Out of the Shadows

by Timothy Boyd

  Why am I here? Oh yes – I remember hearing classical music, the semi in front of me beginning to swerve, slamming my brakes as hard as I can, horns honking as my car veers into oncoming traffic, swerving, screaming, not quick enough, fierce collision as metal torques, soaring through the air, up down up down up I’m spinning, my car crashes down onto the highway. I remember seeing blood, sparks, twisted metal. Now, I hear a nurse talking. “Someone from the other car didn’t make it. He had massive internal hemorrhaging and when…” but I block out the rest, having difficulty coming to grips with the fact that I’ve killed a man, I’ve killed a man, I’ve killed a man…

  “I’ve killed a man,” I mumbled.

  “Miss, are you all right? Can you hear me?”

  “I’ve killed a man,” I mumbled again, my eyes focusing on the large group of people hovering over me.

  Above, I saw the gray sky and felt the chill of the pavement under my back. I was lying in the street, exactly where I had fallen after being struck by the taxicab.

  “Did you say… you killed a man?” one of the gentlemen asked hesitantly.

  My brain was confused, and I slowly sat up, feeling the nauseating dizziness take over my body. Suppressing the urge to vomit, I slowly scraped myself from the ground.

  “Ma’am, your head,” a woman said, handing me a tissue.

  I felt a sticky warmth on the side of my face. I dabbed my head tenderly, and sure enough, a few inches above my temple, a large gash had forced a trail of blood down my cheek, although it didn’t seem to be life threatening.

  “Miss, I don’t think you should be moving,” the tissue woman advised.

  My mind swirled with overstimulation. I looked around, trying to get my bearings.

  “Miss?”

  “No, I think I’m fine,” I replied.

  I noticed a nearby man on his cell phone, eyeing me suspiciously. “Hello, officer?” he said into the phone. “There’s been an accident. A car hit a woman, and…” he trailed off, noticing my stare. I saw his gaze shamefully flicker away from me, and I swore I heard him say, “…says she killed a man.”

  The boy!

  There he stood, past the gawking crowd, eyeing me plainly, as if suggesting it were time to stop dilly-dallying and get moving.

  I tried to step toward him but immediately noticed the discomfort in my ankle – probably a sprain. Most of my muscles were aching, and the wound on my head stung fiercely.

  I hobbled slowly toward the specter when the man on the phone called out to me, “Miss, don’t leave! You should wait for the police to arrive!” But I ignored him; it was my own fault I’d been hit, so I didn’t plan to press charges against the driver. Instead, I continued toward the boy, who had turned away from me again, headed down the sidewalk to some unknown location.

  As I limped up onto the concrete, I vaguely heard the man on the phone utter urgently, “She’s leaving! Should I do something?!” But my focus was squarely on the ghost, back on track once more.

  I cringed and clenched my teeth through the throbbing pain as I made my way through on-looking crowds. I wasn’t far behind him now, and the closer I became, the more I felt that some great epiphany would present itself to me, and my life would once more be filled with passion.

  Now, more than ever, I knew I had to discover what the boy needed me to know!

  I turned one last corner and stopped; he was gone! I frantically looked around, wishing I had a name I could call out. To have come this far only to lose track of him was maddening!

  I jumped slightly, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket. Assuming it was my boss wondering where I was, I ignored the call.

  There!

  Across the street, I spotted the shaggy hair heading into the subway station below. I quickly crossed and followed him down the steps onto the train platform. We stood, side by side, in silence. I knew he would not be able to answer any of my questions, so asking them would be futile, not to mention I’d look crazy to everyone else. For now, I would go where he led me.

  We boarded the next subway that roared into the station, heading southwest out of the city.

  * * *

  My body flickered with anticipation as we exited the train and entered a suburban neighborhood outside of the city. As we walked, I felt the urge to reach down and hold the boy’s hand, letting him know that I would do whatever I could to bring him peace. But I honestly wasn’t sure if he had the power to allow physical contact. The dead walked on the ground, so some kind of force allowed them to stay rooted in our world.

  The trees were skeletal and bare, and a light dusting of snow remained on the grass from last week’s precipitation. Despite the dreary atmosphere, I felt warmth and hope, like the two of us were marching toward redemption.

  He looked up at me, his dull hazel eyes locking with mine for a moment, and I knew he was letting me know that we were almost there – wherever that may be.

  Feeling my phone vibrate once more, I retrieved it; the screen was shattered, and as I pushed a button to answer the call, I realized it was broken beyond repair. Despondently, I slipped it back into my pocket.

  It wasn’t until I took another few hobbled steps that I realized the boy was no longer at my side. I stopped and spun around. There he was, standing a few feet behind me, staring at the wide one-story complex before us.

  Northridge Elementary School.

  My heart sank with the vivid reminder that this wasn’t just a dead person with me. It was a child. Suppressing the lump in my throat, I swallowed a few times and took a deep breath to calm myself. I saw the empty playground behind the tan-brick school and wondered how many times this boy had swung on those swings, how many times he’d fallen off the monkey bars and scraped his knee, how many young girls he’d picked on because he wasn’t sure how to properly tell them he had feelings for them.

  A tear rolled down my cheek.

  I took another calming breath. “Is this where you went to school?” I asked him.

  This time, when he looked at me, I noticed an incredible sorrow in his face that was almost unbearable, like he were pleading with me to do something for him, and yet I didn’t know what.

  He raised his arm and pointed at the building.

  “Is there something in there you want me to see?”

  He looked at me once more, and then slowly, like the end of a melancholic song fading into silence, he disappeared.

  I stood alone now, not having any idea what it was that I was supposed to find within his old school. It was still morning, so classes were sure to be in session, which was good and bad. Good because the hallways would be relatively clear; bad because the school was filled with people. I wondered if waiting until after work to follow the boy (assuming he would have presented himself to me then) would have offered a better opportunity to sneak in through a window or something.

  But here I was, so in I went.

  I stepped inside onto the speckled tile floor and looked around at my options. The front of the building was one long hallway that ended on each side with a wing of classrooms. At the center of this hallway was the main office, flanked on either side by display cases presenting awards, trophies, pictures, and other school paraphernalia.

  I headed left down the hall and past the office. As I continued, I passed the spacious gymnasium that seemed to double as the cafeteria, as a few janitors were setting up long tables with attached benches. The building felt cheery and warm, and if I closed my eyes, I could make out young laughter from the past as smiling children galloped through the halls.

  I approached the small library on my right and felt a tingling sensation pulling me toward the book-lined walls. I crossed the threshold and stopped, waiting for the revelation as to this place’s purpose.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” came a young woman’s voice from behind the counter.

  I noticed a slight look of concern on her face when I turned and presented myself to her. “Can I take a look at the yearbooks from the past couple years, please?�
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  “Um, are you a parent of one of the students?” She pushed her thin glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, waiting for my explanation.

  “Well, no. I know this seems odd, but I just need to find out a boy’s name that used to go here.”

  “I’m sorry. The books in the library are for teachers and students only.”

  I was growing agitated now, knowing that somewhere in this building was something that the boy wanted me to see, and the only thing I could think to do right now was find out his name and hope it led to something.

  “Please,” I tried again. “I just really need to see a yearbook, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” the librarian asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, I’m fine!” I snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly. I was growing tired of everyone asking me if I was all right. “Look, it’s really important that I find out this boy’s name. You don’t understand the situation.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “What? No, please, I’ve been through so much to get here!”

  The young woman stepped away from the counter now. “I’m going to call security if you don’t leave right now!”

  I pounded the counter with both fists, a surprising burst of anger bubbling within me, but I took a deep breath and slowly backed away, holding up my hands to show I meant no trouble. “I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

  I stormed down the main hallway back toward the entrance. I was so frustrated by the lack of direction. If the boy wanted help so badly, why couldn’t he have stuck around to show me the way?!

  I passed the main office and froze in front of the trophy display cases. I stared breathlessly at the picture from last year’s school basketball team. There, in the center of the team photo, was the smiling face of the dead shaggy-haired boy.

  My eyes grew wide and my heart pounded once more, my palms growing clammy. Without thinking, I ran into the main office and asked the receptionist, “Could I see a list of the names of the boys from last year’s basketball team?”

  The older woman looked up from her chair in shock. “Excuse me?”

  I pointed out the door toward the display case. “I need to know the name of one of those boys. It’s very urgent.”

  “May I ask what this is concerning?” the woman asked, standing from her seat.

  I felt my frustration reaching a boiling point. How could I have explained that I needed to know the name of that boy because he’s now dead, but I can see him and feel compelled to help him?

  I sighed. “It’s a personal matter.”

  The woman looked over at the television hanging on the wall, and as if startled, her gazed snapped back to me abruptly. She donned a fake smile and said, “Excuse me for just a moment, and I’ll see what I can do for you,” and she headed around the corner back into the offices.

  “Thank you,” I said, although I had little hope that she would agree to help me. I stared at the file cabinets containing the student records, taunting me from against the wall on the other side of the reception counter. The answer I needed was so close!

  I glanced over at the television the woman had looked at, and my heart jumped into my throat, choking my airway. On the screen was civilian video footage from a cell phone of a young blonde woman picking herself up from the road after being hit by a car and hobbling away. At the bottom was a caption: Wanted for Questioning.

  It was me.

  Perdition’s Path

  III

  “This is an ongoing investigation, and we don’t have anymore information to share at this time,” the calm and collected Carla Bailey said to the news camera on the television. Dumbfounded, my eyes remained on the screen, concern filling the detective’s face as she stepped away to further discuss the accident with her fellow officers.

  I stood at the receptionist’s counter, mouth open in shock and expecting my pounding heart to fall out of it. I knew that it was generally frowned upon to flee from the scene of an accident, but as I had been the only thing damaged, I felt I had been well within my rights to let bygones be bygones! Why would I be wanted for questioning?

  Then I remembered the guy at the scene this morning, calling the cops with his cell phone. In my post-crash stupor, I had vividly remembered my accident from a year ago, and in that hysteria, I had mumbled that I killed a man…

  What a fantastic comedy of errors.

  If I had a working cell phone, I could call the police myself and clear up the confusion, but they would surely take me to the station and lock me up until my story had been verified. No, if I stopped this impulsive quest now, I’d never return to it, and something pulled at my gut, instinct telling me that this boy desperately needed to be helped. I would keep my head down for now and then deal with the police later, pretending to have been oblivious to the news report all day.

  I’m so sorry! I’d say to them. This is all a misunderstanding, and my phone’s busted, so I’ve been unreachable all day!

  Yes. Perfect.

  I turned to flee the school but halted in the office’s threshold. I glanced over my shoulder at the metal filing cabinets behind the counter. The information I needed was so close, and these school employees would never hand it over willingly. My heart once again drummed a cadence in my chest, threatening to burst forth from adrenaline overload. The receptionist was surely in the back offices calling the police and notifying the principal that the fugitive woman on the news was currently standing in the office vestibule, so I had very few seconds left to act before my perfect cover story would no longer be viable.

  I dashed around the counter, madly reading the labels on each drawer. On the right were the current year’s useless student files. I continued to the left, resting on the section containing the records of last year.

  A-D, E-H, I-L, M-P, Q-T, U-Z, Student Clubs, School-Sponsored Clubs, School Sports Teams… There it was! I quickly yet quietly pulled open the Sports Teams drawer, flipping through the manila tabs peeking up from the mass of papers. With my thumb and forefinger, I slipped open the basketball team’s folder, looking up for just a second to see if anyone was coming down the hall.

  The dead boy stood right next to me.

  Not realizing that he had rematerialized, his appearance forced an audible gasp from my mouth. “Jesus,” I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath, my nerves already frazzled. “Don’t do that!” I chastised him.

  In the distance, I heard police sirens.

  I was running out of time and growing terribly frustrated that the boy stood next to me yet did nothing to help. The blaring sirens pierced the outside air, like an aural army that charged down the hill toward its target: me. From back within the offices, I heard doors slam and footsteps pound down hallways. They were coming for me.

  My hysteria level shot through the roof. I wasn’t accustomed to dealing with this sort of excitement, and my mind hesitated to come up with a solution. It seemed that simply fleeing would have made the whole journey into the school a complete waste. I snatched one of the student forms from the folder and ran. Out of the office and into the hall I bolted, flying toward the entrance doors. I jolted to a complete stop when I saw three police cruisers skid to a halt in front of the school, officers leaping out.

  Panic flared within me as I heard the shouts from the policemen and saw them going for their weapons in their holsters.

  So much for my plan to call them later, pretending to have been oblivious all day… And now, on top of everything else, I’d stolen confidential student files from the main office. I was getting pretty great at making a colossal mess of things.

  I looked at the boy next to me, as if he would be able to tell me what to do.

  And then he did.

  He pointed back into the building down a lengthy hall into the east wing of classrooms. Ignoring the orders from the officers, I sprinted back into the school, fleeing down the hall, my loud footsteps echoing noisily off the linoleum flooring
. At the end of the long passageway, I saw another door that led outside. Nearer and nearer I came to the threshold, hearing the cacophony of authority entering the school far behind me.

  I blasted through the back door and out onto the large playground. I charged over the asphalt, past the jungle gym, pushing the chains from swings out of my way, leaping over the teeter-totter, faster, faster, over the chain link fence, down a dirt path, dodging trees.

  I was now in a small forest. I didn’t slow down but created a zigzagging path that I hoped would make me more difficult to locate. I couldn’t carry on much farther. My lungs ached, my sore ankle protested, and my heart felt as though it might explode.

  After another few minutes of foot flight, I found myself in a middle-class cul-de-sac. I took a minute to get my bearings, but I felt uneasy standing still for too long. I turned and continued between two homes, cutting across the backyard of one. When my trembling legs could take me no farther, I collapsed against the side of a house and fell into the frosted earth at my feet, breathing as deeply as my body would allow. Nausea and dizziness swirled behind my tired eyes, and my head wound throbbed.

  I spent many minutes listening for the sound of sirens. As I waited in deafening silence, I wondered what the hell I was doing: skipping work, leaving an accident scene, fleeing from the police. Yet, part of me felt electric, supercharged with the flurry of unknown excitement. As a slight grin crossed my lips, I thought that perhaps this isn’t what Dr. Abner had in mind when he suggested I try helping people.

  When I was confident that I had successfully shaken the police from my tail, I stood and ventured out to the sidewalk. I was freezing and wanted so badly to be at home sitting in front of my heater with my cat curled up next to me. I sighed as I looked around at my suburban surroundings.

  I was completely lost.