Page 19 of Stalked By Shadows

“I am though,” I told him. “Mom’s as blonde as can be, dad’s full African American. They are one of those ultimate poster-ready interracial couples. Two ends of the spectrum. Luke and I got frizzy hair and dark eyes out of it. We didn’t have it as bad as some of the kids who did have dark skin, but no one really let us forget that our dad is black. Lukas’s old police department knew and treated him like crap.”

“Lucky,” Micah said. “This city is full of racism and hate. Sad for a town that is such a melting pot of cultures.”

“What about you?” I asked. I would rather focus on him than the pain and the disquiet still rattling around my gut.

“Hmm?”

“You’re obviously Japanese, but I’ve never seen a blue-eyed Japanese person. At least not with real blue eyes. Contacts sure…” I was one of the few people I knew, who wasn’t Asian, who could actually distinguish the different types of Asian faces; Korean, Chinese, Japanese, and Indian. It wasn’t the skin tone as that could vary from city to city. It was the shape of the face, eyes, and cheek bones. Mix them up and it really became hard to determine, but I was pretty sure Micah’s features were very Japanese. “What’s your back story? What sort of mix stirred up a beautiful man like you?”

“Oh. Thank you. Mom is Irish. Red hair, blue eyes, and all. She taught English in Japan. That’s how she met my dad. I have two aunts and an uncle on my mom’s side who immigrated to America and grew up spending a lot of time here. Spent my life visiting places all over the world. Lived and studied in Tokyo, traveled to Ireland, and America, even spent a few years with my parents while they taught in China. It wasn’t until I met Timothy online that I moved to America. Sounds like you’ve traveled a lot too.”

“Only while I served. Spent half a year in Japan on my first tour. My Japanese isn’t that fluent though. It’s better than my Chinese, but not by much. I pick up languages pretty fast, but it still takes immersion for me, at least a couple of weeks. My first tour was a lot of training and very little time off base. Second tour we did France. I’m fluent in French and Italian now. Third tour was all the Middle East. Thought I’d maybe get to go back to Japan someday, or even China, which is why I tried to learn Chinese. But stuff sort of happened…”

Micah blew on the wound. I could feel his warm breath on my forehead and knew he was drying the glue but it comforted me that he was close. “Life does that. Changes our direction sometimes.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said.

“For what?” He began putting away pieces of the first aid kit.

“This whole mess. I’ll understand if you fire me. Disaster seems to follow me.”

“You are not to blame for this evening, Alex.”

“I flipped out.”

“You had a flashback. I knew it could happen. Lukas had warned me. I’ve seen videos of people having full on flashbacks where they attack everyone who approaches them. Yours wasn’t even a bad one. You pretty much dropped to the ground and held on to me. It wouldn’t have happened if the circumstances had been normal. I do tours all the time and have never found a summoning circle or a body on any of them. St. Louis Number One is one of the best protected areas of the city. It shouldn’t have happened. Had I even thought there was a possibility neither of us would have entered the cemetery.” Micah shook his head, then he dug through the bag, sorting out what looked like clothing.

“Is Sarah dead?”

“I honestly don’t know. They won’t tell me anything.”

“But you saw…” Or was the body too messed up to make out anything? My stomach churned at the idea.

“I saw blood.”

And maybe more, but hopefully his brain wouldn’t put it together. Having served and gone on actual tours in violent countries I’d seen my fair share of dead. It was never pretty. Funerals could dress it up, make it feel less horrific, but the prettiest part of war was a widow’s tears. And there was nothing pretty about that, though it didn’t stop the media from portraying it everywhere.

“I’m no hero,” Micah continued, “just a tour guide who sometimes gets feelings that point people in the right direction to see stuff they wouldn’t normally experience. What happened in the cemetery tonight was not normal. Even for me.”

Maybe it was because of me. “Maybe I attracted something there.” Maybe the thing that killed my troop had followed me here.

“Remember what I said about people influencing things because they expect it to turn out a certain way? Don’t do that.”

“But it’s funny how it’s never happened to you before and my first day it happens.”

“Coincidence. You were with me the whole time. Not sure when you would have snuck away to bust up some animals and summon something.”

“You keep saying that; summon something, summoning ceremony. You’ve seen it before? Know what it was?”

Micah shrugged. He stood, went to the door and locked it, then picked up his pile of clothes and set it on the edge of the sink. He began to strip out of the scrubs. I tried really hard not to stare, but couldn’t help it. He really was everything that pushed my buttons.

Micah’s body was slim and toned, not unlike what I’d remembered. Though he was a little more muscular than I recalled ever seeing in the videos. He was also hairless from the neck down. I wondered how much of it was due to his Asian heritage and how much was due to regular waxing. Either way, the smooth flow of his skin turned me on more than my exhausted body should have been able to at that moment.

“I’ve read about it. Even attended a few mock ceremonies put on by the historical society in alignment with the Voodoo society. I might not practice Voodoo but I can recognize the symbols just like people who aren’t Christian recognize the cross. The symbols scrawled in animal blood were summoning symbols. Like they use to call spirit guides and such. Some of the voodoo priests and priestesses still use them, but most draw them with chalk instead of in actual blood. The city sort of frowns on using anything other than chalk to mark any public area.”

He slipped into a tiny pair of bikini briefs and adjusted himself so everything lay smoothly. He probably felt my eyes on him, but said nothing, and didn’t seem at all embarrassed. He washed his hands and face, even scrubbed at his feet before pulling on the rest of his clothes, a pair of jeans and another T-shirt. He found a pair of sandals and slipped them on before turning to look at me. “You’re covered in blood,” he said.

“Sorry.” I frowned up at him, feeling inadequate, tired, and really lost. Emotionally wrung out from everything.