Midnight Shadow

Chapter 1 - Memphis

"Good morning Ash"

Actually it was a good morning, all things considered. My throat still burned from the fight last week but I was used to it by now. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. No one knew that, of course. No one ever knew the extent of the pain I was in, especially after. I looked at the breakfast Mrs. Hill had just finished making and felt a mix of apprehension and gratitude. Breakfast every morning was a constant in the Hill household. I knew it would hurt but sighed and dug in, no sense in trying to avoid it.

It seemed a shame though; Mrs. Hill was an excellent cook. I knew that from living with them for the last two months. Actually, the last two months had been very different from most of the foster families I'd lived with before the Hills. It usually took a while to gain the kind of acceptance that I had from a new family. They typically got comfortable right around the time I was leaving. That was the plan though, it always was. Leave just when the relationship was building so it was easier for them to adjust. That was for the good families though, the difficult families were just a year of survival.

I felt the twinge in my throat again as I ate. It had almost been a week and I knew it would be over soon. I was grateful I had faced a young one. He'd been strong and fierce, obviously a fighter when he was human, but he'd had no true understanding of the change he'd gone through. All strength and no strategy typically made for a fight with one good attack before I finished it. He never had a chance to understand what I was. Never had a chance to realize it was impossible to defeat me. He never ran or hid like he would have if he'd known that I couldn't be beaten. Not because he was weak, far from it. I simply couldn't be killed. Five thousand years walking the world, killing his kind, had proven that.

I finished my plate and took it to the sink, just like every morning. The kitchen was large and open with a welcome home kind of design. Honey colored hardwood floors; mirrored by the cabinets, dark granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances made it look like a showroom.  I could feel the cheery mood Mrs. Hill was in and I let it wash over and through me, allowing the emotions to mingle with my own, brightening my outlook in preparation for another dreary day as a junior at Bartlett High School.

"At least it's in Memphis" I told myself quietly as I trudged upstairs for my school things. "At least I'm where I want to be". It had become my mantra over the last couple of months as I settled in for the year. It happened so infrequently that I should have been singing to myself. I should be happier than ever before. I was as close to "home" as I could possibly be and that did not happen very often. It was risky being here this time. I'd left only fifty years ago and there were still people alive that I had known the last time. But the city had grown and sixty-five year old eyes rarely remembered exactly how I looked, even though my appearance never really changed.

I looked in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Five thousand years might as well have been a day. Of course mirrors hadn't been common when I was seventeen years old and pools of water always distorted reflections, no matter how still they were. My physical appearance hadn't changed at all. I could cut my hair, grow out a beard, dress a million different ways but it rarely made a significant difference. I was an immortal being, permanently altered by the change I didn't truly remember. It was like smearing dirt on a statue of Adonis, it was still perfect underneath. I'd tried to change the way I looked a few times but it never worked. My hair grew back to the length and color in a matter of days even when I shaved my head, Tattoo needles broke against my skin without a scratch and, more recently, contact lenses changed to match my silver-blue eye color within moments. I had no idea why but I'd learned to adjust. Now it was my demeanor and behavior that made me blend in with a crowd.

Otis, the last human I could honestly call my friend, would have recognized me if he'd seen me. He'd been my best friend last time I lived here in the early 1960's. It had been a difficult issue at the time, especially in Memphis, to have a black best friend. But he had been one of the best people I'd ever known, someone I enjoyed being around everyday. I still remembered the way his feelings lifted me up. He'd always had the best disposition on life. Always the most positive outlook; it was intoxicating to feel. I'd broken one of my rules with Otis. I'd stayed in contact. We stayed in contact through letters for fifty years until four months ago they stopped coming. A quick Internet search had told me what I'd feared. Otis had passed away, a victim of cancer.