Shadow of the Past (6 page)

When they finished the cake and the
Chinese food, Steve and Clara gave Mark their presents. Steve gave
Mark a copy of an imported Kung Fu movie and Clara gave him a large
hardback collection of Lovecraft stories. “Thanks, you guys,” he
said, grinning from ear to ear at the two of them. “You knew I
wanted this, didn’t you?” he asked Clara.

“Well you’ve only picked it up and put
it down a dozen times, kiddo. How could I not?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything,”
Christine said, “But I’m sure Clara can point something out to me
later.”

“Oh, hey,” Mark said, pushing the book
aside. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, we just met and all, it’s no
big deal.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, rapping out a beat
on the table with his knuckles. “You’re like the little drummer
girl, but, y’know, without the drumming.”

“Exactly,” Mark smiled, but then
stopped. “You don’t drum, do you?”

“Not a musical bone in my body,” she
laughed.

“Annnnnnyway,” Steve said.
“We were gonna watch
The
Thing
, but now I vote kung fu kick-ass
action, what say you?”

“Totally,” Mark grinned, and then
looking back over to Christine, the smile again giving way to
concern. “Unless you hate kung fu. But this looks really
good.”

“No,” she smiled, patting him on the
arm. “I’m really not down with the scary movies. I saw ‘The Ring’
with my brother nearly had a panic attack. Kung fu is
fine.”

The movie was just as good as Mark had
hoped it would be, but most importantly in the dark he was able to
steal glances at Christine. He loved watching her watch the movie,
her eyes lighting up when she laughed or growing wide during some
outrageous fight.

During a slow point, Mark excused
himself and stepped behind the curtain marked “Employees Only”.
Behind it was a small hallway with stairs along the far right wall
that led up to Clara’s apartment and a narrow hallway to the left
that led to the bathroom.

When he finished in the bathroom he was
about to turn and head back into the store when he heard a creak
from the upstairs door. He paused, cocking his head to see if he
heard it again. After a few seconds he did, and it sounded like a
footstep. Mark walked up to the foot of the steps and squinted up
at the darkness above.

He could barely see the top, but it
looked like the door was closed, which was unusual. There shouldn’t
be anyone up there, but there were fire stairs leading down from
the small patio at the back of Clara’s apartment and into the lot
below where Mark had parked the V. They weren’t in a bad
neighborhood per se, but it was as close to urban as Cedar Ridge
got.

Mark took a couple of steps backwards,
trying to keep the door in sight. When he reached the curtain he
turned to ask someone if they heard something as well, but he
realized that another massive kung fu fight. Christine laughed
out-loud, and the light from the TV sparkled in her
eyes.

This is stupid, go sit with
her.

Mark was about to go back in when he
heard a definite creak above him. He looked from Christine to back
up the door, and then turned and crept up the steps.

The stairway was dark and Mark tread
softly as he could. He hadn’t turned on the light downstairs, and
if the door upstairs wasn’t closed, Clara hadn’t left a single
light on upstairs.

What are you going to do?
Sneak up on a burglar, wrestle him to the ground and be a hero for
your new “girlfriend?”

Mark stopped at the second to last
step, one hand on the wall to his left, the other reaching out to
feel for the door. He looked back down the steps behind him. The
muted light through the curtain of the TV was still flickering, but
everything else was as black as pitch.

He turned back and reached out for the
door. His fingertips brushed against wood, and he realized that the
door had been closed. He listened for anything out of the ordinary,
which was easier further away from the kicks and chops, but this
time there was nothing. He felt around until he found the doorknob,
and gently pushed the door open.

“Hello?” he called, and then
winced at his own stupidity.
Oh, that’s a
great way to sneak up on a burglar. Why don’t you take up
yodeling?

The door opened into the living room.
To the left was a wide archway that led to the kitchen and through
there, the patio. The apartment was dark, the only light coming
from the narrow windows that faced the buildings next door.
Everything looked normal, although it was odd that Clara hadn’t
left a single light on.

He took a few cautious steps around the
living room, straining his eyes to peer into the inky depths of the
shadows around him. He stopped, trying to hear whatever it was that
had been moving around up here but there was nothing. Not even the
kung fu mayhem was making its way up the steps.

“Hello?” he called again, his voice
bouncing around him.

There was a flutter out of the corner
of his eye, near the kitchen. As he turned to look a breath of air
washed over him, carrying a thick odor of smoke as if it had just
blown out a thousand candles. He wrinkled his nose as he peered
around in the dark, not wanting to leave the little island of light
from downstairs.

There it was again, a flutter of
something in the deep blackness of the kitchen. He stepped forward,
and then the dark exploded towards him like black smoke. He stepped
back, trying to get into the light, but the shape was on him in a
second, enveloping him and filling his nostrils with the scent of
ash and fire. His stumbled back, waving one arm behind him to find
the wall and the other in front of his face. The darkness was so
absolute that he couldn’t even see his own flailing limb in front
of him.

All he could see were two lights
flickering in the distance. They bobbed slightly, getting bigger,
and then he realized they were eyes.

He turned to run but then realized he
was inches away from the top of the stairs. He pinwheeled his arms,
frantically trying keep from toppling forward. Stretched out,
trying to keep his balance, he realized the stairway had changed,
become old and wooden. This wasn’t Clara’s anymore, and the light
from downstairs didn’t come from a kung fu movie, but flickered
like an open flame. Smoke wafted up at him, carrying with it a
heavier smell of something burning like a rancid
barbecue.

Mark heard the low whistle of a
familiar tune and when he turned the flaming pair of eyes towered
over him.

“Come on-a my house, my house . . .” a
voice whispered through the darkness.

There was a flash of silver, a
brilliant contrast to the darkness, and then he was tumbling
backwards down the stairs.

Chapter Six

“What the hell was that?” Christine
said, jumping to her feet. Steve and Clara raced behind the curtain
where the racket had come from and when she squeezed past them she
could see Mark sprawled out at the base of the stairs, staring up
at them in bewildered panic.

“What, are you taking up
stair-sledding?” Steve asked.

“Are you okay?” Clara said, elbowing
Steve out of the way.

“Yeah, I just remember--” Mark
scrambled to his feet. “Upstairs! There was . . . something.
Someone, I think.”

“What?” Clara said, reaching over and
turning on the stairwell light.

“But . . .” Mark said,
taking a hesitant step up the empty, well-lit, non-life threatening
stairway. “I heard something. I went up there and it was totally
dark, and then--” Mark eyes met Christine’s, and he could see the
“He is strange and not one of us” look everyone eventually caught
around him.
Now she’s getting a taste of
the real Mark Watson.

“It was nothing,” he said, giving the
stairs a second glance. “I must have . . . I dunno, slipped. No big
deal.

“And here I thought
we
weren’t
gonna
watch
The Thing
,”
Steve said.

“Are you sure?” Clara said, elbowing
Steve.

“Yeah,” Mark said, his color coming
back. “Sure. It was probably the wind or a curtain or something,
and I just lost my footing coming down the steps. I’m fine,
really.”

“We should check, just to be
sure.”

“Clara, it’s nothing,” Mark
said.

“If it’s nothing then nothing is what
we’ll see,” Clara said, heading up the steps. Mark darted after her
as fast as he could, Steve and Christine trailing behind
them.

The upstairs door was open and all four
of them crowded into the doorway, peering into the living room.
“Mark?” Clara asked, but he just opened his mouth and then closed
it.

One of the small lamps on the sofa
end-table was lit, and down the hall there was a dim light coming
from the back of the apartment. The kitchen was dim but not
impenetrably black, lit by streetlight coming through the windows
and back patio door.

“Where was it?” Clara asked.

“The kitchen,” he said, feeling his old
friend humiliation creeping up on him. “I guess I thought I saw
someone on the patio.”

Clara walked over and pressed her face
against the glass of the back door. “I don’t see anything.” She
gave the door a tug and the doorknob a rattle. “Still locked. Are
you sure that’s all?”

“Yeah. Must’ve been my overactive
imagination or something.” Mark said, forcing a smile.

“Well, if we’re done with the homeland
security portion of the evening, can we finish the movie?” Steve
said, waving everyone back down the stairs.

“That was fun,” Christine said, handing
Mark back the spare helmet. “We should really do that again
sometime.”

“Yeah, totally. Hanging out is good,”
Mark said, fumbling the helmet as he tried to strap it back on the
V.

“Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow
or something? We could hang out some more.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark said. He couldn’t
take his eyes off the helmet and kept fiddling with the strap even
though he knew it was secure. He’d avoided eye contact ever since
seeing that look on her face after he’d taken his tumble down the
steps. It was only going to get worse, he realized. The whole
evening would be beyond a waste if he wasn’t able to look her in
the eye ever again. He glanced up and she was just standing there,
hands still in her pockets and head tilted down as she tried to
catch his eye.

Oh God, do something. Do
something, you silly spineless bastard.

“I hope you had fun tonight,” he said,
standing up and smoothing out his jacket. “My life’s kinda boring,
and that about summed up the highlights. Well, there’s usually less
falling down. I think.”

“I don’t know, you’ve been doing it an
awful lot since we met,” she smiled.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, looking
away again.

“Mark,” she stepped closer, “I’m sorry,
that was kind of mean. I’m just glad there wasn’t someone up there
or something.”

Yeah, it’s better that I’m
crazy
.
“I know,
and I know you’re not being mean. It was just weird. And, well,
humiliating.”

“You shouldn’t be humiliated. It was
kind of cute.”

He finally looked up, and she was right
there, less than a foot away. Her hair had fallen over her face a
little but he could still see the green of her eyes reflecting the
tiny lights of the walkway.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He reached out, every micron of his
willpower keeping his hand steady, to brush the hair away from her
face.

“It was in the way,” he said, his hand
lingering in the air next to shoulder.

“It was,” she said, and then they were
kissing. Every single one of his senses seemed to shut down so he
could focus on this terrifying and wonderful new
experience.

“So I was wondering if you wanted to go
out on a date sometime. Would that be okay?” he said when their
lips finally parted.

“I thought I just asked you out on a
date! How much clearer do you need it to be?”

“Well, I’m slow, what can I
say?”

“Well, to clarify,” she said, wrapping
her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Yes, I would very
much like to go out with you. Tomorrow even.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” he said,
and they were kissing again.

“Still need convincing?” she whispered,
drawing back but still holding him.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, that’s going to have to wait
until tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, unless you want to deal
with the parental Gestapo.”

“Gesundheit.”

“And good night,” she said with a final
kiss before she pulled away.

“Night,” he said, letting his arms fall
to his sides and not moving an inch as he watched her back up the
walkway.