Shadowed Soul

by John Spagnoli

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The dream came quickly and the usual preamble was edited from my mind. The dream began face-to-face with the tall man, his features obscured by the shadow of his hat but I could see the glitter of broken glass deep within his eye sockets. As had developed there were two figures at either side of him, both kneeling with their hands behind their backs and ropes wrapped tightly around their arms and bodies, their mouths silenced by balls that were held in place with leather straps and their eyes were trained on me. There was no fear in their expressions and for the first time since they had appeared in the dream there was no accusatory hatred in their expressions either. There was, however, an expression of quiet expectation. Beth and Sophie gazed at me as though they were waiting for me to release them. And tonight, even in the depths of this dreamscape I knew that I would do my best to accommodate their expectations.

  “I know who you are,” I said to the Shadowed Soul, my voice echoing around the dry and dusty canyons of the city. The figure just laughed an unhinged, high-pitched giggle.

  “Who am I?” It spoke in a childish, sing-song tone that was almost worse than the laughter. “You don’t know anything, Thom-ass.” It giggled again and I closed my eyes and sighed.

  “Of course I do, I’ve known you all my life,” I said coolly.

  “You don’t know Jack and you don’t know shit, you incredible cretin!” It hissed. And Beth and Sophie giggled into their gags as though they were all in on the joke.

  “You’re me,” I said. “You’re part of me anyway.” I shrugged.

  “And you want to kill me, don’t you?” The figure adopted a petulant voice and cocked his head to one side.

  “No, not anymore,” I replied quietly.

  “Really?” It hissed again and seemed to grow taller as it pointed at my pocket. “Then why have you brought that?”

  I instinctively placed my hand onto the outside of my coat pocket and felt the weight of the gun that was always with me in my recurrent nightmare. I closed my eyes. I had held off talking about the gun; with the hatred and anger that consumed me at times I did not want to frighten anyone.

  “Answer me Thom-ass!” it said in a snarling tone and both Beth and Sophie turned their heads to look at the shadowed figure. He seemed much taller now, almost seven feet tall and impossibly thin. Like a shadow at noon on a sunny day.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” I said in a low, even tone. “You are part of me and maybe I need that part to be the person that I am.” I felt like a cowboy in the westerns that I used to watch when I was a child with my dad and with this realization the figure took a step backwards and I understood what this dream was all about. As a child I had loved cowboys, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, television reruns like The High Chaparral and Bonanza had animated my young life. This dream was a showdown, the street, the sun, the weight of the gun in my pocket; it all echoed the archetypal faceoff between good and evil. And even though my love of westerns had been forgotten by my conscious mind, it had resonated through my subconscious like a vein of hope.

  “This ain’t going to end the way you think it is, sheriff,” the shadowed figure spoke in a Texan accent and somewhere behind me a bell began to toll. It was High Noon in my dreamscape, the 1957 western with Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. And here I was, about to face off against the gun-slinging bad guy who had ravaged the landscape of my mind for so long.

  “I won’t fight you anymore,” I said. “Fighting you doesn’t work. You’re too big for me to fight.”

  “That I am, sheriff. You ain’t never goin’ t’beat me.”

  “I know, but I can do something else, something different.” I smiled a little and this obviously did not sit too well with the Shadowed Soul, he hissed and shrank a little as he took another step back.

  “You’re weak, sheriff, you’re too weak.”

  “No, I’m not!” I put my hand in my pocket and brought out the gun; in the dream I could feel it shift and change shape, shrinking and losing weight as it transformed from a tool that was used to kill to something different and infinitely more powerful. Beth and Sophie gasped as I raised the silver object and pointed it at the Shadowed Soul. I put my finger on the trigger and the shadowed figure shrank a little more. The object had been with me all my young life, up until the point that my dad had left. It had given me so much fun and enjoyment, and being an only child had probably fed my imagination and given me a basis for my own moralities. There was good and evil, right and wrong, light and darkness, me and the Shadowed Soul and neither could fully exist without the contrast the other provided. Life, like the world, was held in a constant balance. Feeling depression, being pursued by the Shadowed Soul had given me balance. Although too often, it had been skewed in his favor, the fact was that at my core was a complicated individual. A man who had tried to do all he could to live a good life and had succeeded, even when the Shadowed Soul had been in control, I had never done anything truly bad. My addiction to online pornography, my apathy toward my son, the other things for which I had learned to hate myself were not good, but they were forgivable and fixable. Everyone in the world is entitled to days that are not as full of light and love; everyone must go through days during which they are held prisoner by their own Shadowed Souls. At that moment, as the bell tower slowly pealed out the count of twelve I understood the nature of who I was and where I fit in.

  “You’re under arrest,” I grinned and pulled the trigger of the Roy Rogers Cap Gun that I had loved so much as a little boy. A tiny plume of gunpowder clouded the air.

  The Shadowed Soul cringed and fell backwards into a jail cell that had materialized behind him and the door slammed shut. Trapping him for a while, never forever because he was a persistent villain but he was where he should be at this time. I turned to see that Beth and Sophie were free from the ropes that had bound them. Both smiled at me and I tipped the brim of my swashbuckling sheriff’s hat in their direction.

  “Thomas, dear,” a voice spoke behind me and I sat up in bed to see my mom’s image fading away. She was standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a worried look on her face. “I think it’s time that you woke up, Thomas.”

  A crack of thunder shattered the room and I saw Bailey pawing urgently at the door to get out of the bedroom. Now that I was fully awake I noticed his hackles bristled with anxiety. Whining, he turned to look at me and I understood that I had to get up and follow him.

  As I stood, the bedroom was illuminated by a sharp, fresco of light. More thunder followed.

  Something was very wrong!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  As I dressed, thunder and lightning continued to thrash across the city. Just as I pulled on my shoes the lights had flickered once, then extinguished, plunging me into complete darkness. The electrical blast that had cut the power to my apartment had been vicious enough to throw the street lights out, too. I stumbled into the hallway searching for my green corduroy coat. I heard clicking and turned to see in the gloom that Bailey had carried in his mouth a different coat, the light brown leather zip front that I had hung up over the kitchen chair.

  “No, thanks Bailey, you’re a good dog, but I make the fashion decisions.”

  I searched for my green coat and Bailey raised his paw and hit me on the side of the leg, barking a little. I sighed and took the light brown leather coat from his mouth. Bailey continued pacing around agitated, as I zipped up. My assumption was that he was in desperate need of relieving himself. I was about to slip the leash over his head but a thought struck me; it was pitch black outside and I would have easier control of him and conversely he would have an easier job guiding me if I used Beth’s seeing-eye harness with the rectangular leather grip.

  Using the display on my cell phone I rummaged around in the cupboard until I found it and Bailey stood patiently as I slipped it onto him. His body was tense; I could feel the quiver in his muscles; he was desperate to get out of the apartment. I was concerned as I had never seen Bailey act this way before.


  “Okay, buddy, let’s go,” I said quietly and he purposefully yanked me to the door.

  Rain lashed us as we stepped into the street. Briefly I considered going back inside for my umbrella but the wind was so fierce an umbrella would invert instantly. I pulled my collar up against my cheeks and walked Bailey the short distance to the park, my pocket rustled with the small plastic bags I kept in every coat pocket to deal with substantial deposits. To my surprise, Bailey turned away from the park and directed us to the bus stop.

  “Where you goin’, boy?” I pulled the harness back in an effort to get him going in the right direction and he simply looked at me, impatience and worry in his eyes. He looked at the bus stop and I shrugged and let him go the way he wanted. He was a sensitive animal; I trusted his instincts.

  We walked through the storm, sheet lightning flashing across the sky and the rain scouring my face like tiny needles. Bailey had his head down and was making absolutely no effort to stop and do his business. Insistently, Bailey pressed on. What was wrong with him? Was he ill? One of my ex-colleagues had a dog, a Collie, that had begun to suffer from strokes and the dog was often confused; I wondered if this was what had happened to Bailey. Bailey had an air of determination that I had not seen him exhibit for a long time. He guided me to the bus stop and then stood looking at me, I shook my head.

  “Sorry, Bailey, the buses stopped three hours ago.”

  Bailey continued to gaze at me for a moment and then he pulled me into a fast walk again, leading me further away from the apartment. Through wind and rain, Bailey dragged me where he wanted to go and my desire to find out where that was overrode my desire to get warm. The streets were deserted and dark, car alarms were squealing all around us, set off by lightning and thunder, their undulating electronic cries of distress accosted us then were carried away by the wind as the storm made its mark on the city. Here and there we passed a shop front that had been damaged or an overturned trash bin a powerful gust had had its way with. On a number of occasions I almost lost my footing in the strong wind. Not breaking stride, Bailey continued, head down as his broad, powerful shoulders worked like pistons to guide me forth.

  We had walked for about an hour; my clothes clung to me. My face and hands were chapped. Had I known we would be walking so far I would have brought gloves and a hat, but all I could do now was repay my dog’s care by following him.

  On we walked into what seemed like Armageddon as the storm increased in fury.

  The further we walked the more apocalyptic things became. Two ambulances wailed past in quick succession and then, spaced by only a few minutes a fire engine screamed along the same road, sirens and flashing lights were the closest I had come to a human life for around 90 minutes. Amidst the chaos, surreal images gave the odyssey a dream-like quality; a trampoline rolled across the street in front of me, and a second more prolonged wind guided a large truck tire along the street. A shirtless man gazed out his window at me, his bearded face lit by candlelight, his hair creating a halo of light around his head that gave him a messianic appearance. I raised my hand in greeting and he raised his head in return, blowing out the candle as I walked past and as far as I knew he disappeared from my world forever at that moment.

  The nocturnal trek echoed of the one that Bailey and I had taken together over Christmas. The city, a place that I had spent most of my life, appeared alien and despite the wild weather battering every move, I felt completely safe. This was the biggest difference between tonight and mid-winter; the feeling of irrational fear and panic that plagued on that frosty night no longer bothered me. My nerves were alert due to the fact that the wind and rain chipped at me and I did not want to get injured by flying debris. But my fear of the Shadowed Soul had completely disappeared. I could still picture him languishing in the western jailhouse, plotting his revenge against me; I would deal with that when it happened. The determination that had helped me to temporarily disable him was now getting me to trudge through the city storm.

  When I was young I had read a comic that had mentioned Dante’s Inferno, and the epic journey that Dante Alighieri had embarked upon into the Inferno. The imagery of the nine circles of hell had stuck with me and in some ways it felt as though I were finishing my own infernal quest. Dante continued his journey through purgatory and then to paradise and perhaps this was my own version of Dante’s journey. The city on this night felt as though it were an allegory to my own life. It was a night that I would soon realize I had been exceptionally lucky to survive when I saw what damage had happened around me and how many poor souls had not been as lucky as I. With the rain and wind came a great deal of damage but there was also something cleansing about it. The rain washed away the filth for a time. After a storm there was inevitably a feeling of relief and eventually another storm would come and wreak havoc but the city always prevailed, it was never destroyed and would be here for a long, long time.

  I too would prevail. I too would never be destroyed by the storms that accompanied the machinations of the Shadowed Soul. Like the city I had people who needed my shelter and protection and nothing was stronger than my desire to see that they were safe and secure.

  It was at that point that the full understanding of where Bailey was taking me struck home. As we strode on, my sense of urgency matched Bailey’s. It took another 45 minutes to reach Pete and Dorothy’s. The streetlights were still on and as we approached I saw that Beth’s bedroom light was on. I frowned. We got to the front door and I pressed the bell and called her number on my cell. Hers was switched off and my concern rose. Bailey barked frantically and pawed at the front door. Something was definitely wrong and my panic increased.

  It dawned on me at that point that I had the spare keys to Dorothy and Pete’s in this coat pocket, the very coat that Bailey had insisted I wear.

  I unlocked the door, and heard my son crying, his voice raspy. I ran up the stairs, Bailey at my heels. Ashen, Beth lay on the bed and my heart sank.

  “Beth?” I said softly.

  Beth did not respond despite Jonathan’s shrill cries.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  A week later, I told the story to Sophie with my son in my arms and Bailey a warm heap snoring at my feet. I had still not fully processed the events of that night. In fact, it still had a dream-like quality that made me question whether it had actually happened the way I remembered it.

  “Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry!” Sophie’s concern was genuine.

  “I don’t know how Bailey knew that something had happened to her,” I said. “My apartment is eight miles away from Pete and Dorothy’s.”

  “Dogs are all instinct,” said Sophie, admiring Bailey. “He’s been looking after Beth for most of his life. I don’t know how he knew that she had….well, you know, but the main fact was that he did and it meant that you could get there.”

  “The paramedics said that if I had been much later then this little guy would have dehydrated,” I explained to Sophie. “Had I gone when I was meant to the next day then chances are he would have died.” I gazed at the baby’s sleeping face and my paternal instinct finally asserted itself. This boy, my boy, could have died and I don’t know how I would have dealt with that. In fact since that night I had been looking after him and it had been a sharp learning curve. Dorothy had been helping where she could but she only had so much time. She still had to process what had happened to Beth and the fact that she hadn’t been there when it had happened. I had tried to tell her not to beat herself up. What had happened would have happened anyway and that the paramedics estimated that it had started at around 2:13 a.m. Pete and Dorothy would have been in bed and the chances are that Beth would not have made a sound so they wouldn’t have known until Jonathan had started crying.

  “So, when will Beth be released from hospital?” asked Sophie.

  “Not too much longer,” I said. “They’re running more tests to figure out what caused the seizure in the first place.”

  “Well, the main thing is that she’s going to be
all right.”

  I had sat with Beth for as long as it took the ambulance to arrive. The storm had died down the moment I stepped into the bedroom and saw Beth lying on the bed, a grey pallor to her skin and a glassy look in her eyes. Initially I feared she was dead but she had managed to moan my name as I spoke to her and although she seemed confused she was still alive. Bailey licked her hand protectively and her fingers had responded with a twitch.

  Her mouth was open and there was dried matter around her lips, I had gently cleaned her up as much as I could before the paramedics arrived. Beth was rushed to the same hospital that had welcomed my son and bid farewell to my mother. I had gone with them, carrying Jonathan in my arms and regretted having to leave Bailey at home. As we had left Bailey had leapt onto the bed and curled up on the place where Beth had lain; he looked at me once as though to tell me that I should go and he would wait until I came for him.

  As the ambulance raced through the city streets, the driver skillfully avoiding storm debris, I had recalled the chain of events: My mother’s voice in my dream, Bailey scraping the bedroom door, his insistence that I wear the coat that had the keys to the apartment in its pocket and his guiding me through the storm. Bailey had saved my family.

  I looked at my therapist and smiled as Jonathan shifted in my arms and burbled contentedly, his tiny mouth forming a simple, beautiful smile for a moment. Things were going to be okay. The Shadowed Soul might make me selfish from time to time but my desire to protect Beth, Bailey and my son would override that from this point forth. It was an old adage that you only learn to appreciate things when they are taken away from you. Typically, I had discounted it as trite, something people said without any real conviction. However, the events of late had driven home how true it was for me, at least.