’d said, “See you tomorrow.”
Michelle trudged to the door, hoping the beautiful girl would say something more. Something with meaning. That she would ask Michelle to stay a little longer.
“Don’t worry,” Sabrina had said. “Nothing’s gonna be weird tomorrow. Promise.”
Things were already weird. The girl that she’d spent the last four years thinking of day and night was gone, her dark secret unraveling in her absence. And now, tears hardly dry, Michelle was consumed by new affections. She didn’t want to feel as good as she did.
But good feelings didn’t last.
A cry from within the house bolted her upright.
“Michelle.”
“Hello. Who’s there?”
Now louder, but fading in and out, the voice continued. “Michelle…Can you…? Michelle…?”
It was Reggie.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Pinpricks of light played across her full-length mirror, and Reggie’s face swam into the glass. “There’s a problem,” he said, “something we didn’t anticipate.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding.
His image broke up then rematerialized, intense fear in his eyes. “The Land of Shadows has somehow found us.”
Reggie’s arm came through the mirror, water-like ripples spreading across the glass. He was clearly trying to escape from something.
She sped across the room, grabbed his hand, and tried to help him through the mirror. Tugging hard, she lost balance and toppled backward, falling hard on her ass.
“They’re more powerful than we thought,” Reggie said.
Suddenly, a reptilian talon—glowing orange—jetted through the mirror, glass exploding outward in a cacophonous spray. Reggie’s arm and face were violently yanked from view as Michelle stood and tried to determine her next move.
But, as quickly as the thing had come, it was gone, along with Reggie.
A hush returned to the empty house.
Feeling the sting of several small cuts, she walked across broken glass. She almost expected her hand to go through what was left of the dark mirror when she reached out, but it didn’t.
Her breath grew ragged, and she crouched, hugging herself. Without Reggie and Tyler, what use were her actions? What chance did she have against Anon? No guidance. No objective.
No hope.
The only option still on the table was escape.
She rushed to her closet, dressed quickly. Bending before the bathroom sink, she splashed water on her face. The terrified girl in the mirror was one she hadn’t known for a long time. Nothing she could do would calm the fear that owned her now.
She hurried down the stairs. In the kitchen, she grabbed the keys for Faith’s car from a hook on the refrigerator and bounded through the garage. Choking on every other breath, she slid into the driver’s seat, pressed the button to lift the garage door, and started the ignition.
As she shifted into reverse, she caught a foul scent and felt a presence at her back. She gazed into the rearview mirror and saw the outline of a head—a spiky-haired silhouette.
She turned, ready to attack…
But the person in the backseat wasn’t an immediate threat.
Wearing a frozen rictus of terror, one of Faith’s butcher knives lodged in his chest, Steve Mann gazed back with cold, dead eyes.
Michelle screamed.
—Chapter Seven—
1
Hours later—Detective Ron McCluskey snooping around the house—Michelle wished she hadn’t called the police. But what else could she do? Nowhere to go, fleeing with a corpse in the backseat seemed like a terrible idea, even in her bizarre situation.
All the evidence tagged and bagged, McCluskey was the only cop who lingered. Early morning sunlight cast dust-filled rays across the living room. Michelle took another sip of coffee. In the kitchen, a cupboard door banged shut.
Michelle jerked back and saw the detective step into the room. He sat in a chair across from her and pulled out a notepad.
“I told you everything,” Michelle said.
“Yeah,” he said with a scowl, “but none of it makes any sense to me.”
“How do you think I feel?”
He nodded then wrote something down. Looked up. “I worked Homicide in Denver for seven years, Ms. Breedlove. Hated it. First decent offer in Cow Town, I took it. Haven’t seen a knife lodged in a body for—”
“I’m sorry,” Michelle said. “But I don’t know what this has to do—”
“Something isn’t right here,” th
e detective said. “There’s something you’re hiding from me. I can tell. Maybe we should take a trip to the station. You might be a little more cooperative there.”
Michelle slowly shook her head.
McCluskey heaved a sigh then closed his notepad. “Your prints were on the murder weapon.”
“Like I told you, it was a knife from the house. I use those blades all the time.”
“But there are no signs of forced entry. How did the—”
“I told you everything!” Michelle shouted, leaning forward. “Every goddamn thing I know!”
A new voice echoed through the room: “Motive!”
Michelle and the detective turned, a tall man in a suit gliding from the kitchen.
“Hello, Mr. Winslow,” McCluskey said nervously.
Michelle knew nothing about police procedure, but this seemed a thousand miles from right. Then again, everything in her life was askew. Why should this be any different?
Winslow waved the detective out of his seat then took his place across from Michelle. “That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?” he said with a grin. He shot Michelle a wink then looked up at McCluskey. “Why don’t you get home to that lovely wife of yours and let me talk to the girl for a while?”
“Of course,” the detective replied. Stepping out of the house, he turned to Michelle and said, “I’ll be in touch,” then slammed the front door.
The embodiment of smug, Winslow leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “Well,” he said, “you certainly stepped in shit, little girl.”
Eyes narrowing, she felt ice water coursing through her veins. Much as she wanted to plunge a knife in Winslow’s heart, she could hardly move. “Stupid fucking game,” she growled.
His smile faded. “Spoken like a loser.”
“Or a player without a stake?”
“Could be you’re playing for the wrong side. Have you considered that?”
She looked at her watch then back to Winslow. “I have to be at work in an hour, so if you could find a way to speed the creepy, that’d be great.”
“You don’t scare easily.”
“Why should I?”
“I like that.” His smile bloomed anew. “Very much. You’ll be…an incredible asset.”
“Unless I leave, walk away from all of this.”
Winslow shook his head. “I know everything, Michelle. I know about Laura Gore, about the incident in the parking lot with Corey Stillman. I know what Steve Mann did, and I know how angry it made you. McCluskey’s a moron who will never figure it out. But if I want him to, if I need him to, the law will be on your ass fast. You won’t have a chance.”
“So that’s what this is—blackmail?”
“I don’t see it that way, Michelle. There’s a lot I can do for you.”
“Like you did for my mother?”
“No, nothing like that. You’re quite different. You’re special.”
“You’re right—I’m nothing like her, and I’m nothing like Rory Ellison. So what makes you think you can own me?”
He leaned forward. “I’m not trying to own you, Michelle. If anything, I’m trying to sell myself to you. You are the key. You will have the power.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“Look around you. Dig deep. You’re alone.”
“I’ve been here before. And I won.”
He laughed, waving away her declaration with brisk hand gestures. “You bought yourself a little time, maybe. And how was it? How was your time, dear heart?”
Body tensing, she looked away. Birds tweeted and the sun brightened. Inside, darkness loomed and chills intensified. He was right. She was alone. Out of options.
“Denying the shadows will only make them taller,” he said. “They need to be seen. Embraced. Loved.”
“What do you know about love?”
“Not much. I’m a lot like you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Your belief doesn’t invent my reality or help me see things more clearly. Light and dark are powerful allies, orchestrating a ceaseless, senseless tug-of war. The truth always lies somewhere in the middle. In the gray.”
“Strange choice of words.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“ ‘The truth always lies.’ ”
“You’re very clever.”
“You’re not.”
Winslow put a finger to his chin and looked up, seeming to process the insult, though it didn’t appear to hurt. “Do you have a code, Michelle? A set of rules that—”
“Don’t patronize me, asshole. I know what a code is.”
“You’re just making it up as you go along, aren’t you?”
“Gives me the element of surprise.”
“That’s what every dark aspect does, Michelle. You’re a conformist, a cliché, and you don’t even realize it. You know this is only a game, and every game, like it or not, has winners and losers.”
“And you prey off dreams,” she said, “which puts you at a disadvantage with me. I don’t dream anymore.”
“You have desires, Michelle. Everyone does.”
She stood. “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to be late for work. And I need every available second to wash this conversation off. I trust you can show yourself out?”
“We’ll see each other soon.”
She crept upstairs, without a backward glance at Winslow’s exit, and wept.
2
The next few days were painfully uneventful. Michelle, anxious for everything to be over, wished something—anything—would happen. Most of her conversations with Sabrina were stilted, and she hoped her new friend would do something to break through the hurt. She also knew how unfair that was. Sabrina, after all, was only human and had every right to protect herself.
During breaks, they just complained in a prosaic manner on the roof of the building, never really saying anything. Training in session, they stared ahead at the instructor, occasionally taking notes. Michelle approached Sabrina after work, hopeful that they could hang out, but she only met a pinched expression and a dismissive “I’ve gotta get going.”
Michelle grappled for the right words in the quiet, dark nights. She carried on several imaginary conversations with Sabrina. None of them were right. None of them ended well.
This is hell, Michelle told herself.
She also talked to Reggie and Laura and Pa and even her mother.
They never responded.
She was weakening, she knew. There was no reserve to pull from. No strength. No will to fight. All of this was part of The Game of Light and Shadow.
Then, on Friday night, she slipped into the bathtub with a plan. She didn’t know if her death would end the madness, even her own sad mess, but it was all she had.
True escape.
Or she could call the cops and confess to the murder of Steve Mann. What could they do? Put her in prison? She was already there, in a cage far more confining than any jail cell. But that notion, though tempting, was several kinds of wrong. And complicated. And—
The blade penetrated the soft flesh of her wrist. Cringing, she dug deeper, blood welling around her thumb and forefinger, and dragged the razor down. She’d expected this moment to hurt much worse than it did, and, for the first time all week, she gave thanks for the numbness consuming her.
Cutting the second wrist was easier than the first, and Michelle, done with nastiness once and for all, closed her eyes and rested her head against porcelain, letting the hypnotic drip-drip-drip of the leaky faucet carry her away.
Spots swirled in the darkness.
Drip…
Head swimming.
…drip…
She opens her eyes, but darkness remains. For a moment she thinks she has gone blind, then, in the distance, an oval mirror materializes, and something—bells?—begins to chime.
She steps toward the mirror, watching her reflection, outlined in pulsating blue light, approach.
The chimes grow louder with ever
y soft, squishy step. Feels like she’s walking through swampland, but when she looks down, she can’t see her feet. Can’t see any of her body. Just what’s reflected. Everything else, pitch-black blindness.
Standing at the mirror, she touches her face, but her likeness doesn’t respond in kind. Just smiles crookedly, shaking its head at her.
Then she notices something. A triangular birthmark on her neck. No. Not her neck.
“Dawn?” she asks.
The girl lowers her head then steps through the frame. In an instant, the mirror disappears, darkness replaced by white light.
“Let’s go someplace more comfortable,” Dawn says.
Brightness resolving into tangibility, Michelle looks around a space with high ceilings. The room, with tall windows that look out on an impossibly beautiful world, seems to spin while Michelle stands motionless. Around her, immaculate Elizabethan furniture turns. The world beyond windows—sunflowers and verdant fields—remains as motionless as she.
Dawn takes her hand, and the room stops its slow revolution.
Michelle hugs her sister “Is it really you?” she asks.
“The real me,” she replies. “Is someplace else.”
Michelle releases the unreturned embrace and fights for words.
“The Land of Shadows,” Dawn says.
“Are you…are you okay?” Michelle pleads.
“No. But I don’t need you to save me, sister. I need you to save yourself.”
“But how? I—”
Dawn raises a finger to Michelle’s lips. “Start again,” she says, then snaps something on Michelle’s wrist.
Michelle inspects the offering. A bronze serpent: a bracelet clasped by mouth and tail.
“A gift,” Dawn says, “a reminder to start again. Do you accept my offering?”
“Yes, of course. But I think it’s too late. I really fucked up.”
Dawn shakes her head and says, “Not if you accept my gift. Do you? Will you start again?”
“Yes.”
The world with Dawn telescopes out of reach. The sensation of falling…falling…
She snapped back to the bathtub. Holding the razor blade, completely lucid, she inspected her wrists.
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