Legacy of a Dreamer (4 page)

“I caught you with her, you bastard!”

   
Chantal stared at the ceiling as
Days of Lives
played out in the apartment next door. She’d gone to bed three hours ago, only to be awakened by her new neighbors’ heated argument. Apparently, they had a few issues that needed to be ironed out at two in the morning.

“It wasn’t me!” the man said, and then a resounding crash was heard through the paper-thin walls.

Chantal turned onto her side, pulling the covers over her shoulder. She stared at the clock beside her bed, the light green digital numbers casting a soft glow on the flashlight she was using until she could get herself a lamp.

Tomorrow looked like it would be a long day. She had planned to get up bright and early, starting her job hunting first thing in the morning. She wanted to be settled into a part-time position before the fall semester started at the University.

Glaring at the glowing numbers on the clock face, she wished she could somehow reverse the time, giving her back the hours she’d spent wide awake thanks to her inconsiderate neighbors. During their rather nasty verbal sparring, she’d thought about marching to their apartment and demanding silence, but decided against it. If life had taught her anything, it was to stay out of other people’s affairs. Minding her own business had become her motto.

Yet, as she listened to the woman sob in hysterics, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. No one should be in a relationship filled with such animosity and resentment. Chantal resolved to attempt a friendship with the woman; maybe she just needed someone to talk to and help ease her anxiety of being alone for the first time. It would violate her carefully cultivated code, but it might offer her some peace at night.

“Why?” the woman said, sobbing, and Chantal felt herself beginning to cry. Then there was the heavy pounding of feet and seconds later, the front door slammed and the footsteps receded. Chantal guessed that the man had left.

She turned on her back, tears running down her temples and into her hair. She felt the woman’s pain, reminding her of terrible childhood memories.
 

She knew what it was like to be scared and alone. Only her determination kept her from feeling that way now. She could easily fall into the familiar pit of despair, especially being by herself in this large, hostile city. Could this be a sign, telling her that this world was too big for her to play in?
 

Sitting up, she wiped the tears from her eyes and glanced around her darkened room, the unfamiliar surroundings giving her a sense of foreboding, adding to her already shaken confidence. A darkened figure in the corner of her room caught her eye and she gasped.

A man stood just inside her window, his shadowed figure standing erect and unmoving. She couldn’t see his face, yet she could feel the heat of his searing gaze. Her heart pounded in her ears; her stomach dropped in terror as a cold sweat broke over her body. Scrambling for the old flashlight at her bedside, Chantal clicked the light on with trembling fingers.

The dim yellow light fell over the corner where the man had stood. He was gone. She darted the light around the room, her breath coming out in terrified pants, trying to find where he’d gone. She hadn’t heard him move, but she was sure that the shadow had been real.

The light began to flicker, the old D’s finally wheezing their last breath. Chantal felt a surge of panic with the only source of her faint security leaving her when she needed it, and she tapped the side of the metal casing as the light thankfully stuttered on again.

Clutching the handle as if it were her lifeline, she slowly pointed the light in every corner of the studio apartment: the dusty couch she’d bought from a tenant on the first floor that smelled of mothballs and cigarette smoke, sat vacant in her makeshift living room, and the empty kitchen cast various shadows on the wall. Still, she found no sign of the man she’d seen inside her apartment near the window.

She listened for any sound of movement, any clue as to the direction the man had taken, but all she could hear was her neighbor crying.

Then the terrible feeling of panic and unease started to ebb. Perhaps her frazzled mind had created the figure. Yes. That had to be it. She opened her eyes wide to adjust as she clicked off the light, sending the room back into darkness.

The figure returned to the window, where it had been before. It stared at her ominously, and Chantal clicked on the light again.

He was gone, and a new sense of odd familiarity crept into Chantal, making her heart stutter in her chest.

“Nick?” she whispered to the unmoving shadow, her eyes narrowed, trying to make out the lines of the dark figure. No response came.

She stared at the shadow for several moments, unsure. Could it be that her blessed savior, her shadow man, had followed her to New York, coming to her when she needed his support and security the most? Or had her mind finally snapped?

Smiling, she decided that she didn’t care. It was her Nick, her only friend in a time when the world hadn’t made sense. He had been her confidant and had always been the one she looked to when her nightmares had been too much. And now he was here, in her apartment, staring at her . . .

She shook her head, realizing how absolutely crazy she sounded, even to herself.

“This is nuts,” she said, eyeballing the shadow with a pensive glare. It remained unmoving, the head angled as if watching her with a playful smile.

“What are you looking at?” she grumbled, determined to not fall into the childish fantasy in which she’d once indulged. She couldn’t start her adult life depending on a shadow for comfort and security.
 

For the first time, she was looking forward to her independence. With freedom came opportunities to do what she wanted. Frat parties, girlfriends and even, perhaps, dating. She couldn’t let anyone know about her past, let alone that she had a problem creating companions in her mind.
Excuse me, I need to have a little powwow with my shadow man before we go to sleep tonight, sweetheart. It’s part of my routine.
 

She sighed, climbing back under the covers, her inner voice berating her for being such a kid. It was time for her to grow up and not depend on a childhood crutch that had gotten her through the tough nights. If the nightmares came again, she’d handle them on her own. She didn’t need Nick, a werewolf, or anything else to help her through it. She was an adult. She could cope.

Tomorrow she would find out how the shadow formed, removing whatever objects blocked the scant light from outside, and that would be that. No more crutch, no more fantasy. She was growing up, no matter how desperate her heart wanted to cling to him.

Despite her resolve, she couldn’t stop the small smile and sense of comfort, knowing Nick watched over her. Tomorrow she’d be done with it all. Tonight, she would dream in peace.

“Unbelievable!”

   
She’d just finished an interview for a job she’d found in the classifieds. The hours would’ve been perfect—six to midnight, five nights a week, with every other weekend off, and the fifties-style diner happened to be located halfway between her apartment and the University. Again, ideal.

But when Tony “Too-Touchy” had laid his hands on her rear end to “test the waters,” she hadn’t known how to react. Her right hook, on the other hand, responded on instinct, landing on the pervert’s square jaw.

Chantal booked it down the street, frustrated and a little more than pissed off. The knuckles on her right hand throbbed, adding to the injustice of it all. She didn’t know what to do. “Grabby McGee” had offered her the position right before he’d gone all creepoid.

The farther away she got from the place, the more the reality of her situation set in. She lived in a big city, alone, and was almost out of money. She’d been on the job hunt for two weeks, and this interview had been the only bite she’d received. She walked the now silent streets, upset and with very few options, contemplating what she should do.

She pulled her white cardigan sweater tighter around her, feeling a little at odds with how things were turning out. She wasn’t so naive to think that the perfect job would have landed in her lap the moment she went looking, but she didn’t think it would have taken her this long to find something. The real world sucked.
 

She glanced down at her crossed arms with a humorless smile. The clothes she had on belonged to her new friend, Monica Trenton, the gorgeous brunette with a body to die for that lived next door. Two weeks back, she’d made good on her promise to befriend the crying neighbor and found that the two of them had a lot in common. Monica had moved to New York City to build a new life for herself, getting away from a bad situation at home just to land in a similar one with her boyfriend.

She’d been a great support as of late. Chantal felt a kinship with her, and the two of them met often for coffee when they were both free, offering advice and making each other laugh when they needed it the most. She wanted to thank her new friend by taking her out for an evening on the town, but without any money coming in, she didn’t want to stretch herself too thin. Sighing, she looked up to the sky, whispering a desperate prayer.

The cool, muggy night air left a sheen of chilled sweat on her brow, and there was a stale feel to the air. She hurried toward the subway station, noting that the streets seemed quiet considering the early evening hour.

She checked her watch—ten after nine.

Crap.

If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss the nine fifteen train.

She picked up her speed, the rhythmic beat of her uncomfortable shoes chiming out her urgency. She wanted to get home and into a hot bath, forgetting the day and her stress for an hour or so.

She rounded the corner and headed down the steep flight of stairs to the underground station, and would’ve taken them two at a time if she thought the narrow heel could have handled it, but the last thing she needed was to end up in the emergency room. With no insurance, paying a five-hundred-dollar bill for a sprain would’ve been the icing on top of her crap cake.

“No, wait!” she called in a panic, arriving onto the platform to see the last passengers loading into the cars. She ran, but it was too late. The unforgiving metal doors shut, leaving her alone with a couple of choice swear words slipping free in retaliation.

“Great!” Chantal had the urge to throw her purse at the vacating train but thought better of it. Instead, she gritted her teeth, feeling once again like the world had deemed her screwed from the get-go. She looked heavenward again.

Thanks a lot.

“Did you miss your train?” a small voice asked from behind her, and she turned to see a small child kneeling on the ground, encased in shadow. She glanced around, trying to find the child’s parents. Surely the little boy couldn’t be alone. Not even a station guard was in sight.

“I did,” Chantal said, moving a little closer but no more. She didn’t want to frighten the little thing and felt bad when she realized the boy witnessed her previous temper tantrum.

“I’m sorry I used bad words. It’s been a long day.”

“Is that an excuse?” the boy said, a hint of an accent in his words that added a sense of innocence she found endearing, and she smiled.

“It’s not a very good one, is it?”

“Not really,” the boy said and giggled, showing a set of bright white teeth. Chantal took another glance around her, wondering whom the boy belonged to.

“Where are your parents?” she asked as he squirmed.

“My mom’s dead, and my dad is . . . lost,” he said in a flat tone, his humor gone. She frowned, stepping closer to comfort him, perhaps help him in some way, but he tensed, huddling himself deeper into the dark corner. She paused, not wanting to chase him away.

“Are you alone?” she asked, her voice soft and anxious. The boy laughed, his grim chortle echoing off the tiled walls like sharp, tinkling bells. Chantal frowned as a strange sense of
déjà vu
sank in her gut. She watched the boy with a suspicious eye as he threw his head back in hysterical laughter, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Are you all right?” Chantal became concerned for the disturbed child. She tried again to get closer to him, wanting to determine if he could be injured. He paused and leveled her with a dark, unyielding gaze. She froze where she stood, five feet away from him.

“You need to leave while you can,” he said, his voice emotionless—a warning in his tone.

“But my train is coming,” she said, not knowing why she wasn’t more alarmed.

“Your train is here,” he said with a somber chuckle, again revealing his white teeth, and she glanced toward the rounded tunnel, frowning when she didn’t see the train.

“It’s not here . . .” She turned back to tell him, but he wasn’t there, and she whirled around, searching for him.

“It’s good that you still keep them away, oblivious to their presence.” She heard him say, and then he was standing just outside of the dark subway tunnel, staring at her with his dark eyes. Something about him seemed so familiar to her, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before.