Shadow Walker

Dirk and Angus

Smaller and smaller he became, the vibrations of the road shaking all thought and feeling from his mind and body. Deeper and deeper he was buried until he felt he could be anywhere—the boot of a car, the cabin of a boat, the bottom of the ocean. For a moment, the sense of obsoleteness comforted. The idea that he was no longer in control and, therefore, no longer responsible for the fate of his city, Rain, his mother, and everyone he was leaving behind. But then the memory of Mark remained, the way his skull had been opened of its contents, reminded him that somewhere along the line, things had gone terribly wrong.

He'd let himself fall in love. And with a woman he hardly knew, who held her secrets so tightly bound, she could've been part-robot. He'd let his good sense to save the people of his city, people he didn't know, get in the way of saving his mum.

A hero thinks with his head, a fool thinks with his heart.

He'd done what his father had told him to do—let rationality inform his actions, elevating the lives of many over the lives of few. So then, why did he feel like the fool?

His thoughts spun in a downwards depression, threatening to pull him over the edge and into the precipice he'd been standing on for some time, without a parachute, helpless to inevitability. To keep from falling, he sought refuge in stillness, just as he'd done in the lift, just as he'd done during the long Atundan winters when he'd lain in the freezing cold of his garage home, trying not to move so as to inspire the icy touch of his sheets against his skin.

As his heart slowed, and his mind grew sluggish, the voices returned, this time seeping through the thin divider of the boot and back seat like water dripping between sheets of ice. Instead of reeling in alarm this time, he allowed them to take shape.

One last dance with the shadows, he thought.

"The reports are saying the ammunition was supplied by the navy," Dirk said to his father. "You wouldn't happen to have had something to do with it?"

"The wind blows in the North's favour. It'd be unwise to tack against such a strong wind."

"So, that's a no?"

His conjecture was met with silence.

"I don't get it, Angus. All this for a boy you don't even know? Makes me wonder who this mystical woman was that lured Angus Reid onto dry land all those years ago."

"I hired you to talk legal loopholes, not offer council."

"Come on, Captain..."

More silence.

A sigh. "You know, he'll hate you when he finds out we're not going back for his sister."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less."

A new set of voices intruded, overlapping with those of Dirk and his father and eventually drowning them out.

"Chief. In the alley back there..." A pause. "I need to know you're fit for the job."

Lazar spoke to Montague. They were standing out the front of the roller shutter door to Dec's garage apartment—Lazar with a boil on the side of his head the size of a solstore battery.

Montague cast Lazar a steadfast look. "Danger is what keeps the mind alert." He unclasped his gun from its weapons belt and held it to his temple. "Call me alert."

Lazar stared, unblinking, then nodded. "I'm sorry I doubted you." Turning, he thumped the roller shutter door with his fist, giving Montague the chance to frown at the gun in his hand, turn it over twice and clip it back in its holster.

The garage screeched open and Mel appeared, puffy eyed and in her silk pyjamas. Tommy rested a hand on her shoulder. He wore loose fitting slacks and looked just as sleep deprived. While his head was no longer wrapped in a bandage, the bruised discolouration around this eyes had ripened to a strange yellow-blue. "Lazar? What's this about?"

Montague and Lazar stepped inside without invitation, their torches illuminating the cobwebs, liquid spills and dirty piles of laundry. To the sound of Tommy's gruff protests, they began moving through the cramped space, overturning chairs, tables, couches with systematic precision.

"Dec's not here," Tommy said. "We've already told you everything we know."

"We know he's not here," Lazar said. "A few hours ago, we encountered your friend in an alleyway just beyond the industrial quarter."

Mel gasped. Tommy squeezed her shoulder harder. "Was he..." He swallowed. "Okay?"

"He was well. More than well. Infact, he was cozying up to that Northern spy, and when he approached him, he shot an innocent Southern boy and attacked us when we tried to speak to him." Montague turned his head to display the bruise. "It's as we suspected. He's a traitor."

Mel's cheeks coloured. "No."

But by this time, Lazar's systematic search had led him to the bedroom, where he dredged the box of Desert Dust disguised as Luminite from under Dec's bed—the last remaining package that hadn't been destroyed. He tore it open and held up a handful of the carefully measured quarts inside. "Your brother isn't the person you thought he was."

Mel stared at the box of 'luminite', blinking.

Tommy said, "Look," also frowning at Dec's stash. "We would appreciate it if you could come back later. We just received some very hard news about Mel's mother and..."

"We understand. And we give our condolences for your mother's passing," Lazar said. "Unfortunately, in light of recent events, we cannot afford you any further leniency. You'll both be coming back to the station under reasonable suspicion of conspiracy."

At the mention of Adele, the elastic feeling Dec was used to experiencing in memory recall caught him around the middle and tugged him backwards, away from the vision. This time he held tight to the tether. He needed to know what would happen next.

Handcuffs glinted in the candlelight. Mel pressed herself into Tommy's arms. "Tommy..." His name caught in her throat.

Tommy stiffened, and for a moment, it looked as though he might try to fight the cravat bolstered man. "This is ridiculous. I've done nothing but support your cause. I risked my life to compromise security at Lighthouse Energy. And Mel? She's been nothing but cooperative. It's clear she doesn't know anything about Dec's movements."

"So you have nothing to worry about then," Lazar said, while Montague stepped forward with the handcuffs. "Come to the station and answer a few questions. Then, you may leave."

Tommy hesitated, looked from Lazar to Montague then back again and for a second, Dec caught a flash of resistance in Tommy's eyes. For a second, he dared to hope his best friend had seen through Montague and Lazar's lies. That he knew Dec would never betray them, or kill an innocent boy for that matter. But too quickly the look was gone and Tommy bent forward, pressing his lips to Mel's forehead. "It'll be okay," he murmured. "They just want to ask a few questions. Everything's going to be fine."

Mel glanced up at Tommy, cheeks shining with tears. "Tommy, I —"

"I know. I love you too, Mel." He stepped away from her and held out his arms to Montague, exposing the soft underside of his wrists.