Читать книгу Ignite the Shadows - Ingrid Seymour - Страница 13

After driving aimlessly, spelling street signs until I feel I might have a stroke, I stop the bike and look around. Dr. Smith’s face flashes in front of my eyes, fleshy lips mumbling something. His resemblance to the man I’d imagined after so many of Mom’s stories is uncanny. My stomach churns as the emotions I’ve been trying to hold back threaten to rise.

I need to focus my attention on something else. Anything else.

The State of the Union Address!

Straddling my bike, one foot on the blacktop, I take my phone out and browse until I find President Helms’s video. As I start watching, groaning at the thought of sitting through a full hour of babbling, I remember the numbers at the bottom of the message. My brain was too foggy with sleep to understand before, but they must indicate minutes and seconds. Impatient, I fast-forward to minute nine and let it play.

Helms is talking about the economy. His words offer zero explanation as to why I’m supposed to be watching this. The president pauses, takes a big breath and widens his eyes, then transitions to a new topic. I skip to minute twenty-five and listen closely. Helms is now addressing foreign policy issues. He might as well be speaking Chinese. I’ve never cared for politics. Once more he switches topics, pausing, breathing deeply. His eyes do a weird little roll, as if he’s tracing a circle with his gaze. It strikes me as odd, but I can’t put a finger on why.

On minute forty-three, it’s the same thing. Another boring subject, the delay from one idea to the other, the shift of his eyes, the deep breaths.

Then it hits me, like light bursting in front of my eyes. I know why he’s not blinking, why he takes deep breaths and looks as if the load on his shoulders goes beyond the responsibility of being the president of the United States of America. I know the weight of this burden. I carry it with me every day.

President Helms also fights the shadows.

Pushing, shoving, ramming any thoughts of Luke to the back of my mind, hoping the shadows eat them for good, I rush into Millennium Arcade. I need to find Xave so he can take me to this James guy.

“Cameron, have you seen Xave?” The noise and lights in the arcade disorient me further. I rode like a lunatic to get here, my mind a fluid continuum of disjointed ideas.

He ignores me as he slides the cue over his thumb. After making the shot, he pushes his layered bangs to the side. “Nope, he hasn’t been here today.”

I turn on my heels and head out.

“You’re welcome,” Cameron shouts behind me. I ignore him.

Dialing Xave’s cell phone, I step outside, where the sky is now a deep shade of navy blue with heavy clouds starting to roll in. After several rings, the call goes to voicemail. Obviously, he’s ignoring me. At home, Selina, Xave’s twelve-year-old sister, says he just went out.

Where is he when I need him? I have to tell him about Luke. He’s the only one who can understand how I feel right now.

Damn, don’t think about Luke! James, concentrate on James.

Deep breath.

Logic returns. Maybe Xave is with James and that’s why he’s not answering his phone. One other place comes to mind where I can look for him. I turn the key in the ignition, put on my helmet and drive toward downtown. I’m not sure going back to that alley is a good idea. My head is too jumbled right now to know which way is up, but I drive there—at war with the shadows. After a million thoughts about trees, siblings, candy bars, jealousy, hamsters, loss … I arrive.

The dark alley lies before me. Shadows loom inside as a light drizzle begins to fall. I shiver. The solitary street lamp barely illuminates the entrance, the huge mouth that may grow teeth to chew me up once I step in. I shake my head, take a deep breath and walk tentatively into the darkness. My eyes readjust, the shadows against the walls become less threatening as I identify the objects that cast them. I pass a Dumpster and a few barrels. A large stack of compacted cardboard boxes lie to my right. Maybe there’s a recycling center in the building.

The thought of a legitimate business operating in this place is reassuring, even if gangsters sometimes use garbage-related schemes to hide their illegal operations. Or is that only in the movies?

The hum of an air conditioner and the trickle of water echo with an eerie quality that sends my skin crawling. Stubbornly, I continue forward, throwing glances over my shoulder every few steps, trying to figure out if IgNiTe’s lair lies in one of the two buildings that make up this dead-end alley.

The wall on the left is solid, while the one on the right has several windows accessible through a fire escape. They’re pitch-black, so climbing the staircase to peek inside would be no use. I doubt IgNiTe’s holding a meeting in the dark, although weirder things have happened. If they’re here, my guess they’ll be somewhere deep inside the bowels of one of the buildings.

At the end of the alley, I spot a door. I approach and twist the knob. When it turns and the door swings open, a cold wave slides down my spine, raising goose bumps on my skin. A dank smell wafts from inside. I face nothing but blackness. I let my eyes adjust, hoping I can make something out. As I stand there, the distinct feeling that someone is watching me from the depths of the passage takes over me. I shudder. I have nothing to light my way, but even if I did, there’s no way I’m going in there. I don’t need to find Xave that badly. This can wait.

I shut the door and head back slowly, keeping away from the cardboard boxes in case someone’s hiding behind them. My heart rate slows when I see my bike, waiting patiently on the street. I pick up my pace, then halt when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I freeze. A man’s standing past the Dumpster, back resting on the wall. He digs in his pockets and pulls out something that glints in the dark.

He doesn’t see me. Slowly, I take a step back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

My heart slams against my chest and adrenaline ripples through my body. Run or fight?

A flame comes to life in front of the man’s face, illuminating his features. A pair of gray eyes shine for a quick second. James!

James comes away from the wall. The lamppost casts a dim light on him. He lights a cigar and speaks with it hanging from his mouth. “Looking for someone, Marci?” He takes a deep drag and turns his head my way. His movements are controlled. He looks me dead in the eye, and I’ve no idea how he can see me wrapped in these shadows.

To hide my fear, I walk forward, staying as close to the opposite building as possible. A low buzz starts in the back of my head.

“Not very smart going into dark alleys like this, don’t you think? You might get yourself killed one day.” His voice is a deep rumble, like stones washing down a landslide. He wears a lopsided smile. If his comment is meant to be a joke, it isn’t funny. There’s enough edge to his tone that it feels more like a threat. I sidestep, keeping far from him, inching my way out while ignoring the insistent hum inside my cranium.

Swathed in shadows, I feel vulnerable. I want to move into the light and erase the possibility of being forced into the back of the alleyway, never to be seen again.

When I’m parallel with James, I look him up and down. He’s wearing jeans, square-toe boots, a black t-shirt and leather jacket. Something about him looks too clean-cut for his own clothes, like he doesn’t belong in them. I figure my chances of outrunning him are pretty good. I could get to my bike faster than he could get to his, which I now notice is parked on the corner. He looks to be in his mid-forties, probably too arthritic to catch up with me. At least that’s what I tell myself, because the vivacity in his gray gaze and the latent power in his lean, muscular build don’t give me much comfort.

Before I run, though, there’s something I have to know. “How’d you do it? How’d you break into my computer?”

James draws on his cigar, holding it between thumb and forefinger. Then, with a careless flick, he throws it on the ground, not even halfway spent. He runs a hand over his bald head.

“Those things will kill you,” he says. “They’re nasty, but whatever helps keep the fog away, right? I’m sure you have your own tricks.” He stretches his lips in a smile that doesn’t travel to the rest of his face.

The fog? Tricks? Maybe his strategy is to overwhelm me with snippets of information that’ll make my questions multiply like horny rabbits.

“So, you got my attention,” I say. “I’m here, what the hell do you want?”

James runs a lazy hand over his jaw and sighs, as if disappointed. He watches me through a squint, analyzing me, seeming to ponder a million question of his own. I hold my breath, waiting for the result of his appraisal, mad at myself for caring whether I pass or not.

My patience dwindles. “Why did you want me to watch President Helms?”

“You know why.”

James’s certainty is disconcerting. Why is he so sure? What does he know?

“You’re wondering how come I know what you are,” he says.

Great, he’s a mind reader. He’s got to be, because how the hell could he know? James stretches his neck, tilting his head from side to side, just like President Helms, just like me.

He takes a deep breath. “I know because … I’m like you. That buzzing in the back of your head, I feel it, too.”

Surprised, I take a hand to the base of my skull, where a steady hum hasn’t let up since I got too close for comfort.

He rubs his own head. “Annoying, isn’t it? But that’s how I know. I felt it last night as you drove away from here.” He points a finger toward the spot where I waited for Xave atop the idling motorcycle. “You were struggling with it, under attack. Weren’t you?”

I nod once, speechless. Never in my wildest hypotheses did I imagine there were others who knew about the shadows.

“Ever been shadowed?” he asks.

“Huh?” It’s all I can manage.

He waits, eyes locked on mine. Shadowed?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

“You sure?” he presses. “I know you’ve seen the world through eyes that should have been yours. But have you ever lost total control? Have you been blind, mute, dumb? Have you been shadowed? Trapped within yourself?”

My horrific discovery of just yesterday comes back to me, pouring its paralyzing shock into my limbs. My throat goes dry, my mouth bitter. The numb, life-without-parole certainty returns with a vengeance.

James knows about the shadows. Truly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, tilting his bushy eyebrows.

My helpless expression has given him the answer he wants to hear.

“Very few ever come back.” His voice is low and menacing. I feel as if I’ve dodged an eternity in hell. “Good, that means I can trust you. You’re strong.” James takes two steps toward me and looks me straight in the eye. “We have the answers you’ve been looking for. If you’re interested, follow me.”

James doesn’t wait for me to agree. He straddles his Harley and rides off. It takes me a moment to come out of my trance. When I do, I hop on my bike and gun it. The voice of reason screams in my head. No sensible girl would follow a stranger like this. But what choice do I have? All I’ve ever wanted is to know what’s wrong with me.

I would risk everything to find out.