Shadow of the Past (14 page)

He rolled over, trying to
drown out the nagging voice with the rustle of sheets. It was
right, though. If Clara’s death happened the way he saw
(
and it did!)
and
the cane was in his dream both before and after, then what he was
dreaming could be real.

Could be? Kiddo, you’re
really dreaming if you think there’s any doubt here.

He rolled over again, grabbing his
sheets with balled up fists. It wasn’t true. Clara died and it was
horrible, but these were just dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut,
but in the blackness he could still see the fire-eyes of the Shadow
Man staring back at him.

“I fucking hate grapefruit juice.” Jack
snarled at the viscous pink concoction in the carton before taking
a long drink. It was all they had to and his late night thirst left
him with little choice. The cuts on his lips had healed some in the
days since the fight but the pink menace’s tangy “goodness” still
burned. So did his pride every time he looked in a mirror. Or
touched his face. Or breathed.

Every useless part of every stupid
fucking thing in the world reminded him of that goddamn
fight.

“Fight.” It was a beating, handed out
by a weak, crybaby little faggot that sucker punched him, with a
helmet of all things.

What burned worse than all the citrus
in the world was that he could’ve turned it around, even after the
cheap helmet shots. He’d had his chance, two of them even, and he
fucked it up. He fucked it up so bad Watson left him bloody and on
the verge of tears in the middle of the parking lot.

And for that, he was going to do
everything in his power to kill him.

“I mean it. I am going to kill him for
this. If he thought losing that bitch was something, wait until I
get done with him,” he’d told Eric when they were waiting in the
emergency room, Jack waiting to get a couple of stitches in his
chin and Eric’s nose wrapped and stuffed with gauze.

It hadn’t been the smartest thing in
the world, but then again, Dad always said he had a “propensity to
think with his fists and not with his brain.” If there was one
thing his dad loved it was doling out nuggets of wisdom like that.
This is why we don’t behave like savages. This is why we try to
keep our emotions in check. This is why your mother couldn’t see
reason and left. This is why grapefruit juice is healthy and
nutritious.

With a deep rumble, Jack called forth a
giant ball of spit and phlegm and then spat it into the remaining
cup’s worth of juice in the carton. This is why I spit in your
food, you cold, arrogant piece of shit.

“You want to kill him, don’t you?” a
deep rumbling voice said, from just behind his right
ear.

Everything in Jack’s body skidded to a
halt, and when it restarted it added up to: run. As soon as he
tried something swept his feet out from under him. He toppled over,
arms flailing and managing to turn so that he didn’t land on his
still stitched up chin. As soon as he hit the ground he started
crawling, knowing he needed to get away as fast as
possible.

“Stop it.”

He obeyed, freezing in place with one
arm still outstretched. Something hard pushed under his armpit and
flipped him onto his back. He tried to get up, but a thin black
stick planted itself just below his throat with enough pressure to
pin him to the floor like an insect.

He looked up, tracing the stick to the
silver at its top and the swirling black hand that held it. That
same swirling darkness covered the entire body of the man pinning
him to the floor with his cane, billowing out to give the illusion
that he was wearing a long trench coat and wide-brimmed
hat.

Jack’s gaze stopped just below the
hat’s brim, at the two burning embers where the man’s eyes should
be.

“You didn’t answer my
question.”

Jack opened his mouth to ask, but then
he knew who he meant.

Mark.

“Yes,” Jack said, when he voice
returned to him. He kept staring into the Shadow Man’s eyes, and
they seemed to widen and flare with more intensity the longer he
stared into them. There was something deep beyond those flames, and
he could feel it drawing him in.

“I can help with that,” the Shadow Man
said, breaking the spell for a second.

“How?”

“All you need to know is
that I’ll send you a sign when it’s time. Wait for my call, and
then you can have your revenge.
Not
before.” The cane pressed into him harder at the
last.

“I understand,” Jack said. The pressure
was close to cutting off his breath.

“Excellent,” the Shadow Man said, and
then the pressure on Jack’s chest was gone, and with just a ripple
in the darkness around him, so was he.

Chapter
Fourteen

Steve had taken up post by the school
entrance nearest to the bike rack. It wasn’t his usual point of
entry, but with this being Mark’s first day back after suspension
he figured he should make the effort and give him the grand welcome
back. He clambered to the top of the once-impressive decorative
concrete barriers and sat with legs dangling over the
edge.

He nodded at a couple of girls as they
passed his perch and when he got his usual eye-rolls and disgusted
looks he called after them. “You don’t want to miss it, ladies! The
conquering hero of Cedar Ridge High is coming back today, and I
know you want to feel those hands of steel!” Hair flips and the
annoyed sucking of teeth were his only response.

The V’s distinctive whine turned him
away from watching the rest of their retreat. Mark jumped the curb
faster than his usual safety-first mindset allowed and he skidded
to a stop in front of the rack, just in time for the second bell to
ring. Steve watched while Mark frantically chained up the scooter
and then made it four steps towards the entrance before realizing
he still had his helmet on.

“Mark Watson, you’re my hero,” Steve
said, dropping down next to him as he passed, tugging the slightly
worse for wear but much cleaner looking helmet.

Mark scowled and brushed past him. “I
know you’re running late, but don’t worry dude. You’re a fucking
rock-star! If I were you I’d drop that thing in your locker before
people want to start touching and signing it and shit.”

Mark glared at him and Steve finally
got a good look at him. Mark’s eyes were dark and sunken and his
face was paler than his usual “I don’t go outside without a helmet”
pale. Everything about him was more ragged, mismatched and frantic
than normal. If Steve hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d have
sworn the scooter rode Mark to school today.

“I’m glad to see you’ve had time to
relax, take care of yourself. Y’know, have some me
time.”

“It wasn’t a vacation,” Mark growled,
fast walking towards his locker. “Joe wouldn’t even let me leave
the house, and he had me cleaning and doing all kinds of other
bullshit chores. I had to make sure the garage was spotless before
he’d let me ride to school today.”

“Well, you wear captivity well. At
least as well as can be expected.”

“Gee, thanks.” Mark said. He tossed the
helmet in his locker and slammed the door shut. “I had to wait for
him to inspect things before I could even leave
for--Fuck!”

“Well, I’d inspect things before then,
too. Who knows what you’ll find.”

“No, I was supposed to see Ms. Kennedy
before homeroom.”

Above them, the bell rang.

“Dum dum DUM!”

“It’s not funny,” Mark snarled, turning
on his heel and heading for the stairs. “I could get kicked out of
school.”

“Think of all the time you’ll have for
chores, though!” Steve called into the stairwell. When he didn’t
get a response, he rolled his eyes and headed towards his own
homeroom.

Mark vaulted down the last four steps
and spun around the group of kids who came through the doors. One
of them called after him, and it took Mark a second to realize it
wasn’t the usual smart remarks but something about the fight and
how he was the man.

It was hard to feel like the man when
everything in your body was tired and sore, with a side of
terrified and possibly insane.

He was either awake and hauling garbage
or asleep and watching torture. His dreams continued with the same
intensity and theme, each night bringing a new variation to horrors
he’d seen the first night. Mark would’ve tried swearing off sleep
if all the physical labor wasn’t making him want to pass out before
10.

“This is what happens,” Joe growled the
first time Mark complained. “If you’re going to screw up so bad you
have to stay home, I’m going to make damn sure this isn’t a good
time.” He’d made sure to take the power cords to both TVs with him
to work. He was able to convince him to leave the phone in his room
hooked up so he could still talk to Christine when she got home
from school, so long as everything on the list for the day was
taken care of. He managed, barely, and every day brought a new list
of chores and the implicit threat that if all the work wasn’t done
his punishment would continue past his suspension, not to mention
the loss of his “phone privileges.”

Of course, since he’d screwed up
getting to school on time, it looked like his suspension would
probably continue anyway.

He ran into the office and was about to
ask the secretary about Ms. Kennedy when she walked up beside
him.

“You’re late,” she said with a
smile.

“I know,” Mark said, his breath mostly
gone from his run across the building.

“Well, at least you made the effort.
Since we’re out of time now, what period do you have
lunch?”

“Fifth. Why?”

“Well, we can just do it then. That’s
when I usually take my lunch anyway.” He tried to keep himself from
gritting his teeth in frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“I have plans.”

“With Christine?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll understand.
After all, it’s not like I’m giving you a choice.”

She understood, of course.

After a long kiss in a deserted
stairwell and her fussing over how tired and worn out he looked, he
explained the situation and she nodded with perfect understanding.
“Anything that keeps you from getting into trouble is fine with
me.”

He, of course, was filled with
disappointment. Frustration, exhaustion and now disappointment, but
she just batted her eyelashes and told him everything was going to
be fine and she was okay with it.

He watched her walk off to class. She
looked back at him just before she turned the corner and gave him a
wave and smile brimming with understanding and not a molecule of
disappointment.

“So,” Ms Kennedy said after clearing a
space at the small table next to her desk so they could eat, “let’s
talk about anger.”

“Why? I’m not angry,” Mark
said.

“Mark,” she said, picking at her
Chinese food with chopsticks, “you don’t go beating someone with a
bike helmet if you’re not at least a little angry. And yes,” she
said, holding up a hand to cut off his protest, “I understand it
was self-defense. But still, you can’t tell me you weren’t angry at
these boys when, by your own admission, they had been bullying you
for quite some time.”

He failed to hold back a heaving sigh
and took his sandwich out of his bag.

“Okay. So, I’m angry. What am I
supposed to do about it?”

“But why are you angry?”

“Well, you just said, they were messing
with me. That tends to make people angry. Unless I missed a memo or
something.”

“No, getting upset about that is
normal. Reacting the way you did is extreme. I’m just worried about
where that comes from.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just who I
am.”

“Mark, I’ve talked to some of your
teachers and they all tell me the same thing. That you’re a good
kid who gets okay grades and doesn’t say much. They were all
genuinely shocked when I told them about what happened.”

His derisive snort was both unexpected
and uncontrollable.

“Are they wrong?”

“Well, my grades are okay and I’m not a
hand raiser.”

“But?”

“But nothing. They all knew what was
going on and they either don’t care or think it’s
funny.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh really?” he said,
leaning up against her desk. “In the 8
^th
grade we went to the shore
for our end of the year class trip. We were all just goofing
around, playing and whatever, but when Jack and his friends found
out I couldn’t swim they all grabbed me and carried me towards the
water to throw me in. I was kicking and yelling, and they carried
me right by Mr. Eccelstein, our Math teacher. Right by him, like
three feet away, and he was just chuckling, hands in his pockets,
watching them drop me in the water. He actually nodded at them as
they walked by. Forgive me if I’m not exactly trusting of what your
colleagues are and aren’t shocked about.”