Word Weld

“Uncle?” a voice was saying loudly. “Uncle, get up!”

I shook my head and sat up abruptly. I stared into the face of my 11-year-old nephew Kyle. The boy was orphaned when his parents, my sister and her husband, drowned after a boating accident. My name is Shade Donnelly McKee, but I go by Shay. At this point, I worked as a vet at a local clinic on the outskirts of Baltimore, Maryland. At twenty-eight I was not the strongest or most athletic individual, though I played some softball at my church and worked out whenever I felt guilty enough. I had taken my nephew under wing and since he was so young, the money he had inherited from his parents was passed to me as his guardian for safekeeping. We had a nice house and he went to school at a local Christian school that was part of our church. It was more expensive, but I wanted the best for him, and I wanted to honor my sister’s memory.

“We’re going to be late for school!” he was presently shouting in my face.

I groaned loud and long, pining for the six hours of sleep I had missed the night before. But of course Kyle could never know. As I rose, Kyle ran out of my bedroom and down the stairs. In one way it was fortunate we were nearly late for school, since he had been too distracted to notice that I had slept in my clothes.

Even after I had showered and freshened up, my appearance was rather less than sterling. Downstairs I found my nephew shoveling cereal into his mouth. I felt like a bad parent. And to think that if we were late he would be reprimanded.

“Come on, soldier,” I said, “you can eat the rest of that in the car.”

Normally I did not allow this, but under the circumstances I felt it would be best. That and the fact that we had less than ten minutes to get to the school. I piled him into the car with his book bag and gave him a little extra money for his lunch. My nephew had brown curly hair and a pair of light blue eyes. He was pretty average as kids go. He was not a nerd and not a jock. He was good at sports and managed not to get distracted too easily in class. His most annoying trait was trying to get me married. Perhaps he was just searching for a new mom, but regardless, every young woman he thought was “sweet” or even “decently not ugly” had to be told that his uncle was alone, desperately handsome, and if that didn’t work, perfectly rich, in more or less that language. In truth I was well off, but that was partially thanks to him, as his parents had been considerably better off than me, and I did pretty well before the accident. He had tried to match me up with his history teacher, his Sunday school teacher, several supermarket and department store checkout ladies, his pediatrician, and a jogger who had by some misfortune stopped in front of our house to get a drink from her bottle. As is fairly obvious, he was not shy and made friends easily.

As we drove to school rather rapidly, I turned on the radio. After the tail end of a song, the news came on via the calm, impassive voice of the male newscaster. Were it not for the content, it would have put me back to sleep right there.

“…and police have released that the case of missing Gale Longley came to a sudden conclusion last night following a bloody firefight at around one in the morning at an abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of downtown Baltimore. Police had been searching for 16-year-old Gale Longley, a Vancouver resident, ever since she had been abducted outside her high school gymnasium after cheerleading practice on Monday. She and two other girls were attacked by four hooded men armed with a type of chloroform spray. The other two girls managed to escape, but Miss Longley was knocked unconscious with the spray and carried into an unmarked van. Police had no leads for some time until an anonymous phone call traced to a pay phone claimed the girl was held in a condemned apartment complex on Southeast Stark Street. Police were cautious, fearing a hostage situation, but arrived only to find a gun fight already in progress in the parking lot outside. The ensuing police firefight resulted in the two individuals in the parking lot being shot and killed. The final two kidnappers were found in a hallway not far from Gale Longley, who had apparently been freed by an unknown individual. A police helicopter flying overhead during the battle spotted a shadowy figure fighting with the kidnappers outside, and police believe this man or perhaps an accomplice was responsible for freeing the frightened cheerleader. The parents of the victim have expressed their gratitude not only to the police but also to the seeming vigilante who saved their daughter from almost certain death. The victim described the man who freed her as of medium height but due to poor lighting could not make out his clothes or features.. Police believe the men planned to sell the girl to a ring of kidnappers who try to smuggle young American women out of the country and sell them to Middle-Eastern slave dealers. Recent reports−”

“That’s enough of that,” I said as we neared the school.

“I would love to be a vigilante,” Kyle grinned. “It must have been scary to sneak into that building with those dangerous men around!”

“Yeah? Well, the police don’t really like vigilantes,” I remained cool.

“If he hadn’t been there, though, the kidnappers would have killed her!” he said as we pulled up to the curb where I would drop him off. He opened the door and hopped out, toting his back pack.

“I’ll see you after school, buddy,” I grinned, but I was sleepy and had to get to work: not a prospect I was enjoying.

I drove to the clinic and checked in. I had several appointments, one of which was already waiting for me. But it was merely a few shots and was done quickly. Having a few minutes, I checked my calendar and my notes, which were all over my desk, and suddenly realized that there was a sticky note on which was scrawled a message I had not written, but it was to me. All there was on it were the two words “Well done,” and a symbol under that. It was a meticulously drawn stick figure in a hat that was actually the Shade of a stick figure drawn (or rather not drawn) off the right side of the note, as evidenced by a shadow at its feet. I put the note in my pocket.

Again my heart was beating faster. I had hoped that perhaps I was dreaming after staying up late and that the whole thing had been a nightmare. My having slept in my clothes and the story on the radio was enough to prove that it happened, but a tiny, stubborn piece of me refused to believe I had been  there. Now it was undeniable. I had been there.

To my great relief, however, the week that followed was devoid of incident. The week after that was little different. Kyle was doing well in school, the office had plenty of work and the gossipers in our church had not invited me over. In that time I had a Friday night date with my colleague, Beverly, another vet at the clinic and one of Kyle’s “best hopes,” as he referred to them. Beverly was a little older than me and was essentially just a good friend. We had worked together for several years at the clinic and she had no wedding bells in her closet. Sorry Kyle.

I managed to put my adventure behind me and live my life like it never happened. Then I received an email from an unknown individual. I almost deleted it, but when I saw the subject line, my emotions returned as strong as ever. The email was titled “Beyond a Shadow” and was very small. I hesitated for a moment, then opened it. It was a few simple lines of text, underneath of which was a small electronic version of the stick figure symbol. It read:

“Meeting at South Broadway overpass. Midnight. Will need ‘insurance.’ Remember the debt.”

I clenched my teeth. The debt. Those two words were enough to get me thoroughly bent out of shape. That debt was the reason I had been at the apartment building where young Gale Longley had been held.

About a week prior to the incident I had been pulled from my car at a stoplight after being threatened with a gun. It had been late, and in order to avoid a train I had gone out of my way. At the light a man had appeared at my window pointing a gun at my head. Overcome with fear, I had obeyed and exited the car. A second man appeared and wanted my money, but instead of asking me for it, grabbed me and threw me against the car, looking around in my back pocket himself. The two men were apparently dissatisfied with the contents of my wallet and were doubtless going to kill me when a chilling laugh suddenly filled the empty street.

There had been a blur of motion and several muffled words and half-shouts. When I had regained myself I rose to find the two men on the ground, dead or unconscious I will never know. That was the first time I saw him. It was the Shadowman. He had no name for himself, but simply called himself “a Shade,” an ironic name since it was my first name. I took note of that. After the fight, he had gotten into my car and we had driven to my home. On the way he told me that every man whose life has been saved from destruction owes a debt he cannot pay.

“Every man is bound to be the servant of his savior,” he told me. “Or else he will perish.”

“So I’m your slave now?” I replied, greatly shocked.

“You are bound to serve,” the Shadowman declared. “Is it not the least one can do? It is not to repay the debt, but to show loyalty to the one who has saved you. We all have a debt. You do; I do. We are both slaves. I must save those who are in danger, that is my service for my debt, and it is yours now too. I need you to assist me. When I have need of you, you must respond, for lives may hang in the balance.”

The following week I had received a letter written in ink only visible with UV light. It told me to take my gun (“insurance”) and go to the apartment where the young girl had been held prisoner. I was instructed to climb the fire escape, enter via the roof, descend to the second floor, and free her. The Shade would distract most or all of her guardians. It had happened almost just like the letter had instructed, minus my own blundering slowness. Somehow, however, the Shadowman’s timing had been perfect anyway.

Now I was to meet the Shadowman at the overpass at midnight. I knew inside that I had no choice. After work and picking up Kyle from school, we went to a ball game and out to eat. I planned on getting my young nephew very tired. When we got home we wrestled good and long, with some tickling scattered in the mix. You don’t have to believe me, but I did this at other times too, not just for manipulation.

As I left his room that night after seeing him to bed, he looked up at me and said,

“Uncle, I know you can’t be like my dad, but you can be my dad if you want.”

“I’ll always be there for you, soldier,” I grinned, but I was fighting back a tear. Touched, I went to my room and waited, wondering if I could be a dad, or be there for him, when I had to sneak out of the house at night.

At eleven I left the house very quietly after making sure Kyle was asleep. I didn’t like leaving him alone at night, but I had no alternative. I drove in the darkness, armed and afraid, down to the overpass. When I reached it I shut off my car and parked on the side of the deserted road. I waited until 11:48 before something happened. I looked out my side window and found, to my surprise, a sticky note. Rolling down my window, I retrieved it. All it said was this:

“Hide car. Enter far alley.”

I was feeling very uneasy again. This time there were fewer instructions than before. What awaited me in that alley? I swallowed my apprehensions and all my theories and did as I was instructed. Parking the car behind the overpass, I sneaked through the darkness. I had remembered to bring my flashlight, but I decided not to use it. The alley, which I entered with extreme caution, I found to be empty, to my initial relief. Now, however, I had a new problem. What was I supposed to do?

I went deeper, the sense of uneasiness now escalating into sweat and abdominal strain. My hands were feeling fishy and my nerve was rebuking me like a mother spanking a child… hard. Calm yourself! I told myself viciously to settle down. After all, I had done what I had done the last time. I had done my part to save lives. I was good with a gun and had the nerve to defend myself if need be. Why, I was a vigilante! My nerve put down the paddle for a moment. What did I need to be afraid of?

With this confidence, I soon found myself crouched behind a pair of smelly trash cans, my whole body probably shaking enough to register on the Richter scale. I had heard a noise. It was footsteps coming down the street, getting nearer with every terrifying moment. Was it the Shadowman? Was it perhaps a serial killer? A mob boss? An assassin? I tried desperately to conceal myself, petrified that what was about to enter my alley was not going to be pleasant…

The owner of the footsteps was walking slowly, cautiously. I closed my eyes and was still for a moment, letting my breaths come slowly and evenly. This helped somewhat, but also took me out of the situation for a moment, so that when I opened my eyes a moment later, I heard a footfall right across from my trash cans. Moving ever so quietly, I peered between the cans. In the alley stood a woman! She was modestly well-dressed and carried a flashlight, most of which she covered with her hand. I could see she was trying to read something, a piece of printer paper. Her lips moved but no words came as she read to herself whatever instructions seemed to be on the piece of paper. Heading past me and further into the alley, she shown the flashlight on several of the brick walls on either side.

That was when I became aware of something else. It did not at first sink in, because I was focused on the woman with the paper. But slowly my senses, now tuned in to what was around me and unhindered by a thrashing heart filling my ears with noise, became keen to another sound. It was a rustling, a scraping, inconsistent, coming from the alley opening. As yet I could see nothing at the alley entrance.

Meanwhile, the woman had hit upon something. She suddenly snapped her fingers and making for a wall, started prying at a brick. Surprisingly, she easily removed it and groped around in the remaining space with her hand, but found nothing. She turned the brick that she had in her hand over and stopped. There was something on it. It seemed to be another piece of paper. As she read it, the rustling sound from the entrance grew louder, until I heard a dull thud as the brick fell from the woman’s hands and she said softly but clearly,

“Oh, no.”

There was a noise from the entrance, and she looked up from the paper.

“That’s right,” said another female voice. “Oh, no.”

This woman was not alone. She had with her a big, stocky man in a leather jacket. They were both well-dressed as well and currently blocked the exit. This woman, unlike the first, was, while still obviously wealthy, better-dressed for the situation. This woman was wearing boots, clearly to sneak up on the first, whose heels gave her away. I was just thinking, “Who are these people?” The man had one hand in his jacket pocket, the second woman had her arms crossed and looked a little older than the first.

“Sarah!” the first woman gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t you know, Candice?” the elder condescended.

“I’m not a simpleton, Sarah,” she shifted a little toward the middle of the alley. “I know what it looks like, but don’t tell me it’s like it seems. You didn’t plan all this, did you? The message wasn’t from you, was it?”

“The email from Papa?” she sneered, though all of their faces were hard to see in the dark. “I see you followed it precisely. I had to see if all those years of rivalry had actually brought the two of us to this point, and I see that they have. You failed the test, Candice. No, you won’t take what is rightfully mine from me.”

“So what happens now?” she sounded hesitant to ask. Her voice strained to be calm and accusing but the strain came out more. “Are you going to kill me, Sarah? I can’t believe you would actually do that. You have enough skeletons in your closet, don’t you? You have nothing to fear from me if that email wasn’t real.”

“But what if there had been an email, Candice?” she and the man stepped forward, and Candice retreated slowly. “What if there had been a newer will? Would you have taken all I have away from me, if you could have?”

“I don’t think you’d be out on the street, Sarah,” she chuckled weakly. “You just might have mended your ways if you didn’t have so much means to do all your shadowy business. You know full well that Papa wanted me to have some of it, Sarah. You know full well there was another will, and you never wanted it to come to light. You lecture me about rivalry? You cut me out on purpose, Sarah, you cut me out…”

“Mother made sure you had what you needed,” Sarah’s voice became menacing as they closed in on her. “She paid your education, didn’t she? You got a good job and you’re doing alright yourself, so what could you possibly want with my belongings?”

“Oh, Mother made sure I was taken care of, and you made sure she was taken care of, didn’t you, Sarah? You had her killed in the retirement home, didn’t you? You had the pills switched or something, didn’t you? You always wanted to kill me, now you just have a reason you can tell the remains of your conscience when it acts up every now and then, right?!”

Her voice became higher and panicked toward the end.

“Hush, Candice, you’ll make a scene,” she stopped, then gestured to the man with her. “Make a scene, Darling.”

Candice was now almost backed up against the rear wall of the alley. She had begun pleading to the man, instead of Sarah, and apparently she knew him for she called him by name.

By this time I should have been preparing to set my plan in motion. Instead I was peering around the side of a trash can, totally shocked that I was about to witness a murder. The man with Sarah, who was her boyfriend or husband or whatever he was, looked about a hundred pounds ahead of me and made Candice look not unlike a paper doll. My once more oily right hand gripped the handle of my pistol, and I winced as I bit my tongue.

“This isn’t about you, Willard,” Candice was saying as he was right on top of her. “You don’t want to be responsible for this, do you? You want to be a murderer? Please… Please don’t do this.”

“Oh, this is about me, Candy,” he declared, “because I stand to gain a lot from that will too, as an in-law.”

“You’d kill for the money?”

“Just depends on who,” he shrugged.

Here she tried to make a run for it and was instantly grabbed and pinned against the back wall. His big hands completely engulfed her little neck and he pressed her against the wall with such crushing force that she only emitted a low, pathetic groan. I glanced down and realized that her feet weren’t touching the ground and kicked about slowly. As the moon passed from behind the clouds I saw her face. She was beautiful, with orange-red hair and little trembling lips and lovely amber eyes, a color I didn’t see often. But I snapped back into reality as I stared into those eyes and saw life draining away. The kicking was now just a constant pushing against the brick wall behind her with her feet, a pushing that was losing strength rapidly. What in blazes was I doing?

I immediately put into action my lack of a plan, knocking over one of the trash cans as I bolted upright, gripped my gun with both hands, and stared down the barrel at Willard. Maybe I had seen too many police movies, but I shouted,

“Freeze!”

“What?” Willard turned half around in surprise, still with a helpless woman in hand.

“Get down!” cried Sarah as she pulled a pistol from her purse. I was wondering what I had done wrong.

At that moment she fired and I felt a furious burning on my arm like I’d never felt before. The gun fell from my hands as I hit ground. I glanced down, but Sarah wasn’t there. Then I saw a glimpse of her and heard a scream. It looked like she was enveloped in shadow! It was the Shadowman, wrestling the gun away from her! Clutching my injured arm, I rose and faced off with Willard, who gave Candice a shove that plastered her against the side wall and must have knocked her out. My gun lay between me and Willard. The man was King Kong in an Italian suit.

I prayed I would be faster because I was smaller and dove for the gun. I retrieved it and aimed just as a semi-truck, or rather Willard’s shoulder, plowed into my chest. The gun flew off into oblivion and so did I, ending up several feet back. My arm was bleeding, throbbing, and burning, and now the rest of my body felt like its constitution had been reduced to that of papier-mâché. But something strange happened just then.

The pain in my body, while still there, seemed to get further away, and as I rose, my teeth clenched involuntarily. Willard beckoned me, and to my own shock, I accepted! It was like being in a tiny corner of myself, as if I and my pain had been shoved into the passenger seat and something totally new to me was now driving. Willard swung at me and I ducked quickly, feeling the wind of the blow in my hair. Then I did something I vaguely knew how to do but had never tried. I managed to dodge backward as he swung again, and I grabbed his right wrist. Then I yanked it hard to the left and simultaneously twisted my body, shoulder, and right arm up, and scored an uppercut on the big man, a blow strong enough that he staggered. But I still had his right wrist. I scored two more punches before he wrenched his right hand free and retaliated. I had heard in stories the word exploded used in combination with being struck by something. Well, in true literary fashion, my jaw felt like a bottle of nitroglycerin as his fist crashed into it.

There was no way, even in my oddly empowered state, that I could take such a blow “well.” I found myself back on the ground, staring up at the stars on a pretty cloudy night. I looked down again and discovered that my adversary was currently entangled with the Shadowman, who had apparently subdued Sarah somehow, most likely a chug on the chin from the way she was lying in that heap of cardboard boxes.

The Shadowman was noticeably smaller than his opponent, but he seemed to have almost equal strength to his enemy. Willard was also quite unnerved by having to fight something that totally threw off his depth perception. It was hard sometimes to see what was a fist when it was all just black emptiness. It was not long before Willard succumbed to the numerous blows and sank to the ground in what looked like blissful numbness.

In not a little while I found myself on my feet, with the Shadowman, holding Candice in his arms, ordering in no uncertain terms,

“Follow me!”

“What about them?” I pointed with one hand, the other cradling my arm and jaw at intervals.

“We don’t need Willard,” he declared, “we need Sarah Castle.”

“But she’s right over…” I looked, but she was gone.

“She got away during the fight with Willard,” the Shadowman told me. “The police will have no reason to arrest Willard, since he is in such condition and they have no idea what has transpired here. I had hoped to force a confession out of Sarah Castle, especially considering you as a witness could testify against her.”

“My testimony wouldn’t be enough,” I answered smartly.

“No, but it would have scared her perhaps into admitting to her crimes in order to lessen her sentence. Now that she has gotten away we have no leverage on her except for your testimony, and Candice’s, and hers might be thrown out of court for bias.”

“I still want to know who you are,” I ventured again. I felt it my duty to ask at least once every time we met.

“There is more danger now, however. Come on.”

We all piled into my car, with an unconscious Candice in the backseat.

“Where am I driving?”

“You are going home, Shade.”

“Okay…”

“Ohhhhh….” a moan drifted up from the back, and Candice roused herself slowly. When she saw the empty nothing sitting beside me up front she was quite awake.

“Who are you, and where are you taking me?” she demanded, obviously terrified.

“It’s alright,” I said, and the Shadowman said it at exactly the same time. So I shut up. He didn’t. “You are safe now, Candice. I am merely a shadow that follows evildoers. You may think of me as a revenger, as an avatar of the consequences of evildoing. I have been tracking the injustice in your family, suspecting your sister Sarah of some considerable lawbreaking. Your murder has also been a possibility in my mind, and when I discovered your email quest I feared it was a trap.”

“It seemed so real,” Candice shook her head. “I can’t believe Sarah hates me so much.”

“It is not all hate, but partly expedience,” he went on. “While it satisfies her revenge upon you, it also, and more importantly, secures her possession of your family’s fortune.”

“How did you know about the fake email?” she asked.

“People hide their secrets in the Shades,” the Shadowman answered with a response almost more cryptic than I could handle at that point, “I am a Shade, and I receive all the secrets that men would hide from the light. You, Candice, owe your life as a debt, as I do, and as all men and women do.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Candice exclaimed.

“Obey my instructions when they come to you. They will not be too difficult for you.”

“But where are you taking me?”

“You will stay with Shade here…”

I nearly swerved off the road, and Candice expressed her concern in like manner.

“What? You can’t be serious?”

“It is too dangerous for you to return home, so you must be missing until this business of your sister is finished. And Shade, keep your attention on your driving, you almost hit that fire hydrant. Your house is a very safe place for Miss Castle. I will leave it to your nephew to chaperone you.”

“Look, I don’t need a chaperone,” I fumed, “and you can’t just tell me some woman is coming to live with me for… almost indefinitely!”

“Do you wish harm to come to her?”

“Why don’t you keep her safe at your house?” I continued.

“I am,” he said cryptically, “your house is mine, is it not?”

“You know, if you say ‘debt’ one more time, I’m going to hit you in the teeth…”

“Shade, you are a good man who will do the right thing. Again you have done very well. Keep Miss Castle safe until we can determine what to do about Sarah and her thugs. I will be close by, but I must continue to search for a weakness in Sarah’s defenses. There are other injustices, too, which require my attention, so be patient.”

“I’ll have to call a friend to have some things brought over from my house…” she mentioned.

“NO!” the Shade fired off. “Do not let anyone transit between your house and Shay’s. Your Sister will be going through great pains trying to find you and will doubtless watch your house. You will need new items.”

“But I don’t have any money on me,” she declared, “I left my purse in my car.”

“It is just as well, since electronic purchases with your cards could be traced. I will ensure that your car returns to your house, so there will be no police investigation until and if we decide it is beneficial to us. Shay will take care of everything for you.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” I complained.

The Shadowman laughed loudly, then said,

“It would seem you know me too, Shay.”

I rolled my eyes at his constant riddles, but when I looked over he was gone!

“What? Where’d he go?”

“What?” Candice stared in disbelief as well, apparently having been looking out a window at the time. I was going about fifty when he disappeared, and the door had not opened or closed.

After I pulled up in my driveway five minutes later, I got out and checked my watch. It was two in the morning. My rear door opened and Candice got out. We stared at each other and I felt like she and I were sharing a very bizarre dream. One thing was certain: things were about to change around the McKee household.