Shadowshift (7 page)

CHAPTER 9

The cold and dark theater had never bothered Chet before. He always kept his attention on the screen, where the action unfolded. From his seat, he had witnessed his parents fight. With every lash they gave or took, he turned colder inside, until he stopped caring about them altogether. They were monsters, plain and simple. But watching them unload on each other grew tiresome fast. That aside, Chet still had a reason to catch frequent matinees and late shows.

His father had a habit of hiding money around the house. Although Chet didn’t understand this strange behavior, his fascination had bloomed. He kept a journal of hiding places, looking for a pattern in his father’s madness. If he couldn’t love the man, maybe he could at least understand him; or, more importantly, learn how such a terrible human being could sire such a special son.

He had watched his mother, too, but her quirks were far less interesting. She divided her day between trashy romance novels, laundry, and delivering violence as well as she took it in the bedroom. Molly Mitchell had a shockingly strong left hook—fun to watch, but hardly illuminating.

Alas, years of study brought no insight, leaving Chet with an empty answer to a loaded question. His abilities were not inherited.

On his eighteenth birthday, he burned his journal and stole the money he’d watched his father hide—a little over than ten thousand dollars. The cash moved him to Cincinnati and set him up in a nice apartment for a while. He never talked to his parents again.

Waiting for Tina to appear on the screen, Chet grew fidgety. Here he was, thinking about his parents. He hated remembering, and his wife’s tardiness was fucking everything up. None of this was necessary, he knew, but old habits die hard, and knowing half his wife’s secret was not enough. He needed everything. While hidden cameras worked, they were a waste of money and employed technology Chet despised. Recorded footage often incriminated those who employed it, but his mind never would betray him in a courtroom, not that he planned to end up in one. As long as he kept his secret hidden, he was too slick to ever get caught.

He suddenly felt something—
bugs?
—crawling on his ankles. Bending down, unable to make out anything in the darkness below, he reached up his pant legs. He felt nothing more than hairy ankles. When something slithered across his chest, he stood and lifted his shirt, but only succeeded in uncovering his toneless torso.

The screen remained free of Tina.

Chet had never spent this long in the theater, and the place was starting to spook him. The walls seemed to close in. The screen shrank. And the sensation of things crawling on him intensified.

Clawing at his body, he shouted, “Come out and play, bitch. You’re starting to piss me off!”

Things began burrowing in his ears. He tasted dirt. Then the screen darkened, and the shrouded theater ignited with the rising din of chattering insects.

Unable to endure more torture, Chet concentrated on his bedroom in the apartment, anxious to return home and forget his freshest failure, but that only intensified the torment.

His mind’s eyes showed him the wan reflection of his eighteen-year-old self in a steamed mirror. His younger self’s hand reached for the reflection, then an extended finger etched a message in the misty glass.

NO MORE TURNING AWAY

The glass shattered, replaced by a deep black void. Pain ebbed as the darkness consumed him. Was he dying? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Then a distant voice echoed through his mind. It belonged to Tina.

* * *

It was a little after two thirty when Tina dashed into the apartment. Time had slipped away from her at Starbucks and she needed to meet Hannah at the bus stop in twenty minutes. Bathed in sweat, she dropped her laptop on the couch and started pulling off her shirt. Only a couple minutes in the shower, she promised herself. It wouldn’t pay to smell foul in the company of other parents. While she was sure people gossiped everywhere, they were particularly cruel in Savannah.

Unfastening her belt, Tina rushed into the bedroom. Her shorts dropped to the floor as she turned. And that’s when she found Chet, his body draped across a wide chest of drawers. Slicked with sweat, he moaned. His extremities trembled. His pupils darted wildly.

“Oh my God,” she shouted.

Then a tidal wave of anger consumed her. The bastard would make her late for Hannah.

She slapped him across the face. No response. Slapped him harder. Still nothing. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. He was burning up. And that’s when the weight of the moment hit her.

Her husband was dying.

Instinct took over. Tina kicked her shorts aside and raced for the bathroom. She ran cold water in the tub, then snatched a plastic trash can from beside the vanity. After emptying the contents of the can on the floor, she filled it from the faucet, then scurried back into the bedroom and poured water over Chet’s head.

His groaning intensified, but the effort did nothing to pull him from his spastic fugue.

Using the trash can, one load at a time, Tina dumped what little ice her modest freezer contained into the bathtub. The faucet continued to run, and soon, the water level rose high. Testing the temperature, she dipped her hand in the water. It didn’t seem cold enough. Chet was going to die. Tears streamed down Tina’s cheeks. But it wasn’t only sadness that consumed her. There was also hope.

And then, kneeling in front of the tub, she felt a hand clutch her shoulder, and she realized her luck wouldn’t hold out. Chet was behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

She gazed up at him and started to stand, but he pushed her back to the floor.

“I was trying to save you, you bastard,” she cried. “You looked like you were going to…going to…”

“Die?” he said.

She nodded.

“You would just love that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, Chet, no. I was…I was trying to save you. What the hell happened anyway? Why were you on top of the dresser?”

His grip loosened, allowing Tina to rise. She stood slowly, never taking her eyes from Chet, and he seemed to choose his next lie carefully. Hand on his chin, he staggered into the bedroom. As he sat down on the bed, he cringed and clutched his head with both hands. He was hurt. Maybe, Tina hoped, he would still die. However, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. This was, after all, the father of her little girl.

Memories of Chet during Hannah’s infancy flashed through Tina’s mind. He had been nice then—changing the baby’s diapers, working three jobs to make ends meet. Smiles had been sincere, and his lovemaking had been tender. He’d taken care of his family.

She sat next to him on the bed and rubbed his back. His shirt clung to his sticky flesh. “You’re burning up,” she said, starting to peel his Circle K polo upward. “I think it’s still best we get you in the tub.”

“
It’s still best
,” he mimicked. Then, with speed and strength she didn’t anticipate, he grabbed her arms. “It’s still best when a woman tells her husband the truth.” He dragged his hands down to her wrists, and his grip tightened. “Don’t you think
that’s
best?” he growled.

“Stop, Chet, you’re hurting me.”

“Hurting you? Hurting
you
?” He shoved her against the headboard and stood. As pain radiated through her back, he dug into his pocket and pulled out her jump drive. “What’s this?” he asked.

“I was going to tell—”

“Don’t give me that shit. You bought a computer, right? Tell me you didn’t and I’ll kill you.”

Managing a meek nod, she thought about Hannah, alone and afraid at the bus stop. It didn’t matter in that moment if he destroyed her salvation, kept her from realizing her dreams. All that mattered was her daughter. She needed to reach Hannah.

“You’ve been going online.” Shaking his head, he walked toward the living room. “You know how I feel about the Internet, Tina, and still you defy me. It’s a dirty place filled with people you can’t trust. And a naïve woman like you? Shit, those predators out there will eat you up! What are you doing out there? Meeting men?”

“Men and women,” she admitted flatly, rubbing her sore lower back.

He stopped in the doorway and sneered at her.

“But not the way you’re thinking,” she said. “I talk to people who respect me, who share common values and goals. People who don’t imprison me.”

“I’ve tried to make an honest woman out of you,” he said. “I go out there and risk my life so you and Hannah can have a better life, and how do you repay me? By going behind my back. By talking to strange men online.”

Heaving an exasperated sigh, she got up from the bed and started for the door. He took a step toward her and pressed a firm palm into her chest. “This is over when I say it’s over!”

“Get out of my way,” she roared. “I need to pick up
my
daughter.”

He pushed her toward the bed. “You’re not going anywhere until we clear the air. You need to get down on your hands and knees and apologize to me. Promise you’ll never betray me again! I need to
know
I can trust you.”

She struggled to free herself from the room, but it was no use. Even in his weakened state, he remained bigger and stronger than her. Scanning the room for something she could use as a weapon, her gaze landed on the chest of drawers, the place where her favorite possession normally rested. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t stopped to think about it. With Chet atop the dresser, what had happened to her cat figurine? Kicked aside? Broken?

“Where is it?” she shouted.

“Where is
what
?”

“You know what I’m talking about. The cat my grandma gave me. Where is it, Chet?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, “we’re falling apart here and all you can think about is the stupid kitty cat your bitch grandmother gave you.” He opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and yanked out the statue by the neck. “Is this all you care about?”

There she stood, the path to Hannah clear, but she was frozen by fear.

“No, Chet,” she pleaded. “Just hand it to me and we’ll talk; we’ll work everything out, I promise.” She held out trembling hands, desperate to protect the only thing connecting her to a happy moment from childhood.

Even in her frantic state, she couldn’t ignore obvious questions. If Chet came home sick, why didn’t he just crawl into bed? And if he’d flopped onto the dresser because of his weakened condition, how was he able to put the figurine away first? More importantly, if he’d been angry about discovering her secret,
why
would he choose to protect the keepsake? He had always been odd and mysterious, but this took the cake.

True to form, Chet didn’t offer explanations. He was about action. A wicked grin cracked his face as he threw the statue. It sailed past Tina, then thudded against the wall behind her. She kneeled and picked it up. Ran it around in her hands, inspecting for damage.

The drywall was dented. The cat was fine.

She clutched the memento to her chest and looked up at Chet. He appeared weak and defeated, breathing heavily.

“I need to get Hannah,” she said.

“Where’s the computer?” he asked. “I can’t let you leave until you hand it over.”

She wanted to lie, to run into the living room and grab her laptop, but that would only shake her daughter’s already fragile foundation. Tina needed to break free from Chet, but with no money and no prospects, the time was wrong. She was struck by a sad truth. If she’d spent less time in honest pursuit of her goals and more time actually looking for men online, as Chet feared she’d been doing, she might have a place to run with Hannah.

“The laptop’s on the couch,” she whispered.

“It’ll be gone when you get back.”

“Okay,” she said, standing. She could still use the PCs at the public library, and she would, if for no other reason than to return her contract to
DarkSide,
but all her files were stored on the drives Chet would soon destroy, and that meant her novel would be lost.

But her short story would still be published. That was something. Perhaps someone would read it and decipher her cries for help. Maybe a stranger would step forward and save her.

No. That hope was dim. More likely, she’d just whine to acquaintances online until the sane abandoned her and the crazy embraced her, destroying any chance of being taken seriously in the court of public opinion. And then there was the potential danger to Hannah. As monstrous as Chet was, he’d never harm his daughter. She couldn’t say the same for all the online predators of the world, as much as she hated to admit that Chet’s fears were partially founded.

They said nothing more to each other before Tina slinked out of the apartment.

When she reached the bus stop, Hannah was waiting on a bench, her head down.

“Hi, sweetie,” Tina said.

“You’re late,” Hannah replied, not looking up.

“Sorry.” Tina extended her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Hannah took it. “Ready to go home?”

“Ugh, I
was
ready thirty minutes ago.”

“I know, you have a
terrible
Mommy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

As they walked, Tina considered changing direction and running. But where would they go? Chet had legal rights, and she’d become a fugitive, always looking over her shoulder. How would she feed and clothe her daughter under those conditions?

“Why are we moving so slow?” Hannah asked.

“Mommy had a bad day.”

“Oh.”

“Mommy had a
very
bad day.”

“Do you ever have
good
days?”

Despite her grim mood, Tina chuckled, and she felt immeasurably grateful for Hannah. No matter what, no matter how ugly the situation she found herself in, Hannah always made things better.

CHAPTER 10

Tina feels short of breath when Kevin turns into the driveway of his boyhood home. Although she spent the last two days convincing herself she was up for this challenge, the pressure now consumes her. Will she say the wrong things? What if Kevin’s parents don’t like her? It’s clear he worships his mom and dad. What if she doesn’t like
them
?

Kevin kills the engine and flashes a tense smile. It’s clear he’s nervous, too. And he should be. Their recent disagreements could spill over into tonight’s familial setting, and that would be disastrous. She only has one chance to make a first impression.

Tina takes a deep breath as Hannah jumps from the SUV and sprints toward the house.

“Well, I’m glad she’s not scared as hell,” Tina says.

“Yeah,” Kevin agrees, then he pops open his door and steps out. Peering in at Tina, who is still firmly in place, he says, “Come on. Everything will be fine. My folks are wonderful people.”

In the distance, barking erupts and the front door opens. Tina hears Hannah introducing herself, then asking if she can pet the dog.

“Of course, dear,” a deep voice booms. “His name’s Rascal. He loves children.”

“Come on,” Kevin implores.

“Rascal?” Tina asks. “Shit, Kevin, did you grow up in some kind of ’50s sitcom family?”

“Yes,” he says, “but without the jokes.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly
Ordinary People
if that’s what you’re getting at, but we had our moments. Come on in, you’ll be fine. My folks only kill hobos and vacuum cleaner salesmen.”

Despite fear, she smiles, then steps into the warm night. When she joins Kevin on the other side of the vehicle, he takes her hand. As they glide up the flagstone path to the house, Kevin’s father welcomes them with a wide grin. Standing next to him, his wife scowls. Kevin warned Tina about his mother’s stoic facade—“You have to understand, sweetie, she’s from Minnesota”—but that’s doing nothing to calm Tina’s nerves. Besides, Tina’s best friend from college, Roxie Michaels, came from Saint Paul, and Roxie never fronted like a total bitch.

At the front door, Tina gazes into the open floor plan of the house. Hannah’s already comfortable on the couch, scratching behind the ears of the grinning black lab in her lap.

“Mike Logan,” the old man says, extending his hand to Tina.

Returning his firm handshake and forcing a smile, she says, “I’m Tina Mitchell. So nice to finally meet you.”

“And this is my wife, Dee,” Mike says.

Dee Logan grants the slightest nod, not her hand, and says, “Welcome to our home. Kevin has said so many nice things about you.” Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been yelling.

Tina wonders if Kevin’s mother spends a lot of time busting her husband’s balls. Probably. Despite bright teeth and a tropical tan, Kevin’s father appears cowed, like maybe he’s the one who always has to keep up appearances. At that moment, Tina swears she’ll lighten up on Kevin. She doesn’t want to turn the man she loves and respects into his father, a man she feels pity for right now.

The house is warm and tastefully decorated. A little too country for Tina’s taste, but homey nonetheless. Classical music cascades from the kitchen, accompanied by the inviting scents of baked bread and cheese.

“Something smells wonderful,” Tina says.

A faint smile quivers on Dee’s lips. “I’m making my special lasagna.” She puts an arm around Kevin, then adds, “It was always
his
favorite.”

With that, Dee excuses herself to the kitchen, and the rest of the party joins Hannah and Rascal on a large sectional in the living room.

The conversation is light. Mike asks Kevin a few questions about his job, then answers a few of Hannah’s questions about Rascal—what he eats, where he sleeps, how old he is. Finally, Mike turns to Tina. “So,” he says, “Kevin tells us you’re a famous writer.”

“I’m hardly famous.”

Kevin squeezes her hand and whispers in her ear: “I never said famous.”

“But yes,” Tina says, “I’m the author of two novels and several short stories. I have one more novel left on my current book deal, which I’m working on now.”

“Impressive,” Mike says. “One of my old fraternity brothers is something of an author, too. Taylor Savoy. Do you know him?”

“Can’t say I do. What kind of things does he write?” Tina asks.

Mike shrugs. “Business stuff, I guess you could say. I have his book on eliminating personal debt, if you’d like to read it. I found it very illuminating.”

“No thanks,” Tina says, “but his book sounds like a real corker. How does it end? Does everyone live happily ever after?”

Mike laughs. “Sorry, Tina, I suppose it’s silly to assume all writers run in the same circles.”

“No, I’m sorry for my facetious comeback. People make that assumption often, and my response was crass. At the risk of sounding bold, have you read anything of mine?”

“Not yet,” Mike says, “but Dee’s reading one of your books.”

This intrigues Tina, but she decides to stop talking about her work. Hannah’s on the floor, laughing and rolling around with Rascal, who’s licking her face, and Kevin seems content with how things are going so far. Tina has experienced many sensitive reactions to the dark content of her writing. Best not to open that particular can of worms tonight. Then again, if Dee has been studying her work, trying to determine what kind of woman her precious boy is entangled with, maybe it’s too late.

The rest of the pre-dinner conversation goes back to safe topics. Mike talks about the ridiculous price he paid for his last set of tires, and Kevin nods agreement while Tina resists making a stupid pun about inflation. Before long, Dee calls everyone to dinner, except for Rascal, whom Dee sends whining out the back door. This, of course, causes a flash of sadness on Hannah’s face, and Tina makes a mental note that she’ll need to get Hannah a dog soon.

At the table, Dee passes a plate of bread to Tina. “I heard Mike telling you that I’m reading one of your books.”

“Yes,” Tina says. “May I ask which one?”

“I just wanted to set the record straight, so there’s no confusion. I’m not reading that book. Not anymore, at least. I couldn’t get past the rape scene.” She whispers the word “rape,” as if that somehow makes it polite, but does it loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Oh,
Winterland
. Sorry about that. That novel isn’t for the faint of heart.” Tina hopes this will satisfy Kevin’s mother, but the woman’s sharp expression gives no quarter.

Silence falls over the rest of the dinner table as Dee butters a piece of bread. She doesn’t seem to notice the tension she’s creating, and this terrifies Tina.

“I certainly hope,” Dee says, not looking up from her plate, “Hannah doesn’t read your work.”

“I’ve read some of it,” Hannah says. “I love Mom’s writing, but she won’t let me read
Winterland
until I’m sixteen.”

Looking up with swift concern, Dee’s eyebrows rise, her mouth agape. “Sixteen?” she says. “Is that the age when it’s okay to read about rape?” This time she doesn’t bother to whisper the R word.

“Mom,” Kevin says, “the book is a cautionary tale. You can’t deny that terrible things happen in the world. Tina confronts these things. That’s one of her jobs as a writer. I remember how much you loved that book about the Holocaust.”

“The Holocaust is quite different,” Dee says. “What happened to all those poor souls is history. Besides, the world has enough tragedy in it already that people don’t have to go around making up more just to satisfy this world’s sick bloodlust.”

“Mrs. Logan,” Tina says, “if you think I was glorifying an act of violence, I encourage you to finish the book. And I assure you, rape is as real as the Holocaust. I didn’t invent it.”

“Well, sex sells, I guess,” Dee says flatly, then goes back to her dinner, as if the argument is settled.

Tina’s floored, unable to comprehend how anyone can equate rape with sex. None of her work carries an erotic slant—not that she has anything against sex in books—and yet this woman is accusing her of what…peddling smut? And worse, she’s dragging Hannah into the whole ugly mess.

Tina glares at Kevin. He shrugs, a look of terror darkening his face, then shakes his head, warning her to let the matter slide.

Hell no, Tina thinks. She allowed a lot of shit slide with Chet, and where did that get her? She’s incredibly proud of
Winterland
, and if this haughty bitch is going to reduce her to a pornographer in front of her daughter, she’s damn well going answer for it, no matter whose mother she is.

“Do you think rape is erotic, Mrs. Logan?” Tina asks.

Dee’s fork clatters on her plate, her face turning red.

“I think that’s a fair question,” Tina presses. “You said ‘Sex sells.’ What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said,” Dee drones.

Tina laughs. “Well, I certainly don’t sell many books.” She turns to Kevin’s father. “Mike, I’m sure your college pal sells better than I do, and what’s he doing? Teaching the rich how to get richer, right? I mean, seriously, how can a poor family hope to send their children to college without racking up some debt? What advice does Mr. Savoy have for them? Or does he think poor children don’t deserve higher education?”

“And what are
you
trying to accomplish?” Dee asks.

“I put my pain on the page, Mrs. Logan, and I work through it, try to make sense of it. I explore the human condition, and—”

“Oh, so I suppose
you
were raped?” Dee says.

Engulfed by rage, Tina stands and kicks her chair, which crashes on the hardwood floor as she rushes from the table. Heart thundering, she flees the house. She pulls the door handle of the SUV—it’s locked—then fumbles in her pocket. She yanks out her e-cig and tries to suck a lungful of nicotine vapor, but the blue tip flashes. It’s dead.

Kevin barrels toward her, and Hannah follows closely behind. He throws his arms around her and says, “I’m so sorry. I’m
so
sorry.”

“Did you tell her?” Tina growls.

“No, of course not. You have to believe me. I never would share a secret of yours. You have to believe me!”

“What does she think? That I’m damaged goods? Certainly she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her precious boy.”

“It’s not like that, Tina. She doesn’t know. She never would have said that if she had known. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Pointing a trembling finger at the house, she shouts, “I’m blowing
that
out of proportion? Excuse me, but were we just at two different dinner parties?”

“Come on, Tina, let’s go back inside and—”

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Tina says. “For fuck’s sake, why the hell did I trust you? I never even told Chet.”

She falls limp in Kevin’s arms, her mind racing back to the winter night when her innocence was taken.

She’s fourteen. Her brother’s best friend is much older. She’s pinned to the couch, his hot breath in her face. They’re both drunk on screwdrivers. She trusted him. Now he’s forcing his hand up her miniskirt, ripping away her panties, digging his fingers deep inside, where he doesn’t belong. It hurts. Hurts so bad! Why is this happening? Greg has a girlfriend. Why why why why why?!

When Tina awakes from the memory, she’s in the passenger seat. Kevin clutches the wheel. Hannah’s head is bowed in the backseat.

“I never had a chance,” Tina mumbles.

“You could have played nice back there,” Kevin scolds. “My mom was out of line, but you didn’t have to jump to conclusions. And you didn’t have to push her. She would have warmed to you in time. I told you she’s old-fashioned, but you didn’t listen. You had to…”

Tina rolls down her window, letting the wind drown out Kevin’s accusations, and feels herself falling out of love.