Page 18 of Shadowed With Fear

“Who was it? Anyone on the list?” Brahm nods to the stack of files at the desk sporting the monitors.

“No, I don’t think so. Dahl said something about a guy in a ski mask. We’ve not gotten any hits about something like that have we?”

Brahm’s brows furrow, he looks at the stack of files in thought, a bloodied hand raking through his golden hair.

“No. Nothing like that. No one in masks. As far as I know, were the only people on radars in masks,” he sighs. “I’ll get Alex to check it out in the morning. See if there’s anything in West Ridge or north.”

I nod in acknowledgment, looking at the remnants of the talk with Jerry. There’s a large pool of dark blood in the middle of the lighted area of the warehouse. A chair sits beneath the swaying industrial light, chains piled in the floor before it.

Brahm notices my stare. In a few strides he’s beside me, staring too.

“We didn’t get a lot. He was close. Damn close to spilling, but he didn’t get to say anything,” he sighs again, this time defeated. Like he’s lost all hope for our goal.

“Adam said he had a heart attack. Don’t know if it was blood loss, or pain, or if he was just plain scared.”

“Goddamn it,” my voice is a harsh mutter.

“Yeah. Seems like every one step forward is a slippery slide back to square one. I don’t know why we’re even trying anymore, Grays.”

He walks off back toward the desk, slumping into his chair, head cradled in his hands.

“Don’t say that man. We have done so much good for his town.”

“Have we though? Honestly? It’s just getting worse. And we’re no closer to figuring out where it’s fucking coming from,” he shouts, arm sweeping across the desk. Dozens of papers fly across the room, fluttering gently to the ground, some landing in the blood on the floor, painting grim images of the true reality that is East End.

“We’re closer than we were a year ago, B. Something will come up soon.”

He nods, but it’s not genuine. I can see he’s not as strong as he is fronting. The weight of all of this is riding on him hard.

“What about this guy that showed up tonight? A little coincidental don’t you think?” I rub at the back of my neck. “I mean, not even fifteen yards from where were doing a shake down, some dude in a ski mask tries to hurt your sister?”

Brahm raises his head slowly. The crease between his brows furrow again. “I—You’re not exactly wrong, Grays. We knew there would be some sketchy people there tonight. It could be completely separate incidents.”

I just shrug. “Maybe. It shouldn’t matter though. We know who Jerry was meeting. We know who he has been in contact with for his trades. It’s not a dead end, B. And what about the attacker? Are we just going to let that go? What if something else happens with that guy?”

In the dim, grimy warehouse, late in the night, in early September, I remind my best friend why we do this. Why do we go out in the dark, find bad people, and try to get answers to a mystery that’s nearing six years old? I remind him of the promise he made to his mom. The promise we all made to each other and the innocent people of this town. East End is dying. No one seems to care but us.

“Grays,” Brahm starts, taking a deep breath as he stands. “Keep an eye on Dahlia for a while. Until we can figure out what the hell that was, I want eyes on her at pretty much every opportunity, okay?”

“Okay.”

I’m glad he asked too. The next morning, we all got a text on the phones we use for missions.

Maul: Two girls. One dead. Signs of rape. One missing. Witness reports ski mask.

Sire: Starting today, Shadow.

Dahlia won’t be leaving my sight. After all, it’s hard to hide from the shadows.

Dahlia

A breeze falls across the quiet stillness of campus. It’s 7:30 in the morning, and frankly I’m surprised I’m even here at this time, but I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep at all since Friday night. Each time I close my eyes I can feel that man’s hands on me. And then I can feel more hands. And more. The nightmares have combined two of the worst nights of my life and multiplied it by a thousand. The smell of their breath, the disgusting feeling of knowing what they were about to do to me.

I couldn’t sleep, so instead of getting here at a reasonable time for my noon seminar, I got out of bed at five, got ready, and drove to school. Yet I have done nothing for the past hour but stare blankly across the plaza.

There’s a tree on the far side of the open area, near the science hall that has begun changing color. The deep green it was at the beginning of last week has faded into a startling yellow. Pretty soon it will be a vibrant orange, a rusty red, and brown, if the leaves can last that long on the branches. They usually die too soon for brown colored trees. But isn’t that just the shit of it all? Everything dies too fucking soon. A girl was found murdered this weekend. Just a few blocks from the Founder’s Fest. I remember her. She was a year or two behind me in high school. We were all in the film club; me, Liz, Issac, and this girl. This poor girl who didn’t make it to her eighteenth birthday. Or my mom. Who didn’t make it to mine.

It’s just not fair how things work out in the end.