Page 82 of Stalked By Shadows

I stared at her for a minute, a thousand thoughts swimming for foothold and only one thing finding its way up. Micah. I needed to get him back.

The shop began to collapse inward, the fire eating through enough of the structure to cave the roof in. The sound of sirens and flashing lights seemed to give me a moment of suspended animation as I stood there, lost and unsure what to do. The chance of getting Micah back was very likely going up in flames, even if I’d known what to search for to begin with. I turned away from the fire, headed somewhere, though I wasn’t sure exactly where in that moment.

I thought about heading to the river, even briefly about throwing myself in and letting the water take me. But where would that leave Micah and Lukas? Even if Micah never returned, Lukas would forever blame himself for not insisting someone walk me home. I sighed, so lost in thought I didn’t realize I had wandered back to Micah’s place until I stood at the door. I didn’t have a key to get in. Did Lukas have one? We’d have to get Jet and take care of him until Micah reappeared. If he reappeared.

I sat down under the tree, heart heavy, lost in confusion, and so alone that it hurt to breathe. What if he was gone forever? We barely knew each other. It shouldn’t hurt this much, my rational brain told me. Rational didn’t matter much in ways of the heart. Was I in love with Micah? This soon? It sounded more like a romance novel than possible reality. But how else could I explain the tightness in my chest at the thought of him being gone forever. A few days wasn’t long enough, not to love him or to lose him.

Training, he’d mentioned often. That was what relationships were built on. When you thought about someone for a while and had to learn to make things work. No one simply meshed together like magic, no matter how attracted. That made sense to me. I had looked forward to discovering more little details about him. The idea of waking up with him every day, of having that tiny smile directed at me, and his crafting frenzy calmed by my presence made me giddy. The idea of having lost all that? Agony.

Fuck.

Leaning back against the seat, I closed my eyes and tried to remember the good things. His smile, the teasing way he laughed, or the devious glint in his eyes when he talked about his silent war with the church ladies. Most of all was the thought of him wrapped in my arms, while he cried, slept, or made delicious sounds while we made love. Those moments holding him made me feel real again. Alive.

I prayed in that moment, like I never had before in my life, not to a single God or even anything specific, but to everything supernatural that might exist.Please bring him back to me, I begged.Take me if you need to, just bring him back.

Would anyone hear? Did anyone care? Was there a higher presence or was life the chaos it appeared to be. No fate, no higher power in control, just a couple billion drunks at the wheel. I sighed and lay down on the bench, curling up into a fetal position and staring into the unmoving darkness. Everything was still. No birds, bugs, or shadows. Quiet. Lifeless, I realized in that moment. Like I felt right then.

I sighed and began to count, trying to ease the anxiety and panic to think straight. Was there something else I could be doing right then? Anything to help Micah? A glance at my watch said it was nearing midnight. Where had the time gone? Would the shadow come out? Was there a shadow in his garden or was it something more sinister?

The counting helped. I could feel my heartbeat begin to slow a little and my eyes drooped with exhaustion. It was work to keep them open and I blinked a few times when it seemed like the gnomes moved. A flicker at first, then the arms gave a little twitch before the head turned. Only that wasn’t possible. A dream maybe? If I’d had more energy, I would have bolted upright and stalked across the distance to learn the truth even if it terrified me. But I couldn’t find the strength as once again, my limbs felt weighted and heavy, as often happened when I napped,. A doctor once told me it was a mild form of sleep paralysis, nothing to fear really, just a slow awakening of the brain after or right before sleep. Only as I lay there in the darkness, sleep dragging me downward, the garden seemed to come alive. Gnomes, cats, and shadows extending to encase the area in movement. It should have terrified me, watching the change metamorphose the entire garden into a moving, thriving, thing. Would anyone see it on video? Or was it another weird side effect of that day in the desert?

I fought to keep my eyes open, muttering Micah’s name into the darkness as the weight of something more powerful than sleep dragged me down. “Bring him back to me,” I begged, stretching a hand toward a large shadow. “Please.”

It reached for me with a spectral darkness of writhing shades, shifting and changing into something with defined shape, but making my heart race, even while I still couldn’t move. A child with black eyes molded itself out of the darkness, the wavering of shadows giving it form. I blinked at it, fighting for strength to awaken, or move, or break whatever spell it had me under.

“If you want him back, you have to help him, otherwise he’s lost to both of us,” I whispered through heavy lips. Did the child care? Was this my demon or Micah’s? Was it even there or my brain playing tricks on me? If it was Micah’s, it had spent years tormenting him, did it want him gone or was it all an elaborate game?

I couldn’t stay awake, even if the terror told me it was a good idea to not let it touch me. If I got Micah back, that was all that mattered. Lukas would take care of him if I were gone. “Save Micah,” I whispered to the darkness. “Save Micah. Take me instead.”

Chapter 25

The abrupt change from the garden to the desert sand storm jarred me to the bone. From near sleep to a battle for survival, I suddenly found myself sitting in the doorway of the tent, staring into the ripping winds, confused by the change, and assaulted by the elements. Was it a dream?

It felt real. The howling of the wind, the sound of the sand pelting on the tent, the heat wafting off the hot desert in waves of distorted color, and the giant mass of wriggling darkness beyond. I couldn’t recall it having been that clear before. All the dreams had lost its shape in the swirl of air, grit, and darkness. Now I could almost make out its face, not unlike that man who’d walked toward our base in the darkness.

The locals had called it a jin. I knew from my research that jin weren’t the genies of storybooks. They didn’t grant wishes and weren’t benevolence of any kind. According to legend, jin were mortal creatures, though longer lived than human, who lived lives parallel to humans, but had magic and were made of fire. Often when they died it was in a fiery blaze. Or so the stories I read had stated.

They also took over the lives of humans, pretending to be human, though I wasn’t sure if that meant they could shapeshift to be someone who already existed, or had a form that could blend in with humanity. Either way it was a confusing and terrifying prospect.

I had often thought of those stories I’d overheard and the thing I’d seen in the desert, wondering if they were one and the same. Therapy and doctors told me that entertaining the thought meant I was nuts. No such thing, they said. But this wriggling mass of shadow and power sure looked like something. All in my head? Maybe. If that was the case then why was I so afraid?

“Why?” I asked it, seeing it move in the darkness as some sort of giant, and feeling bold. Would answers help ease my guilt? “Why did you kill them?” Why my unit? Why kill them at all? I thought about Micah’s words about the battle between mankind and angels. Maybe it wasn’t a jin but some sort of angel dropped down to seek vengeance for God having created humans. It all seemed such a pointless waste of time, as much of religion did, hate for a species, skin color, orientation or whatever.

I watched again as the men who’d served with me answered the siren call and died. An explosion of humanity, blood and gore no less gruesome than the first time or the thousand nightmares since. Despite the clarity in the thing’s form, I still couldn’t see how he/it/they did it. Will? A thought? Magic? Or did it move so fast I couldn’t see? Not that it mattered as this was all in the past, and what had Micah said about the past? Ghosts were memories of the past, right? Isn’t that what this was? A ghost of a memory? Did that mean it couldn’t hurt me? Perhaps it meant more that fear was nothing but a useless emotion like so many therapists had claimed in the past?

I got up and walked toward it, leaving the safety of the tent. There was a brief flicker of roiling terror filling my gut that it would suck me up and rip me apart too, only that time had passed. I had survived. Escaped. This was a dream. I swallowed it back and kept moving, not willing to let it control me anymore.

As I approached, the wailing wind went from deafening to silent, like it was waiting for me. That gaping face twisted and writhed until it turned in my direction. It seemed to blast me with terror and the emotion rolled over me, ingraining itself into every pore and making my skin crawl until I wanted to rip it off. I paused a moment to process, breathing in the emotion, the tightening of my lungs, and overwhelming need to run and recognized it as not mine. Fake. Like those few seconds when you fall asleep and suddenly dream of falling and jerk awake, the world disjointed and clarified all at once. I shook off the weight of it and continued forward.

“Not real. This is the past,” I reminded myself out loud. A dream couldn’t hurt me. Even if it was a dream from the past. “I need Micah back,” I told the creature. “If you can’t help me, then you’re worthless to me. Powerless.” I pushed down the terror, walking toward that mass like it was nothing more than a puppy in need of cuddling. “You haunt me, but you’re powerless. Only a memory.”

The face snarled at me, a dark limb of swirling dirt reached for me, but passed right through me. Harmless.

“Worthless,” I restated. “If you can’t help me find Micah then you’re worthless. The memory, the fear, and the worry, all of it is worthless.” The fear slaked away as if it had been some sort of coating. Micah had faced his fear and come out angry with himself that he’d lost time. I wasn’t willing to lose more time either. Not to fear or anger. And not the time I planned to spend learning how to adore him.

“Bring him back to me or leave me be,” I demanded. I reached the feet of the swirling darkness and stared up into the monster of heat, sand, and power. In many ways I could see more of it, almost give it a defined shape, and in others there was nothing I could have recalled specifically about the creature, even if there was a creature at all. A trick of my mind?

“Worthless,” I muttered again. Memories like this. Distorted lies of the past. “You’re not even real.” A ghost of a past memory from a fucked-up brain like mine. “Stupid worthless nightmares.”