Chasing Shadows

Prologue

The human mind is an incredibly complex and puzzling organ, this is a truth that is already accepted by most. Just to think that behind every face we see, no matter how kind or beautiful that face may be, lies one of the greatest unsolved mysteries known to mankind, is an incredibly disturbing thought.
So disturbing that we refuse to even consciously admit as much.
Imagine, if we were to ever let our minds accept such a fact as we looked into the face of that polite stranger passing us on the sidewalk or the person serving our dinner in the crowded restaurant, we would never trust a single one of them.
For as its complexity is one truth, the fact that we can never truly know exactly what is happening in any one person's mind is another. All that is left for us to know with any degree of certainty is that every mind comes with its own unique past, a story that made that person who they are today. Locked somewhere in that unknowable device of theirs is the truth of what kind of creature we are seeing before our very eyes. And within each person, that story spreads like a virus, infusing their mind with thoughts, understandings, and lessons that seep so deeply into every facet of their being, that they eventually dictate how they think, how they see, even how they act.
So you have to ask yourself: can we ever truly know anyone, if they may not even truly know themselves?

He should probably have been used to this feeling by now, the sound of his heart pounding so hard inside his tiny, six-year-old body, like a ticking time bomb about to detonate inside his chest. The slickness of the sweat on his palms and the roughness of the goosebumps spread across his flesh. Even the chills that raced up and down his spine, making him feel sick to his gut while he tried to force himself to concentrate on the mechanical swing of his feet as they hung off the edge of the uncomfortable plastic chair.

He didn't mean to complain about this chair, even if he hadn't said it aloud. This was his chair after all. The special one that they always set aside for him so that he could sit in this hallway. Even when it was against the rules for him to do so.

"Here you go, Aiden," a cherubic-faced woman said in a soft voice as she held a steaming cup of hot cocoa out for the little boy. He slowly lifted his bright eyes to hers, as if he needed a second to process the fact that she was actually there before him. As he took the paper cup from her she unwrapped the rough, grey blanket draped over her other arm and spread it around his shoulders, hiding the grass green soccer jersey with fresh mud stains all over it.

"Thank you, Nancy," his voice was laden with a bone-deep weariness that made Nancy ache to hold him in her arms and comfort him however she could.

"It's good news this time, Aiden," she settled for patting his shoulder, "The bullet was a through and through, minimal internal damage. He just needs some patching up and he'll be out in an hour or so. Promise."

"Yeah, that is good news," he sighed and looked down as Nancy turned to walk back to the nurse's station,  then added under his breath, "This time."