Shadowed

II. Don't Go Looking

"Shane, what the hell?" Abby says, her face crumpled in confusion, but I can barely hear her. My heart is pounding. Rowan Shapiro. Rowan Shapiro. No one's spoken that name since 1988, when I ran for the first time. I made sure of it. And yet, it can't be a coincidence. It's not like it's a common name. 

Someone knows.

It's the only explanation. 

But who could it be? My parents are dead, almost certainly. My brother couldn't care less about me. And Lily Grace and Jeremy—they've forgotten about me by now, I'm sure. It's been so long since I've seen either of them that I've probably faded into a dark hole in their memories. Maybe sometimes I cross their minds, and they remember, even for just a second, that pale-skinned kid they met in high school who never got any older. They think about me for a moment, all the laughs and cries we had together in the back of Jeremy's truck. And then they decide I was probably a figment of their imagination, something dreamed up by all the drugs and the partying, and they move on. 

Besides, it didn't sound like their voices. It couldn't have been.

"Shane." Abby's voice jolts me out of my daydream. I inhale sharply, and turn towards her. Her green eyes are piercing. 

"Shane, will you tell me what's going on?" she asks, softer, seeing how rattled I look. And then, the danger signs begin to flash behind my eyes. I can't tell her anything. I can't let this shake me. It will only end badly.

I turn away from her, burying my face in my hands. I can't stop thinking about that voice. It was gritty and rough, and unlike any voice I've ever heard. But whoever it was must know me. The old me. I can try, but I know it'd be impossible for me to ignore that. Even if that means everything I did over the last thirty two years, all that work to stay shrouded in mystery, goes to shit.

"Abby," I say, my resolve tightening, "did you see where that voice came from?"

An odd expression knits its way across her face. I recognize it. It's one of skepticism, of distrust. 

"Um, I don't know, really, but it could have come from over there," she says, gesturing behind us. Her finger points towards a space between two buildings, so thin that it doesn't even seem like a person could fit through it. I hadn't even noticed it as we walked by.

I stride briskly towards the little gap and peer into it. As far as I can see, it looks like it leads back to the system of alleyways that wind behind the buildings. The passage is long, dark, and pretty much invisible to someone on the sidewalk. It's the perfect place for someone to hide in and whisper strange things to those who pass. A little troll bridge, even, bridging the gap between the world of fast cars and nine to five jobs, and the world of shivering on winter nights and stealing change off the curb for something to eat. No one goes in those alleys if they can help it. They're wonderful places to hide.

Turning my body sideways, I begin to edge into the space, taking a cautious step. The space is so tight that the buildings squeeze me on both sides. Good thing I was never claustrophobic.

Something grabs my arm and pulls on it, and I jerk to get out of the grip on instinct. It's Abby, clutching my sleeve.

"Are you insane? You can't go back there!" she hisses. "I don't know how long you've been out here, but you don't just go running after strange voices, Shane. It's probably some psycho who wants nothing more than to lure people back there."

"I have to," I insist quietly, avoiding her eyes. Please, leave me alone.

She's looking at me like I've lost my mind, but still won't let go of my sleeve. "Seriously, Shane, why does this even matter to you? Trust me. You're going to find a creep right behind that wall, waiting for you."