Chasing Shadows (13 page)

“That’s as it should be, son.” I say. “Oh yeah,
I need you to stop by my house anyway so I can change clothes, and
I forgot you’re shirt and socks, they’re on my counter. I washed
them and everything.” He smiles but he still looks nervous. “Hey.”
I say to reassure him. “We’re making progress here. Everything will
be alright.” I crack the window and light up a Camel.

“Yeah I know.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.
He sounds like he’s silently re-evaluating whatever series of life
choices he’s made that led him into this situation.

***

I'm sitting in a tall leather office chair on
casters, angled so I can see over Schuyler's shoulder. Not that I
need much of an angle. The monitor is twenty-seven inch plasma. I
tap my fingers on the arm rest and get lost for a moment in the
shine of his desk's high gloss, cherry finish. We're running a
background check on Luis Finch, the kind you pay forty dollars for.
I almost never go so far as to shell out actual cash for these
things. You can get a person's last known address and telephone
number for free, but Schuyler thought it'd be worth the cash to get
a credit report and criminal history. Our earlier Google search
turned up Luis's Facebook and Myspace, littered with angry love
poetry as promised. Also his yahoo personal's file and a couple of
references to him on other people's Facebooks, Myspaces etc.
Interesting, anecdotal, but not as neat and clean as the credit
report.

Together we've discovered that Luis loves
photography, has four credit cards, three of which are over drawn,
and lives on Dover Street. His work history is here too. It looks
like he's been at 7-Eleven for about a year and a half, pretty good
shelf life for a job like that. Additionally, it looks like he's
been stalking Madeline for about ten months. Oh and he's composed a
couple of electronica songs called
Mad Glad
and
Going Mads
, dork. I love the
internet.

Next we tackle Madeline herself. There much
less stuff here, but it’s more interesting. “Look at this.”
Schuyler says opening up a link to the Tribune’s
archives.

“Mads got busted.” I say.

“Yeah, in June.” He nods. At this point we’re
both speed reading the article to find the next juicy bit first, so
we can have the pleasure of announcing it to each other. “Kicked
her out of the law program.” He says gravely.

“Put her on probation, more likely, they can’t
kick her out for something like that can they?” I feel a little
outrage in her behalf.

“I guess, ethics violation.”

“But she hadn’t taken the bar or anything. I’m
sure that’s not legal.” I say. “Not if she had good
grades.”

Schuyler shrugs. The article is frustratingly
short. It tells what happened in the vaguest possible terms.
There’s no mention of who she was busted with, if or when it goes
to trail, even what she was charged with. It says, police bust
suspected prostitution ring involving co-eds from Loyola and other
universities. As I’m reading it I’m sort of surprised her name got
mentioned at all. No one else’s did. It looks like a smear the more
I think about it.

“Are there any more articles?" I ask
impatiently. “What happened? Did it go to court? Was she sentenced?
Any one else get named?”

“I’m looking.” Schuyler waves me off. “Not
finding anything though.”

“Makes you think it didn’t stick.”

“Probably fucking someone important.” He sneers
at the screen. I sense he’s got some guilt issues with sex and I
wisely elect not to bring it up.

“Did you see her parents?” I ask. “They looked
mortified. I imagine just one little article like this was enough
to rock their world.”

Schuyler nods. “They looked pretty
conservative.”

“You can’t tell by looks.”

He scoffs. “Don’t I know it.”

It’s like he’s begging me to bring it up isn’t
it? “Tell me.”

His eyes dart from the screen to me. “Tell you
what?”

I widen my eyes. “You’re issues with sex. What
else?”

He blinks like he’s clearing his vision.
“Why?”

“Huh.” I pause trying and failing to read his
face. “It seemed like you wanted me to ask, so I did. I’ve been
wrong before, guess I’m wrong now. Don’t tell me shit if you don’t
want to.”

Schuyler leans back in his chair and stares at
the screen. “What you said earlier about that girl knowing who I
am. I’ve been thinking, and I’m sure she knows me from my dad or my
brother. It’s bothering me. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry. “ I say. “Want to talk about
it?”

He turns his chair to face me. “I... They...”
He sighs. “What can I say? My dad’s a womanizer, at least in my
opinion. And my brother, my twin by the way, Simon, tries to
impress him. Not that I can judge them. I mean, I’m the crazy one.
They’re both fine, and on top of that my dad pays for everything
here, so I can’t say anything about the way he lives. Hearing that
the girl knows them makes me automatically think one of them
murdered your friend.” He laughs bitterly. “That’s just how my
brain is though. Neither of them fits the physical description you
gave of the killer, so I keep trying to choke back my anxiety over
it... that’s all.” He smiles a wry smile. “Sorry I’m so
weird.”

“Nonsense.” I say. “Perfectly reasonable. What
about your mom?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know her. She left us when I
was little. I remember she was pretty, but everybody says that
don’t they? The absent mother was
always
pretty.”

“That’s just how kids see their parents,
wonderful.” I sigh. “Well, this is depressing.”

He nods. “Kind of yeah.”

“So.” I say. “Change of topic, what’re you
going to be when you grow up?”

He laughs. “I thought I’d try out trust fund
baby. I think I’m qualified.”

“Okay so what else?”

“I never finished school, went crazy too soon.
If I had, I’d maybe have a physics degree and work with my brother
in R and D for dad’s company.”

“Which is?” I prompt.

“Milltech.”

This is like pulling teeth. “And what do they
do?”

“Better mouse trap, that sort of thing.” He
looks over and fiddles with the keyboard one handed, closing out
our searches and leaving just the eerie, lightning desktop
picture.

“So you’re good at physics?”

“Genius actually.” He grins. “Simon’s not
nearly as smart, but he’s sane, and he’s not an idiot, so dad’s
grooming him for corporate bureaucracy.”

“Okay.” I say. “What do you do then, besides
live in a pretty apartment and grocery shop at three AM... and
chase down shadows with me?”

He smiles. “I paint.”

Uh oh. I brace myself. This could suck. "Show
me?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No.”

I balk, but secretly I’m relieved. “No?” I mean
what if he’s not any good? Or he could be great, but not to my
tastes. He’d see it on my face and he’d never like me
again.

“No.” He affirms. “You and everyone else can
see them when I die.”

“Oh, hey, that’s never for me because I get to
die first.”

“Bullshit.” He kicks my foot lightly. “You’ll
live to one hundred and ten. Lots of ornery, promiscuous smokers
live to one hundred and ten.”

I laugh. “It’s getting late.”

“You mean early.” He says.

“See, I knew it. There had to be something
wrong with you. You’re a day shifter at heart.”

“I’m an every shifter.” He says.
“Insomnia.”

“I’m sure that’s not good for you.”

“Whatever.” He stands up and reaches out a hand
to pull me to my feet. I except, but I guess he over estimates my
weight, because I end up almost knocking him over. We grab each
other for balance and fall painfully against the desk. He flushes
red.

I try to smooth it out by continuing the
conversation. “Whatever back.” I say. “Lack of sleep can be very
hard on your body.” Hmm, I think I said that wrong. I step away
from him, but Schuyler’s hand lingers on my lower back. I’m all
warm from it. It’s so nice. I sigh. “Yeah I need to pick up some
groceries so I should go now.”

“Yeah.” he says. His voice is all horse with
some kind of emotion that I don’t try to interpret.

We’re quiet as he walks me through the
cavernous living room and past the big, gleaming kitchen to the
nine foot, double, oak front doors. “See you soon?” I
say.

He nods, his hand resting on my shoulder. He’s
always touching me this guy. “I’ll call you.” He says opening the
door.

Before he can stop me, I wrap my arms tight
around his waist in a huge hug. I can’t say why, just that I want
to. He responds but gingerly, like he’s afraid to break me. Oh
well. I need a cigarette.

Chapter Six

It's finally dark in here and now I have to get
up. Damn it. I haven't slept more than forty five minutes at a
stretch all day, fucking sunshine. At least my stupid neighbor was
at work. There's no telling how exhausted I'd be if I'd had to
listen to his stereo all day. He's home now though, turd burglar.
Thud, ch, thud, ch, thud, ch. Thing with music through a wall is
it’s all basically electronica when you can’t hear the treble. Who
knows? Maybe his taste is okay. I can’t tell. At least it’s not a
video game. Those sound tracks drive me nuts.

I’m up so early I have time for coffee. I
stumble through the process of starting it, and collapse onto my
couch to stare uselessly at the walls 'til its ready. I’m just
starting to feel human when the phone vibrates. I check the number.
Its Melody. Did I miss an appointment? Probably. I steal myself for
apology making and answer the phone.

“Hi Melody.”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” She chortles happily.
“Glad I caught you.”

“How are you?” I ask.

“Fine, fine. Listen, we need to meet at my
office when you can.”

“Oh yeah?" I know what’s coming.

“Mm Hmm. I found a new case for you to look
at.” I should explain here that curing my amnesia is Melody’s pet
project. She combs through missing person’s cases from all over the
country looking for ones that could be me. Then she calls me up and
makes me drag my happy ass down to her office to see if I remember
any of the people in the files. It’s an exercise in false hope. She
used to call the families sometimes and ask to run DNA tests or set
up meetings. After my sixth opportunity to be the disappointment of
a lifetime, I kindly requested that she cease and desist on the
grounds that it’s humiliating and cruel.

“Okay.” I say without enthusiasm. Thump, ch,
thump, ch.

“The girl’s from Florida. She went missing on
spring break the year you turned up. The picture’s fuzzy but it
could be you.”

“Okay.” I sigh. I’m curious. I always am. It
seems like such a good idea, finding my identity, but it never pans
out. “How’s next Thursday?” I always say next Thursday. It sounds
good.

Melody laughs, which she likes to do. "November
3rd, good. I’ll stay late at the office for you.”

I nod, she always does. “Thanks, six?” It’s
always six.

“Great.” She says. “So how’re you
doing?”

“Fine.” It’ not a total lie. I pour some
coffee.

“Job okay?”

“I love the job.” I say.

“Still like nights?” She asks incredulously.
Why she has to ask is beyond me, I’ve worked at Flagship for two
years. Obviously, I like nights.

“Easier on the eyes.” I answer, taking a sip
and burning my tongue. “What’s the girl’s name?’

“Oh.” She pauses. She likes to save that for
the big reveal but if I ask she’ll tell me. “Why, are you having
memories?”

Do I tell her people have been recognizing me?
No, I do not. “Just feel like knowing this time.” Thud, ch, thud,
ch.

“Oh... Cameron Murphy.” She answers.

“Huh.” I say. I move to the bathroom and stare
in the mirror. “I don’t really look like a Cameron.”

“Try Cammy or Ronnie.” Melody
offers.

“Ronnie?” I sneer at myself. “Not my favorite.
Not for me anyway. What’s the middle name?"

I can practically hear her glowing into the
phone “Morgan!” she announces victoriously. My eyebrows shoot up.
Melody has a theory that I was drawn to my chosen name because it
struck a chord deep in my subconscious. The more ardently she
believes it, the more reasonable it sounds. At least until we hang
up. “Okay.” She says brightly. “See you Thursday. Don’t
forget.”

“I’ll try not to.” I answer. “Have a good
night.”

“You too, bye.”

“Bye.” I stare at myself for a few more seconds
and head back to the couch. Thud, ch, thud, ch. I’m looking forward
to work.

***

I walk into Flagship and am accosted
immediately by Doug.

"I need to talk to you." He says all low and
serious. I feel an eyebrow twitch. He hasn't more than nodded at me
since the night I got trashed and changed clothes in front of his
band.