In The Shadows
In The Shadows
I couldn’t let her go, not with the danger she was in. Especially when it was my fault. When I decided to do this job, I didn’t think it would be so hard. Taking peoples lives just because other people are prejudice against them. Besides, I had a motivation.
With what I’d seen, you think I’d have turned into a ruthless killing machine against their type. So why was I so caring?
***
I was eight years old, tucked up in bed in slumber land dreaming about god-knows-what. It was a pleasant dream, because I was smiling. Oh, how it was all about to turn. It was the kind of silence where you can still here traffic rumbling in the distance. A kind of busy silence. Same as always. Headlights and streetlamps shone through my thin blue curtains, creating the only source of light in the room, constantly flickering and changing intensity. Same as always.
I mumbled something intelligible as I turned over in bed, the dark blue duvet wrapping around me like a cocoon, but leaving out my tufts of brown hair at the top, and the tiny litter toes at the bottom.
At this moment, several things happened at once. The lights in the street went out, it was now completely and utterly pitch black. The busy silence stopped, it turned into that kind of eerie silence where there was nothing at all. The type always documented before something was about to go terribly wrong. My bedroom door flung open, the hinges squeaking and the panicked shouts of a woman cried my name. “Jet! Wake up!”
My eyes snapped open at the sound of my mothers shrill voice. She somehow scrambled over to my bed and picked me up, managing to miraculously dodge all of the toys scattered across the floor, even in her blind state.
I could hear my father in another part of the house. Screaming at someone. A huge noise. Something shattering, something else crashing, another scream, that eerie silence once more. Only this time I could hear my mothers heavy breathing as she held me close to her chest.
We’d ended up in the basement. I had no idea what was going on. I don’t think she did either. What we both understood was there was no lights to go on and we were not to make a sound as to alert the intruders to our presence.
I was holding onto her, stroking her hair softly as she silently prayed that my father was alright.
Another crash, the door leading down to us had broken free of it’s hinges and was now lying in a splintered wreck on the stairs. We huddled tighter into the corner. This was it.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” a silky female voice slithered its way down to us. Still we made no movement.
I could faintly see the outline of a woman in the door way, taking a sweep of the room. Her features were distorted and obscured by the darkness, however, I could tell her eyes were settled on us.
A moment later, she was on top of us, my mother crying out, trying to hold her away from me. “Run, Jet!”
I did as I was told, I didn’t need telling twice, but I couldn’t help but feel the immense feeling of guilt for leaving my mother to perish at the monster’s hands.
Hot tears were running down my face as I charged at full pelt, still in my Spiderman pyjamas through the hallways, out of the front door and into the street. A scream. It was my mothers. I let out a howl in response, knowing there was nothing I could do for her, or my father anymore.
***
It was then that I vowed to dedicate my life to this ghastly profession. Only now, thirteen years later, have I been able to do something about it, and I’m already proving too much of a coward.
Maybe I’m blaming the wrong people for my parents death. Maybe I got taken in by the wrong people. Someone with a grudge. Someone who saw potential, decided to shape me. Just like they did Harry and the others.
I took one last sweeping look at the scene before following her path through the throng of people. I couldn’t see her anymore, she had moved much too quickly. I rounded the corner back to the apartment where she had been staying. There was still no sign of her. Harry had long since gone. I was out on my own, and even though this is my fault, I started panicking. People are going to see me on my own, making a getaway from the crime scene, find my weapon with my fingerprints, my DNA.
It hit me like a tonne of bricks. I was going to be taken down for this. If only I could find her. Explain the situation. We could go on the run together. She could help me against her people, and I could help her where Harry is concerned. It would be perfect.
But things are never that simple, are they?
With what I’d seen, you think I’d have turned into a ruthless killing machine against their type. So why was I so caring?
***
I was eight years old, tucked up in bed in slumber land dreaming about god-knows-what. It was a pleasant dream, because I was smiling. Oh, how it was all about to turn. It was the kind of silence where you can still here traffic rumbling in the distance. A kind of busy silence. Same as always. Headlights and streetlamps shone through my thin blue curtains, creating the only source of light in the room, constantly flickering and changing intensity. Same as always.
I mumbled something intelligible as I turned over in bed, the dark blue duvet wrapping around me like a cocoon, but leaving out my tufts of brown hair at the top, and the tiny litter toes at the bottom.
At this moment, several things happened at once. The lights in the street went out, it was now completely and utterly pitch black. The busy silence stopped, it turned into that kind of eerie silence where there was nothing at all. The type always documented before something was about to go terribly wrong. My bedroom door flung open, the hinges squeaking and the panicked shouts of a woman cried my name. “Jet! Wake up!”
My eyes snapped open at the sound of my mothers shrill voice. She somehow scrambled over to my bed and picked me up, managing to miraculously dodge all of the toys scattered across the floor, even in her blind state.
I could hear my father in another part of the house. Screaming at someone. A huge noise. Something shattering, something else crashing, another scream, that eerie silence once more. Only this time I could hear my mothers heavy breathing as she held me close to her chest.
We’d ended up in the basement. I had no idea what was going on. I don’t think she did either. What we both understood was there was no lights to go on and we were not to make a sound as to alert the intruders to our presence.
I was holding onto her, stroking her hair softly as she silently prayed that my father was alright.
Another crash, the door leading down to us had broken free of it’s hinges and was now lying in a splintered wreck on the stairs. We huddled tighter into the corner. This was it.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” a silky female voice slithered its way down to us. Still we made no movement.
I could faintly see the outline of a woman in the door way, taking a sweep of the room. Her features were distorted and obscured by the darkness, however, I could tell her eyes were settled on us.
A moment later, she was on top of us, my mother crying out, trying to hold her away from me. “Run, Jet!”
I did as I was told, I didn’t need telling twice, but I couldn’t help but feel the immense feeling of guilt for leaving my mother to perish at the monster’s hands.
Hot tears were running down my face as I charged at full pelt, still in my Spiderman pyjamas through the hallways, out of the front door and into the street. A scream. It was my mothers. I let out a howl in response, knowing there was nothing I could do for her, or my father anymore.
***
It was then that I vowed to dedicate my life to this ghastly profession. Only now, thirteen years later, have I been able to do something about it, and I’m already proving too much of a coward.
Maybe I’m blaming the wrong people for my parents death. Maybe I got taken in by the wrong people. Someone with a grudge. Someone who saw potential, decided to shape me. Just like they did Harry and the others.
I took one last sweeping look at the scene before following her path through the throng of people. I couldn’t see her anymore, she had moved much too quickly. I rounded the corner back to the apartment where she had been staying. There was still no sign of her. Harry had long since gone. I was out on my own, and even though this is my fault, I started panicking. People are going to see me on my own, making a getaway from the crime scene, find my weapon with my fingerprints, my DNA.
It hit me like a tonne of bricks. I was going to be taken down for this. If only I could find her. Explain the situation. We could go on the run together. She could help me against her people, and I could help her where Harry is concerned. It would be perfect.
But things are never that simple, are they?