by Jessica Roe
“Walker said something about a job...” Nicky prompted, once Valentino had left them to get the drinks.
Charles looked startled, like he'd forgotten that was the reason they were even there. “Oh yes, a job. Do you want it?”
Nicky could have banged his head against the table in frustration. What was their deal? “You haven't even told me what it is!”
Leaning towards Nicky, Charles spread his hands out on the table, looking excited. “It's a dangerous job, with little to no recognition for your work. The pay is less than wonderful, but it comes with free accommodation and most importantly, you'll be doing good work. Helpful work, that will benefit all of mankind.”
Nicky folded his arms across his chest suspiciously. “So you're what? Jedi Knights?”
“What's a Jedi Knight?” Walker inquired.
“He's referencing a movie,” Charles supplied helpfully.
“Wait, she doesn't know what Star Wars is? Is she an alien?” Nicky turned to Walker. “Are you an alien?”
She looked sincerely unamused. “I travelled a lot while growing up. I didn't have time to waste on watching crappy movies.”
“Clearly an alien,” he mumbled.
Charles cleared his throat. “We're veering off topic.”
“Yeah, sorry. Just...never seen Star Wars. Jesus.” Nicky shook his head. “So when you say I'll be doing good work, what did you mean? What would I be doing exactly?”
Charles looked pained. “This isn't just any job, Nicky. It's highly confidential. I know this is hard to comprehend, but you must agree to take the job before I can tell you more.”
“Right,” Nicky said slowly. “You want me to agree to a job without knowing the first thing about it?” He was beginning to feel seriously stupid for thinking they might actually have been serious. They were playing him for a fool. He slid his chair backwards with a loud screech and stood up. “You know what, I really don't need this crap. This might be a big joke to you, but I don't see the funny side.”
“This isn't a joke, Nicky,” Charles tried to reassure him. “I assure you we're entirely serious.”
“You know how I know this is a joke? Because if you were actually hiring me, then you would've looked into my past, and no one in their right mind would even think about hiring me if they knew about the things I'd done.”
Valentino chose that moment to scurry back over with their drinks. He looked an awful lot like he wanted to join them, and Nicky suspected that he might be a part of whatever scam they were pulling. Charles sent him away with just a look. He turned back to Nicky and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “You think we don't know about your past?”
“No—”
“Nicolas Pierce,” Walker spoke up, sounding oh so bored. She dipped her index finger into her water and began to run the tip slowly around the rim of her glass, causing a low humming sound. “Born to Nadia and Holden Pierce in Los Angeles, California. Moved to New York City at the age of eighteen instead of going to collage, worked at Jackson's Bar—under age, I might add—for a year before joining a ridiculously named band. Started taking drugs, band disbanded, moved on to selling drugs and ultimately being arrested and sentenced to seven years in jail. A harsh sentence, considering it was a first offence, but an example was being set.” Her voice was monotone, and she sounded like she could have been reading bullet points off a note card, like he wasn't even a real person standing right there. He cleared his throat and she finally looked at him. “After the trial, however, you and your escorts were intercepted as you travelled to your jail by agents sent from an underground government organization. You were moved to a different facility, where you were told you were part of a special programme and you were being given one year to work with agents to turn yourself around and become a productive member of society.” She sat back in her chair, looking smug. “And now here you are, one year later and three weeks out of prison.”
Nicky sat back down in his chair with a thud, his mouth hanging open. He blinked, feeling utterly confused and more than a little bit freaked out. “Who are you people? How do you know all that?”
“We're agents of the organization that had your sentence reduced by six years, so you might want to can the attitude and show us a little thanks.”
“Walker...” Charles warned. “Easy.”
“I don't understand.” Nicky rubbed his hands over his face. “No one would ever answer my questions about why I was there. Why I'd been chosen. Will you tell me?”
“If you agree to take the job, we'll explain everything.”
“Why would you have my sentence reduced? Why me? What did you have to gain by doing that?”
“We already told you,” Charles answered gently. “We want you to work for us. We gave you a year, and you impressed us.”
“But why? The only things I've ever been any good at are mixing drinks and playing drums. Why do you want me to work for you?”
Charles smiled and cocked his head. There was something about the way he looked at him that sent chills down Nicky's spine. “Because you're a Shadow Guide.”
NICKY HAD BEEN just three years old when he'd seen his very first shadow person. His Grandpappy had died only a couple of days before and Nicky had been really sad, although he hadn't really understood why. All he'd known was that his mom was crying a lot and his dad was busy arranging the funeral and that he really, really missed his Grandpappy. A shadowy figure had sat silently next to him as he'd curled up around Rhiny, his cuddly rhinoceros toy, and stroked his hair, comforting him and making him feel just a little bit less sad.
He'd been so young that he hadn't understood that there was something odd about the comforting shadows; about the strange, faceless beings that held his hand and whispered things in unusual languages. All he'd known was that the shadows weren't there to hurt him, and he definitely didn't want them to go away.
And when he'd first started talking about the shadows to his parents, they'd thought nothing of it. He'd been so close to his Grandpappy and they'd just assumed it was a part of his grieving process, like having imaginary friends. But when after a year he was still chattering away to the 'shadows' that they most definitely couldn't see, Nicky's parents began to worry that maybe losing his Grandpappy had affected him more than they'd originally thought.
At the time, Nicky couldn't grasp why they reacted so strangely. The shadows were his friends. Why didn't they like his friends?
But as he grew older and his parents became more concerned over his imaginary shadows, Nicky began to realize that maybe the shadows weren't normal. Maybe he wasn't normal. He started to pretend that he couldn't see them, and this appeared to reassure his parents. It made his mom happy, and all he wanted was to make his mom happy. She hadn't been the same since Grandpappy had died. She was sadder, frailer.
After a while, Nicky began to hate the shadows. He just wanted to be normal, and normal people didn't see talking shadows. He was a freak. The shadows made him a freak.
It was a couple of years before he realized that the longer he ignored them, the less often they came to him. By the time he was a teenager, he had stopped seeing them altogether. He convinced himself that they'd all been a figment of his childish imagination. That he'd just been a crazy kid with a few too many screws missing in his brain.
He never allowed himself to think about how much he missed the shadows once they were gone.
“I HAVE NO idea what you're talking about,” Nicky lied to Charles.
It was obvious that Charles could see right through his lie. “Is that so? You're happy to pretend you can't see them, then?”
Nicky shot a quick glance over to the corner of the room where a shadowy figure had been slowly swaying to soft music ever since he and Walker had entered the restaurant. The shadows were drawn to music, he'd noticed that right from the beginning. He looked away and stared down at his shaking hands. It scared him how easily Charles was able to read him. “Look,” he hissed. “I haven't seen a shadow since I was a kid, okay
?”
He was starting to wonder just how powerful the 'government organization' that Charles and Walker belonged to actually was. How could they know all of the secret, hidden things about him? The only people who'd ever known that he saw shadows were his parents and the doctor they'd had him talk to when he was a kid. Nicky highly doubted his parents would ever bring up the shadows again, so Charles must have had access to his medical files. He was pretty sure that was illegal.
Charles shot Nicky a cool glare. “I pride myself on my ability to read people, Nicky, and I'd stake my life on the fact that you're being dishonest with me right now.”
“And you were expecting something else? I'm feeling a whole pot/kettle situation going on here.”
“Touché.” Charles' expression softened. “But you should know that we aren't being dishonest with you. We just aren't telling you certain things. Yet.”
“And that's somehow better?”
“Let me take a stab in the dark and suggest that whatever it was that you managed to do to block the shadows out as a child unravelled when you came to the city?” Charles asked, changing the subject back.
There was obviously no point playing coy, Nicky decided. Charles and Walker clearly knew everything about him, and what they didn't know, they were very apt at guessing. He hated that they knew about the freak side of him, the crazy side that he'd always worked so hard to conceal. “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted begrudgingly. He frowned over at the dancing shadow, blaming it, which he supposed was unfair. It was innocent enough as far as shadow people went.
“Well, that's simple enough to understand. This city is such a large place, positively coated in history. So many people have lived and died here. It's no wonder at all that you lost control of your abilities.”
Not for the first time since meeting the strange people, Nicky was truly startled. “Wait...what? What do you mean abilities? Seeing these things ain't no ability. It's just...I just have a few crossed wires in my brain or something.”
Walker's boredom faded for the first time. “You think you're crazy?” She looked saddened by the idea. Nicky was relieved at the show of human emotion, because he'd seriously been staring to think the girl was a robot.
“I see walking, talking shadows. Of course I think I'm crazy.”
“Is that why you began taking drugs?” Charles asked, sounding very matter of fact.
“Nah,” Nicky replied. They wanted to hear the truth? Fine. “At first I started taking them 'cause I was a jumped up douche bag tryna act like a rock star. Everyone around me was doing it, so I decided why the hell not? But then I realized when I took 'em, I couldn't see the shadows no more. I figured it was something to do with the chemicals, so I started taking them more and more.”
“And I assume it was worse when the drugs eventually wore off?”
Nicky nodded, clenching his fists at the memories. “It seemed like the shadows rushed at me the second I started coming down. They were everywhere. I couldn't take it. In the end it got so bad I figured my life would be a whole helluva lot easier if I just never came down at all.”
Charles nodded, as if it all made perfect sense. “I want you to know right now that you are not crazy, Nicky. It saddens me to think you've truly spent your life believing that.”
“You're serious?” His heart began to thud. “You mean they're for real? Not figments of my imagination?”
“Yes, they're real.”
“How do you know? Can you see them too?”
“No—”
“Can she see them?” He pointed a thumb at Walker.
“No, but—”
“Do you know anyone who can see them?”
“Not exactly—”
“Then how the hell do you know I'm not crazy?”
“Because there are others out there who can see the shadows too. But you are the first I've met.”
Startled—and that was only the very tip of his emotional pyramid—Nicky fell silent. Could it be true? Could there be others out there like him? Others who saw the shadows? Was he really not a crazy person? He stared over at the dancing shadow as his thoughts ran deeper.
Charles regarded him with budding enthusiasm. “Do you see one now?”
“Uh...yeah. There's one over in the corner...dancing.”
Charles turned around in his seat and looked at where Nicky was pointing, but of course he couldn't see anything. “Dancing?”
“They like to dance.”
When Charles turned back around to face him, his eyes were wide with excitement. “Nicky, if you accept this job, I give you my word that not only will you get the wage and the accommodation, but my team and I will explain to you everything we know about the shadows. We'll help you to understand them, yourself and your purpose.”
“My purpose?”
“Like I said earlier, you're a Shadow Guide. I can help you to understand what that really means.”
All his life Nicky had felt like a freak, like he'd always had to hide his crazy side. The thought that he really might not be crazy, that there were people who understood him, made his blood race and his heart lift with hope, and it had been so damned long since he had felt hopeful. He'd been confused about the shadows for so many years, and finally an opportunity to understand them was being presented right before him. He'd be insane to say no. Or would he be insane to say yes? “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I'll do it. I'll take the job.”
BEFORE THEY DID anything else, Charles whipped out a batch of confidentiality papers—the guy had obviously been sure about his powers of persuasion—and had Nicky sign and date them. Nicky had been very vocal about his thoughts on how overly dramatic it all was, but Charles promised he would understand the necessity later. He agreed, but only because he was sure he could find and rip the papers up afterwards if he needed to.
“So what now?” Nicky asked. “You gonna blindfold me and take me to your secret hideout?” Maybe he should've been acting less sarcastic with his new boss, or possible murderer—he still wasn't a hundred percent convinced he wasn't being groomed for some cannibalistic cult—but it was hard. It was all so covert, and he was finding it difficult to take seriously.
“Well, we won't blindfold you,” Charles answered solemnly.
Nicky snorted. “Is that your way of saying you have an actual secret hideout? Do you have a stash of Lost Boys in there? With a little flying dude all dressed in green?” He looked at Walker and pointed. “You know, you kind of remind me of someone. Small, bitchy, blonde. Name rhymes with Shtinkerbell.”
Walker shook her head in derision. “We have headquarters, you idiot. And I'm not small. I'm...dainty.”
“Are you using insults to get my attention?” Nicky teased. “Because you know if you wanted me, all you had to do was—”
“We'll take you back to headquarters to meet the rest of the team,” Charles interrupted quickly before their bickering could get out of control. Or possibly before Walker could slug Nicky. She had that kind of violent look about her. “And after that, we'll explain everything else to you.”
“Awesome.” Nicky tossed the rest of his drink down his throat and stood up, eager to get things moving. He was so unbelievably confused and he needed answers. “Let's go.”
They stood with him and Charles dropped a twenty down on the table for the drinks.
Valentino, who had been pretending not to watch them whilst absently polishing the bar, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You take that back, Charlie!” he called out. “You don't pay here, I told you that already. It's on me.”
Charles chuckled and left the twenty on the table where it was. It was obviously a well established ritual for the two. “Come on,” he said to Nicky. And then instead of walking to the front door like Nicky had expected, he strolled over to the kitchen and disappeared inside.
Valentino started swiping at the bar counter with his cloth again, whistling quietly.
“Are you coming?” Walker demanded, befo
re following after Charles.
“I don't know. Where are you going?”
She ignored him as she left the room. Nicky glanced between the door and Valentino, rooted to the spot.
“Maybe you should follow them,” Valentino suggested casually. He didn't look up at Nicky, but there was a little smile on his face.
This time Nicky didn't hesitate.
Valentino's kitchen was just like any other well kept restaurant kitchen. Big, shiny metal appliances, all sparkling clean, large pots bubbling over with spicy, delicious smelling sauces, ready for the early evening diners—if any even showed up.
Charles and Walker were waiting for Nicky by yet another door. Nicky paused when Walker opened it up. He could see nothing on the other side, nothing but inky darkness.
She noticed his hesitance and her expression became pinched. “Get a grip. It just leads down to the wine cellar. Jeez.”
“Why do we need to go down to the wine cellar?” He folded his arms and glared.
“So we can murder you and bury your body down there. Trust me, we'd be doing everyone a favour.”
He scowled fiercely at her and only just managed to stop himself from sticking out his tongue like a petulant child. “You're a catty little thing, ain't ya?”
Charles heaved a long suffering sigh and rubbed at the spot between his eyes. “Please behave, children.”
Walker muttered a quick, forced apology and then disappeared down into the dark wine cellar. Nicky glanced at Charles, who shrugged helplessly. “I'll admit that Walker isn't always easy to get along with,” he said. “But she's very good at her job.”
“And her job is?”
Charles smiled secretively, and nodded towards the door. “After you.”
“Fine,” Nicky muttered. He followed Walker down the stone steps, not without a dark thought or two. He had to hold on to the wall as he descended because he couldn't see a thing. His second, third and forth thoughts about the whole situation were coming back to him with a vengeance. “You'd better not be planning to do unspeakable things to me,” he called out into the darkness. “Because I will not be amused.”