Shadow Stations: Unseen
Read Shadow Stations: Unseen Online
Authors: Ann Grant
Cover photograph by Ann Grant
Cover design by
Kealan Patrick Burke
Book design by
Kealan Patrick Burke
Published by Expedition Books
© 2012 by Ann Grant
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
For my father
Table of Contents
“
All war is deception.”
I saw the stranger on Long Lane when I climbed over the rise in the field. The good looking blond was in his late twenties or early thirties, ambling through the fog in jeans and a hunter green coat. He raised an eyebrow. Wondering if he’d heard me ranting about my boyfriend’s car accident, I shortened my German shepherd’s leash to give him time to pass us. Ever since the accident I’d been taking my dog out to isolated areas where I could throw every swear word I knew at the sky. The last thing I wanted was some guy listening to me.
Nikki pricked her ears and moved her wolfish body through the tall grass to the pavement. Usually the road cleared when I took her for a walk, but not that day. The man slowed down by the fence as if he wanted to say something. By then I couldn’t avoid eye contact, so I gave in and nodded.
“
Beautiful dog,” he said, staring at me.
“
Yeah, she’s my best friend,” I replied, walking by him.
“
I’m looking for Meade Road.”
I turned around. A tourist. No camera, but I should have known. Somebody who’d driven here in the dead of winter to see the battlefield.
“
I’m house sitting near Meade,” I said. The second I said it, I couldn’t believe I let that out. “Are you driving or walking?”
He gave me an amused smile. “Walking.”
I flushed under his gaze. Of course he was walking, but I’d thought maybe he’d parked nearby. There was something odd about his right hand. He had six fingers. A polydactyl, some kind of birth defect. I didn’t want to stare and turned to the field.
“
Meade’s over there on the ridge.” I pointed to the foggy horizon. “You can walk across the field or you can follow Long Lane around to the Rec Park and cut up through the Armory. There’s some snow in the field so you might want to take the road.”
Nikki made a low noise in the back of her throat and nosed my leg.
“
We expanded here this year,” the man said. “I own the Grasslands.” Both of his hands had six long, perfect fingers, not just the right one. I’d never seen anything like it and caught myself staring again. “You’ll have to come out when we open.”
So I was talking to local royalty. The Grasslands was a resort under construction in the middle of wild nowhere off Route 15. The plans for a soaring dome and an open-air restaurant surrounded by exotic ornamental grasses had been all over the newspapers. The Grasslands was supposed to revitalize the area, but I didn’t get it. The place was too remote. And six weeks ago, Ben had died in a terrible car accident on the same rural road. I had no intention of ever going out there.
“
Amy Wong,” I said. “I missed your name.”
His eyes flickered to a Honda as it passed us. “John Savenue. You live here?”
I hesitated. “I’m from D.C., but I go to Gettysburg College. Look, I’ve got to be someplace right now.” Which was a lie, but I’d picked up a faint taunt behind his eyes and didn’t want to stand there any longer with him. I nodded goodbye, reeled in my dog, and took off in the opposite direction, intending to take a roundabout way to the Rec Park in case he went the same way. I’d left my Jeep in the parking lot when Nikki and I began our hike.
Something told me to glance back. The six-fingered man was still there, staring at me, and then he loped across the field. Strange guy. When he reached the creek, something fell out of his coat on the bank. I almost called after him, but I stopped myself. He was too far away to hear me.
“
Come on,” I told Nikki. “Let’s go see.”
He’d dropped his cell phone. It took me a while to find it in the ice-encrusted grass, but the cover wouldn’t slide back or flip open. I put it in my pocket. John Savenue. I’d look him up when I got to the house. It was the decent thing to do even though he gave me the creeps.
* * *
I was house sitting for my Chinese Lit professor, Richard Wu, who was snorkeling with his new wife in the Florida Keys over the Thanksgiving break. The fog had burned off by the time I pulled up to his home in Fairfield. That’s the next town over from the battlefield. It has one main street surrounded by miles of cornfields and pastures.
Luna, the professor’s ancient Husky, greeted me at the door. The two hundred year old fieldstone house had a million books, beautiful contemporary furniture, and stood in thirty acres of woods, which was the main reason I’d agreed to watch it. I could lie on the couch all night with the dogs at my feet and listen to Ben’s favorite jazz without having to answer to anybody.
A message was on the house phone.
“
Hey, Amy.” Mike, one of my roommates. “How come your cell phone’s off? I’m in the Giant and thought I’d share some Chinese takeout with my favorite Chinese chick. Eggrolls, broccoli with garlic sauce, lo mein. Call me in the next five minutes.”
Too late. He’d called an hour ago. I’d get back to him after I thawed out. I pulled off my damp socks, started a pot of coffee, found rawhide bones for the dogs, and called 411. The system paused when I said John Savenue’s name and kicked me over to a human being.
“
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania,” I repeated. “John Savenue.”
“
In Gettysburg and the surrounding area, there is no listing for a John Savenue,” the operator said.
“
Well, then, the Grasslands. It might be near Cashtown.”
“
One moment.” A beat, and then: “There is no listing for the Grasslands.”
I hung up. The Grasslands was still under construction. How did anybody get in touch with the guy then? It was getting too complicated. Well, I wasn’t going to worry about the phone. I could mail the thing if I ever found an address. Or maybe I’d just throw it in a drawer.
I headed upstairs, changed into dry jeans, a black turtleneck and hoodie, and fastened my long hair in a ponytail. I’m told I have a pretty face with bold eyes. My mother’s Chinese-American, my father a mystery. I have her eyes and high cheekbones, but I don’t know if I resemble my father or not because she took a pair of scissors, cut his face out of all the photos in the family album, and destroyed the digital pictures of the two of them together. He disappeared five months before my sister and I were born.
A scrabbling sound in the hall interrupted my thoughts. Nikki had probably padded upstairs, but I didn’t see her around. When I heard it again, I cracked the hall door to the attic. Small wings fluttered up into the darkness. A bird must have trapped itself up there, or even a bat, which should have been hibernating.
I found a flashlight, crept up the narrow stairs, and pulled the light string. A bare bulb clicked on and threw its low light across the long attic floor. No wings, no ugly little bat face under the rafters. A couple more steps and I shone the flashlight over a painted chair, some luggage and cardboard boxes, and peered into the deeper shadows beyond the chimney.
No sign of anything. The lights must have driven it into hiding.
“
Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said and opened one of the tiny windows on the closest wall. Icy air gusted inside. Whatever was in the attic would probably leave as soon as I did. Mission accomplished. I pulled the light string. The attic fell into darkness, and then I stumbled over a box. John Savenue’s cell phone slipped out of my hoodie and rattled across the floorboards.
“
Wonderful,” I blurted, expecting to spend the next half hour crawling around trying to find it, but the flashlight beam picked up the phone in the dust. Thin lines rippled across the surface. Surprised, I shone the flashlight on it again, not sure what to think.
The thing was light sensitive, and whatever it was, it wasn’t a cell phone.
Solid lines flamed along the rim, followed by brilliant red symbols that resembled the Greek alphabet: a backwards E with a snaking tail, an upside down U, a triangle, a trident. Curious, I touched the triangle to see if it would open the cover.
Seconds later, a silver probe shot out and seized my wrist.
“
Oh, my God,” I gasped and dropped the flashlight, which spun around in a crazy, wobbling circle. Distorted shadows flew over the walls. When I tried to pry the probe off my wrist, it tightened even more.
Tingling pain spread through my hand. The shadows on the walls and the flashlight beam dissolved away and I found myself beside a hooded man on a rocky plain under a high sun. My mouth went dry. Just as a scream rose in my throat, I realized I could still feel the attic floor beneath my feet. The scene had to be an illusion or a projection of some kind.
