Chasing Shadows Read online

  The bus stops right where I want it to. I’m walking now. I’m on campus. The colligate beauty is lost on me. Nothing looks familiar. Maybe I should’ve looked up which buildings were which online. Eventually I just stop and lean against a wall with my arms crossed over my chest. That’s where I’m standing, smoking, glowering, when a pale man in khakis and a yellow collared shirt walks up to me. He’s nearly my height and looks about ten years my senior. He’s got glasses and little blue eyes misting behind them.

  “Kelly?" He asks in a whisper. “Holy cow, Kelly Morgan, what’re you doing here? I mean, I’m so glad to see you, but wow... what happened to your hair?”

  I shrug, didn’t even see any shadows. I wonder how many people here recognize me. He called me Kelly Morgan, hmm, something to think about later. “Wanna talk?” I ask trying not to sound petulant.

  He flushes. “Yes, of course... Oh my God it’s been so long.” He seems to be choking up. “My class starts in forty minutes. It’s not long but... will you come to my office?”

  “Sure.” I say.

  He starts walking briskly. I follow. My anger is gone now, replaced by insane curiosity. What can this man tell me about Madeline? Or about me? He takes a sharp left. I notice sweat on his neck. The yellow shirt is sticking to his back. Was he sweating when he walked up? Is it really that warm out here? He’s not even wearing a jacket, silly day shifter. The man leads me into a building and down a flight of steps. He fiddles with his keys to open a door with frosted glass. Black lettering on the door says Dr. Donald Lovell, Literature Dept. Huh. Wonder if this is Don. When I follow him in, he turns and locks the door behind us then he crosses to another door further in. “My secretary Jolene, you remember Jolene right? She’s out with the flu.” He turns to meet my eyes. “Lucky, huh?” He’s smiling nervously.

  I smile back with confidence. “Lucky.” I answer following him into the second room. Was this my teacher? How do I ask? I’m just eyeing his framed degrees on the wall and wondering what to say when Professor Lovell wraps his arms around me from behind. He’s got his hands on my boobs and his breath is hot in my ear. He kisses my neck and shoves his body against mine. Wow. This complicates things. I brace myself against the wall as it feels like he’s about to knock me over.

  “I actually just came here to talk.” I say but my voice is shaky.

  “We only have forty minutes.” He whines, grinding his hips against me. “I didn’t” He kisses my neck. “know where you” He licks my ear. “went.” He groans.

  I feel my lip curl. Too late, it occurs to me to wish Jolene was feeling better. “Look,” I turn to face him. “Professor...” But my words are cut off because his tongue is in my mouth. Fuck. I place my hands on his shoulders and push, but the scholastic motherfucker is stronger than me. He laughs lustily into my mouth, and reaches for the button of my jeans. I squirm to get away from him but he spins me around somehow, so that I’m propped against his desk. “Stop.” I manage.

  He shoves his hand down my pants before pulling his face off mine. “What?” He says getting his fingers under my panties and massaging my area.

  “Really!” I say. “I’m not here for this!”

  He squeezes my crotch and pretends to look heart broken. “Why’d you come?” He shoves his hand further between my legs, wedging them apart. His finger slips in.

  “Because of Madeline.” I say gripping his forearm and pushing back.

  “I don’t know Madeline.” he says, pushing his weight against me, ramming his thigh against his hand, driving it farther in. I grunt. “But I know you’re wet.” He leers.

  I wish I could reply that I’m on the rag, but I’m not. “Madeline’s dead.” I say. “I thought you knew her. I didn’t come here for this.” And tears begin to stream down my face.

  His hand stops moving around but he doesn’t remove it. “What are you playing at?” He asks angrily.

  “I’m not playing.” I sob. “Please.” I push him again and this time he backs up. Grudgingly, slowly he removes his hand from my pants. I rush to zip myself up. “Fuck.” I say pushing past him.

  He grabs my arm and spins me towards him. His face is suspicious. “Why would you think I knew her?” His grip on my arm is painful even through my jacket.

  “She is... she was another girl like me.” I say lamely. “I thought you’d know her the same way.” I’m not meeting his eyes. I see his jaw tense. He seems to be thinking it over.

  After a moment he pulls me closer. “I’m not paying you for nothing.” He growls and grabs by breast hard with his free hand.

  Christ that hurts. “So don’t pay me.” I croak.

  “Jesus, Kelly.” His voice is raised now. “It’s been so damn long. You can’t leave me right now.”

  “You won’t let me?” I squeak. God I’m really not pulling off brave and confident here. I hate how weak I sound.

  He looks disbelieving. “You really want to leave?” It’s an accusation.

  “I really do.” I say as firmly as I can.

  “Fuck you.” He says softly. “You’re such a bitch.” But he releases me and he doesn’t try to stop me as I rush out of his office. I have a moment of panic at his secretary’s door, but it opens easily after I turn the deadbolt. It occurs to me that offices are not lucky for me today. I should avoid them in the future. I walk as fast as I can without running. I’m shaking like a leaf. Holy shit. I guess I was a prostitute. I check my moral compass to see if I’m bothered... Sure enough, being a sex worker doesn’t sit to well with me. Damn. What kind of life was I living anyway that would make this sort of thing seem like a good idea? I wonder if they checked me for STDs in the hospital three years ago. Would Melody know? I pull out my phone and make a note on the calendar to ask her, then I push through the doors into the bright sunshine. Fuck. I’m not so much angry as freaked out right now. This sucks. I continue my speed walk to the subway and head for home. Sleep or no sleep, there’s no where else I want to be besides home with the doors locked.

  Chapter Seven

  I'm on a bus bouncing along Ashland Ave. It’s over heated in here. I've got my hair back so my blue streaks show. They match the blue stripes on my jacket. I feel like a race car. I'm listening to Cat Stevens Trouble. The song is interrupted for the fifth time by vibrations. Someone's trying to call me. I check, Schuyler. This makes the third missed call from him. There've been two from an unknown number. Those could be anybody. I wait for the vibrating to stop and let the song resume.

  In my right hand is a warm soft piece of paper that I've been folding and unfolding compulsively. It’s the address to the 7-Eleven where Luis Finch works. I called before I left my apartment to see if he's on tonight and he is. He gets off at 11. I'm pretty sure there's a policy in place to prevent psychos like me from getting that kind of information but once again, the system has failed. I sigh. I could call Schuyler back, probably should... it would be wise but I don't want to tell him what happened, and I'm not sure that I'm ready to pretend it didn't. I want to get this mess straightened out so I can go back to being me: Meegan Jones, amnesia girl. Fuck Kelly Morgan, whoever she was.

  The song changes just as the bus lurches to a stop a block from my destination. I descend the steps to Back in Black. I smile. It feels good to have a sound track. I should research some new music, though. I'm certain my tastes are several decades behind the times. I walk at a leisurely pace. Chicago is enjoying a warm snap. I've got my jacket open and I light a cigarette as I walk. I check my phone, 10:42. Cool. Hopefully Luis doesn't leave work early. I should catch him. I wonder if he'll run from me like he did at the memorial. As I'm checking the street to cross on a red the song is interrupted, another call. I roll my eyes. Unknown number is now tied with Schuyler. All these calls, and no voicemails. Too good to leave messages, clearly. As I skitter across the street I hold the red button shutting off the phone music and all. Better to have silence than constant interruptions.

  I stop to finish my smoke and size up the convenience store.
I know why Madeline used to frequent it. It’s new and shiny, extremely well lit. I can see the entire interior from where I stand. There's Luis. I brace myself for confrontation. He's gathering the trash. I see a young Hispanic man behind the counter. Luis's replacement? I take one more drag and drop the Camel, grinding it out with my boot. I watch Luis exit stage left with two huge bags of trash. He'll probably have to come back in to clock out, so hopefully I'll catch him then. Making an effort to look casual, I stroll up to the pretty, clean, glass door. It dings as I enter onto the shiny, clean, tile floor. The guy at the counter looks up and smiles.

  "Hello." Being greeted like this makes me wonder if maybe the manager is here somewhere.

  "Hey." I nod as I approach the counter. "I'm here to talk to Luis."

  The counter guy's eyebrows raise and he smiles a lecherous smile. "The girl who called."

  "That's me. Were you the one I talked to?"

  "Nah, but Luis told me about it." He grins. I smile sideways wondering what Luis said. Counter guy laughs. "It's cool. It’s a good thing. He just took the trash out, should be back any second."

  "So was it Luis I spoke to on the phone?"

  "Yeah." The dude looks like he's trying not to laugh.

  I rub my neck. I didn't identify myself on the phone except to say I knew Madeline. I wonder if Luis knows it’s me. I wonder what else he knows. Well, that's kind of the point isn't it? I stick my hands in my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels. This is awkward.

  Counter guy moves some things around, straightening shit. "Hey." He says. "Help yourself to a fountain drink."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah sure. It’s on me." He smiles.

  I smile back. "Cool. Thanks." I head over to the sodas. I pick out a medium cup, no need to be greedy, and fill it up with ice and Diet Coke. I take my time. When I turn back around we're still alone, me and counter guy. I smile nervously.

  "I don't know what's taking him so long." He offers sheepishly.

  I bite my lip. "Does he have to come back in before he leaves?"

  He nods. "Yeah, yeah and his stuff's still here."

  "Think I could go check on him?" I ask. Just now there's a little gray bird. It flits off to my left. I hear its wings.

  Counter guy doesn't notice. "I can't let you through this way, employees only." He sounds apologetic.

  I feel dread. "I could walk around the building though, right?"

  "Sure, if you want, but he might be in the bathroom or something."

  I shake my head. "I can see the employee restroom door from here. I think we'd have heard it if he went in there anyway."

  He nods.

  "Hey," I say. "If he comes back in while I'm checking, could you have him wait for me?"

  Counter guy is all wide eyes and helpfulness. "Oh yeah. Sure thing. He doesn't want to miss you."

  "Cool." I reply. The door ding dongs me out. I'm starting to breathe too fast. I've got a terrible feeling. As I move around to the side of the store, I see another shadow dart by. This one is just black and out of the corner of my eye, old school, like they used to always be before I started talking to them. I break into a jog to get to the next corner faster. As I turn, I'm fighting down panic. I make the turn, stop and look.

  I let out a sigh, nothing. He's probably already back inside waiting on me. The alley is mostly dark, but the area near the dumpsters is lit by a wall fixture from 7-Eleven. There's no one here. This alley is more than wide enough to drive a garbage truck down and it’s open all the way through to the next street. I can see cars going by down there. I walk slowly forward into the darkness. It's not far to the dumpster. I imagine I’m checking for nothing, since Luis is likely inside by now. I don't see anything amiss as I go. I walk all the way to 7-Eleven's back door, still nothing. I turn around to go back.

  There's Luis. He's sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, leaning on the wall and the dumpster. His hands are hanging at his sides, forming a relaxed posture against the cement. His eyes are closed. Did he get back here and feel sick? Very smelly place to rest. I move slowly towards him. I have a sick feeling myself. He's so still. I notice that Luis is wearing a burgundy turtle neck. Is that what he had on before? I don't think so. Did he slip it on to be warm for his trash run? As I get closer I think that no, it's more red than burgundy. No... Not a turtle neck dummy, that's a cut. Cut is such a small word for this big thing. Now that I'm right up on him, I see the blood puddle forming under his ass.

  "Aw hell." I murmur. It’s another dead person. At least I didn't watch this one die. I take a deep breath. It occurs to me to wonder where the killer is. I realize suddenly that Luis must have died while I was in there filling up my soda. I'm just trying to make myself look up from the body, when I hear the woo whoop of a police car. I drag my eyes away from Luis Finch and take a sip of my Diet Coke. I see a uniformed cop get out of the car and jog down the alley towards me. I sigh. I look down and realize Luis's blood is pooling around my boots. Damn. He must have just died.

  The cop has a gun out and it’s trained on me. "Freeze. Put your hands on your head!" She shouts.

  Huh. I didn't know the officer was a woman. It's so hard to tell in the dark at a distance. I raise my hands slowly. "What do you want me to do with the soda?"

  There's another woo whoop. I look behind me, another cop car at the other end of the alley, another officer running with a gun. They must've already been on the way when I walked around the building. Who could've called them? I look up and around at the surrounding buildings. I don't see any windows, but then I'm in a spot light looking up into the dark. Maybe the caller witnessed the murder from the street. Maybe the killer called it in.

  "Hands on your head!" The new officer shouts. This one's a man. My arms are already raised but I guess this isn't good enough. I sigh and hold the soda upright on top of my head. "Step away from the dumpster." Says the man cop.

  I oblige, lifting my feet out of the blood one at a time and backing up. I leave little half moons of blood on the concrete from my boots. Man I'm so thirsty all of a sudden. I really, really want to drink this Diet Coke. With some more angry shouting, the police get me up against the wall. They frisk me and take my bag, my phone and my lighter. The soda gets set on the pavement, forgotten by them, not by me. If I'm having any emotional reaction to Luis's death it’s muted. I'll freak out about it later, maybe. All I can think now is that this is going to be a long ass night. Police stations are like emergency rooms: all red lights and noise so you can wait, wait, wait to be processed. I'm sure more people die in ER waiting rooms than anywhere else in the country. Also I believe the phrase STAT is a joke.

  The male officer, I'll call him Grumble Pants, herds me into the back of his cruiser. Now I want to call Schuyler. It goes as I've predicted. Wait: tick, tock, wait: tick, tock and then please wait some more.

  Finally Grumble Pants opens the door. "I have a few questions for you."

  I shake my head and because I'm feeling pissy I say, "I need to speak to a female officer. I have a history of sexual trauma. I can't talk to men in authority."

  Grumble Pants glares at me.

  I stare guilelessly back. He must've just had a refresher course in sexual harassment, because he slams the door without further discussion. After a time, the female officer heads my way.

  She opens the door and gives me a look that says thou shalt not get away with shit. "Miss Jones, what were you doing in the alley?"

  "I came to talk to Luis Finch." I reply.

  "You often meet him in alleys?"

  I shake my head. "His shift was almost over. I was waiting for him in the store while he took out the trash. He never came back. I went to check on him. I found him right there. Then you came."

  "You still live on Glenwood?" Ooo, a reader of ID cards.

  "Yes Ma'am." I answer.

  "You don't seem to upset about finding a body." She eyes me coldly.

  I shrug. "I don't know him. You know him?"

  She gla
res at me. "Why were you meeting him?"

  I sigh. Here it comes. "A girl I knew briefly died recently, Madeline Cross." At the mention of the name the officer holds her breath. It's subtle but I catch it and make a mental note. "Luis knew her. I saw him at the memorial. Other people there said he was her stalker, so I figured he'd know something and I wanted to talk to him."

  "He agreed to talk to you?"

  I nod. "I just told him I knew Madeline, and he told me when he got off work."

  The officer puts one hand on her hip, and with the other she closes the door. I lean back in the seat and rest my eyes. No sense in getting all agitated. With a story like mine they're bound to take me in for questioning. Damn I'm thirsty.

  ***

  I'm sitting in a tiny white room. There's a table, and on each side of it is a hard metal chair, one of which I occupy. Up in the corner there is a video surveillance camera. I don't know how long I've been in here. They took my boots because of the blood on them, so I'm in sock feet. This is great. I wish I were sleepy, I'd take a nap. I haven't seen any shadows since the one outside of seven eleven. I wonder if counter guy got dragged in as well. Probably not, but just to appease my sense of fairness I'm spending a certain amount of time imagining his interrogation. I bet he gets nervous when he tells them about the soda he didn't charge me for, the soda I wish I had right now. I'm still thirsty, and I need a smoke, but I know better than to complain. I wonder when I should ask for my phone call.

  The door swings open, and through it comes the female officer from the murder scene. She's removed her hat and I can see she has light brown curly hair tied up in a pony tail. She crosses the room to sit in the chair opposite me. She's carrying a manila folder which she leaves closed in front of her on the table. I can see my name in a bold font on the tab. Oh goody, they looked me up.

  "So, Miss Jones." She starts. "Let's go over this again."

  "May I have you're name?" I ask before she can distract me with more questions, and I end up having to think of a moniker for her.