Shadows | A Forever Fan-Fiction - Sequel to Lights

Chapter Twenty-Two: Just A Moment

Adam grinned at me wolfishly as I moved aside. He tore his black leather gloves off as he made his way inside. His dark eyes glittered even in the dimness of the hallway.

"I heard from a little birdie that you and Henry are playing my game," he announced after a long pause.

"If only it were charades," I replied weakly.

"Hmph. You really ought to watch your step." He shook his head and turned halfway, frowning slightly. "To the victor go the spoils. You know, someone you know may be helping me." He shrugged. "But I don't think you can figure out who. You never had a knack for figuring things out before it's too late." I could hear the taunt in his voice, the little layer of mockingness urging me to play, urging me to fall for his traps.

"If you're talking about Nicholson," I said slowly, "then, we already know." I needed to find a way to hack the system, to find his breaking point and refuse to give in. But I was so afraid. It clouded my mind, clustering around my thoughts and suffocating them, squeezing the life out of every idea and word that came to mind.

He smirked ambiguously, and sighed, his breath heavy with minty mockingness. "Whatever you say, butterfly."

"Don't call me that," I snapped quickly, crossing my arms as rain beat down on the side of my face.

"You ought to move, really. Or at least close the door. Like I said, I wouldn't want Henry's information on my movements to get too badly damaged."

I tried to move, I did, but I was frozen, glued in place by the layer of fear coating my mouth like dry cotton.

"I'm good," I said meekly.

"He might be unhappy," Adam warned mockingly.

"I said that I'm fine," I breathed.

"Suit yourself," he murmured, stepping towards me and glancing slowly around him. "It's funny that your best friend is a detective. This makes everything so much more interesting."

"How?" I enquired, but it came out as more of a sarcastic, disinterested statement.

"How?" he chuckled. "That remains to be seen. But I have so many ideas..." His grin widened, and became about ten times more creepifying. "In the meantime," he continued. "It's my turn to play. And I have a gift for you." He strode closer, closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "I don't want your gift." He was so close now, that I could feel his breath on my face. He snatched up my wrist, unfurled my hand, and placed a small cloth parcel tied up in string into my hand.

"That's too bad. But now... Now, it's your turn," he whispered. I cringed away from his voice.

"Is my mother alright?" I asked desperately.

"Oh, she's well. She's enjoying our time together. We're reliving many fond memories of that room... The room. You do remember it?" My breath stuck in my throat, cemented, as though it were caught on flypaper.

"Yes," I breathed at last. "I remember it very well. You were a fool to use it, after my father was dead."

"I used it before, too. When you were gone. I think... you were in Washington, on a school trip. He could hear her screams."

"You," I whispered, "are a monster."

"Certainly," he replied in my ear. "But, then what does that make you?"

"When I kill you," I said. " - And I mean when - When I kill you, I will see you in hell."

"Your father knew," he hissed disgustingly. "He knew about her gift, as he called it. He was so gentle, so delicate. I broke him so easily. You barely noticed, absorbed by school and dreams of the future. Each day, driving himself mad with grief, with guilt. He knew the truth."

"How proud you must be," I replied furiously. "You killed a defenceless man in his own home."

"And your mother, oh she was a joy," he snarled. I could feel the anger radiating from him, now. What happened? What had happened? I'd pushed the pressure point. Now, I needed to stab it. "While I watched her bleed out, in a thousand different ways, at a thousand different times..."

"How proud," I repeated. "How proud you must be, that you murdered and tortured, over and over, an immortal woman."

"And when they cut her, while they cut her, she cried out. She begged for them to stop, for mercy-" He paused, and we both realised what he had said wrong in the same instant.

" 'They cut her,' " I repeated. "Who is 'they?' You are merciless, I've seen it, I know it. Why didn't you do it, yourself?"

Steel, against my throat. Sharp, painful. Anger, seething out of his every pore. Hateful, betrayed. Fear, sparking inside of me. Restless, insistent.

We sat there for a long time. His ragged breaths portrayed the internal battle - botch the game, and kill me, or keep playing, but make it personal.

Then, quickly, the blade vanished. The grip around my wrist slackened, and when I opened my eyes, he strode away into the rain. He stood there for a moment, tilting his head upwards and inhaling deeply. Then, he was swathed in darkness, a faint outline illuminated by streetlights and the faint amount of reflected light cast by the rain.

I stood in the doorway, trembling, waiting for him to come back, to change his mind. Eventually, my heart stopped pounding, and my panic began to fade, melting away and leaving a thin layer of empty exhaustion. I slammed the door shut and fell down against the red painted wood. I glanced at the little parcel in my hand, and then I looked away. After a long pause, my fingers began to untie the string. I unwrapped the felt cloth, and nestled amongst the folds of fabric lay a small sachet, the scent of lavender and rosemary filling my nose. I sighed and relaxed, reclining against the door once more, the last traces of adrenaline vanishing, whirling away into nothingness.

Darkness fell over me. I crawled away, into the the living room and onto the sofa and fell into the loving arms and lulling safety of sleep.

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