Jay Nadal - In Her Shadow

Copyright 2019 by Papyrus Publishing.

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For Charlotte.

Always.

Adam

For my children,

Roma and Hana.

Jay

A crowd of locals gather in small huddles along the sidewalk, curiosity gnawing away at them like a hungry sewer rat. Some stare in silence, watching the charade playing out in front of them. Intrigued gossip fills the night air. Its your average suburban street, a good neighborhooda great neighborhood some might saya safe place, or so they all think. The smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air. It permeates every little thing, like its terrified to be blown away in the breeze. Every hair, every cotton fiber, even skin, carries its odor long after the cigarettes are extinguished.

The blinding red-and-blue flashes of police lights puncture the darkness and light up the night sky. Theyre little more than smudgy illuminations as Erin Meyer is led from the house by two burly officers, neither willing to cut her some slack. They grip her arms a little too tightly, her fingers tingling as numbness sets in. Other officers mingle close by and call in status reports on their radios, showing not the slightest interest that shes even there.

I didnt do it, you have to believe me, she mumbles, for all the good itll do. Her voice rises with each word that escapes her lips. Adrenaline floods her system. It pumps and beats like its trying to escape. She thinks her heart will explode; her eyes are wide with fear. Her body wants to run fast for the safety of the hills.

Erin knows her words are worthless, but she tries them anyway. Theres nothing more she can dothe man she loves had been attacked right in front of her, and the woman whos done it is where? In another police car? So why is she being arrested too? The fearful thoughts loop around in her mind until theres no room for anything else. The loop plays like this: If I tell the cop about what happened, then Ill get in trouble. If I dont tell the truth, it might come out anyway. Then I will be caught in a cover-up. The thought loop includes plenty of anger at herself.

Erin scans the growing audience that fills the street, her eyes flicking from one woman to the next, until she finally spots her.

It was her, she tries, but is silenced by the rush of reporters who swarm around her, screaming at her with microphones extended, hungry for information on tonights major attraction that will guarantee them airtime: the assault on Jack Brooker.

More officers make way for her, yelling at the top of their lungs, while the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Erin ducks her head in shame as shes half walked, half carried to the police cruiser parked on the opposite side of the street. She can feel the cage closing in, the sealing off of any viable exit. If every door is closed, every window concealed, then she cannot complete her purpose. The fear is a weight on her bony ribs, a dull ache in the pits of her eyes, and an unwillingness for her mouth to lift past neutral and scream.

How many of these people thought she was guilty? How many of them knew the other woman and the lengths shed gone to in order to make this happen? Erins body tenses up as she pictures her future. Its a bleak vision of loneliness, where Jack doesnt survive the attack and everybody blames her. Its a future she doesnt want to accept. This loneliness is a vice on her heart, squeezing with just enough pressure to be a constant pain. Every day, just a little bit more of her dies, taking what was once her inner light and replacing it with a chilling darkness that overshadows and chills each moment. Its the fuel of her nightmares, the reason she struggles to breathe when a new shock lands at her door. Where is the limit? When comes the point at which the dogs are called off and the help begins? Because she needs to know; she really needs to know.

It wasnt me, she tries again, but her voice is lost in the roar of interested civilians who clog up the street like a horde of scavengers, each one scrambling over the other in a desperate fight for details. But they wont get them. Not tonight.

Because Erin still needs to tell her story.

How will that go? she wonders. Will they believe me? It doesnt seem like they will.

Ever since theyd arrived at the scenerushing straight to the backyard as though they already knew what was going downtheyd treated her like the assailant. Erin had that woman pinned down, true, but she didnt have a choice. Kris DeCarles was an aggressive woman at the best of times, but after she struck Erins boyfriend with a vicious blow, she needed to be restrained. So what if the police blame herthey dont know the story.

Yet.

She needs to protect Jack; she needs to protect them both from her. Jack cant speakhes hurt really bad, blood everywhere. Yes, they found her with blood on her hands, Jacks blood, but she was saving Jack. She wants him to live; she wants their life back.

They cross the street and approach the car. An officer releases his grip to reach for the door, and Erin uses the chance to turn slightly, catching a brief glimpse of the ambulance. The back doors are being shut, but she catches a fleeting glance of Jacks face illuminated by the police lights. Hes unconsciouspeaceful, like he is when he sleepsand a paramedic dabs a cloud of cotton against the red river streaming down his temple.

A knot twists inside Erins stomach. Every time she opens her mouth, she gets angrier. She has never felt so much rage as when pushed into passivity against her will. Thats what they expect, though. Show her anger, and theyll drug her into compliance. But its not anger. They dont need to grip her so tightly. She cant breathe. Everything is spinning and it feels as if the ground is melting under her feet. She collapses onto her hands and knees, and the sidewalk sends shards of pain through her knees as if shes fallen on broken glass. Her breathing is shallow and quick. Theres no compassion or concernthe officers drag her to her feet, muttering something about her playing games.

Black fills the edges of her vision, and the only thing she can hear is her own heartbeat. Her breaths come in ragged, shallow gasps. Seconds pass as she stands, trying to regain her balance; then, she hears voices. People swarming all over her, smothering her in a tidal wave of bright lights, microphones, and cameras.

And all the while, all she can think of is Jack. She needs to be with him, by his side, making sure hes all right. It pains her to think of him all alone, in pain, confused and scared. It shouldnt be like this. Its wrong. Theyre wrong.

She did this to him, not me, and if he doesnt come through okay, I hope she rots in Hell. Fuck it, I hope she rots anyway.

Kris had been nothing but trouble since day one. Erin had seen her on her radar the very first time theyd met, and it had only gone downhill since, each questionable event snowballing, picking up momentum until it became an enormous wrecking ball ready to destroy everything in its path. And where did it crash? Right through their front door, thats where.