Only the Shadow Knows

Only the shadow knows





Prologue

Just the beginning





The ambulance alarm wails.



And I am numb.



Nothing is clear, my eyes are dry and stiff.



Touch has no feeling.



The sound revolves, deafening.



I am too new.



         Unused, my feet drag along the corridor, following the shiny metal gurney as if by reflex. The bleach white halls sting my shapeless body like wasps, yet I feel no pain. My body sags along the floor, seemingly lifeless, slithering toward the loosening soul. I lose the bed around a corner, but a stuck-squeaky wheel leads me by sound to his room. I quietly wait outside, breathing against the window while the dying man is switched to a crisp sheeted bed, yet my breath doesn't fog the glass. All flustered commotion stops, the doctors look around at each other, heads hanging low. I cling to the wall as the doctors vacate the room, but before the heavy wooden door close with one deep-toned click, I slide as if weightless into the room.



         I could smell the blood soaked bed sheets and hear a strained breathing only I can hear. Most of all, I could hear his "life chords", snapping free one by one all over his deformed body, like a violin bow when played against the instrument too forcefully. Life chord, invisible to the human eye, but to mine I see thin worn out bungee chords, sewn onto their souls like a shadow. Faint outlines of the man appear in swift images before me, there is no real sight for me, this employment only consists of souls. I search for what is left of his face, guiding my arm across his living corpse. The back of my hand tries to touch his face, feeling his sharp stubble and loose skin, to feel his humanity, yet material things slip through my fingers like the heartbeats of a dying man. My hand hovers further down towards the center of his chest where his soul is concealed. The magnetic pull, the drops of each sand crystal falling slower and slower, ending his last few seconds of life as a human. The man’s sagging arm shot out quickly, grasping me tightly, pulling me towards his face.



"You must give this to my daughter, please, in any way possible..." he said in a gruff voice. His senile wrinkly arm strained as he reached toward his chest attempting to rip off a brown leather necklace resting there.



“He wants it, where is it?” I ask.



“Please…my daughter…”



         Shakily the nearly dead man set to put it into my outstretched palm, but it slipped through, landing in a pool of blood on the floor. Footsteps were echoing closer, halting outside the door. I snatched at his last dwindling cord that tied to his heart, using all the strength I could get; but my time ran out, my form disappeared like a mist that was blown by the wind. As I drifted away, I heard the silent shrieks of his daughter before she even uttered a word. I knew I was in trouble. I lost his soul. I murdered him, in the distance I saw him fading away quicker than me into nothingness. He was truly dead, there were no more paths for him.



This, my friends was an example of someone who shouldn’t be doing this kind of dirty work. I need someone sensitive, and willing to not leave when humans arrive. I mean really, death is invisible except to those who are the almost dead. He did not realize who this man is---was. Now, to live this man’s daughter’s mind and insight is my number one priority. For I believe she will come in handy some time soon. Let’s all take a ride and fall into her mind.





Prologue Pt. 2

Necklace and Dreams



         My face, laced with tears, shivered uncontrollably underneath my hands that cover my sorrow. Rocking back and forth on the uncomfortable yellow plastic hospital chair at 2 in the morning, there was no sound, no guided beds being pushed past the door for surgery, no elderly residents with their canes and walkers shuffling quickly to a bathroom, nothing but the monotonous, screaming heart monitor. My mouth was stuck in an O of silent aching and it couldn’t compare to the intense ripping of my insides. His bloody callused hand was clutched to my chest; his cold, lifeless hand. My tears landed upon his fist, dripping, off onto his already wet sheets. I watched the blood and water mix together and spread rapidly down my wrist. "Dad…" I choked as my whispering voice cracked in pain. With what little energy i had, I squeezed my eyes as tight as possible, grasping the edges of my chair, cutting off circulation to my fingers. My head fell forward and landed against the side of the hard mattress, sticking to the congealed blood and tears. I shut my mouth, grinding my teeth together trying to conceal my true feelings. Then, all went black, my body, tense from crying, relaxed, the misery subsided...all was calm...



         We were floating on a dinghy at sunset in the ocean all alone. He was smiling and he tucked a loose wisp of dark brown hair behind my ear. His serene voice said, "I love you." Rain began to pelt upon his face, every drop left an unwelcome crevice. I kept trying to remold him, to set him back right, but he became deformed in his seat. I was alone on the boat. All that was left of my father was a pile of mud and his necklace. A menacing wave crashed knocking me into the black thunderous waters. There was nothing to hold on to. I went under, back into my wavering consciousness...



         All I could see was white around me. Was it snowing? I was shivering and wet. My face was swollen, but oddly cool. I attempted to push my self up; and it was a poor attempt, my arms gave way. I lay there, not moving, exhausted. The morticians’ assistant found me asleep on the white tile floor with a necklace clutched in my hands at 4 am that morning.



2 Weeks Later



         People say it isn’t as heartbreaking when you’re older. That you will understand that people die, that it is okay. I can’t though. The loved ones, their vivid faces appear in my dreams, disturbing my peace, waking me up in cold sweats. All I can think about is the hurtful words I said in the past. They only cared for me and loved me with an unending passion. I now know what my mother meant when she said, "You will thank me later, I am just the beginning..." My scar has been ripped open with a fresh wound joining the old. Both of my parents are gone forever, I thought as I brushed my fingers over a picture of the two of them "together again, after so many years".



         There was a knock on the door. A thin white envelope shoved its way through the brass mail slot and landed on the slick cherry wood floor. My terrier, Jasper, flew into the hallway; his unclipped nails rasping against the varnish as he bounded and slid to a stop around the corner. I ran in after him knowing the letter would be in slobbery pieces if I let Jasper reach it first. Bending down I grabbed the envelope scrutinizing the address as I shuffled back to my seat at the round glass kitchen table, pushing Jasper away as he leapt for the envelope. The letter was unsealed; I turned it upside down and let its contents fall onto my pink flowery plastic placemat. Two sheets of paper and a large rusty key lay before me. One of the documents was clean, folded neatly, and conveyed 4 short sentences in loopy cursive.



Ms. de Frait,



My condolences to the loss of your father. He has left the family Castle in France and your entire family’s savings to you being that you are the last living relative. The key is in the envelope, do with it what you will. Directions to the castle are written on the back of this sheet.



John Ramsey



         Sir John Ramsey was my family’s attorney before they all passed. I set this letter down and picked up the other paper. It was yellowing and musty, obviously very old. The ink was almost faded but, the words were easy enough to read. It was the deed to the castle. I remember visiting it in Paris every year until I was seventeen. Distant memories of my younger years were now flooding back. Before I even reached for the key I had already decided that a visit to the castle would be a good distraction.



         My red and white Mini Cooper was cramped and uncomfortable. Jasper was growling at an innocent pedestrian walking by while I was parking in the only space left. We had finally arrived at the Piccadilly underground. The hallways were crowded with bustling Londoners. After wrestling Jasper into his plastic carrier I gave him to an attendant to put with the other animals in the back carrying room. I got my ticket checked and I climbed onto the train. Walking through the train to my cabin, i stared out the window and watched a young couple kiss and hold each other, saying their goodbyes like my mom and dad did before he and I left for Paris so many years ago. She never much cared for France, therefore never came with us, she told me it had too many smells and too much romance, and that "romance is for people who have nothing better to do, Londoners always have something to do". My dad and i never agreed with her, the smells and romance in France has kept it alive.



         The squalls of babies and the rumble of conversations were interrupting my thoughts. I was being shoved into the tiny train compartment by a frustrated attendant. The room had a row of blue plastic seats, a rectangular window, a table and a bed on the left wall. I slid the door shut behind me barring the noise out. Immediately I plopped myself on the hard bunk bed and was asleep.



         She was submerged, the darkness of the alley hid the scarlet flush gone of her face, blue eyes glassy, hands clasped as if in pleading. His firm steps were slow and hesitant against the eroding concrete. There was an object in his smooth left hand that glimmered, silver shadows reflected on his face. He found her cold and gone. Matters were out of his hands now. Raising the sparkling diamond stake to the full moon he brought it back down to his soulless heart.



         The train stopped with a jolt that welcomed me back to my surroundings. "Bonjour Mademoiselle, I am sorry to wake you, but we are at the station, it says on the guest list you brought a dog, he will be brought to you momentarily," said an attendant in broken English that opened the door a crack, but then closed it. As I thought of the eerie dream that I just had, perspiration was trickling down my back and forehead, there was a folded up towel on a table in the cabin that i pressed to my face. The two hours had been swift in passing. There was a knock and the same French man brought Jasper in his carrier into the small room, Jasper probably barking at him the whole way. I handed him a few Euros and then I was alone again. Tucking the dream away for later I bent over to gather Jasper and my carpetbag.



         Rain began to pour in the mid-afternoon as I sprinted over to the shiny black cab. I was disgruntled and annoyed with the expansive amount of the short drive. Getting dropped off at the beginning of the winding brick steps going up to Chateaux de Frait, I let Jasper out on his red cloth leash. We ran to the overhang above the doorstep. There was no need to gaze in awe at its ancient gothic beauty, past memories returned. As I turned the key, brushing spider webs and bits of rusty metal flakes off my hand, the large wooden round-top black door creaked open and the acrid smell of decay washed over me when I stepped in. Jasper sneezed as I closed and locked the door behind us. I empathized with him; both of senses tingled, ready to pass out with the smell. There was a silver light switch next to the archaic door hinge. When I flicked it up a surprisingly new set of electric light bulbs popped on filling the long hallway with an orange glow that ricocheted off the bumpy gray-brown stone walls. The cab-driver followed in with my suitcases, I had already paid him, though the fare seemed like it was enough.



         I dropped my threadbare blue carpetbag in the hallway on the multi-colored frayed rug in the foyer and sidled into the room down the corridor. Aimlessly my hand ran along the rough damp stone wall, making my fingertips bounce slightly against it. Before I took my first step, I flicked on the lights again. The brilliance compared to the soft orange light of the passageway made me squint as the bulbs from the chandeliers came to life. My mouth dropped to form a gaping puzzled expression. I had completely forgotten about the beauty of this place. The room was colossal. The library was a dome shape that reached all the way down to the floorboards. The mahogany wood floor was covered with dust. Each step I took left an impression on the wood. I bent down and inscribed my name upon the dust causing me to sneeze. Eventually I glanced up at the ceiling following the arches and loops.



          There was a vast captivating painting across the entire ceiling. The art was alive; I could picture the people moving, laughing. The aged volumes were so numerous encircling the whole room with their stories. Each book resided in its own home on the angular shelves. But, the most prized possession in the library wasn't the books on the shelf, or the paintings permanently stained on the wall, it was floating above it all. Suspended by rope, a boat hung in the center of the ceiling, stationary like a windless day on the water. The same boat my father and i use to row in when we'd take it on vacation to the Mediterranean, right before my mom passed away. After she died, my father decided to retire the boat to the library and it has been there ever since. Blowing on the spines of the books to read them I realized, It was all horrifyingly beautiful, my eyes burned, the world was spinning, I actually owned this inhuman heaven. The salty tears brimmed over and I laughed and jumped uncontrollably. The tears landed on the floor leaving spots of happiness. This was the first time I’ve laughed since my father’s death.



         Even the carved reading tables and squishy velvet chairs were warm and inviting. The fireplace looked lonely though. I decided to move two large maroon chairs on either side. Stepping backward I graded my work giving myself an approving nod. Turning around I noticed a piano with yellowing ivory keys hidden in a corner. Gliding to the instrument I wheeled it into the open.



         I could hear his quick breaths and quick feet. Jasper, flopping ears and lolling pink tongue came galloping in dragging my carpetbag along the floor behind him with the strap in his mouth. He crossed the room excitedly bounding towards me. I had forgotten about him in my fit of happiness. He must be starving. I jogged over to my carpet bag and took out his favorite treats. "Cow liver and pig snouts right boy, yum?" His short stub of a tail was wagging crazily. I patted his head nonchalantly already back in my other world.

I opted to move on to the next "arena." There were no electric lights in this next room, but large rectangular windows bounced gleaming rays everywhere. One part of the room caught my eye, a large spiral staircase stood behind me and I realized I had found the staircase of my youth. I remember the feeling of my hair fluttering around. I would fly down the banister laughing with childish amusement when I landed into my father’s loving arms. A sad smile flitted across my face.



         The windows portrayed the magnificent rolling green acres of land. I stared out over the ledge; and concluded to open one of the smaller windows sucking in the fresh musky smell of rain. Turning around I trailed off up the stairs allowing my hand to slide up the smooth banister. At the top I straddled the rail and slid down landing with a tumble. There was a giddy feeling in my stomach and I walked up stairs and discovered my old bedchamber to the right of the staircase opening. The sunset glowed through the blotchy windows brightening the bedroom.



         I chose this to be my room for the time being. There was a comfortable bed and a nice view of the garden from the rooms outside balcony. Before I go to sleep I would have to shake out the dust and mites from the untouched sheets. For now I had to leave to buy essentials for my stay. I looked for Jasper for 15 minutes and was content to find that he had been snoozing quietly under the piano. I told him to be a good boy while I was gone and gave him another treat.



Darkened Room



Chapter One





         As I sit on the chair of wherever I am, I run my tongue along the empty space in my mouth, where one of my bottom front teeth should be. I’ve been spitting blood for the past few hours since I woke up, I don’t remember how I got here, but thinking back it must have been from the fight last night; which now seems to have been more then just a fight, because of the pliers with the dried up blood resting on the table. I don’t remember getting hit in the head in the fight, especially by pliers. Every once in awhile I’ll see a shadow pass in the light coming from outside the door but I can’t yell or scream for help, I’ve recovered enough to know that they’ve drugged me, whoever they are, but it’s only a paralyzing sedative, not the good stuff like acid. You’d figure if they’d leave me all alone in a darkened room, they could have at least given me something to keep entertained.



         Give me a noise, anything but this fucking silence that has been pestering me for the past I-don’t-know how many hours. The shadows outside the door stopped 12,600 seconds ago, I’ve got to keep busy somehow, remember, no acid. A jingle at the door excites me, makes me sit up straight in the chair a little more, in my mind I’m thinking “oh finally…some company”



         The door opens and the silhouette of a man fills the light from the hall, he closes the door slowly and locks it behind him. Taking his time, he walks slowly towards the desk, pulling out the chair from the other side far enough away so his face doesn’t show in the dim light. Before he sits down, he pulls out his gun from his shoulder holster and lays it on the table; I can tell it’s a 38 special revolver with which looks to me like an ivory handle.



“Nice gun” I say “but don’t you think it’s a little too small to be intimidating?”



“How do you want to die?”



“Fucking your mother”



“Tsk tsk tsk, now that’s not nice”



He gets up from the seat and walks around the table, his fist backhands me across the face, spraying a mouthful of blood onto my shirt.



“Y’know” I say, twisting my jaw around making sure it’s not broken “I just bought this shirt, it was real expensive, and it doesn’t look well with blood on it”



“Oh c’mon, I think it looks wonderful on you, it is, how fashion people say, in style?”



“Yeh? Blood is the new red?”



“See, now you’re getting it”



He backhands me across my other cheek, just too even things up a bit; he pulls a red handkerchief out of his back pocket to wipe his hands before sitting down again.



“Though” he explains “my all time favourite design is the blood stained curtains, it’s unique in how you can change the pattern each time”



I pretend to yawn.



“Listen here, you’re stalling, and even though I enjoy listening to your psycho ass babble, I’d really appreciate it if you tell me what I’m doing here, if you won’t, then you can go to hell”



“No, Scott, I won’t be going to hell soon, this conversation that we’re having here, is more of a warning, when the time is right, we can go to hell together”





Chapter Two



“Remember what I told you Scott”



“Yeah, yeah” I say,



                        But my reply falls on deaf ears for my kidnapper has vanished back into the building, an abandoned whorehouse that had a fire last year. It sits in the worst part of town, so no one wants to care for it and restore it, one less whorehouse in this town really won’t make a difference. I crack my neck and rub my wrists free of the feeling of being still tied up while I wait to hail a taxi. My watch says its past 3 in the morning, all the gamblers and street hookers are gone for the night, winners and losers going to bed with one another. In this town, winner and loser mean the same thing, in this town, winners and losers are just a fairy tale. I forget about the taxi and start walking to an all night sushi bar that I go to on a regular basis that is just down the block. I step through the doorway of the bar and Ricky is standing at the counter making rolls. I climb up onto a stool at the bar before Ricky notices me.



“Ah! Scotty san! You here early, you want usual?”



“Hey Ricky, yeah the usual, only just give me the bottle of sake.”



“Sake? So early? Bad night or you get lucky?” Ricky winks as he hand me the sake.



“Y’know, I think it was a little bit of both this time”



                    I don’t wait until Ricky finishes handing me my plate before I dig my fingers into a sushi roll, squishing the seaweed and rice between my fingers I devour it with greedy thoughts. It’s not until I’m done my third roll when I notice her sitting on the stool next to me, elbow propped up on the counter, head on hand, strumming her pink glossed fingernails against her blushing cheek, watching me eat.



“Hi” she says in a sweet, little whisper.



“Hi” I reply, sliding my plate over to her, offering her my breakfast, even though I want it all.



“Oh, thank you, I’ll split one because I’m not really that hungry”



                  She picks up a roll and breaks it into an uneven two and hands me half, I toss it up into the air and let it fall perfectly into my salivating mouth. She laughs as I chew and tosses her half up, it bounces off her lip and lands into her mouth as well. Still chewing, I smile and hand her a napkin from the dispenser to wipe away the few remaining rice pieces on her bottom lip.



“Mmm, those are good, I think I will have another”



“Hey Ricky” I say. “Can we get a few more rolls over here?”



“Sure thing Scotty” Ricky hands me a fresh plate of rolls



“And another bottle of sake please” she asks.



“Coming up Melissa”



         We eat in silence, the comfortable connection perfect for the hour of the day. Just the buzz of Hover cabs passing outside in the empty streets of London. Draining the rest of the sake from the bottle, I got up, pulled my jacket from the counter. Melissa followed suit and grabbed her purse while stuffing the last piece of sushi into her mouth. Walking down the sidewalk side by side, Melissa slips her arm between mine. In the air, a light mist trickles gently down, dampening our hair as we walk to my apartment. Through the mist and dark of the early morning, climbing up the steps to the entrance, I look out down the street. The orange of a lamppost illuminates the alleyway near the corner store. Lurking under the lamppost, a figure stands, staring in my direction. Melissa reaches her hand into my jacket, searching for the keys, it distracts me, I pull them out and hand them to her, and when I look back to see the man, he is gone.