Shadow Walker

by Tina Proffitt

Bethanie looked perplexed. “You mean my period?”

  “Yes.”

  She had to think for a moment. Since she had been with Shadow, time seemed to pass without notice; only her time with him had been counted. “Not since before the school was closed.”

  “Have you ever been late before?”

  “No.” Bethanie felt the beginning stages of panic setting in.

  “Settle down.” Lillie noticed the subtle change in Bethanie's breathing. “There's nothing to be alarmed about. It's not unusual for stress to delay menstruation.”

  “I can't be pregnant.” Bethanie was emphatic.

  “You know best.”

  “I could never take care of another person. I can barely take care of myself.”

  “There's a very good chance that you're not,” Lillie tried to reassure her. “The absence is more likely due to the ordeal you've just been through.”

  Bethanie was unconvinced despite her insistence that she was not pregnant. “I can't even handle my own fear. How could I ever comfort a frightened child?” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out all the times when she had wished for her mother.

  Lillie smoothed the hair off of Bethanie’s forehead where perspiration had beaded.

  “How could I be someone's mother?” Feeling a wave of panic wash over her, Bethanie tried to slow her breathing. “Sometimes I'm so scared that I'm afraid my heart will beat right out of my chest, or that I won't be able to catch my breath. It scares me so bad, I don't want to say it out loud.”

  “You’re doing fine, dear.” Lilllie pulled the covers up around Bethanie whose teeth had begun to chatter.

  Bethanie gripped the covers in a white-knuckled grip and her voice shook as she spoke. “I never know when or where it'll happen next. It just sneaks up on me out of the blue. I can be feeling great, then wham, I'm shaking.”

  “That's what fear does to us, dear. It catches us off guard.”

  “So, I just have to live with being scared for the rest of my life?”

  “Yes,” was Lillie's soft answer as she squeezed Bethanie's hand in hers. “And don't let anyone tell you different. It's a part of us, like joy, sadness, elation. They're all connected.”

  Bethanie had turned the color of the sheet she was holding onto. “I just want it to stop.” She closed her eyes.

  “There's one thing that I do that helps.”

  Bethanie opened her eyes. Lillie had her full attention now.

  “The next time fear sneaks up on you, and it will. I want you to turn towards it instead of trying not to feel it. Say to it, I'm listening. Then see what happens to it. Don't rationalize it away. Don't think. Just be with it, like you would a frightened child. And most importantly, don't judge yourself for being frightened. Just be willing to hear fear's message. You might be surprised what you learn.”

  Bethanie nodded, looking out the bedroom window. She had nothing to lose from trying, but the thought still frightened her. That was the most frustrating thing about panic, being afraid of your own fear.

  Three police cruisers were parked in front of the posh estate of Dr. Henry Bord. A few of the Ferra College president's neighbors stood in their respective front yards, watching the scene unfold as five uniformed police officers entered through the front door of the three-story red brick home.

  Inside, the police photographed the skinwalker dress hanging inside President Bord's bedroom closet, containing traces of blood that undoubtedly would be linked to the dead girls.

  DNA evidence was found inside the campus barn where President Bord admittedly had killed the girls, which proved his story that he had moved the girls’ bodies, posthumously, into his own home where police discovered them.

  The coroner found their bodies to be, although dead for two weeks, well preserved in a manner historically used by Native Americans. Both bodies were photographed lying atop handmade scaffolding, stripped of their clothes, and wrapped in deerskin. On each corner of the scaffolding, hung plastic laundry detergent buckets, having had their soap removed. Some contained apples, cheese, and bread, while others held bottles of water, all meant as sustenance for the afterlife.

  “He's bipolar. Something I, his son, know all too well and have known for quite some time,” Henry Bord Jr. said from the side of his father's hospital bed. “But it’s never spoken of, not to anyone, not even family. And as long as nothing upsets him, he’s fine.”

  Shadow looked intently at the older man, lying in the bed, where an IV ran from his left arm and a bandage covered his right shoulder.

  Henry Bord Jr., his long time enemy, caught the questioning look on Shadow’s face. “They brought him in that way. Doctor says it’s most likely an injury from a hunting arrow.”

  Damn fine aim, Shadow smiled as he thought of Bethanie’s skills with the crossbow. Seemed she had taken pretty good care of herself. And again, he thanked the creator that President Bord had not hurt her.

  “I don't know what triggered this episode. He thought he was doing me a favor,” Bord Jr. laughed cynically, “First time he's ever done one of those for me. And this is what he does?” He chuckled to himself. “He should have never hired you in the first place, Shadow. He always liked you, and I never understood why. I mean, why I wasn't enough for him, his own son that he had to bring you here and make you his right-hand man? I got so sick of hearing him talk about you incessantly.”

  “Henry, our problems go way back. But they've never involved your father,” Shadow said.

  “That's what you think.” Henry snorted in derision. “My father never respected the fact that you were my enemy. He was disloyal to me, always going behind my back, befriending my enemies. What kind of a father does that? You don't know how much I hated you for that, Shadow. So, yes, I knew exactly what he was doing. I knew that he dressed as the skinwalker. He loved your peoples' ways so much that he thought he was honoring them, and you.” He gave Shadow a look of disgust.

  “If he had wanted to honor my people, perpetuating these myths and implicating us in crimes wasn’t the way to do it.” But the older man had been a friend to Shadow, and nothing could ever convince him that he had intended to set him up.

  “Well who the hell knows what he was thinking? But I didn't try to stop him from doing it. I was hoping all along that he'd get lucky, and do something to get you fired. That's why I was happy as hell when he sent you packing.” He smiled. “And that's why I let you and your girlfriend break into my house. I know you didn’t tell the police about her being inside with you. But I knew even if the police didn’t. It was the final nail in your coffin.” He smiled even broader now at the lethal look on Shadow's face. “What? You didn't think that with all the security cameras hanging around campus that I didn't have a few of my own, did you?” He paused a moment, laughing at his own humor. “Now we understand each other don’t we?”

  Shadow knew he was being threatened, and he let the man have his moment of smug satisfaction. But he had a few questions of his own. “What the hell was burial scaffolding doing in your condominium?”

  “He asked me to build it for him. Even drew up plans for me to work off.”

  “And you didn’t find the request the least bit odd?”

  Bord Jr. shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t know he was up to something. I figured it was just another move in his game. But listen, like I told the police, I never once connected him with Melinda’s disappearance or her friend’s. I had no clue about the connection until the police told me that he had confessed.” His expression changed from smug to something close to remorse. “I just thought he was taking his charade to the next level. Just having some harmless fun, that’s all.”

  His harmless fun had cost lives, but Shadow still refused to let the man's mental illness taint his good opinion of the kind of friend he had been to him. But he did not let himself off the hook so easily. He cursed himself for not seeing what should have been obvious; the man had serious problems. He should have known that President Bord was unstable. After all
of these years, he should have seen it.

  The man Henry Bord Jr. spoke of, his father, the former president of Ferra College, was staring blankly at the ceiling. His steady gaze was fixed on something only he could see. He remained motionless throughout the entire exchange, completely in his head now thanks to the drugs currently being dripped from the IV into his left arm. And that's where he planned to stay, in his mind.

  He closed his eyes as his thoughts drifted back to the night he had decided to take matters into his own hands.

  Thunder rolled in from over the Virginia mountain tops, sounding more like explosions of mortar going off down in the valley than the innocent path of lightning through the heavy rain clouds. In the distance, a red barn sat atop the hill that was a part of the colorful quilt of farmland spread across the remote area of campus. The weather made it possible for him to follow the two girls, Melinda and Debbie, the entire way out there without anyone seeing him. Once inside, he would be safe from view and could do exactly as he pleased with the two of them.

  The motion-activated lights overhead made it easy for him to follow the trail of watery footprints to the back of the barn. That's where he found them, keeping warm, huddled together in a hidden corner, touching each other all over. He could not have this type of behavior in his school. He ran a respectable campus with a reputation of excellence to uphold, he told himself. There was no room for this self-expression as their school’s psychologist called it now. If it were up to him, she wouldn't even have a job, let alone make mandates of all of his teachers on proper ways to help students.

  So caught up in their lovemaking, they never heard him approaching. And too late for them to stop him, he was on top of them. The taller of the two, Debbie, stood up first, arms flailing, pushing at him but unable to hold him back. He killed her first, as soon as her back was turned to him. Her undoing had been in her concern for her lover.

  When he had finished with her, he stood up from his crouching position over her body. Blood dripped from his hands.

  Her lover, Melinda, the one his dear son loved, watched in horror as he approached. If only she had returned his son's love, he would not have been driven to do this. He had given her so many chances. Calling her into his office, offering to help her with the demands of her freshman year, but none of his propositions had made a dent in her narcissistic sex-ting, self-absorbed techno view of the world. All he had been to her was the father of an old man, making him an even older man to her. She would not look twice at his son. What was he supposed to do?

  As she stood up to run, a grin spread across his face at how easy this was. He knocked her to the floor with one strong blow to the head. She did not try to move again.

  From her position on the floor, she lay directly in front of her lover. He wondered if she had truly loved her friend, or if this had been just an experiment. Perhaps, she had meant the whole thing as a show, to prove to him that his son couldn't have her. He suddenly hated her for that.

  He lunged forward, driving the blade of Shadow's hunting knife into her heart, just as he had done with her girlfriend. He was sorry to have to kill her. But she had made it impossible for him to do anything else.

  When the interview concluded, Bethanie shook hands with the assistant to the director of the Barn Owl Conservatory in Worcestershire, England who had come all this way in person to interview her. Bethanie could not stop smiling; the interview had gone so well. She felt as though she and the assistant had really hit it off and that she would be working for friends in England as soon as she graduated.

  Now that the campus would be returning to its normal hustle and bustle, Bethanie suddenly felt like celebrating and, she thought, the upcoming powwow would be the perfect place to do just that.

  After Bethanie had finished presenting her research, the assistant director had offered her the job right on the spot. And she had said yes before she knew it.

  But just as she was leaving the interview, she had another epiphany. She belonged here at Ferra College, not across the Atlantic. She belonged with her owls. Her sister and one day, she hoped, the rest of her family. They were all connected. Their spirits were connected, and she would not leave that behind. She would just apply for a job on campus as soon as she graduated. She would stay here with her owls, caring for them, teaching others to appreciate them for all the wonderful things they had to offer. Most of all though, she did not want to leave Shadow, the only person with whom she had ever known real love. She would be as loyal as her owls, for life, even if the love was dead.

  Shadow entered the open field in front of the circle with a beautiful woman on his arm. Maria Champion’s dark hair was braided, and her dress was fitted, made of the softest deerskin. In her eyes and her stance, it was obvious to anyone looking at her that there was a woman sure of herself, her place in the world. She was proud. And that was something that had been gifted to her from generations of women that had come before her. She was one of the lucky ones, Bethanie thought, as she watched the two of them enter the powwow.

  Shadow saw the disappointment apparent in Chris Hogan's brown eyes as he approached them.

  Taking Shadow aside, Chris spoke to him firmly yet gently. “My great-grandfather was Catawba like yours. And my mother was French. I don't want to see our heritage lost any more than you do, but marrying outside of your tribe doesn't detract from who we are as a people. However, choosing to forget, choosing to forget our past does. So, the only way you can be less native is by walking away from your people.”

  Shadow realized in that moment, that Chris got him. He understood all of his misgivings without saying it. He nodded, looking for the first time at the elder with a new-found appreciation. He had not asked for his approval, but he was getting it just the same. There amongst his own people, he chose to be one of them, to live among them and raise his children with them. His love for Bethanie went deeper than their differences. And the day had come, to return to his people, despite spending most of his life away. And he wanted Bethanie by his side, his n'ya, his owl girl.

  At that moment, he spotted Maria's estranged husband making his way through the crowd towards his wife. Shadow had known that he would be there. Shadow watched the two of them embrace. He knew he would be there because he had been the one that telephoned him.

  Chapter 13

  Arm in arm, Lillie paraded Bethanie around the grassy field the school had set aside for the specific purpose of the Native American Heritage Festival. “On this very spot, Native American artifacts were found just recently.” Lillie chatted as they walked. “They were excavating for a new building. But had to stop. Archeologists had to be called in to date everything. Some things they found were over four hundred years old.”

  The two of them stopped when they reached Shadow Walker and Chris Hogan who stood talking in the midst of the crowd in what appeared to be an important exchange. Lillie, sensing Bethanie's desire to speak to Shadow, took her husband by the hand and led him off in the direction of one of the fry bread stands.

  “It's a far cry from jeans and a sweatshirt,” Bethanie said to Shadow, feeling self-conscious standing there in front of the man she had fallen in love with. Her legs felt like they were made of wood as neither of them made a move towards one another despite that mere days ago, they had known what it was to bare themselves completely to one another.

  Shadow did not speak, but his eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her clothed in a figure-hugging dress that showed off every curve from her high breasts to her small waist. Her hair was swept up off of her neck in a chongo. And the neck of her jingle dress plunged deeply in the back, showing off the cream-colored skin of her shoulders, he had never seen her this way before.

  And for the second time in her life now, she was grateful to be female, the way Shadow watched her, it made her feel beautiful. “What do you think?” she asked. “It's on loan from Lillie.” She held out the sides of the dress for his approval. Inside, she was still glowing with happiness from her decision to
stay and not move to England. And looking at Shadow now, she realized that she could put her feelings for him aside and still find a way to be happy.

  “I've a lot to be grateful for,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. Looking at her here, among his people, he began to question what his reasons had been for trying to shut her out of his future. They did not make sense to him anymore. “If it hadn't been for Carol leading me to you, I might not have found you.” He shuddered inwardly. “You'd be dead.”

  Bethanie looked at him, perplexed. “What do you mean? Carol couldn't have led you to me.” Bethanie shook her head. “I just visited her this morning. She's recovering nicely, but she's still in the animal hospital. And not near ready to fly yet.”

  Shadow could not explain how Carol had led him to Bethanie, only that she had. “I've still got a lot to be grateful for, standing right in front of me,” Shadow said, his steel-gray gaze never leaving hers.

  “Come join the circle.” Lillie broke into their conversation, returning to Bethanie's side from out of the blue and whisking her away before she had a chance to protest.

  Shadow watched as the two women entered the dance circle past the tent set up especially for the host drums. He remained outside the circle, watching. It had been far too long since he had participated in a powwow. The drummers beat slowly then ever so gradually picked up their pace until the dancers inside the circle were stomping in a rapid rhythm with the beat.

  As Bethanie stepped along in the circle with her new friends, Lillie and Chris, the silver jingles of her turquoise dress made their own music. They followed the dancers dressed in full regalia around the circle. As she watched the colors swirl around her, a vivid memory filled her mind.

  It had been a sunny afternoon in the mountains of North Carolina when she had been eight years old, sitting on a wooden bar stool on a sidewalk in the North Carolina mountain town of Cherokee. Standing in front of a decorative teepee set up for the occasion were two Native American Indians. A wicker basket stood on a three-legged stool for tourists to drop in their two dollars, the cost to be photographed with real-life Native Cherokee Indians. For the photo, the handsome pair, dressed in their traditional trailer warbonnets and hairpipe breastplates, flanked Bethanie, a young girl with her hair cut in the style of a popular Olympic ice skater.