Shadow Play

20

A shiver coursed through my body when I thought about how much worse the night could have been. Ashley was going to be okay, but we both could have been killed. Of course, you could get mugged any day of the week in New York—it wasn’t like other cities were completely safe. But this was a whole different level of danger. I thought about Ashley’s suggestion that I find work somewhere else and it made my chest ache and my head hurt. My internal monologue sounded schizophrenic as I argued the merits of staying and leaving. Any sane, rational person would have run for the hills by now— what was wrong with me? How could I leave a job that I had waited so long for? Why was I fighting with myself over a decision that should be a nobrainer? Why did I feel like I was somehow involved in these strange events? What if this happened again but next time I wasn’t so lucky? I had never wished for a nightmare, but if it meant last night would have never happened and I could have woken to find Ashley safely asleep, I would have gladly endured every minute of the bad dream. Lying back in the bed, I stared at the cracked ceiling as I ran through the possible explanations for all my questions. My hand absently went to my necklace and I held the stone that had basically been a part of me as long as I could remember. My mom had always been more about the earth and transcendence than personal possessions like jewelry. Because of that, I had assumed that growing up under her influence was why I had never wanted to change out the necklace with something new and shiny. Thinking back on my conversation with Ashley, I couldn't help but wonder if my attachment to the necklace had been more abnormal than I wanted to admit. I went to the cheap mirror hung on the back side of the bedroom door and studied the necklace intently. Inch by inch, my arms lifted up toward the back of my neck and my skin broke out in goose bumps, although the room was plenty warm. My stomach roiled as my fingers went gently to the clasp and stopped. I stood there, hands behind my neck, and held my own eyes as the nauseating reality hit me—I couldn't make myself take it off. My fingers worked, in theory, but I couldn't seem to carry out the command. Like the signal was being sent from my brain, but there was interference in the synapses on the way to my fingers, and the message was lost. I told myself over and over, chanting in my head, take off the necklace, you can do it, just open the clasp. But my body stood still, not a muscle moved. Finally, on a defeated sigh, I let my arms fall to my sides. As much as I wanted to believe that this was all some kind of mix up and there was some other girl out there deep in some serious s**t, I was certain that there was something special about my necklace and the poor girl mixed up in some serious s**t, was probably me. I stepped closer to the mirror, just inches away and turned my body to the side in an attempt to see the back of my neck. Worse than I had suspected, there wasn't a single mark from the draug’s brutal yank on the necklace—not a cut, not any scabbing, not even a bruise or a welt. The necklace was obviously what the creature had been after and I was willing to bet that it was also the reason I was seeing these creatures. I could hear myself telling Ashley that I had a magic necklace and even to my own ears it sounded absurd. But what other explanation was there? When I started seeing magical creatures, a magic necklace wasn't that much of a stretch. Once I came to that conclusion, I had to wonder what other powers the necklace might possess and how I had obtained it. How had the draug known I had the necklace and would there be others hunting me down? I was going to have to give my mom a call and see what I could learn about the necklace I had acquired as a child. I couldn't recall ever hearing where or when I had gotten the jewelry, it had always just been there—when I slept, when I swam, on my first date, and even at prom. Like a friendship bracelet that you tie on and don't remove until it falls off with wear. The piece becomes a part of you, except this was not a simple friendship bracelet, and it was evidently not going to come off anytime soon. Startling me out of my thoughts, my phone rang, and I frantically tried to pinpoint its location in the small, disorderly room. After three rings, I found my clutch purse from the night before and extracted the buzzing phone. “Hello?” My voice was breathless from worry that it was the hospital calling with news about Ashley. “Is this Rebecca Peterson?” asked a man in a firm but kind voice. “Yes,” I offered hesitantly, recent events spiking my suspicions. “This is Officer Quinn of the PSNI. I'd like to get your statement about the attempted robbery last night, would you be able to stop by the station this morning?” I breathed out a sigh of relief that it was just the police following up on the attack. “Absolutely, I can be there within the hour, if that works,” I offered, hoping my ready compliance would start me off in his good graces. After he gave me the station address and we ended the call, I took a quick shower to wash away the grime from the night before. I had been too worn down to shower when I got home and was glad to finally be cleansed from the contact I had with the creature. Wanting to be comfortable, I put on some stretchy skinny jeans with flat booties and a large comfy sweater. My hair was still wet, and I didn't feel like taking the time to dry the mass of waves, so I pulled it up in a messy bun on the top of my head. With a couple swipes of mascara and some neutral lipstick, more to moisturize than for style, I was ready to head to the station. I had wanted to go straight by the hospital first thing, but I knew that I needed to get my visit with Officer Quinn over with before I was free to visit Ashley. The Musgrave Police Station was built in part with the old red brick that was so prevalent in Belfast, but a large part of the building had been resurfaced with smooth grey stones. Between the gated entry and the large expanse of stone with a handful of small windows, the building had the appearance of a fancy prison. The interior was also somewhat recently updated but still had a sterile feel with white walls and standard florescent fixtures. I informed the reception clerk of my appointment to meet with Officer Quinn and was instructed to sit for a moment on the well-worn wood bench near the front door until he was available. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long until a man in his late thirties to early forties with hair so red it was basically orange approached and introduced himself as Quinn. The main floor consisted mostly of desks arranged in a large open space with just a few private offices on the perimeter. Quinn must not have been of sufficient rank to earn one of the enclosed offices, which meant he led me to a chair in the sea of desks and dug around for his paperwork on a haphazard desktop littered with papers.