Chapter 33 Shadow Man
Shadow Man
Something woke me. The room was ice cold. I shivered and dragged my eyes open. It was pitch dark.
I was not alone.
Fear crept in, like it always did when the world was black. I lay still, staring into the dark, and listened. Nothing. It was nothing.
I knew why I was scared. I could process it over and over in the broad light of day.
I’d promised myself I’d get perspective, and not spend another second staring into the black, trembling with fear, waiting for something to come.
But when the darkness descended, all logical thought was displaced, drowned by some subconsciously instinctive, primitive behavior I’d never entirely understood.
Something moved. Just a flicker, little more than the breath of a shadow from the corner of the room.
I bolted upright, then froze, peering into the dark.
Desperately trying to bring vision to my eyes.
All my senses sprang to life, my heart raced in my chest, hairs became prickles.
From the layers of dark, I could just make out the window frame and the curtains hanging open.
I tried to reason with myself that I was being silly, and the story Georgie told me had just unsettled me.
I scanned the darkness, eyes straining, ears pricked for sound. I could see nothing, hear nothing but the tunes of crickets outside and the sound of my own rapid breaths swallowing the room. Nothing moved. Nothing to worry about, the conscious part of my brain told me.
And then I saw him, standing by the window, as dark as a moonless night.
Shadow Man—evil formed in the shape of a man.
Full-blown panic consumed me. For what felt like an eternity, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think; paralyzing fear disabled my limbs and shut down my brain.
I was a fly in a web, waiting for slaughter.
He would come, and when he did, claws would rip into my flesh.
I felt the blood drain from my face and I moaned, a soft, pitiful sound.
Run. Run!
I screamed.
I lurched awake, the scream still ringing in the room and my heart pounding in my chest. I stared, goggle-eyed and bewildered, at the space only moments ago I was sure he’d been.
I struggled to suck in air, willing the misty fog of the nightmare away.
It was just a dream, just a dream, I repeated to myself.
With trembling fingers, I reached for the light that sat on the bedside table.
I clicked it on as the door swung open and Ethan rushed in.
“Amy, are you alright?” He stood by the bed wearing only black cotton boxers. His chest was broad and tanned, and sharp muscle carved his pecs and down his stomach, a V ran from inside his hips as if it was carved for eyes and fingers to follow.
I yanked my gaze up, absolutely taking no notice of the rather impressive bulge in his boxers. “It was just a stupid dream.”
“You’re as white as a ghost.” Ethan sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a thumb across my face, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
Embarrassed, I groaned and rubbed my hands over my tear-damp face as my whole body shook.
“Go back to bed—I’m fine, Ethan. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s alright. I’m awake now. What was the dream about?” he asked softly.
I couldn’t tell him about the man who had plagued my nightmares.
“I can’t remember.”
My nightgown was damp with sweat, and I was wide awake. There would be no more sleep for me tonight, so I climbed out of bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, standing up.
“Getting up—I’m not tired. You go back to bed.” I didn’t want to admit it, but the truth was I didn’t want to turn off the lights. I was too scared of what the darkness might bring.
I grabbed a long T-shirt out of the drawer and moved into the bathroom.
I peeled off the wet gown, discarding it on the floor, and slipped on the shirt.
Then I grabbed a robe off a hook on the door and put it on overtop, tying the belt around my waist as I walked out.
Ethan waited for me, as if he sensed I didn’t want to be left alone, and I followed him to the door.
Shock widened my eyes, and my breath jammed in my throat.
His back had a crisscross of long, thin scars running over it, some deeper than others.
“Ethan, your back. What happened?” I whispered.
He froze briefly. “Let’s just say my father wouldn’t win any parent of the year awards.” His voice rang with bitterness.
The pain he must have endured wrenched my heart. “I’m so sorry.” My fingers reached out instinctively, feathering the outline of the scars. He sucked in an audible breath and shivered all over.
“Amy, don’t do that to me.” He spoke so sharply, I jumped and snatched my hand away.
Oh god.
He thought I was trying to seduce him? Did he think that because I’d seen his near-naked body I couldn’t keep my hands off him? Admittedly it was a stunning body. But I’d meant nothing by it. Nothing sexual, at least.
My face was on fire during a long pause where neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, I mumbled, “Sorry.”
Needing to escape the awkwardness, I shouldered past him into the hallway, which was a gullet of darkness.
I couldn’t see the light switch, so I halted.
My mind imagined shadow man in the hallway, hidden in the deepest of shadows, lurking, hungry.
Stop it. It was a dream; there wasn’t going to be a creature lurking in the hallway.
“I got it,” Ethan said, his shadowy outline moving swiftly to flick on the lights. He turned to me with a faint smile. “You can breathe now.”
I sucked in a breath and gave a shaky, “Thanks” on the exhale.
The fire wasn’t completely out, I popped a few pieces of wood on, and the flames sprung to life.
Needing a comfort drink, I went to the kitchen and made a hot chocolate. When I got back to the sitting room, Ethan sat fully dressed on the couch, whiskey in hand, staring at the flames.
I slid down beside him, my gaze following the direction of his, and the silence was awkward. I searched for something to say to break the tension.
“Do I need to find your father and take him out for you?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake.
“Little hard to do given he’s dead already.”
I was mortified I had made such a stupid comment. “Oh, Ethan . . . I’m so sorry. I . . .”
“Don’t be, I’m not. The guy was an ass.” He took a sip of whiskey.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
I’d put my foot in it, so I searched for something to say to make it better, to make him feel better. “Your mother, is she . . .” I trailed off, unsure of what I was going to ask—nice or alive or?
“Dead.”
“Oh . . . shit. I’m sorry, I . . .” I was wishing I hadn’t said a thing.
I placed my drink on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. He sat his drink down, too, leaning back beside me and wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s alright,” he said quietly, “I made my peace with not having the best parents a long time ago.”
I peered up at him. “It must have been hard to let the pain go.”
“It was when I was younger, but it made me stronger in the end. If you hold onto anger and bitterness and hate the only person that suffers, is you. You can get mad, you can get even, or you can leave it behind. I let that particular hurt go, and I chose to move forward without the weight of their failures on my shoulders.”
“That’s deep for someone like you,” I teased lightly.
He smiled, not in the least offended. “I like going deep.”
I huffed a laugh and sank back against the couch. “You have a dirty mind.”
“Says the girl who on our first meeting told me she loved happy endings.”
We both laughed. My nightmare had faded like a distant memory, and I began to feel tired.
My head rested on his chest, and his hand trailed softly against my hair.
Tom would hold me like this after my nightmares.
I never imagined a time he wouldn’t be there to do it, and I missed him so much it hurt.
But the warmth of Ethan’s chest on my cheek, and the feel of his arm around my back, wasn’t awkward, it was almost like it was second nature, as if we had been sat this way a hundred times before.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep against him.
When I woke, it was daylight. I was lying on the couch with a comforter over the top of me. Ethan must’ve covered me up.
The sweet smell of pancakes cooking filled my nostrils as scraping noises came from the kitchen. I swung my legs over the side of the couch and sat up, running my hand roughly through my messy hair, then stretched both arms up high and yawned so wide my jaw cracked.
“Morning, you’re finally awake.” Ethan held out a plate with two pancakes drizzled in maple syrup on it.
I took the plate from him. “Morning. Wow, Ethan. Careful, you may just make someone a good husband one day,” I teased.
“No one gets the keys to this heart.” He sat down and hooked an ankle casually over his thigh. “And besides, that’s a lot of orgasms the ladies of Church Heights would miss out on.”
I grinned, feeling a warm rush in my chest. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I already ate.”
I yawned again, rubbing my tired eyes with my knuckles. “What time is it?
He glanced at his wristwatch. “A bit before nine.”
“Shit, I have to run. I’m late for work.”
I put the plate down and sprang to my feet, throwing a pancake into my mouth and rushing upstairs. I showered at lightning speed, brushed my teeth, and ran down the stairs, the burn on my leg protesting.
Ethan held out another pancake as I ran past.
“Thanks!” I yelled, taking a big bite as I hurried to the car.
“Don’t speed, Amy,” Ethan sang out.
My mouth was full, so I couldn’t answer. I gave him a salute, jumped in, and drove off.