Chasing Shadows (10 page)

The train comes by again. “You headed south?”
Asks What was it? Schuyler.

I nod. Schuyler helps me up, and we board the
train together. It’s empty. “What time is it?” I ask. I’m still
looking around for the shade, but it’s gone.

Schuyler checks his watch. “12:01.”

“How long was I running?” I ask myself as we
sit. I’m too dazed to keep my thoughts quiet. I’m just so relieved
to be having some that string together like they should.

Schuyler eyes me, and wraps his arm back around
my shoulders, which still freaks me out. “Break up?"

“No, murder.” I feel him stiffen. “Not me!” I
quickly assert. “I just saw it and I ran, but I think they knew me,
even though I don’t know them. Didn’t for one, don’t for the
other.” I shudder and look out the window. “That’s why I got
aggressive when you said ‘Oh it’s you’ or whatever. I didn’t
recognize you, and I thought, Holy Shit, somebody else thinks they
know me?”

Schuyler doesn’t answer, and I allow the
silence to sit there. He still has his arm around my shoulder, and
I wonder why he thinks that's okay. Maybe he's European. I hear
they have different social standards about this kind of thing.
After a minute I feel his other hand on my chin. He’s turning my
face towards him. I allow it, figuring I'm close enough to hit him
pretty hard if he gets too frisky.

“You’re serious?” Schuyler asks, once he can
see my face.

I nod.

“What happened?” He asks.

I look for derision or skepticism in his face,
but I don’t see any, another European ting? How can I tell this
guy? How can I tell anyone? But I hear my voice saying:

“I followed the shadows to a dark warehouse,
snuck in, and saw a girl beaten to death by a huge blond guy she
called pig. Before she died, she called me Kelly, like she knew me
by that name. The guy saw me, and his eyes bugged out like he knew
me too, and I ran. He didn’t get me. I don’t know where I was.
There were boxes in the way.” Wow I said that out loud, yup, sure
did.

Schuyler looks thoughtfully away. “But you’re
name’s Meegan right? So, maybe you looked like someone they know,
or knew.”

I shake my head. “I named myself Meegan. My
memory only goes back three years. I have amnesia. My name could
have been Kelly three years ago. The girl thought I was a ghost at
first.”

I’ll give Schuyler credit. He takes all this
with a grain of salt. Nodding he says, “Now, I’m not trying to be a
prick here, but do you know for sure it happened?”

I stare at him, about to get angry.

He holds up his free hand. “Look I hear voices
too. I see stuff. I’m a... I have schizophrenia, but I’m on my
medication.” He adds quickly.

I’m still staring at him. This is too perfect,
but I feel something like hope dawning in my chest. “See, that’s
what I'm worried about!” I say enthusiastically. “So you don’t see
them when you’re medicated?”

Schuyler shrugs. “A lot less.”

“Did they ever lead you to anything like a
murder?”

He shakes his head.

“You tried following them though,
right?”

He nods. “Yeah, ended up naked, covered in
feces in the park.”

I laugh and so does he. Now I sigh, leaning
into him heavily. It feels like I’ve known him a long time. “So you
think I’m schizophrenic?” It sounds so easy and neat. There was no
murder. I need medication.

Schuyler shrugs. “Maybe. Was the murder
real?”

I choke up. “Looked pretty real.”

He rubs my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure
it out. If you need help I can help you get it.”

“If?" I say incredulously, disturbed at how
easy it is to let this weird person hold me on the train. I'm
usually only this friendly when I'm drunk, as you've seen. “You
think people see things for real?”

Schuyler laughs. “I’m not a good one to ask.
Every time I see something, I think it’s real.”

I dry my face with my gloved hand. It comes
back dirty with make up. “Christ. It was awful.”

Schuyler nods and strokes my hair like I’m a
puppy.

I like it. It feels normal. The thought makes
me laugh.

“What?" He asks.

I shrug. “I was just thinking how much better I
feel talking to you, and how I should’ve been nice to you in the
store. I’m sorry. We could have been friends this whole
time.”

Schuyler harrumphs. “Not a big deal. I don’t
know what I was thinking, trying to talk to a stranger at three in
the morning. I probably creeped you out.”

I turn my head and meet his eyes. They’re the
color of milk chocolate. They’re big and just a little too wide
set. Not that I need to find a flaw here. “I don’t think you
creeped me out.” I say. “I’d just seen a bird fly by, and I didn’t
know if it was real. That was back when I was afraid of my
hallucinations.”

Schuyler smirks. “What, like five days
ago?”

I smile. “Yeah. It’s been a busy week. So, what
should I do?” Just now the train stops and six people hurry in from
the cold. “Don’t answer.” I say quietly.

He nods and squeezes my shoulder.
“Hungry?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it. I’m fucking
famished.”

Schuyler laughs. “I live at the next
stop.”

I give him a look.

“No, no. Not like that.” He says. He shakes his
head and looks irritated. “I’m always doing shit like that.” He
looks at me. “I don’t know where people’s boundaries are, because I
don’t have any.”

“Any?” I ask with a smile.

He returns the smile but ruefully. “It’s not
actually very cool. People are always rejecting me, and I never
know why until after, when I think about it. I’m working on it.” He
shrugs.

“So.” I prompt. “What did you mean? If I’m
going to give you credit for not trying to make a move on
me.”

Schuyler turns his face to me. “Just that I
live in a nice place, and there’s leftover lasagna in the fridge
and beer and wine and salad and soda. You don’t have to drink,
that’s not the point. That sounded bad right, with the beer and the
wine part?”

I smile, but I don’t laugh at him, which is a
surprise. Wow, this guy totally brings out the nice in me. Schuyler
seems genuinely awkward, like he’s socially suffering. Typically I
would respond to this show of weakness with a caustic comment
designed to make him feel worse, but looking at Schuyler I don’t
want him to feel bad. It’s like I’m a nurturing person or
something. Very twilight zone.

“You cooked lasagna?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “The maid cooks. That’s
weird too, right?”

I shrug. “Honey, don’t worry too much about
being weird. I follow invisible things to warehouses, alone, in the
middle of the night. Sure, I’d love to come over. You can feed me
lasagna, and tell me what it is you think I’m supposed to
do.”

He smiles.

I smile. This is nice. Oh fuck, I just burst
into tears again. At least I’m not making crying sounds. Well hell,
there goes everything.

***

I'm sitting in the cushy, beautiful passenger
seat of a tricked out Escalade. In my three long years of life,
I've never had a rich friend. I like it. Its 10:15 and Schuyler is
driving my silly ass to work. I spent the day on his couch. We
didn't decide to lock me up this morning, so he's promised to help
me revisit the topic on my next day off. That's when I've promised
to return his shirt and socks. I think this will be the first time
I've gone to work without my bag. I was almost out of smokes by the
time the night was over. Rather than wake me up in time to go home
before work, Schuyler sent the maid out to get me more. How sweet
is that? We're here. Schuyler pulls to the curb and turns his
flashers on.

"Hey, thank you." I say.

He smiles. "My pleasure. See you
soon."

I look at him for a second, then I throw myself
across the cavernous interior to give the man a hug. How's
that
for no boundaries? He laughs, surprised, but he hugs me
back. "You saved my sanity last night. I'm so glad you were
there."

Schuyler grabs my hand. "Hey, thanks for coming
over."

"Yeah." I'm grinning. It feels good. I have the
briefest thought that maybe Schuyler is gay. Maybe that's why it's
so easy. He doesn't act gay to me, but there's got to be a catch
right? I release his hand and reach over to sweep back his hair.
"K." I shake myself. "Gotta go." and before I can embarrass myself
further, I hop out of the Escalade, shut the door, and hoof it to
Flagship without looking back. Well, maybe I look back
once.

Inside it's a different story. It looks like a
social gauntlet between here and the elevator. Ashley's by the
checkout getting something stickered. Fin and Doug are over near
youth fiction, go figure. And to top it off, Qasim is cooling his
heels suspiciously by the elevator. What the fuck is he doing here?
I scowl and then I realize he's watching me. Oh, and there's tons
of customers, but who cares?

With a deep breath I trudge over to the
elevator. Because there is a God and he's hilarious, Ashley arrives
at the same time I do. Qasim is oblivious to the significance of
this, and it's not like we're giving away many clues. Each of us is
pretending the other doesn't exist. I nod at Qasim, hoping this
will be good enough, and hit the button.

"Hi." He mumbles.

I give a brave smile. "What's up?" I
respond.

"Who was that?" And there it is: that tiny,
tiny voice.

I look him over and wonder what was I thinking?
Oh that's right, Heineken was doing the thinking. "Who?" I ask,
because I'm not above being petty.

"The guy in the SUV." Qasim looks
irritable.

I'm getting kind of indignant. "Are you here to
talk to me or to shop?" I say in super pleasant voice.

Ashley is staring now.

Qasim looks at the floor. "I sort of wanted to
talk to you."

I nod. The elevator arrives, saving me some
face. I get on and key in the basement as fast as humanly possible.
Ashley follows me in, but so does Qasim. He hits the button for
two. I sigh. This elevator is programmed to service customer floors
first. Now we're all going up. I check my phone, 10:20. I don't
even have to be here until 10:55.

"Look." Qasim starts speaking quietly, but
clearly he doesn't care if we're over heard. This does
not
earn him any points with me. "I kind of wanted to
apologize."

I stiffen. Do I kind of want to forgive him?
Not really. "Nothing to apologize for." I say.

He puts his hands in his pockets. "So, who was
that in the SUV?” He asks again. Ah. He thinks Schuyler is a love
interest. This makes me smile because I suspect he's gay, or
otherwise unattainable to the likes of me.

"My friend." I answer.

And evidently this is too much for Ashley.
"What friend?" She demands as the doors open up on two. Qasim looks
surprised. He hadn't counted on Ashley. I step out of the elevator,
pathetically trying to dodge but naturally, both of them follow me.
Maybe they should date each other. I make it as far as metaphysics
before Ashley corners me. Qasim is too interested to leave now.
Begrudgingly, I meet Ashley's eyes.

"His name is Schuyler."

Qasim moves forward. "Are you seeing
him?"

I shrug. "I just met him."

"You only just met me." He mumbles.

Ashley turns on him. "Who the hell are you
anyway?" she asks.

Qasim looks shocked. "I'm Qasim, Doug's
friend.

"Huh." Ashley sniffs.

"Look guys," I say. "This is weird okay? I
don't know why you're both mad at me. Well, I guess that's a lie.
Ashley for the fifth time, I'm sorry. Qasim for the second time,
don't sweat it. I'm going to get some coffee." I edge around them
and head for the cafe.

I don't make it past the newspaper stand. There
she is, on the front page. It's not the main spread, just a little
black and white picture to the side referencing a page number, but
that's her. It's the girl I saw die. The bold print says:
Local
student found dead, Story 3C
. I feel my knees go weak and I
stoop to pick up the paper.

Vaguely, I register Ashley's smooth voice and
Qasim's high one, but I don't catch what they're saying and I don't
care. I smack the newspaper down on the counter and order
something. I pay, tape the receipt to the paper, and look around
for a table, a nice big one I can spread the paper out on. As fast
as I can, I grab a seat and flip it open to 3C. There's not much
detail. It doesn't say her face was beaten off. It doesn't
specifically say murder. 'Suspicious circumstances' is what it
says. Holy hell, can they write an understatement. I slide my phone
out and send a text to Schuyler, letting him know the paper and the
page number. I hope he can read the panic in my text. Little gray
spots are ruining the print. What the hell is that? Am I crying?
Christ. I look up to find Qasim and Ashley staring at me, Qasim
with concern, Ashley with mild horror.