Shadow Walker

Escape

The doors opened and two hefty silhouettes blocked his escape. One of the silhouettes had a radio pressed to his mouth, while the other stood bent as though one side of his body was heavier than the other. Both were wearing optics. Both had duty belts slung low around their waists.

Police.

In the foyer beyond, warm air swirled an orange-blue marble, punctuated by firework globes from the low-hanging chandeliers. Dec yearned to be passing under those fireworks and bursting through the glass exit doors at the rear. As it was, he pressed himself into the corner of the lift so hard, it was a wonder his shoulders didn't snap at right angles.

His eyes flicked from one police officer to the other, down to the holsters on their belts, then back to their faces. There was no way he was going to be able to push past them. A light tap from the back end of their torches would be enough to drop him cold.

He thought of the stray Tommy had cornered and killed on the street, the way its eyes had stretched white and wide, canines bared, haunches bristling. If he'd had haunches, they would've been bristling. If he'd had canines, they would've been bared. He was sure the whites of his eyes were popping behind his optics.

The police officer with the radio was speaking. "All clear in the south lift. I repeat, all clear in the south lift. Requesting permission to enter the party."

All clear?

Dec's stomach heaved. The officers were predators playing with their prey. He couldn't think of any other reason why they'd pretend he wasn't in the lift. The memory of Tommy beating the stray with the crow bar flashed in his mind. As his stomach heaved again, he was suddenly very glad he hadn't drunk that Blue Illusion.

"Permission granted," came the reply, accompanied by a friendly radio crackle.

The officer turned to his partner and gestured. "Disabled first."

The reply came, husky and forced—like someone whose voice pipes were clogged with shell grit. "No, I insist ... ladies first," he said, before stepping back and sweeping a stunted arm towards the lift.

If Dec had been cold before, he was pinnacle now. There was no denying the shell grit voice, the uneven set of the arms—one for strength, the other for dexterity, best shot in the force.

Montague the Crabman had come for him.

The seconds passed, slow and dreamlike, in which neither Dec, Montague or his partner moved. In fact, the officers acted as though Dec wasn't there, just stared each other down like two trucks playing chicken.

Finally, Montague's partner stepped into the lift with a snort. "Lady? At least I can reach my own dick with both hands."

Montague stepped in after him, and moved to the back of the lift, so close that Dec felt the graze of his baton against his leg. "Why do you need both hands on your dick? I know I only need one."

The lift doors closed, and with it, Dec saw his freedom disappear like a tunnel light. He braced himself for what they'd do to him, now that he had nowhere to run.

"Three occupants detected," the lift voice said. "Please scan your palm pods."

The radio officer turned to Montague, chuckling. "Must've put on some weight, Montague."

Montague rolled his lips and leaned forward to slam his hand against the sensor, his baton knocking Dec's thigh.

The lift repeated, "Three occupants detected. Please scan your palm pods."

Montague smacked the sensor again and the lift doors opened to eject them. "We hope you enjoyed your stay a that Playford Casino. Have a good night."

Montague growled. "Blasted thing. We'd better do a manual override or we'll be stuck for a hearing."

Realisation struck Dec like a bite of frost and he braced himself against the wall to keep from staggering. All this time he'd thought Montague and his partner were playing with their food, when in fact, they weren't playing at all. They, quite simply, couldn't see him.

He looked down at his hands and realised there was nothing there. Where they should've appeared bright red in his optics, there was just blackness. He wiggled his fingers, which were so cold and stiff, he managed only a slow flex. A feint blue shimmer appeared, an impression so fleeting, it could've been nothing but a pocket of warm air wafting in from the foyer.

It had happened. The impossible has happened. Just as Rain had been able to make herself reptilian cold in the tunnel, then so hot she'd blurred like the spoke of a wheel, he was now controlling his body temperature to make himself invisible to the optic eye like some kind of new age ninja? Like some kind of ...

Shadow walker.

As Rain had said, it had been impossible to fight it. And now he didn't have the faintest clue how to control it.

Not knowing how long he could keep his temperature corpse cold without turning into one himself, he readied himself to flee. The officers were stooped over the sensor, punching in the manual override code. Soon, the doors would close and he'd be trapped again.

With the speed of a snake springing from under a rock, he pushed himself off the wall and plunged through the lift doors, accidentally bumping Montague's baton as he passed. Montague grunted, "Watch it," and jabbed his partner in the ribs before registering the knock had come from his other side. As he wheeled in Dec's direction, astonishment dropping his jaw, Dec was already bulleting across the foyer, arms pumping, heels screeching their traction against the glossy marble floors. As he shot through the glass doors at the entrance and onto the street, he caught his reflection—a comet streak of white. Somewhere along the line, he'd dropped his icy shield for hot adrenaline.