Where Shadows Lie

by J. E. Cammon

  So he redoubled his efforts, remembering everything he was ever told about research and what it was to be a scholar. Almost any sentence or reference in practically any significant historic text had behind it a library’s worth of circumstance, exposition, and context. It was the layman that received the broad generalization and accepted that as truth, but much of what man knows is a glossy finish flush with deeper imperfections. Nick was looking for complete understanding, complete command; he was trying to create his unique brush stroke that would contribute to an enormous creation.

  Over the previous week, he learned the life stories of the security guard who worked at the front desk of the university’s public library and the privateer in charge of the Academy’s stacks. Their titles were different—and salaries too, no doubt—but they really could have been brother and sister. They led lives ripe with memorable detail; there was the focus of Nick’s research.

  One man, old and very long dead, worked for one year and one day, dictating from another man sermonizing on his deathbed. The author took down detailed events that the dying speaker was privy to in his life. If the secondary source was to be believed, the dying man lived a fantastically successful life of which there was no other record. He won fortunes and lost them, forgot more than most men of his time knew, but mostly, the author’s account centered around a rivalry with none other than Julius Caesar. Naturally, things failed to match. Anyone who was so prolific in their own right and lived near another individual whose exploits were so well documented would be easily identified, their accounts authenticated. There was no such rival to Caesar, save for the obvious ones.

  At first Nick was intrigued by the stories the man told to his confessed, and even more so that he knew the secret to Cesar’s power, but then it all fell apart into mad ravings. Sometimes following a strand of thinking yields results, and sometimes those results are a lack of results. Nick rubbed his eyes, channeling Edison’s perseverance, and like every other night, packed up his supplies and departed, waving goodbye to Alan and Gladys and going home by way of one of the eateries still open.

  On his walk home, David came stumbling out of the darkness, bloody and naked. Nick dropped everything in the shock of that sight. He thanked his late night study habits; there were no witnesses to the strange encounter outside of his apartments near campus.

  David went in and out of consciousness several times, mumbling incoherencies. Nick wondered if maybe he would be dictating the last ravings of a dying man that evening, then he remembered the fortitude for which lycanthropes were renowned. Within the hour, his bed sheets were in worse condition than was the man lying atop them. Nick attempted the chore of putting pants on David after he showered off all the blood and hair.

  He was worried when he heard the knock at the door. Maybe one of his neighbors saw David. Nick walked up to the door, piecing together a string of convenient lies. When he opened it, he became much more worried. Scarlet staggered into his apartment, somewhat badly abused herself. He was both encouraged and confused by her wording. They, she said, had a problem.

  Nick tried catching up. “I don’t understand.”

  “Bitch!” David yelled, awake and alert, standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

  Scarlet took a calculated step backwards, reaching into an oddly shaped hip pouch. As if seeing her for the first time, Nick began to notice that she was actually somewhat covered in all sorts of pouches and belts and harnesses. It was a strange fashion decision; the times they spent together before produced no knowledge of that sort of thing being in her closet. She typically wore skirts of varying length and matching button up shirts that could be said to belong to a type of uniform. Her hair was the only thing that looked the same. It was always restrained, kept away from her face and eyes.

  At seeing David, her green eyes narrowed, glancing once at Nick. He was putting things together slowly, but sleep deprivation could not dull the impression in the pit of his stomach that danger was near.

  “Woah,” he said, in an attempt to get himself talking so he could, eventually, get a handle on the situation. “Woah.” It came out again, as if he felt the need to repeat himself.

  “Why is he here, Nick?” Scarlet asked in an authoritative way that demanded he answer. She produced a handgun from the pouch and efficiently cocked it.

  “What?”

  “Nick,” David said, limping forward, looming. “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna mess up your pretty girlfriend’s face.”

  Somehow, Scarlet knew who and what David was. Nick stepped between them. His hands were up, like he tried to surrender to both people at the same time. He turned from one to the other.

  Nick swallowed and tried speaking again. “Let’s everyone calm down. Could you not point that at me?” He pleaded, the sudden urge to not be shot forcing words out of his mouth.

  David’s grip shocked him, as the man’s hands dug into the muscles of his arms. Nick repressed a small yelp.

  “Yeah,” David’s voice came from behind him. “Put that down so we can talk.” There was something in his voice that made Nick thankful that he couldn’t see his eyes.

  Scarlet readjusted her aim, straightening her elbow, and took a step back. Nick watched the compassion drain from her expression.

  “Not going to happen.” Her eyes were darting all around, searching for an opening to fire. “Let him go.”

  “I’ll trade you Nick for the gun,” came David’s reply.

  Nick tried flexing his fingers to test if he could still feel them. David stepped forward, half pushing, half lifting him. Nick looked down at the dried blood on David’s hands, outlining his fingernails. The barrel of Scarlet’s gun increased disproportionately; he leaned his head backwards to make it smaller, or maybe dodge even while being held.

  “Oh God, please…” He trailed off, suddenly unaware of how to finish that sentence. David was, technically, his friend, but a different technicality tethered him to the woman with the gun. “This is ridiculous.” He tried shouting. “Stop! Look, you’re both hurt, and I’m pretty sure I’m hurt, or going to be hurt.” He stopped talking when David tightened his grip and he felt it all the way to the bone. Nick’s head sagged forward as he blacked out for a second.

  “Why have you been snooping around my apartment?” David snarled.

  Scarlet took another calculated step towards the door. “I hunt anathema. You,” she retorted simply.

  There was a low guttural sound behind Nick that he heard before.

  “Sorry Nick, I don’t think you two are going to make it,” David said, his voice going deeper.

  Scarlet’s eyes met Nick’s for the briefest of moments, and then he was sailing towards her. The next seconds were filled with rough impacts and scrambling. One moment, he was looking into those angry green eyes, and then his head snapped backwards and he was looking at the ceiling as he was flying across the room. Scarlet broke his fall, though Nick imagined it was not her intent to catch him. In the middle of their tangled tumble, she separated herself and tried to get to her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  David stepped forward, roughly striking her. She dropped the gun, both her hands clamping around her throat even as she fell to the floor. Nick watched David kick her roughly in the side. The impact sent her flying into the kitchen; she landed neatly in the square area above the stove beneath the microwave. Nick winced. Then he realized he was in pain, too. He pushed himself to his knees and then to his wobbly feet.

  Scarlet, fighting unconsciousness, started to slowly unfold from her crumpled position. Nick watched in horror as David lifted his sofa and slammed it onto the island in the kitchen, aiming the mass oddly. It looked like he was lining up a shot in pool.

  Nick wasn’t sure how he got in the way, or what strange biological impulse would demand as much. He sprang fully in the way, trying to save the nail by laying on it, as it were, and was ce
rtifiably hammered for his trouble. The weighty sectional slammed into him with a solid thud. There was an explosion of a variety of sensations: the fluffy cotton of the sofa and its solid wooden frame beneath, the comfort of Scarlet’s hands at his shoulders, and the impact.

  Nick couldn’t be completely sure, but he thought he heard David’s voice ring out, ironic.

  “Dammit, Nick.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Nick.” Swimming. He was swimming. “Nick, come on. Wake up. There you go.” He shifted, feeling the wool of the couch at his back, itching through his clothes. His left arm was pinned. The voice was David’s, but at the thought of being restrained, Nick panicked. “What are you doing? Stop it.” All the lightning-fast jerking he thought he was doing in his unconscious haze was apparently more like infantile groaning and swatting.

  Nick opened his eyes wide, but his vision remained blurry. Finally, he could make out the detail of David’s face. He also realized that his arm wasn’t broken or detached, but simply pinned against the back of the couch. A thought occurred to him: didn’t David hit him with the couch he was laying on? He looked up at the half naked man, ready to jab him with that very question, and thought for a moment.

  “Where’s Scarlet?” was what came out of his mouth.

  David turned away from him, mumbling something he couldn’t quite make out. When David moved out of his view, he could make out Scarlet’s slumped form against one of the dining room chairs, which she was fastidiously affixed to with several feet of tape. Nick watched David creep over to her, noticing how much more spring was in his step.

  “She’s alive?” Nick asked, remembering his worry from before. He shifted painfully on the couch to get a better view. He was very unaccustomed to diagnosing his own injuries.

  “Yeah, the two of you have been out for a bit,” David said, poking at her face with an index finger. “Luckily, you had some tape.” He gestured to the empty spool on the floor.

  Scarlet came awake with a sudden jerk, writhing against her bindings for a moment before she finally realized with what tenacity she was restrained.

  David snatched up the empty spool and happily brandished it in her face. “That’s right. Holds the universe together.”

  Nick tried sitting up, and settled for resting on his elbows at the urging of the pain in his midsection. “I think we need to talk,” he said.

  David stepped away from Scarlet and turned his head to face him. “This should be good,” he said.

  Nick rolled his eyes, trying to swing himself into a sitting position. His legs stirred lazily. “I meant all of us,” he said, pressing himself up into a full sit. “It’s my hope that all of this is a huge misunderstanding.”

  David extended an index finger. “Fine. Exhibit A: She tried to kill me. She shot me, with a gun.” He moved around the couch toward the kitchen. He brought back a few things. “This is the gun, or was; I think it fits together in some sort of way.” He paused to demonstrate. “I think I broke it.”

  Nick could tell she tried to repress it, but the quietest of exasperated noises escaped from behind the tape strapped over Scarlet’s mouth. Nick hid a smile behind a grimace as he rotated to set his feet on the floor.

  “I think I need to go to a hospital,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was just saying that. He was in pain, but somehow, he also felt fine. It was like he was outside of himself. Maybe he had a concussion, too.

  “Oh, man up,” David grumbled.

  Nick’s mouth dropped open. He interrupted David’s next statement away with a gesture. “Can you please take the tape off of her mouth?” he asked. “Without her agreement to a peaceful resolution, you’ll either have to leave or smear a blood splotch on one of my favorite chairs.” He was only half joking, and he hoped the statement discouraged any insanity from Scarlet.

  David wavered only for a moment, before shrugging and peeling away the tape beneath Scarlet’s nose. To his credit, he didn’t snatch or pull at the tape. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her eyes stared daggers at, surprisingly, the both of them.

  “What’re you mad at me for?” Nick asked openly.

  David roughly turned her chair to face Nick, then took a seat in the recliner and kicked his feet up noisily like he was about to watch a movie.

  “How can you call yourself a member of the Academy,” she began, adjusting her gaze to take in David, “and allow this creature to persist?”

  She waited for an answer that he didn’t have. Nick realized he didn’t want to tell her how they met and that suddenly her judgment mattered.

  “I saved his life,” David offered. Nick tried not to send him a signal that he didn’t want that known, but he wagered enough was revealed in that look alone. “I noticed you have some snacks here. Either of you want anything?” David tumbled sideways out of the chair and skipped over into the kitchen.

  Scarlet’s expression made it clear she was awaiting an explanation.

  “It’s true,” Nick sighed. “I owe him my life.” He owed it to the vampire too, but he thoroughly hoped she didn’t know about Jarvis.

  He could see that she was reevaluating things in her mind. When they met, Nick was one thing to her, and all his character and potential were decided upon and carefully put away into a file. Now that file was open and she was making addendum.

  Nick supposed he was doing the same thing with her. A dream of his died, he realized, while he wasn’t paying it any attention. Nick thought her just a girl.

  “You owe me your reputation too,” David offered from the kitchen through a mouth full of chips.

  Nick sighed and groaned.

  “You might as well tell me. I’ll find out the truth eventually,” Scarlet said.

  Nick heard David gag. The humor wasn’t lost on him, either. He managed to stand up without shaking too much.

  “You’re duct taped to a chair,” he began, wincing slightly. “With an entire roll of tape, as far as I can tell. I don’t see this working unless you can cartwheel through a window while in a seated position without the use of your arms or legs.” He paused, then shifted to a deeper level of sincerity that he didn’t completely intend to reach. “Who are you?” he asked her. Nick thought that maybe for a moment the sharpness in her eyes wavered.

  “I’m a hunter,” her reply was quiet, like a concession.

  There was more crunching from the kitchen. “We got that already,” David said, walking up with an arm elbow-deep in a bag. “What does that even mean? You have a license to kill or something?”

  “Yes.” Then she zipped up again.

  David stopped chewing. “That’s actually pretty neat.” For a moment, Nick could only stare at him. “Alright, look,” David continued. “I don’t know what I did, or what you think I did, and I think as long as that’s the basis on which,” he gestured with the bag from Scarlet to himself, “this happened, I can let a bygone be a bygone.” He paused, questioning his usage. Nick questioned his usage, too. “I can forgive fairly easily, normally.”

  “You killed my partners,” she spat.

  David took a step backwards as if struck. “I did not.”

  “You didn’t?” Nick wished the words back into his mouth but they wouldn’t go.

  David looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “No,” he said pointedly. “I did not.”

  Nick turned his attention on the seated woman with the green eyes. “Well, good. See?” He begged with his eyes. “A total misunderstanding.”

  “Hm. Okay, I might have killed one of them,” David thought out loud; he didn’t sound sure.

  “What in the hell, David,” Nick yelled, and gestured such that he tweaked his back. He recalled every argument he ever heard about cursing being a character of the unintelligent.

  “Hey, you weren’t there. It was self-defense,” David said. He looked aw
ay from Nick and kept going before he could interrupt, “If that was some sort of payback for some other action, then I’m not the guy. I don’t start fights.” While he spoke, he leaned forward to get at eye level with Scarlet. Then he stood back up to his short height, addressing Nick, “I finish them.”

  The exchange wasn’t lost on Scarlet, who was working things over in her mind. Nick saw it in her eyes, which seemed at times fixed on him, and at others drifting about the room. He threw a casual glance back toward the kitchen and could see the contents of her various pouches and holsters spread out onto the small island. There were strange devices, knives, and all sorts of things in between.

  They all seemed content to let the next few moments pass on in silence. Nick decided that he was definitely beholden to David who saved his life and did not lie to him as far as he could tell, but could admit a strong desire to see Scarlet free and unharmed, no matter what that meant for his future, or David’s. Nick worked through the various scenarios, and sadly, kept running across a convenient explanation that involved yet another person he was beholden to. Being objective, or fair, was becoming difficult.

  “Given up, yet?” David asked suddenly.

  Nick stared between the two of them, confused. Scarlet didn’t reply in the affirmative or negative but relaxed slightly.

  “She’s stopped stirring under there,” David said to him, as if that were an explanation. “Okay, this is important. You admit that I could twist your head off at my leisure?” He put a finger up, inches from her face, then waved it side to side. “I’m not, because it was an honest mistake. Plus, Nick here wants you to have his babies.” Nick cringed inwardly, but hoped he just looked confused on the surface. “So, I’m going to turn you loose, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me, or kick me, or stab me, or anything.”

  It was an elementary argument, but it worked. Scarlet replied with a slow nod, and David released her. The chair was ruined, but with no blood lingering behind. Nick remembered that Scarlet was injured when she arrived, but strangely she was mostly in working order save for some obvious bruising. She seemed as much in shock about the last ten minutes as he was over the entire evening. Peeking at the microwave clock, he saw that it was nearing dawn.