Ignite the Shadows. Ingrid Seymour
for a few steps, my legs give out and I fall to my knees.
My chest pumps furiously. Shadows lurk and it takes all my strength not to succumb to their attack. My brother is alive. I stare at my hands. They’re shaking with the effort of keeping this upheaval from triggering another attack.
Luke is my brother and the knowledge threatens to unravel me, like a wool sweater without the final stitch.
He’s been here all along, slipping in and out of our notice, grazing the fringe of our somber existence but never quite touching it. Why? It makes no sense. I always imagined him dead or miles and miles away. Instead that man, that sadist, was raising him right under our noses, taunting us. The sick bastard! To get away with such a monstrous crime. How?!
I slam my fists against the ground, trying to channel the tsunami of emotions that is washing over me. I feel cheated, fooled … replaced. Just like that.
Anger against Mom takes center stage in my private storm. I can only imagine what’s going through her mind now, how new, exhilarated thoughts are quickly erasing any trace of me. Clenching my jaw, I let my anger bulldoze the pain that threatens to grip me by the throat. My teeth audibly grind and I feel as if my skull will split in two.
Darkness descends over me, obscuring the world.
Get up! Do something!
I spring to my feet, my eyes darting in all directions.
Rocks. Ants. Wild flowers.
My thoughts shift, hop, morph. They become everything and anything that makes me forget why I’m trying to hide. I take a deep breath. The shadows retreat, like fog being sucked into a giant vacuum cleaner. My jaw relaxes and control slowly returns.
I straddle my bike and ride out of the patch of wood. I drive slowly, reading the street signs and spelling their names. All thoughts of Mom and Luke fade into the background. I’m good at ignoring monsters that I’d rather slip under the rug. As their images grow fainter, Mom seems to become nothing but a vague specter. She feels more absent than ever. Lost.
My heart seizes. I was never meant to have a family anyway.
After driving aimlessly, spelling street signs until I feel I might have a stroke, I stop the bike and look around. Dr. Smith’s face flashes in front of my eyes, fleshy lips mumbling something. His resemblance to the man I’d imagined after so many of Mom’s stories is uncanny. My stomach churns as the emotions I’ve been trying to hold back threaten to rise.
I need to focus my attention on something else. Anything else.
The State of the Union Address!
Straddling my bike, one foot on the blacktop, I take my phone out and browse until I find President Helms’s video. As I start watching, groaning at the thought of sitting through a full hour of babbling, I remember the numbers at the bottom of the message. My brain was too foggy with sleep to understand before, but they must indicate minutes and seconds. Impatient, I fast-forward to minute nine and let it play.
Helms is talking about the economy. His words offer zero explanation as to why I’m supposed to be watching this. The president pauses, takes a big breath and widens his eyes, then transitions to a new topic. I skip to minute twenty-five and listen closely. Helms is now addressing foreign policy issues. He might as well be speaking Chinese. I’ve never cared for politics. Once more he switches topics, pausing, breathing deeply. His eyes do a weird little roll, as if he’s tracing a circle with his gaze. It strikes me as odd, but I can’t put a finger on why.
On minute forty-three, it’s the same thing. Another boring subject, the delay from one idea to the other, the shift of his eyes, the deep breaths.
Then it hits me, like light bursting in front of my eyes. I know why he’s not blinking, why he takes deep breaths and looks as if the load on his shoulders goes beyond the responsibility of being the president of the United States of America. I know the weight of this burden. I carry it with me every day.
President Helms also fights the shadows.
Pushing, shoving, ramming any thoughts of Luke to the back of my mind, hoping the shadows eat them for good, I rush into Millennium Arcade. I need to find Xave so he can take me to this James guy.
“Cameron, have you seen Xave?” The noise and lights in the arcade disorient me further. I rode like a lunatic to get here, my mind a fluid continuum of disjointed ideas.
He ignores me as he slides the cue over his thumb. After making the shot, he pushes his layered bangs to the side. “Nope, he hasn’t been here today.”
I turn on my heels and head out.
“You’re welcome,” Cameron shouts behind me. I ignore him.
Dialing Xave’s cell phone, I step outside, where the sky is now a deep shade of navy blue with heavy clouds starting to roll in. After several rings, the call goes to voicemail. Obviously, he’s ignoring me. At home, Selina, Xave’s twelve-year-old sister, says he just went out.
Where is he when I need him? I have to tell him about Luke. He’s the only one who can understand how I feel right now.
Damn, don’t think about Luke! James, concentrate on James.
Deep breath.
Logic returns. Maybe Xave is with James and that’s why he’s not answering his phone. One other place comes to mind where I can look for him. I turn the key in the ignition, put on my helmet and drive toward downtown. I’m not sure going back to that alley is a good idea. My head is too jumbled right now to know which way is up, but I drive there—at war with the shadows. After a million thoughts about trees, siblings, candy bars, jealousy, hamsters, loss … I arrive.
The dark alley lies before me. Shadows loom inside as a light drizzle begins to fall. I shiver. The solitary street lamp barely illuminates the entrance, the huge mouth that may grow teeth to chew me up once I step in. I shake my head, take a deep breath and walk tentatively into the darkness. My eyes readjust, the shadows against the walls become less threatening as I identify the objects that cast them. I pass a Dumpster and a few barrels. A large stack of compacted cardboard boxes lie to my right. Maybe there’s a recycling center in the building.
The thought of a legitimate business operating in this place is reassuring, even if gangsters sometimes use garbage-related schemes to hide their illegal operations. Or is that only in the movies?
The hum of an air conditioner and the trickle of water echo with an eerie quality that sends my skin crawling. Stubbornly, I continue forward, throwing glances over my shoulder every few steps, trying to figure out if IgNiTe’s lair lies in one of the two buildings that make up this dead-end alley.
The wall on the left is solid, while the one on the right has several windows accessible through a fire escape. They’re pitch-black, so climbing the staircase to peek inside would be no use. I doubt IgNiTe’s holding a meeting in the dark, although weirder things have happened. If they’re here, my guess they’ll be somewhere deep inside the bowels of one of the buildings.
At the end of the alley, I spot a door. I approach and twist the knob. When it turns and the door swings open, a cold wave slides down my spine, raising goose bumps on my skin. A dank smell wafts from inside. I face nothing but blackness. I let my eyes adjust, hoping I can make something out. As I stand there, the distinct feeling that someone is watching me from the depths of the passage takes over me. I shudder. I have nothing to light my way, but even if I did, there’s no way I’m going in there. I don’t need to find Xave that badly. This can wait.
I shut the door and head back slowly, keeping away from the cardboard boxes in case someone’s hiding behind them. My heart rate slows when I see my bike, waiting patiently on the street. I pick up my pace, then halt when I notice movement out