The Shadows: A Novel (14 page)

I’m surprised you didn’t opt for a hotel.

That was what Amanda had said to me yesterday. The comment had thrown me at the time. It had never occurred to me to do that, and I wondered why I hadn’t. It wasn’t a matter of money, so perhaps a part of me had wanted to punish myself. Or possibly, thinking about the way my life had faltered and failed over the years in the shadow of what had happened, maybe on some subconscious level I’d decided it needed to be done—almost like a dare to myself.

See? Everything is okay.

If so, the delivery of Charlie’s doll changed that. There was no way I was going to stay in the house that night. I packed my things, including the boxes my mother had kept, then got into my car and drove back to Gritten. I found the cheapest hotel I could and checked in, deciding that I would figure out what to do in the morning.

But I’d never been able to sleep well in hotels. And even there, away from the house, I still had the same sense of threat and foreboding. The knocks on the door might have been a prank, and the figure I’d seen in the woods a stranger, but there was no way of rationalizing away the delivery of the doll.

Someone was out there. Someone was targeting me.

And however much I told myself it was impossible, I couldn’t escape the feeling that Charlie was behind it. I tossed and turned as morning approached, remembering the way he’d looked at me in the weeks after I left the group. The sense I’d had back then that things were not over.

The game isn’t finished with you yet.

The early hours found me outside, walking the streets of Gritten.

At this hour, the world was quiet and peaceful. There was no breeze, just the push of cool air against me, an almost welcome sensation in advance of the heat I knew would come later. Ribbons and threads of clouds hung low in the dawn sky. They were so close that they seemed like spirits that had descended to peer at me, and so still that it was hard to imagine them ever moving on.

I wandered down roads I remembered well. There were endless rows of anonymous red-brick terraces squashed uncomfortably against each other. Back then, there had been clotheslines strung across the streets above, with laundry hanging down from them like tattered flags. The streets had changed a little, but they remained familiar. And while I told myself I was walking aimlessly—just drifting—I knew that wasn’t true, and eventually I found myself at the top of a hill I knew better than most.

Jenny’s old house was just ahead of me.

I stopped a little way up the street. The house looked almost the same as it had twenty-five years ago. My gaze moved to one of the upstairs windows, the one that had been her bedroom, and I pictured her single bed with its plain covers, the desk with a small television on it, the acoustic guitar on a stand in one corner. The walls had been filled with shelves. They stretched all the way from the ceiling to the floor—clearly homemade—and always looked too flimsy to support the sheer number of books loaded onto them. It was only the foundations of more books below that had prevented the whole edifice from collapsing.

God, I could still see it all so clearly.

I remembered the first time I’d come here, and how it had been a surprise to see Jenny out of school uniform. When she opened the door, she was dressed in jeans, a faded Iron Maiden T-shirt that looked a couple of sizes too big for her, and an open, black-and-white-checked flannel.

The two of us had gone upstairs.

I’m sorry about the mess,
she told me.

There had been no need for her to apologize. The contrast with my own bedroom had struck me immediately, and I’d felt ashamed thinking of the bare floorboards and plain mattress, the piles of clothes and books, the damp walls. Even the idea of having my own wardrobe or bookcase was alien to me, never mind a television.

You should see my room,
I’d said.

That got me a raised eyebrow.

That’s very forward of you.

I smiled at the memory now. It had made me blush back then, but at the same time, the squirming sensation in my stomach had been nice. And both feelings had returned shortly afterward, when Jenny had finished bagging up the books she wanted to take to her beloved secondhand shop.

We should head downstairs,
she said.
We don’t want my mom getting suspicious, do we?

A little way down the street now, the front door opened.

I felt an urge to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Maybe it wouldn’t be Jenny emerging from the house—but then it was, of course. I watched as she stepped out onto the path, called something back into the house, then made her way to the street, hitching a bag over her shoulder. Not a plastic bag full of books this time, but something much more grown-up: designer and expensive. She was going to turn and see me at any moment, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

You’re not a teenager anymore.

No. And so instead of hesitating any longer, I started walking. She turned her head and did a double-take as she saw me. Then she smiled.

“Hey, stranger.”

“I’m like a bad penny,” I said. “Keep turning up.”

“That’s harsh; you’re worth more than that. What brings you to these parts at this time?”

“My feet. I’m not stalking you, honestly. I was just walking.”

“Yeah, yeah. I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.” She gestured back at the house. “Hey, you want to come in for a bit? See my mom?”

I couldn’t really imagine doing that right now.

“Thanks. But I might not be the best company. And I really
was
just out walking.”

“Sounds serious.” She patted her bag. “I was just heading out to get some breakfast first thing. Do some reading. Make some notes. Walk with me?”

“Sure.”

I fell into step beside her. As we walked, I remembered how the two of us had done this so often that summer: meandering through the streets side by side, talking shit and sharing our aspirations for the future.

As the weeks had passed, it had felt like our lives were becoming slowly intertwined, and there had been a gentle tension between the two of us: a shared knowledge that something was building. A lot of time had passed since then, of course, and everything had changed, but the ease that came from age and experience right now was just as pleasant in its own way.

“Why
did
we lose touch?” Jenny said.

“I don’t know.”

I put my hands in my pockets, thinking back on the times she’d come to see me at college, and then the handful of occasions we’d seen each other afterward, and all I knew was that it had become
increasingly awkward. Jenny had been my first love, and when you’re young you cling to that long past the point when you know it should be over. You know you need to let each other go, but it’s so sad and difficult, and so you don’t until you have to. Until the hurt of keeping someone outweighs the hurt of losing them.

“I don’t know,” I said again. “It was a long time ago. All I know is that it’s good to see you again now.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She smiled at me. “So: Any developments?”

I faltered slightly.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Yeah, I can tell. All the more reason for you to, I reckon.”

And so, after a moment’s hesitation, I did. I told her about the knocks on the door and the figure I’d seen in the woods. The fact that Billy was dead.

“Well,” she said of the latter, “I’m glad about that.”

“I thought you would be. I know I should be too.”

“Yeah, but you were always more sensitive.” She frowned. “So what do you think is happening?”

“I don’t know. But do you remember the dolls Charlie made?”

“I remember you telling me about them.”

“Someone put one through my mother’s mail slot yesterday.”

“
What?
”

Jenny came to a stop beside me, looking horrified.

“Why would anyone do that?” she said.

That was one of the questions that was bothering me. So far, the attention I’d received had been threatening but not harmful. Perhaps that meant whoever was behind it just wanted to frighten me away, for some reason. But the behavior also seemed to be escalating—building toward something—and I couldn’t shake the sensation that I was in danger here.

But there was a question that scared me more.
Who
?

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You need to go to the police,” Jenny told me.

I looked at her.

“I don’t,” I said. “I can always just leave.”

And as I said it, I realized I meant it—that the thought had arrived along with the doll yesterday, even if I hadn’t admitted it to myself until now. I could leave. No law compelled me to stay here in Gritten. If I would be letting my mother down by doing so, I had lived with worse guilt over the years, and hadn’t she told me herself that I shouldn’t be here?

There was no need for me to stay.

Jenny smiled sadly.

“I don’t think you’re going to do that this time, Paul.”

And then she reached out and touched my arm.

It was the first physical contact we’d had in over twenty years. The sensation sent a jolt through me, and when she left her hand there I felt warmth spreading through my skin.

I don’t think you’re going to do that this time.

“I owe it to my mother, right?” I said.

“No, you owe it to
yourself
. And you know what? I think a part of you wants to. After all, you didn’t have to come back here at all, did you? You didn’t have to stay in the house or look in the attic. But you did.”

“Yes.”

“Because deep down, you know you need to.”

I didn’t reply. After a moment, she moved her hand.

“This is me, by the way.”

I looked to the side and realized we were standing outside a caf
é
on one of the main roads. I’d been so engrossed in talking to her that I hadn’t paid attention to the world around us.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said. “But thank you.”

“Hey—anytime.”

And then she walked inside, leaving me alone on the sidewalk,
my arm still tingling from the contact. Her words stayed with me too, and I knew she was right. Yes, I could pack my things into the car and be gone from here. It would be the easiest thing in the world to do. But not what I needed to do.

And I realized there was another question that needed to be asked about the doll. Not just why and who, but
how
? I didn’t know what had happened to the other three dolls, but I couldn’t remember getting rid of mine. I supposed it should have been in the box along with everything else from back then. But it hadn’t been. And if the doll that had been delivered to me was my own, then how had someone else gotten hold of it?

There was only one answer I could think of.

They had to have been in the house at some point.