Line in the Shadow

by Clancy Nacht

  Ike only knew about it because she’d needed his help once. He’d left the messages for Kevin when she worried their dad was following her.

  Ike shook his head to free himself of the memories and met his mother’s gaze. “I can think of one big truth you wish I’d kept secret. It’s hard to know what you want me to lie about.”

  “Well, that’s just basic decency! Being gay is damaging to the family, and it’s hardly doing you any good! Acting like it’s something to be proud of. Would you be proud of gonorrhea? Of course not! Would you go around telling everyone? No! You’d seek treatment discreetly.” Adelaide tucked her skirt beneath her more firmly and then sipped her cocoa as if she’d made a valid argument.

  Ike snapped before he could stop himself. “I wouldn’t know how you treat gonorrhea; I’ve never had it. Good to know how you handled it.”

  His mother bristled and plunged onward. “And don’t pretend Sylvia turned out the way she did because of church. She was brought up to respect her parents and her community, but when she... When the accident happened, the police asked us and asked us if she’d been to see us. It wasn’t just that nice Officer Erickson who lives down at the end of the cul-de-sac, either, like when we had the break-in. It was four or five different officers, and they just couldn’t seem to believe our daughter would drive all the way up here, turn around, and go back home without ever stopping to say hi to her mother! It was shameful. I was humiliated.”

  Before she could continue, Ike held up his hand. “Wait, Sylvia came up here and didn’t talk to you?”

  Adelaide stared at Ike, seeming too offended to speak. She sipped her cocoa and turned her head to look out the window as if Ike wasn’t even there. Finally, she said, “I don’t know why she didn’t just stay the night. If she was too tired to drive back to the city, she could have just slept in her old room. Just the one night, Ike, and she’d still be alive. I don’t know why she...”

  A soft choking sound heralded a full-blown sob a few seconds later. Adelaide looked at Ike with eyes brimming with tears. “Why didn’t either of you love me back? Am I so bad it’s better to die on the road than spend one night under my roof?”

  That single tear down her face swept away all Ike’s anger and defiance. He rushed over and wrapped his arms around her.

  “She did love you. I love you, Mom. It wasn’t her aim to die on the road. It’s just hard sometimes because we want you to love us, too, but you don’t seem to like things about us, and it hurts even more because you’re our mom.”

  He squeezed her and wondered why it took five officers to interrogate his parents. As far as Ike knew, the matter was ruled an accident; there’d have been no reason to keep asking about it. “What were the names of the other officers that came by? Do you remember? I can ask them why they were bothering you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, honey. It’s been ages ago.” Adelaide sounded flustered, but she clung to Ike gratefully and kissed his brow. “One didn’t even come to the door! He was in the backyard when the neighbor’s dog—you know the one, that ancient cockerpoo with the shrill voice who’s older than dirt and will outlive all of us—started yapping. Your father went out to see what the fuss was. He thought it was a squirrel, but there was an officer in the yard!”

  As Ike absorbed that information, Adelaide stroked his hair and whispered, “Ike, my baby, please understand that I love you. If I didn’t love you so much, I wouldn’t fight so hard to make you do right.”

  She gazed into Ike’s eyes pleadingly. “I want my boy happy. Have you ever been happy living that way?”

  “Do you think I’d be happier being with a woman that I don’t love, could never want in that way? Do you think she’d be happy with that?” Ike sighed, enjoying the affection from his mother but seeing their disconnect so clearly and unable to build a bridge there. “I’m happy raising Kaylee. That’s all that really matters.”

  An officer in the yard who didn’t even talk to them? That was so strange. The town was small enough that his parents would or should know every officer by name. “Were you angry with Sylvia for not staying the night? Is that why you didn’t go to her funeral?”

  “It hurt. After everything we did for her, after all I tried to... We just wanted to be part of Kaylee’s life! Sylvia had gotten so closed off. It was like she’d become a stranger. Then she left Kaylee to you.” Adelaide inhaled deeply through her nostrils and let out a shaky breath. Then she seemed to shake it off. “She knew I wanted that baby. She knew how badly I wanted Kaylee to live with us, even before what happened. Then she died because she wouldn’t even stay the night, and I...”

  Adelaide gave Ike a heartbroken look. “I regret it now. I wish I’d done anything other than what I did. But at the time, it felt like Sylvia wouldn’t have wanted me there.”

  Before Ike could respond or try to comfort her, Adelaide had moved on. She stood and dabbed her eyes with her apron. “Anyway, I recall maybe that officer in the yard told your father his name was...Barnes. Trevor maybe? Turner? Taylor? Something. Now you go run hide before Lincoln can see me sniffling and start in on you. I’m going to...have a talk with him about relaxing our attitude toward you keeping Kaylee. Maybe we can just enjoy having our son home for the holiday without all the bickering.”

  For that, at least, Ike was grateful, even if it was because now he’d explained to her taking care of Kaylee kept him from having much of a life.

  But then there was the other part of what she said. Barnes.

  Barnes.

  That name. That was the name of the man who’d stabbed Ike. Turner Barnes.

  Why would Turner Barnes be out in his parents’ back yard and then stab Ike years later? It wasn’t such a common name that it could’ve been coincidence.

  No, there was something bigger going on. Maybe that was why Rex cut him loose.

  Or maybe that’s why Rex was with him in the first place. Something about his sister.

  Ike had always assumed his parents hadn’t attended Sylvia’s funeral because she’d come out here and had a fight with them before she died. But apparently she’d come all the way out here and not spoken with them at all. Had she driven out here to talk to them and then changed her mind?

  Doubtful. She wasn’t the sort of person to show up when a phone call would do.

  Bugs in his apartment. A CIA man who’d tried to kill him. And that same CIA agent had been right there in the Graveses’ back yard.

  Ike’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. They were looking for something. They had to be. The only reason for Sylvia to come all the way out here would be to hide something, that same something Turner Barnes must’ve been looking for.

  Turner Barnes didn’t know Sylvia like Ike did. If she had something worth hiding, he had a pretty good idea where she would’ve stashed it.

  Ike took out his phone and set it on the table. He wasn’t entirely sure how to shake a tail if he had one, but he did know that he’d be easy enough to watch if he had a GPS on him.

  Adelaide watched him with a curious expression, no doubt wondering why he’d sunk into a reverie. He manufactured a grin for her.

  “You go talk to Dad, keep an eye on Kaylee for me. My legs are kinda cramped from the long drive. I’m going to have a quick walk.”

  Adelaide gave Ike a wan smile and nodded. She appeared to want to say something more, but then she shook her head. Before either could speak, Adelaide enthusiastically greeted Kaylee in the other room and then Kaylee peered around Adelaide to lock gazes with Ike. He gave her a thumb up to let her know he was all right and then headed out the door.

  Ike’s breath emerged as a thin fog. Though it was cold enough for snow and humidity thickened the air, the ground was clear of snow. He pulled on his gloves and knit cap, careful to tuck his ears underneath, and ventured out.

  The intervening years hadn’t altered much in the neighborhood, though the world beyond it had changed dramatically. Their house was the same colonial. White. Dark green shutters. Ameri
can flag hanging proudly above the door that bore a holly wreath.

  Tree limbs stood in dark contrast to the gray sky. There were rows of houses much like his. Some red brick, others in moderate colors of grey and beige. Tasteful and not-so-tasteful Christmas decorations stood dim, waiting for the dark to illuminate. Cars lined the streets and packed the driveways, but outside was completely quiet. Not so much as a smoker watching him.

  Even so, with so many cars, Ike could hardly tell if someone watched from one. The best and only way he knew to flush out anyone following him was to take a winding path as he walked in the general direction of the short bridge that took cars over one of the neighborhood’s many culverts. He listened hard for the sound of a motor or footsteps.

  Crossing the road toward the park, Ike flashed back to his attack.

  Rex was nowhere around, and if Ike got into trouble out here, he had no secret agent man to shoot anyone in the head. He took a deep breath and tried to ground himself, to push away the memories of that night.

  Lincoln owned a gun. If Ike had been smart, he could’ve asked to borrow it. The old man probably would’ve been thrilled Ike showed an interest. Too late for that now.

  Oh well, if Ike died out here, at least his mother wouldn’t be able to complain he hadn’t stopped by.

  No. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t leave Kaylee to his parents’ tender mercies. Softened as his mother seemed, her—their—expectations were monumental, and the pressure was beyond endurance.

  Ike stopped where he was and listened. No footfalls crunching dead leaves. No soft purr of a motor. No whoomp-whoomp of helicopters. There didn’t appear to be a soul out. Not for a walk, certainly not watching him.

  He walked a circuit around the park, passing by the public bathrooms where he’d lost his virginity to an older man in their church, one of Lincoln’s friends. Ike paused by the door and listened, half-expecting to hear grunts or soft whispers. Nothing. Too early in the day for a convivial meeting on the down low.

  He checked his watch; maybe in twelve hours.

  Ike sighed, imagining that by now the older men in the public bathrooms would be the same boys from school whose gazes had lingered on him, the same boys who shoved him against the lockers and called him names.

  The old high school was still there, but it had been outgrown; according to the sign out front, it now housed the middle school. Ike paused in the corner of the lot, his favored spot to park and smoke pot with his friends. Back then he was known as a stoner and a “music fag.” His mother had been so alarmed when he grew his hair out below the collar—in her estimation, a sure sign of trouble to come.

  At the time, it had made him a real chick magnet. What a big rebel he must have seemed with his long hair, smelling of pot, and carrying his guitar. Mini rock god.

  He hadn’t been bullied as much as some of the others; Ike had been tall and broad shouldered even then. Even so, the names and whispers had worn on him. He’d kept to his own group and coped with the weed and his odd couplings in the park, even if it had never been enough.

  In some respects, Ike’s life hadn’t changed much. He was still alone. It got better, sure; no one was actively bullying him on a daily basis. People didn’t say things to his face like they had in school. No. Now the hits were much more dehumanizing and came from people he couldn’t strike back at.

  Better. Sure.

  How many of his graduating class still lived here? He’d been on social networks briefly. Tons of people he didn’t want to remember had attempted to friend him and he’d ignored them. Now he almost wished he’d paid more attention.

  Hopefully there’d be plenty of time for that.

  With no sign of a tail, Ike wound his way back to the bridge at the rear of the neighborhood. Years ago, Sylvia had bought one of those plastic rocks people used to hide their spare keys, and she’d bolted it to the top of one of the girders where the ground met the bottom of the bridge. Would it still be there? Between floods and erosion and people…

  His heart sank. What had seemed so clever thirty minutes ago now seemed incredibly simple-minded. Surely CIA Sylvia had more and better hiding places than a fake rock from childhood.

  Ike crossed the bridge and looked down into the culvert. It looked steeper now, likely from floods that had happened since he’d last been here; it had to have been a decade ago.

  Yet, when he crawled down, there it was, the fake rock lodged in the crook of the ditch and the bottom of the bridge. The side of the bridge bore no apparent graffiti, but underneath many nonsensical illustrations and barely comprehensible names tagged the concrete with poor technique.

  Ike leaned against the side of the culvert for balance and stretched up to wrap his fingers around the back of the plastic rock. When he pressed it, a little click indicated the latch still worked. Ike’s heart raced as he pried open the door open by feel. Just because the rock was here didn’t mean that there was anything inside it… Right?

  The cold, slimy insides made his skin crawl. Water. Mold probably. Or something worse. Ike winced and jerked away his hand as his fingers brushed something inside. Instinctively he examined his fingers for bite marks.

  Nothing but perhaps spores of green mold. Ike took a fortifying breath. Wussing out over slime was ridiculous. He’d changed diapers; his hands had been in worse.

  Praying it wasn’t something lethal in there, Ike slipped his fingers back inside the rock with more determination, probing until he felt the shape of something sharp and smooth. A packet probably the size of his thumb. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it out.

  In the shadows under the bridge, he couldn’t tell what it was beyond a thin rectangle wrapped in glossy plastic. Ike stepped out into the sunlight and squinted as he rubbed the slime off the object and then turned it over in his hand. Encased in sealed plastic was a flash drive.

  The USB drive burned a hole in Ike’s pocket throughout Christmas Eve celebrations. His parents had no computer, but he got through the night by hoping maybe on Christmas morning he could swipe Kaylee’s tablet and see what was on there.

  No such luck.

  USB technology was apparently already outmoded according to Apple, so Ike spent the rest of the day ignoring sideways compliments and his parents’ suggestions that, if he wasn’t seeing anyone anyway, he might as well find a nice woman. To his great surprise, it was Kaylee who decided she’d had enough and told them to shut it. Ike was apparently too distracted to notice her agitation, let alone his own feelings on the matter. What normally would have set his teeth to grinding had become just so much background noise.

  What was on the drive? Was this why he was attacked? If it was, was he putting them all in danger now just having it?

  And what was he going to do with it?

  If it proved important, he knew only one person who could do anything about it—a person who didn’t want to see Ike anymore.

  Not to mention that Ike had no idea how to find Rex. The CIA didn’t exactly advertise the location of their field offices. He could make a couple of educated guesses, but what if that just drew attention to the drive? Who could he trust?

  But he still had Rex’s email address, even if the burner phones would all be long dead. Considering how much Rex seemed to love Ike’s music, maybe he’d continue to check that addy. It probably wasn’t secure, though. Ike had no clue about that sort of communication. What he did know was that he’d sent Rex large files before: mp3s.

  Pleading Kaylee’s irritability, Ike got them out of there halfway through Christmas Day, just after lunch. The entire way home, Ike checked around them incessantly, trying to make certain they weren’t being followed, and when they got home, Ike peered out the windows to double check they were alone.

  “You do know you’re turning into Vincent, right?” Kaylee had crossed her arms around her iPad. She still looked irritated about her grandparents, but she wasn’t letting go of her loot.

  Ike turned around and smiled. “Did you read the new X-Men?�
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  She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go into the kitchen and make myself a tin foil hat. Do you want one?”

  “I’ll join you. Gotta put away these leftovers anyway.”

  “Grandma is a good cook, I’ll say that for her.”

  Instead of heading to the kitchen, Kaylee took her tablet to her room, leaving Ike to unpack the food.

  Did Vincent have a point? There were any number of ways the government could be watching Ike without him even knowing it. For all he knew, his computer was being monitored. His emails. His phone tapped. Warrantless wiretapping had been a huge subject in the news some years ago. At the time, Ike hadn’t think much of it. Who would tap his wire?

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  What he did know was that he needed to see what was on the drive and get that info to someone who could use it.

  After double-checking that Kaylee was in her room, Ike sat at his computer, fired it up, and then plugged in the USB. The files inside were encrypted. Ike’s computer lacked the key to interpret the data, but the names of the encrypted files stopped Ike’s heart. Oliver Broekner. Turner Barnes. There were two other names that he didn’t know: Simon Rebelski and Isaac Hawthorne.

  Wasn’t Sylvia dating a Simon? He was at her funeral, wasn’t he? The name sounded familiar, but it was so long ago. Ike had never heard of Isaac Hawthorne, but they had to be connected in some way.

  Ike was no computer hacker. Vincent didn’t even own a computer. Kaylee might figure out how to crack it, but Ike wanted her as far away from it as he could manage.

  There was only one thing to do. He just hoped Rex would come through one last time.

  Ike right-clicked the file folder and zipped the files together. He changed the zip’s name to, “sylviasSong” and changed the format extension to mp3. Obviously it wouldn’t play. Hopefully that would prompt Rex to solve the puzzle.