The Shadow Anthology

Layla

The days following the incarceration of Leon Ario were quiet ones in Milbrey Cottage. Damian was only four years old so he could hardly converse with his melancholy father. The joy excavated from the success of one task was belittled by the trepidation of the tempest lying before him. Chris spent most of his empty days and nights wandering around the confines of his home with a frozen mug of tea clasped in his sweating palms.

The man was assured of his son’s safety, as well as his own, because of the guards he employed who now surrounded the extensive perimeter of Milbrey Farm. These mostly unarmed soldiers, coupled with the drone hovering high above Chris' balding head reported hourly to a delegated supervisor, ensuring no unwanted guests ever arrived. Though this all allowed Chris to never touch a tablet it trapped his mind inside a sceptical cell. The intervals of Damian’s cries were a haven from the self-inflicted torture which was his solitude. He was at peace until the fourth night after his victory, when there was a knock on the door.

There she stood. He knew her from forged photographs but to see her in person was a vision to behold. Chris had considered this lawyer at the beginning of his crusade but had disregarded her after looking into her history and the history of those whom she represented. He would never confess this. He was impressed by her suave ability to stroll up to his front door but was far from surprised given the reputation she had earned defending her clients.

She was slightly less than average height and had a slim build. Her suit clung to her like a child grappling at its mother. Her short, scarlet hair was sheared off just above the collar with the precision of an assassin. It was midnight and she held the moon over her head like an umbrella, yet she still wore sunglasses. They ran from her face in fear and descended into the shelter of her lapel to reveal her soft, deep, flaring blue eyes. She smiled at Chris and tugged down on her suit, adjusting both it and the balance in the air to her pleasure.

“Well, hello there, Mister Milbrey! It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She extended her hand and Chris met it at the doorframe. “My name is Layla and I represent some people who are very interested in the work you’ve been doing.” She tilted her head and he laughed, causing her to raise an eyebrow and crack a smile. He gestured around them, raised an eyebrow back at her and laughed again. “Mister Milbrey, I think we both know that your cows aren’t who the guards were protecting you from.” He stood up straight and gestured for her to elaborate. “Yes, that’s right. They were protecting you. I figured you may not be in the mood for visitors, so I gave them a little incentive to let me through. Of course, if you were to be as kind as to invite me in then I could give you something too, if you’d like?”

“Of course!” He announced this with laughter in a futile attempt at disguising his glances behind her. Chris extended his arm to welcome her in but took the lead and walked into the kitchen. “Would you mind -" he was cut short by the slam of the door. Both parties glanced up but gave a sigh of relief when no sound emerged. He smiled as he sat down, waiting for Layla to enter.

Preparing herself for another conquest, Layla licked her fangs as she revealed herself unto the kitchen. Though she was no ghost, Chris was certain he saw her glide off the floor and into her seat. She tapped on the stiff, leather briefcase with her bloodied acrylic nails as she licked her lips and looked up at the unsettled man. She weaved the strings around his hands like a spider flirting with a fly.

Chris leaned back in his chair. The man was registering unwanted emotions he hadn’t inhaled since the death of Clarice. He choked himself on her fresh, venomous perfume. It filled him with fear and so much more. His eyes maintained her level composure while his fidgeting hands floundered about the table. Faltering, his feeble lips stammered out a sentence as he pointed at the briefcase.