In the Shadows of Freedom

by C

  “It comes from within.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea. I’ve never met someone who looks like her.” She looked up and stared at him. “Okay. It’s your turn now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just told you about the painting closest to my heart. Do you have any idea how huge that is for me? I never reveal anything about my paintings to other people. So now I’m done sharing. You have to tell me something. And I don’t mean your favorite color or the instrument you played in the school band. I want something deep.”

  His light blue eyes widened. “I don’t want to tell you something. I want to show you something!”

  “What?”

  “My favorite place.” He stood up.

  Amanda fiddled the charcoal pencil in her fingers, debating. “You’ve got me curious now.” She had been working on the sketch for a few hours now. It wasn’t perfect, but it was just a preliminary sketch after all. “Alright, let’s go.”

  She threw her sketchbook and pencil in her book bag and followed Morgan out of the Met. It was another pristine day in the city, though the cooler air required a coat. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She stopped by a street vendor’s cart and bought a hot dog (Morgan said he didn’t need anything), and then they walked the city blocks, chatting together. She appreciated the casualness of their conversation and the familiarity that they shared. Their connection felt truly remarkable and produced a friendship that, though brief in its duration thus far, was impressively deep.

  They walked for about half an hour. He began to slow his pace, and Amanda figured they must be approaching the destination. She scanned the view ahead, hoping to spot the mysterious location. Past the steel grays and flashing signs, two towering spires rose into the air, each bedecked with a cross. She shook her head in disbelief—and disdain. … His favorite place was St. Patrick’s Cathedral!

  A memory came to her mind: thirteen years ago, on a windy spring afternoon, walking up the steps of the cathedral with her parents. They had brought her along with them on a parish pilgrimage. She had been here before. Even with the time that had passed, the cathedral looked the same. … It had not changed; she had.

  Amanda stopped in her tracks. Morgan halted as well, turning to her with a questioning look on his face.

  She gritted her teeth. “The cathedral? You’re taking me to St. Patrick’s?”

  “Yes … I said I was taking you to my favorite place.”

  She sighed. Religion and politics: those were the two things you weren’t supposed to discuss in polite company. Politics she didn’t care about. Religion she wanted nothing to do with. “I’m not going in there.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s an utter waste of time—a tourist trap.”

  “How so?”

  “Come on, Morgan. How many people get sucked into lighting a five-cent candle for five bucks?”

  Morgan turned to gaze at the cathedral, while Amanda just groaned within. Why did St. Patrick’s have to be his favorite place? Why not Times Square, Broadway, or even the best coffee shop in the Flatiron District? The city held a whole slew of possible locations, but he had to choose a church. Religion now tainted and strained this exquisite friendship. It fueled the fire of her anger.

  “You don’t have to light any candles,” Morgan said, turning back toward her. “Just walk around with me.” He didn’t seem upset by her refusal, which wasn’t surprising. She couldn’t imagine him mad.

  “If you’re looking for inspiration, let’s go across the street to Rockefeller Center and see Atlas. One man holding the weight of the world—now that’s compelling.”

  Her vision then strayed to a figure emerging from the massive bronze doors of the cathedral. Something about the woman struck Amanda as familiar, and she watched the individual cross the street and draw near. Amanda recognized the face now: Chloe.

  Chloe met Amanda’s stare and jumped. “Oh! Hi, Amanda.”

  “Hi.” Amanda squirmed. She didn’t enjoy being spotted in close proximity to the cathedral. She wanted no association between herself and the building and everything it represented.

  “Did you see the lines around there?” Chloe jerked her thumb toward St. Patrick’s. Surrounding the building was a disorderly queue: an aged man shuffling along with a cane, a haggard-looking woman guiding a young girl who drooled and clapped her hands, a teenager who was clearly wasted. “They clog the sidewalk every day at this time.”

  “Why don’t they just go inside?”

  Chloe scoffed. “They have to wait for their turn. They’re all looking for free food. The church gives it out every day at noon. But really, what’s even the point? What can these Unfit even contribute, you know?”

  “Doesn’t look like they’re doing much right now.”

  “Seriously. I don’t know why someone didn’t take care of them a long time ago. We have government funding for that, you know? All the way up to two years old.”

  Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know why they can’t just go inside the church so they don’t hold up the foot traffic.”

  “There isn’t any more room inside.” Morgan frowned. “It’s already full of starving people.”

  Chloe scowled. “I’m a little late, so I have to run, but see you later at Little Pete’s?”

  “Yeah, see you then.”

  Giving a small wave, Chloe weaved her way into the crowd and disappeared.

  Amanda folded her arms and stared at Morgan. “I’m not changing my mind about this. I’m going to go, but I guess I’ll just catch up with you at the Met sometime soon.”

  “No, I’m afraid you won’t. You see, I’ve been the one to find you twice. Now it’s your turn. You’ll know where to find me.” He turned as though to head toward the cathedral.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped and looked back at her.

  She took a step forward. “But I … I told you I’m not going in there!”

  “You are free to do as you wish. But I hope to see you soon, Amanda.”

  She stood alone on the sidewalk, watching him mix in with the crowd of the Unfit. Then she followed his progress up the cathedral steps and through the large doors. He passed out of sight. Rallying her anger to ward off the sadness, she stormed away. Considering the parameters Morgan had set, she probably wouldn’t ever see or speak to him again.

  It was a welcome relief when the taxi dropped her off at Little Pete’s later that evening. The club was the perfect reprieve, and the thought of seeing Ethan buoyed her spirits. She put Portrait of a Mother and Morgan out of her mind.

  She approached Jadyn, who once again guarded the third floor. “Umm … hi.”

  “Amanda.” He grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth. “Bet you’re looking for your man.”

  “You mean Ethan?”

  “Yeah. Unless you’ve moved on already.” He winked.

  “No! No … I’m looking for Ethan.”

  “What’s the password?” He stood up, his enormous frame blocking the stair entrance.

  She panicked. Password? Ethan never told her a password. … What was she going to do?

  Jadyn burst into a deep laughter, bowling over and holding his side. “Your face! Oh man! That was priceless!”

  He couldn’t stop cackling, but at least he had the courtesy to step aside so she could go upstairs. She hurried past him without saying goodbye. It mystified her as to what Nikki saw in him.

  The gathering was small this evening, and she found Ethan right away. He sat apart from the others, typing on his laptop, apparently deep in thought. The red lighting lit the seriousness etched on his face. She plopped down beside him on the sofa and sighed, the stress and agitation of the day subsiding. Being with him somehow made everything alright.

  “I missed you.”

  “Somehow, Amanda, I find that hard to believe.” He closed the computer lid and faced her, his b
row furrowed.

  “Wh-What do you mean?”

  “You lied to me.”

  “What? When?”

  “You said you were going to meet me at the NCP rally this afternoon. But Chloe told me that you went—with another guy—to St. Patrick’s.”

  The way he spoke the name of the cathedral produced a shiver up her spine. It surprised her that someone could utter two words with as much loathing as he had managed.

  She slapped her forehead. The rally for the National Citizens Party. She forgot … she completely and utterly forgot. “Ethan, I’m so sorry! I got caught up with my sketch and—”

  “You were working on the sketch at St. Patrick’s?”

  “No. I finished it, and then I went for a walk with my friend—”

  “You told me that you didn’t know anyone in the city.”

  “I didn’t know Morgan was here. I ran into him at the Met. He went to Valor with me. We’re just old friends, that’s all.”

  “And you went to St. Patrick’s with him.”

  “No! I didn’t go in. And I never will. I’m just so sorry about today. I feel terrible.”

  He shook his head. “Sometimes I just wonder if I really know you. Just, for a moment, consider things from my perspective. You refuse to let me into your deeper thoughts. You keep yourself so guarded around me, just like your paintings that you won’t let me see. How am I not to conclude that there’s something else going on?” He sighed. “How about some answers? … Why? Why won’t you ever go into St. Patrick’s?”

  Her words spilled out, her desire to appease him overcoming any remaining hesitation about disclosing this part of herself. “My family is very religious. Growing up, my parents taught me my prayers, and every Sunday you could find us, without fail, sitting in a church pew. But despite my parents’ faithfulness, the God they believed in let my mother die in a car accident on my tenth birthday. My mother’s death was the turning point of my life. How could I continue believing in an all-good deity after that kind of tragedy? They say God is our Father, but if so, what kind of a father takes away a young girl’s mother? If he’s really ‘all-powerful,’ why didn’t he change things? He can’t be an all-good God, or any god at all. Any trust or faith I had in religion died with my mother. These organized religions are all empty words and empty practices. It means nothing and does nothing.”

  He studied her for a long while and then began to speak. “My parents were ambivalent when it came to religion. They never talked about faith or ‘God,’ so I did a lot of my own personal reading and studying. At first, I was agnostic: not certain if God existed or not. Then I met this girl. She seemed like a good person—intelligent, pretty, fun to be around. She was also a Christian.

  “As I became closer to her, I got an inside look into what her religion was like. She was a slave to it. If she didn’t say her morning prayers or go to church on Sunday, guilt haunted her. When I asked her questions about God and wouldn’t accept her scripture quotes for an answer, she had no reply aside from, ‘You just have to have faith.’ She had succumbed to this whole system of doctrines, accepting it all because she was told it was the ‘truth.’ If someone told me from the time I was an infant that fairy tales are real, I would probably believe all of it too. But the real truth is that we aren’t born to be slaves to some man they say lived more than two thousand years ago. We are capable of directing and shaping our own lives. She decided it for me. After I broke up with her, I knew that I was an atheist.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry about your mom, Amanda.”

  “I would have told you sooner. It’s just that it’s hard for me to talk about it. It brings up all kinds of painful memories. It’s easier to keep my walls up and guard against the hurt.”

  Ethan moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “This is the first time you’ve shared something so personal with me.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I really like you.” That was the understatement of the year, but there was no reason to disclose everything, most especially the depth of her feelings toward him.

  “Oh yeah? Well, while we have this moment of unhindered confessions, let me ask: Why? Why, exactly, do you like me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I was alone in this city and most especially at the Academy. You reached out to me and genuinely wanted to know me. You’re bright and intelligent, not to mention very good-looking.” Her cheeks grew hot. “And your confidence and self-assurance are what I admire the most about you. You are your own true person, and by being with you, I’m seeing things in a way I never knew possible.” She had her own question for him, an enigma that she couldn’t comprehend ever since she first met him: “But what about me? I can’t understand what you see in me.”

  He sat back, tapping his knuckles against his lips for a moment. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You surprised me. You weren’t who I was expecting. I’ve met a lot of girls in my line of work … but you’re different from the others. I suppose that’s the quality I find most attractive, as well as the most frustrating. You have this depth to you—there’s such a mysterious intensity about you. I feel like others have passed you by because they couldn’t recognize the beauty and complexity behind that fortress you’ve constructed around yourself. Like I say, you fascinate me. You always keep me guessing what you’re thinking or what kind of past has formed this person before me. Sometimes, when I get a fleeting peek inside the way your mind works, I think we may actually be very similar. Maybe one day, I’ll unravel your whole mystery; until then, I like playing the game.”

  Standing, he extended his hand toward her. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  Hand in hand, they left Little Pete’s and got in his car. He was maneuvering through the streets of Manhattan. He clearly wasn’t driving aimlessly this time; he had a set purpose in mind. Not that it mattered to her: she would go anywhere with him.

  He parked on a quiet street, lined with trees and potted plants. Though they were still in Manhattan, they had left behind the touristy hustle and bustle—and any unwelcome sight of the Unfit. This was the Upper West Side. He strode up the stairs to a four-story brownstone. She grasped the elegant black handrail and observed the bay window, the sharp black shutters, and the sculpted doorframe surrounding the glossy wooden door. He placed his thumb on the small reader above the doorknob, and at once, the door clicked open.

  “Coming in?” He smiled at her open-mouthed expression.

  “This is your apartment?”

  “Not the whole building, mind you. Just the first floor.”

  She followed him inside and stepped onto a polished cherrywood floor, quite the contrast to the faded wall-to-wall carpeting in her apartment. The walls here were painted deep, multi-shades of gray. A darker gray wall unit lined two walls, providing shelving space from floor to ceiling. The shelving itself was a form of art with contrasting patterns of open shelving, which held everything from books to a Moroccan vase to a bronze statue of the Capitoline wolf.

  He had furnished the apartment with modern designs and sophisticated styles. It was contemporary, functional yet dynamic, and entirely impressive. In other words, she seemed out of place.

  He placed his phone on the small, metallic table by the door. She wandered through the living room, observing all the details. She didn’t want to imagine how much his apartment must cost.

  “So what do you think?” He stood nearby, his face attentive.

  She smiled to herself. … He wanted her approval.

  “To say it’s nice would be an understatement.”

  “It’s my favorite place. But let me assure you: I work hard for it. If I can enjoy this place as my home, it’s only through my own effort.”

  “Well, I’m very impressed.”

  They stared at each other from across the empty, silent room.

  “Why don’t we have a seat?” He gestured to the black leather loveseat. Everything smelled like him, even th
e leather. It was tantalizing. He brought two glasses of wine over and placed them on the table in front of them. “We’ve had a stressful few days. … We’re here together, alone.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small circular box. He didn’t need to open it for her to guess its contents.

  Nagging fear and energizing adrenaline flooded her body. “What will happen?”

  “Your eyes will be opened. Everything will become heightened. The lights will be brighter. Smells will become intoxicating. You’ll be able to perceive within and without more sharply and profoundly. And the best part will be when we touch. It will be like electricity running between us.” He ran his finger up and down her arm, the delicate caress irresistible. “I want to share this experience with you, Amanda.”

  The truth was that the anxiety of recent days had worn her reason thin. She didn’t want to think anymore, to weigh the possible consequences or to consider the ramifications. She just wanted Ethan, and this was a conduit to being closer to him.

  She took one of the pills from the box.

  Ethan placed a pill in his mouth, swallowing it with some wine. “You don’t have to be afraid. Just follow your desires. … We’re only human after all.”

  Not allowing herself a second’s pause, she swallowed the pill.

  In just a few minutes, she sensed the overture of something new and unfamiliar coming over her. It reminded her of a lake before daybreak, a misty layer of fog covering the water. The fog was her life: melancholic Amanda, haunted by memories of her past, shunning any close relationship in trepidation of losing another loved one.

  Now, though, a new dawn rose within her. The hesitancy and isolation she kept wrapped protectively around her like a blanket were unraveling, giving way to a total liberation. A surging energy pounded through her veins, vanishing the shadows of the past and awakening every joint and muscle of her body with an unrecognizable fire. The fog lifted on the lake, giving way to a blazing sunshine.

  Everything changed. The lamp on Ethan’s coffee table emitted a light that seemed to visibly flow, weaving its way through the air and wrapping itself in folds around the couch, encompassing both of them in pounding waves of luminance. Every pore of her skin seemed to fill with its heat, her bare arms prickling with heightened sensitivity.