Ignite the Shadows

by Ingrid Seymour

  Xave limps in my direction. Uh-oh, did he break something? I’ll feel really bad if he did. His black leathers creak with every step. He stops and looks down at me with a kind of anger I didn’t know him capable of. I watch him, wary of sudden moves. It would suck if this ended up in a nasty fight.

  Moonlight cuts through the trees above and bathes Xave’s face. His hazel eyes look nearly black, his high cheekbones sunken.

  “I’m tired of your cocky, I-can-do-it-all bull-crap,” he says. “If you want to go all Evel Knievel, do it on your own time. Leave me out of it, okay?”

  “Hey, you were the one who wanted to spy on Clark.” I take a step back, trying to put some distance between us.

  “All you had to do was be ready to drive off. But you couldn’t even do that.” Xave’s tone grates on my nerves. “Now Clark knows we were there and on his Yamaha.”

  At the last word, his face goes all Hulk-green or maybe it’s putty-gray, I can’t really tell in the dim moonlight. He points at the wrecked bike, hand shaking.

  “Look, I’ll get the bike fixed,” I say, using a conciliatory tone—though it’s a lame offer, considering that Xave already spent hours working on this bike. He’s good at fixing things. I think he got it from his mom. She likes crafts, doing detailed things with her hands. He says he’ll be a mechanic after school. “I’ll talk to Clark and tell him it was my—”

  “Screw you, Marci.”

  I flinch at the harshness in his voice. What’s wrong with him lately? I know I screwed up, but where is all this anger coming from? We’ve been in bigger trouble than this before.

  “Everything’s always so easy for you.” His tone is mocking. “Oh, I’ll tell him it was my idea,” he mimics me in a whiny voice, which sounds nothing like mine. “We’ll lie, steal and cheat. It’ll be okay. Just chill out, Xave. You worry too much.”

  “Hey, you’re pushing it,” I tell him, feeling a bit injured.

  “Am I? And what are you gonna do? Land me in jail when I least expect it?”

  I take a deep breath to control my rising temper. I can’t get angry right now. Not after what I just went through. “Let’s just go home and talk about it later before we regret it. Okay?”

  “I already regret it. I don’t know why I bother with you anymore.” His words hold a venom I can almost taste. “You’re selfish and immature. You never stop to think of anyone but yourself.”

  “You … don’t understand,” I say.

  “Understand what?” he demands.

  I feel like my only choice is to wait for his fury to die down. I can’t tell him about the mess inside my head. I’ve been hiding it from everyone for too long to start sharing now. He’ll think I’m crazy, and I’d rather continue lying than face his disappointment. I get enough of that from Mom.

  A part of me tells me I’m wrong, that I should trust him, that he’ll understand. Dare I listen to it?

  I clear my throat and begin in a weak voice, “I … lost control—”

  “You’re damn right you lost control.” His anger runs unchecked, killing what little courage I’d mustered. “My dad’s gonna have my hide and so is Clark. Did you stop to think about that?”

  There isn’t a good response, so I start toward the bike to avoid answering. When I walk past, Xave grabs my shoulder and makes me face him.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Did you stop to think about it?” His eyes look darker than a starless universe would.

  “No,” I say, because a “yes” would mean I did it intentionally. “I just thought we’d have a little fun, that’s all.”

  “Like I said, selfish!” The word echoes through the quiet patch of trees.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes, that’s what I think!”

  Rage seethes inside me. He has no idea what he’s talking about. He thinks he knows me, has me all figured out. Well, he doesn’t know the half of it. No one does. Dad was the only one who ever tried to understand, but he’s gone and now I have only myself.

  Through another deep breath, I manage to stay in control. “Whatever,” I say, trying to sound like the brat he figures me for. I look for my helmet on the ground. I can get home on foot from here. We’re only a mile away. When I spot it, I pick it up and start walking away.

  “Oh, so now you’re leaving?” he says sarcastically.

  “That’s what selfish people do.”

  “It must be nice to live never having to face the consequences of anything you do.”

  I whirl. “Shut up, Xave. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The anger rolls through me in waves. Automatically, my breathing slows and my thoughts shift at a million gigahertz a second. My defenses are second nature most of the time. They have to be. Anger is bad. Anything that can make me lose my concentration can bring the shadows back. That’s why my entire life I’ve felt as if I’m walking on eggshells, always afraid of cracking and spilling out my insides.

  “’Course I do. No one ever tells you anything or cramps your style with chores and speeches about responsibility. No one cares—” He abruptly stops.

  “Finish, Xave.” I dare him.

  He exhales, knowing he’s gone too far. A car drives by on the road, its headlights flooding our space for a quick couple of seconds. I see no hint of remorse in Xave’s face, but he doesn’t dare finish his sentence.

  “But no one cares about me? Is that what you were going to say? Huh?” I wait for a response. I can feel him teetering. He still wants to get to me, hurt me somehow. But he must know that if he goes there, whatever friendship we’ve shared will die. We’ve been through too much together to ruin everything over something like this. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, but maybe his anger will beat his common sense.

  Sensing we’re at the brink of making a huge mistake, I walk away without saying a word and head north toward our neighborhood. I don’t look back. Xave can limp home for all I care, even if this is my fault. Maybe I am selfish, after all.

  Keeping to the shoulder, I move at a steady pace. I’m fuming, wondering if I could have handled this better. The air is crisp with winter’s bite. It makes every deep breath count. There are no street lamps on this side road, but the moon is full, the sky cloudless—a rarity in this damn city.

  I haven’t been to this small wooded area in years, but I can see why Xave and I used to like playing here. It’s quiet and hidden from prying neighbors and their objections to BB guns, baseballs and fireworks. God, that all seems so long ago. We were inseparable then and now it seems some huge wedge is making its way between us. He’s become so moody and sullen with me. I don’t get it. I fear things won’t ever be like they used to. The thought hurts.

  The smell of crushed pine needles wafts in the breeze, bringing back memories of happier times with my friend—many of them in these woods. I huff, thinking of the time he dared me to kiss him. He must have been ten and I, nine.

  “Now there’s a scary dare,” I said. “I’d rather kiss a slug.”

  “Not so brave, are you?” he said.

  “Oh, I’m brave, just not that brave.”

  He smiled wickedly. “All right, here’s another dare. Climb that tree.” He pointed at the tallest tree in the patch of woods.

  I was afraid of heights, afraid of anything that could trigger an attack, for that matter, but I wasn’t about to let him show me up, so I climbed the tree. The problem was, once I found myself fifteen feet off the ground, I panicked and lost all my courage. I started crying and fearing my mind would go blank. In seconds, Xave was by my side, perched on a thick branch.

  “Don’t worry. Don’t cry. I’ll help you get down,” he said.

  He tried to tell me where to place my feet and hands, but I was too scared to follow his instructions. When he realized it wasn’t going to work, he had me wrap myself around him, a little monkey on his back, and painstakingly climbed down. A few feet off the ground, his arms gave out and we plummeted to the ground. His weight knocked the air out of
me.

  He hovered above, as I lay there inert. “Are you okay? Are you okay? I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

  When I opened my eyes, his nose was inches from mine, worry etched on his face. He was making sure I was still breathing.

  “You’re alive!” he exclaimed. “Thank God, you’re alive.”

  “You silly goose,” I said, using the endearment Dad often used with me. “Of course I’m alive.” Then I kissed him on the cheek.

  His eyes widened in surprise and after that we both rolled on the pine needles, laughing like idiots. I guess things have to change. We’re not kids anymore. I just wish we could still laugh about our misadventures. Instead, we’re yelling at each other.

  After a few minutes walking, I hear gravel crunching behind me. I try to ignore it and pick up my pace. The crunching is followed by a shuffle.

  Crunch, crunch, shuffle.

  Reluctantly, I look back and see Xave, pushing the bike forward a couple of feet, then dragging his right leg. He repeats the process, looking as pathetic as one of those dogs with wheels for legs.

  Damn it.

  I stop and hope Xave doesn’t make me regret doing so. I wait for interminable minutes for him to catch up. Surely, he’s taking his sweet time on purpose. When he reaches me, we say nothing and just stand there looking at anything but each other.

  “I’ll push the bike,” I tell him.

  He nods. We walk without exchanging any more words. Enough has been said already.

  Chapter 3

  Awkward. Awk-ward.

  All the way home, Xave and I stare at the ground, mouths zipped. I should apologize, but after he dragged my family into the argument, I’m too mad.

  His limping is worse.

  He deserves it!

  I’m not sorry for him, not when he assumes the worst about me, like everyone else. I expect more from him. I don’t care if he has no way of knowing I’m possessed, crazy or whatever it is, he should treat me better than this. He’s known me for nine years. “He feels my pain,” like he often says. Maybe he doesn’t.

  Our street comes into view. A few lampposts cast weak light on the cracked sidewalk, but it’s mostly dark in spite of the clear, moonlit sky. Too many large trees line the street and few people keep their floodlights on once they turn in for the night. It helps keep the electric bill low, Mom says. I don’t argue; it helps me sneak out when I need to.

  I slow down as we approach Xave’s house. The split-level looks gloomy, spotted with shadows from the nearby trees. A shudder goes down my back, making me wary. I’ve seen his house in this light before. Why is it spooking me all of a sudden?

  I’m contemplating the question when a male figure steps from behind the largest tree in the front yard. His face is obscured, but the silhouette and swagger let me know it’s Xave’s brother. I stop and exchange a quick glance with Xave. There’ll be no lying our way out of this one. We never got our story straight. Besides, Clark’s not blind. He saw us from the alley. Why else would he be waiting for us?

  Still wary, even though it’s just Clark, I look around. A faint buzz begins in the back of my head for the second time tonight. I frown.

  Clark plants his intimidating six-three, muscular frame a few paces from us, arms crossed. I can see his face better, and it isn’t pretty. Well, it is pretty, but in a Dirty Harry kind of way. Intense eyes, tight lips, strong jaw.

  “Hello there, X-avier.” Clark says the name as if he’s referring to pond scum. He pauses at the “X” and says the rest with a sarcastic British accent.

  Xave’s eyes shift from one crack of the sidewalk to another. He hates being called by that name, has heard enough jokes about gay mutants in tights and will pretty much beat up anybody who dares call him by the full name his comic-book-obsessed father gave him. Clark’s the only one I know who still dares call him that. If you ask me, he’s just lucky his dad didn’t name him Louise instead of Clark.

  “You’ve got some explaining to do, bro,” Clark says.

  “It was my fault,” I say.

  Xave gives me a dirty look. I match it. So he’s gonna be ungrateful like that? Well, in that case, I hope his brother kicks his ass. Clark turns toward me, very slowly. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, stamping his biker boot down. The heavy heel taps. He takes in the full length of my body.

  “So what are you saying?” he asks. “That my sissy brother has no more sense than a wet-’round-the-ears gal?”

  What did he just call me? Not like he’s all mature and experienced with only four years on me and three on his brother.

  “Told you to stay out of it, Marci,” Xave mumbles through the corner of his mouth.

  Very slowly, I inhale, closing my eyes until my lungs are full. I let go of the bike and give it a shove toward Xave. It catches him off guard and he scrambles to keep it from falling on him, favoring his injured leg. I’m about to turn and head home when that strange buzzing in the back of my skull gets worse, recognizable. It stops me in my tracks.

  This sensation has nothing to do with being spooked, like I thought at first. I’ve felt this before, except this time it’s so intense it sends strong shudders down my spine, totally freaking me out. My eyes dance around the yard, but there’s no one else here. It makes no sense. I only get this creepy feeling in crowded places, like the mall or the movies. That’s the reason why I hate crowds. But I’ve never felt it at home, at school with my friends, and certainly not with Xave’s family.

  I stare at Clark. He’s watching me with sudden distrust.

  “You should go home, Marci,” he says. “My little brother and I have some serious talking to do.”

  It is then that I sense, more than see, a dark shape moving behind Clark. I take a step back, eyes darting, adrenaline pumping.

  Xave spooks at my behavior. “What?!” he asks, looking at me like I’m crazy.

  He hasn’t noticed the dark shape behind his brother. The shadow advances without making a sound, hidden by Clark’s bulky frame, who shows no sign of suspecting something lurks behind him.

  I’ve finally gone crazy.

  The shadows don’t only live inside my head. They’ve figured out a way to break free and stalk me in the night. My heart beats in my clenched fists as I dissolve into fear.

  Something stretches out of the darkness, reaching for Clark’s shoulder. Words of warning rise in my throat, but they die down when a thin ray of moonlight falls upon the shadow, revealing a flesh and blood man. He steps next to Clark and pats him on the shoulder. I’ve never seen him before. I would remember, because he makes my head drone with a thousand bees. I want to run, but I’m glued to the sidewalk.

  “Wow,” Xave says, startled by the sudden appearance of the stranger.

  “Clark, is this your brother?” the man asks in a deep purr that makes me think of an idling motorcycle engine. His bald head reflects what little moonlight there is. He’s several inches shorter than Clark and Xave, maybe five-eleven. He’s also leaner, but I have the feeling he could beat up both of them if he wanted. Something in his confident and powerful stance makes me suspect that. I wish I could see his eyes. I’ve got a feeling they’d tell me a lot, but they’re hidden under the shade of his strong brow.

  Clark nods, never taking his eyes off me. “Yep, that’s him.”

  The man removes his hand from Clark’s shoulder and extends it toward Xave. “Nice to meet you, Xavier. My name is James McCray.”

  Xave stares at his hand. James’s mouth twists into a crooked grin, as he waits for Xave to make up his mind. In the end, he shakes it, encouraged by a nod from Clark. James hasn’t looked directly at me, but I feel watched, evaluated like an open book.

  “So you were … spying?” James’s speech is calm and reassuring, but I don’t trust him at all. “I take it you’d like to know what your brother’s up to?” James asks. He smiles, but his voice sounds like a dare, hinting at something dangerous.

  Xave puffs up like
a bullfrog. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

  Clark called him a sissy. I guess he thinks this proves he’s not. It doesn’t. The panic that flashes in his eyes gives him away. I don’t blame him. Something’s going on here. Maybe Clark got himself in a real mess this time. I don’t think I want any part in it. Xave shouldn’t either.

  As if James could read my thoughts, his eyes settle on me. “What about you, Marci Guerrero?”

  He knows my name?! Why would freakin’ Clark tell him my name?!

  “No, thank you,” I blurt out. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying it.” I take two steps back, look straight at my friend. “Xave, you should stay out of it, too.”

  “Who says he’s got a choice?” Clark puts in. “Not after wrecking my bike like that. No, he’s got a debt to pay. Besides, he has a right to know what’s going on in our neighborhood, our country. Hell, our fucking world!”

  What is Clark talking about? And why is James looking at me like I’m to blame for world hunger? There’s no way Xave doesn’t see through this weirdness. Besides, I’m not a joiner and this sounds too cult-ish for my taste.

  “Xave.” I pull on his sleeve. He pulls his arm back.

  I jerk my head to one side. “Come talk to me for a minute.”

  “Get lost, Marci,” he says.

  “Don’t be stupid. This—”

  “I said get lost.” His eyes bore into me with anger. He can’t stand to be challenged, much less in front of the “guys” and by a girl, no less. God, he so needs to grow up.

  I resist the urge to scream and let him go get brainwashed if that’s what he wants. Instead, I give it another try. “Please, Xave.” I give him big, pleading eyes. His expression softens, but he quickly tries to hide the shift.

  He motions with his head for me to follow and walks out of earshot. “Why don’t you just go home?”

  “Look,” I start, but my head drones so loudly I’m having trouble thinking straight.