Summer Shadows

In the quiet of the garage we stared at each other, I in fear, Darren in burning, intense hatred. I could see it, gleaming from the depths of his brown eyes, riddled with madness and rage. There was nothing kind about him, about how he watched me.

“You know what makes this all the better?” He asked. “Well, better for me at least.”

I said nothing, lips a tight line as I fought against the repulsive sensation growing in my stomach. I could only watch him, examining him in the bitter silence. He was dressed in unseasonably hot clothing; long, dark, thick jeans, a heavy black sweater overlayed with a navy hoodie I had borrowed from him on occasion. He was still in his winter clothes.

A horrifying smile spread across his face. “The fact you can see me. So now you know I’m here, and we both know that really shouldn’t be, should it?”

I swallowed, mustering up as much calm defiance as I could. “Well it isn’t the first time.”

Darren’s smile fell, dark eyes losing their mirthful glint. That hadn’t been what he expected me to say. It hadn’t been planned, just a truth. The fact it seemed to deflate his excitement only came as a bonus.

“What do you mean?” He asked, coldly.

“I’ve dealt with this before, with your kind, Darren,” I stated firmly. “The fact you’re like this, that I can see you? It’s not as shocking as you think. You being here like this does not scare me.”

But why you’re here, now that might be a different story, I thought, trying to maintain a steady breathing pattern.

Darren let out a dark laugh. “I always knew you weren’t quite normal, babe. But I had no idea you were this much of a circus freak.”

His words cut and stung; as though this was a choice. As though I wanted to see him or anyone else for that matter.

“So, then, I guess you know why I’m here?”

I remembered Simon, why he was suck as an ethereal being in our world, the outcome of it. I couldn’t fight the frown that pulled at my lips, nor my tightened grip on the keys in my hand.

“Unfinished business,” I said.

“Isn’t that the nice way of putting it,” He mused.

“It’s the only way of putting it,” I snapped. “Unfinished, incomplete, otherwise you would have moved on already.”

“Getting a bit testy there, aren’t we?” He taunted. He moved forward, around the black Stingray and towards me. I started backing up, grasping the railing of the stairs as I kept my eyes focused on him. “That anger isn’t going to help you a damn bit, babe. Nothing is going to help you this time.”

I had been too transfixed by his words, the way his eyes seemed to radiate with hate and rage as he came towards me, and the madness that seemed imbedded in every fiber of his being. I felt his cold, steely grip on my wrist before I had time to realize just what was happening.

“Don’t forget, Maggie, you and I have ‘unfinished business,’” He grinned cruelly squeezing my wrist painfully. I gave it a good jerk, the panic I had been avoiding during our confrontation filling my brain with a fresh wave of adrenaline as I tripped and stumbled my way up the stairs from the garage, out into the parlor. I slammed the door shut, hastily making my way around the corner only to collide head on with Oliver. I tumbled backwards as the blonde boy tripped over me, breaking his fall on the soft rug in the living room. Shirtless and confused he looked up as I tried to scramble to my feet.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I—“ He grabbed my wrist, stopping me as he hastily made his way up, eyebrows furrowed, hair still dripping down the lenses of his glasses.

“You’re trembling,” He muttered, noting the shaking in my limbs. “What’s wrong?”

I bit down on my lip, tossing a terrified look over my shoulder towards the parlor. “Nothing. I just…I thought I saw something and…”

“What the hell is this?” He muttered as he removed his hand from my wrist. I saw it just as he did, inhaling sharply at the blood that clung to his fingers like the brightest rubies, and the suddenly stinging scratches on my arm just under where his hand had previously been. “How in the hell did that happen? I just barely touched you and— Jesus this is not what I was expecting when I woke up this morning.”

They could leave marks; I knew they could, recalling the bruises I had received from Simon on multiple occasions. But I had never expected one to bring blood; then again, Darren wasn’t like Simon had been. I wasn’t just someone who happened to cross his path and end up bearing the brunt of his rage; I was his target, I was where all of the aggression was focused.

I squeezed my eyes closed; I didn’t want this again, not now, not ever. I didn’t want another one here, hovering, watching, waiting, wanting nothing more than to harm me. I had my limits and this was already pushing them, testing me to see just how far I could bend before I snapped. That wasn’t going to be much farther, I knew without the shadow of a doubt.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up; dad would kill me if he saw this,” Oliver muttered, nodding for me to follow him.

I shook my head. “Look, I can take care of this myself, I really don’t—“

“Look, just shut up and come on,” He snapped. “I’m not patient and I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing. Lets just get it over with and clean you up. I have other things to do you know.”

I followed after him slowly as he entered the bathroom beside the staircase that led to the bedrooms. He rinsed the blood from his fingers before rummaging around in the cabinet below the sink and producing cotton balls, peroxide, and a box of band-aids. I looked at the scratches warily as he dosed a cotton ball in peroxide before moving to dab it along the bright red marks. He seemed careful, overly cautious when it came to how much actual physical contact he had with me, touching me only when he absolutely needed to; no more, and no less. I was already frustrated, irritated, and that simple, meaningless action was just pushing another button too many.

“Is this because of your mom?”

He looked up as he tossed the used cotton ball in the trash. “Is what because of my mom?”

“Is that why you don’t like me, because of her, and what happened?” I asked.

Oliver unleashed a wry smile, shaking his head. “My mother, really now, is that something you honestly want to get into? Because frankly I’m not ready to have that discussion with you. So lets not even go there, alright?”

He finished by gingerly sticking a band-aid on the scratches, avoiding making any eye contact.

“And as for questions—while we’re at it—I don’t see a point in even asking you what happened, because I doubt you would tell me,” Oliver said, tossing the wrappers in the trash. I didn’t reply as he slid past me and up the stairs. I heard his bedroom door slam in the distance, a few seconds later somewhere in the house another door opened. James was home. That was enough to send me scurrying up the stairs and into my own room, craving a solitude and peace I doubted I would get very much of in the future.

**

He was always preceded by moonlight. In my darkest times, on the nights he returned after disappearing for days on end, he always came with the moonlight. Even the blinds couldn’t prevent the beams of light from dancing along the wall, along the door, beautiful and haunting in the dark of the night. He had always been a part of it, taking on it’s radiance on the nights he had sat in my window, glowing like a being from another world, looking even more beautiful than he already did. I could remember it with a curious vividness; the way his curls fell in front of his eyes, the different expressions he managed to pull his face into, the almost unnoticeable scar in his eyebrow, that smile that seemed so rare at first but after a while became him so much more than anything else. But, I could remember almost everything about him; or so I thought.

That self-assured thought was completely destroyed when I opened my eyes to roll over after dozing off in the room’s comfortably cool climate; my exhaustion from the day’s events and encounters were more than enough aid and inspiration for sleep and heavy eyelids. But that heaviness vanished with a flash of almost translucent white blonde curls hovering over a pair of eyes that were so much more vivid than I recalled. It wasn’t just their shade that captured me, it was the depth of emotion, the pain, the concern, the heavy sadness they held. He was clad in the same outfit I recalled so well, the white and kaki, sitting on the side of my bed as he watched me silently.

I couldn’t believe it; I couldn’t believe it was actually him, not inches away in the room I was currently residing. But then, then I remembered the truth. It wasn’t the first time I had dreamt of him, and it wouldn’t be the last. But my dreams always brought me to him on the strangest nights. Sometimes weeks had separated the dreams, and recently months. But I didn’t care, dream or not, he was there and that was all that mattered.

“Hi.” He smiled sadly.

“Hi,” I whispered, trembling. I reached out my shaking fingers towards him. With a slight laugh that would have broken even the coldest heart, he took my hand in his shaking his head as he gave it a light squeeze.

“Now we both know that won’t work.” I could see the pain in his eyes, shining brightly, mimicking the awful sensation throbbing within my chest.

“Even in my dreams,” I sighed. “Even in my dreams you’re untouchable.”

“Dream about me a lot?” He asked quietly, almost in a teasing manner.

I hesitated, watching his fingers run along the back of my hand, cherishing the cold sensation. “Only sometimes.”

“About as much as you miss me?” He chuckled with feigned amusement.

“No.” I replied quickly before pausing. “No, that’s all the time.”

My words seemed to catch him off guard, as he stared, bright eyes never leaving my own, lips slightly parted as we sat there, unmoving, undisturbed. It was hard to say what I saw in them then; pity, regret, concern, compassion, I wasn’t even sure. I didn’t think I wanted to be. I was scared, scared it was something so much less than what I wanted it to be, so much less than what I felt for him, even then.

“You...” He reached over slowly, softly running his fingers through my hair. “I should never have left you alone. I’m so sorry for that, especially with…”

He couldn’t say it, he didn’t have to. We both knew what he meant; I closed my eyes, flashes of the fire, my father, and the funeral on the backs of my eyelids. The tears forming began clinging to my lashes. It didn’t take long before a cool, gentle hand cupped my cheek, gently wiping the tears away with his thumb. I looked at him, feeling how truly broken I was for the first time, realizing it wasn’t just numbness, it was a pain that went much, much deeper than that.

“But please,” He begged. “Please don’t give up. It’s going to be okay, I can’t say when, but it will be. Right now though, I need you to do something for me, keep being honest with me, please. I need you to tell me the truth; something else has happened, hasn’t it? Please, Maggie, I don’t have long.”

Honesty; honesty with Simon, the boy who my secrets and lies had cost so much in the long run. I owed him that much, so much more actually. I owed him my life. But those words, that truth, they were so hard to hand over.

“It’s not just you, anymore,” I said. “I wish it was, but it’s not just you anymore.”

I could see the crinkles forming between his eyebrows as he watched me, calculating, trying to get the exact weight of my words. “What? What do you mean?”

“I thought—I thought you were the only one; I thought that was it,” I choked, the truth sinking deeper and deeper into my skin, into my soul. “But I can see him. Oh, god, I can see him, I can feel him and it’s nothing like you. He’s like a nightmare I can’t escape and—and…”

I broke off, shaking as I reached up to cover my mouth holding the horrified sobs back. I could hear his words, the words from the garage ringing in my ears like a constantly tolling church bell. I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to hold it together, trying to keep from falling to pieces. Simon’s cold hands were on my shoulders, holding me steady as he sat on my eye-level, watching me with an intense concern I hadn’t seen in such a long while.

“Who, Maggie? Who can you see?” He demanded.

“Darren,” I stated. “Darren; he’s not gone. He’s like you, but it’s not the same. He doesn’t want help, he wants—“

Now that was what I really couldn’t bring my self to say no matter how much Simon would plead, or beg. There were things you don’t let yourself admit; one of them being when someone or something had a wish for your life to come to an end, and there is absolutely no defense against it.

“He is not kind, and he is not forgiving,” I murmured, eyes desperately searching his for some kind of help, anything, anything to combat what was happening with Darren, anything that would protect me. “He’s following me, and he does not mean well. And I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to stop it.”

“He’s like me?” Simon’s voice was low. I nodded, and his expression darkened considerably. He raised his hand, rubbing his forehead as he let out a heavy sigh. For a few moments he said nothing, staring blankly at the sheets of the bed. “You are one haunted little girl. But, why? Why is he following you?”

“If I had an inkling of an idea, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. But I don’t, unless…” Oh, it was so simple, so stupidly simple.

“Unless what?” Simon looked up.

“Unless he blames me for whatever happened to him,” I stated. I remembered my last actual confrontation with him, the anger, the madness, and rage, all directed at me for knowing something I shouldn’t. Something I had no clue about until later in the day when Simon informed me of the truth about Darren’s parents. Big time drug dealers; the reason for their ridiculous wealth solved. It was after that, somehow coincidentally that Darren had vanished, car pulled from a river on a snow-covered afternoon with no trace of the driver. So my intuition in that instant had been right, a horrible fate had befallen Darren, and now he was here, waiting on me.

“And he’s come back for you, for revenge,” Simon’s voice was strained. “All because…because of me.”

“You,” I breathed. “It always comes back to you. You are so entwined in every part of my life, even now. And when I need you the most, you’re not really here at all.”

Simon dropped his head, knotting his fingers in his curls. There was a battle between sadness and frustration raging inside me as I watched him. I could feel the heaviness wrap around me like a blanket, smothering, suffocating. I bit down on my quivering lip, digging my nails into my arms as I continued to hug myself. It was hard not to be upset at him, for all he had put me through. Everything at Brown had been because of him, the chaos, the near death experience, and my broken heart. Entirely his fault. And now with Darren back, given all the evidence I could remember it was hard not to blame it entirely on him as well. By logic I should have hated him, I should have despised him and sent him away. But I couldn’t do that. I cared too much; I wanted him there far too badly. If I hated anything, it was the fact he had been ripped away from me.

His eyes were brimming with sincerity as he reached over, gently pulling one of my
hands towards him.

“And for that I am so, so sorry,” He said. “As it is though, time’s up. You’re going to wake up, and I’m going to be gone. Even so, I’m still here, despite it not seeming like it, despite the fact you can’t see me, I am here. Always, Maggie.”

I let out a dry laugh as he pulled my comforter up, lightly brushing his fingers along my cheek. “If only that helped me sleep at night.”

**

I woke up the next morning to an empty room and cold sheets. I was alone; and for the first time realized that maybe my subconscious could be crueler than reality. Reality didn’t feed me an image of the boy I loved and snatch it from my hands like a greedy, vicious vulture. Reality didn’t do that to me; I did it to myself.