Dastardly Bastard (11 page)

“I don’t know this place. I would know my home.”

“I promise. It is.” She gestured to the pictures lining the walls around them. “This is you, Mr. Simmons. All of you. All that you ever were and will be. This is your home. Your past, present, and future life. Everything. Remember, Mark. Remember for me.”

Mark stood in that hallway, lost in time, studying the photos with a reminiscent gaze. His life played out before him in stark relief. Every piece of who he was resided on those walls—forgotten times, tarnished memories, reoccurring atrocities, tides of war, the dead and dying.

Are
we nothing more than fleeting thoughts? Images captured on glossy paper?
A product of our memories? Is that all we are?

“These are your memories, Mark.” He noted that she had stopped calling him Mr. Simmons. “Your memories remain. Your memories
sustain
.”

21

JALEEL WARNER SETTLED IN BEHIND Lyle so he could get a good look at the pictures on the boy’s cell phone. Id floated beside him, sparks popping off its misty form.

“What am I looking at?” Lyle asked, sounding confused.

“That’s you, little man,” Trevor said. “Heading for the cliff. You tried to off yourself.”

Not exactly how Jaleel would have put it, but he supposed the guy was right.

“They must be starting at the most recent pic,” Justine said.

The still frame was of Lyle’s first step toward the chasm’s void. He’d pushed off the rock face, but his hands were still planted, palms against the stone. What bothered Jaleel was the entity above the boy’s head, a darkness thicker than any shadow he’d ever seen.

“Go to the next.” Jaleel leaned in closer as the boy swiped his finger across the screen. Though the shot wasn’t much different—Lyle was maybe a few inches back, his rear end still pressed against the rock face—the shade behind the boy was deeper, more present. “These must be from Mark’s camera.”

“How do you know?” Trevor asked.

“Who else could have taken them? Plus, he’s the only one not in the picture.” Then to Lyle, he said, “Keep going.”

The pictures slid by as Lyle worked his finger over the screen. Each shot was maybe two seconds apart, playing out like a flipbook cartoon.

Finally, Jaleel put a hand on Lyle’s wrist, stopping him.

“What
the fuck
is that?” Trevor asked, squinting as he bent to look at the phone.

“That’s what I was looking for.” Jaleel sighed. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt it wasn’t right. Something about the image made his heart beat just a little fast in his chest. What he was seeing wasn’t possible, but there it was, hovering.

In the picture, Lyle stood at the rock face, staring into his mother’s raging eyes, his own eyes wide and scared. Behind Marsha, a thick inkblot dripped what looked like tar onto her back. The obsidian ropes played over her arms, tethering her like a puppet. It loomed, smiling.

Trevor exploded. “
That thing’s got a face?
”

“It’s been there the whole time, from the first photo on, just not as solid. Keep going, Lyle,” Justine said. Jaleel met the woman’s eyes. Her stare told that she knew more than she was letting on.

Lyle began scrolling again, the pictures fleeing in reverse time. Jaleel watched in stunned shock as the shadow toiled over his revolving form.

You looked like an idiot
,
Id
said.

Shut it.

Just saying. We have work to do. Are you about done?

I’m ignoring you now.

As you wish.

The inkblot settled over Donald, and Jaleel remembered the guy’s harsh words.

“
How’d a nigger like you get a cushy government job like this, anyway
?”

Jaleel grimaced. The words stung still, but at least Jaleel knew Donald hadn’t been in control of himself when he’d spoken. It didn’t make it better, just a little more understandable.

The photographs continued, and Jaleel watched the arrival of the shadow as it melted backward over the edge of the chasm. It slithered like a snake, sliding over the ground, purposeful. Finally, it was gone.

“Why did he start taking pictures so early?” Lyle asked. Jaleel thought it was a damn good question.

Trevor rolled his eyes. “What else was he gonna do? He brought the camera to use it, I would think.”

“Any idea what that thing is?” Marsha asked.

“I don’t know. But I would chance a guess that it’s what we’re up against here.” Jaleel wiped fresh sweat from his forehead. Looking up, his heart sank. The day was just getting weirder by the moment.

Don’t look at it
, Id hissed.

Why not?

Because it doesn’t concern you as of yet. You will see soon enough.

“And we’re supposed to fight something like this?” Trevor asked.

The guy was starting to grate on Jaleel’s nerves, but the impossibility happening overhead was a more pressing issue. He would listen to Id, though, if just for a little while longer.

Justine cleared her throat, her eyes showing just how scared she was. “You can’t fight a shadow.”

22

DONALD RAN FOR HIS LIFE. Air whipped by his face, breath burning in his lungs, as his small legs drove him further from his hunter.

Diffuse light poured into the cavern from an unknown source. The glow seemed to follow him, lighting his way as he swerved around stalagmites jutting from the ground. He wove through the sharp abutments, pressing on, knowing his pursuer was close on his heels. Donald could hear its thundering footfalls.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

He had no idea how he’d gotten there, just remembered being thrown into the chase. He recalled going back to the group, amnesia welcoming him, only to be thrust forward into darkness again. A single word floated around in his gray matter, but he couldn’t remember where it had come from.

Sunne
.

“Get back here, midget!” The growl, low and guttural, came from behind him.

He knew that voice. That was why he ran. Donald tripped and shot forward.

He found himself in the foyer of the Columbia University Student Services building.

Dreams of college and a future as a writer loomed in the back of his mind. He’d won several awards for his stories in state and national competitions, one of them a scholarship to Columbia. Finishing high school had been a dream come true. He could slough off the hate-filled mocking voices that haunted him on a nightly routine. He was small, worthless, or all-around laughable. That seemed to be the popular consensus among his classmates.

She was standing in a queue for the Registrars Office when Donald stepped into line behind her. He hadn’t realized he was staring at her straight black hair, which flowed down the middle of her back, until she turned and offered him a smile. Her eyes were chocolate, soul-stealing. He thought losing his soul to her was a very good prospect. The throng shuffled forward, and she faced forward again. Donald continued eying her, knowing he was coming off poorly, in a creepy sort of way, but he wasn’t able to take his eyes off her.

Her tight, streamlined form was much smaller than Donald normally liked, and she was a good two feet taller than he was. When she turned around again, looking down at him with those Hershey eyes, Donald melted.

“Hi.” He smiled, wondering madly if he’d brushed his teeth that morning.

She nodded. “Hey-lo.”

He saw nothing mocking in her eyes. She looked at him as if he were regular sized. The thought made him feel warm inside.

“I’m Donald Adams.” He extended his hand, and she took it in her own. Her hand was incredibly soft and smelled of jasmine. Whether it was lotion or soap, he had no idea.

“I is Phan Sunne, Mista Adams.” Her English was horribly broken, but he found it endearing.

“Nice to meet you, Phan.”

She giggled.

“What?” He smiled, though he had no idea what was funny.

“No. You call me Sunne. American names backwards. First name, um, last… last name,
eh
, first.”

“Right. Sunny. I like that name. It fits you.” He lied. Even though she shone brilliantly in the soft lights of the atrium, her black hair was far from
sunny
.

“Sue-nay,” she corrected. “It spelled S-u-n-n-e.”

Donald heard himself talking, saw Sunne drifting away, but had no idea why he was leaving. He still had to register for school and make sure everything was in line for his scholarship. Yet, he was going, waving at her over his shoulder, as he said, “All right. Bye!”

Fear drove him out of the line and into the light of the day. He wasn’t used to polite people who weren’t his own size. He imagined the conversation ending horribly with something like, “Why are you so short?” or “Are you a member of the Lollipop Guild?” Either of those, or something like them, would destroy him. She seemed so nice. He didn’t want anything to ruin his image of her, so he’d left.

He walked down the steps at the front of the college. A tall guy, not paying attention to where he was going, knocked Donald to the sidewalk with the backpack the moron had slung over one shoulder. Donald landed on his back, watching the guy move on without so much as an apology. He started to flip the guy off, until he noticed Sunne coming through the double doors.

Donald pushed himself up, wanting to escape before she started laughing. He was still rising when he felt soft hands under his shoulders. Her voice was calm and caring as she helped him up. “Why you leave, Mista Adams?”

When Donald looked at her, she wasn’t laughing. Not even so much as a smile crossed her face. She looked concerned. Heartbroken, even.
Here we go
, he thought. “It’s just… you’re going to say something I’m not going to like and ruin yourself for me. You’re a sweet enough looking girl—really, you are—but you won’t be able to help yourself. You won’t be able to get over the fact that I’m small and you’re tall, and—”

He paused when he saw that Sunne was, indeed, laughing at him. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He stormed off toward the sidewalk, making sure his anger was shown. He didn’t care how silly he looked.

“Wait! Mista Adams,” Sunne called, catching up with him. “You don’t understand!”

Donald was almost to the turnabout at the front of the building, and had no intention of stopping. He’d heard it all before; they all laughed, thinking it was all right, that he would laugh with them. Then, when they realized he didn’t find his
condition
, as some put it, funny, they would chase him down to apologize.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re
sorry
.” He waved her off even as she jogged up next to him.

“My father shorter than you, Mista Adams. You remind me of him.”

Donald stopped.

Sunne took two more steps forward and turned to face him. She held out her hand. “Let us start from over.”

“From the beginning,” Donald corrected. Her smile was infectious, and he found himself returning it no matter how hard he fought the urge.

“Yes, from beginning. I am Sunne. You are Mista—”

“Donald. Just call me Donald.”

“Donald, ah.” She bowed her head, just slightly, making Donald feel a little awkward. He didn’t know if he should nod back or what. In the end, he just took her hand and shook it.

“Donald is good name,” Sunne added.

“Thanks.” Donald released her hand. His palm tingled where it had touched hers. “Your father is a little person, you say?”

“Yes. All his life.”

“I would hope so. I wouldn’t think he just suddenly shrunk one day.”

Sunne laughed at his bad joke, maybe too hard, but he liked the sound of it. The sound reminded him of wind chimes. “Would you like coffee date?”

“I really need to register.”

“Me, too.” She nodded solemnly. “Father has me over here to learn American business so I can come back home and make family rich.”

Sunne reached down, and Donald felt her thumb and forefinger play across his cheek. He flinched, but it felt rather good.

She pinched just under his eye, very softly, and pulled her hand away. “Hair.”

“Wow.”

“What?” Sunne blushed. Her face was so pale, the darkening looked like fire on her cheeks.

“Nothing.” Donald came out of his thoughts, mostly of the naughty variety, and tried to stay on subject. “He won’t be upset you didn’t get your stuff done?”

“Father?” she giggled. “He wait twenty-one year for this. He wait a li’l more.”

Sunne winked at him, a light, coy sentiment that made Donald feel funny in his gut. Something was moving around in there. He hazarded to think it could be butterflies. Her chocolate eyes sparkled in the noonday sun, and Donald felt himself fall in love with her.

23

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU can’t fight a shadow?” Jaleel asked. His face was ashen, much lighter than when they’d first started their trek.

Justine tried her best to pay attention to the group, but the thing she kept seeing from the corner of her eye was distracting. They moved back up the slope, making sure to stop before the time anomaly. From her guess, it began at the spot where the camera man had gone over the ledge when he tried to save Lyle.

Marsha seemed to have pulled herself together slightly. She didn’t look much better, just less frayed around the edges.

“I… see things.” Justine said, desperately ignoring the presence.

“What things?” Jaleel asked.

Trevor spoke up. “She’s been like that as long as I’ve known her. She just seems to know when bad things are going to happen.”

Justine was glad Trevor was telling them. The thing in her peripheral vision was growing more persistent, wanting to be seen.

Her boyfriend continued, “Four months back, she tells me that I shouldn’t go to work. I’m a forklift driver for Pepsi’s warehouse in Atlanta. I kept telling her we needed the money, that the bills weren’t gonna pay for themselves, and I wanted to be able to live comfortably and be able to buy her nice things.”