Kevin Guilfoile - Cast Of Shadows

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“I’ve called the police!” Sally shouted from the stairs.

A pause. “I just want to talk!” Coyne said through the door.

“I know who you are!”

Another pause. “I know. That’s why we need to talk. Call the police back.”

“And tell them what?”

“That you made a mistake.”

“You can’t cancel a nine-one-one call,” she said. “I already gave them your name.” That was a lie but she wondered why she hadn’t.

“You’re a reporter. For the Tribune. ”

“You’re a murderer. Nice to meet you, asshole.”

A long silence. She thought he might have left. Or gone around back. “How did the boy know my name?” he said finally.

Sally said, “That’s right. He does know who you are. And he knows you’re here. We’re sitting together at Shadow Stroger Hospital right now. I’ve been telling him everything that’s happening.”

The doorknob shook. “Please, if we could just talk for a few minutes.”

“Not a chance. I saw what you did to that girl in the garage.”

“But…” he said. “That was just a game. Sally. Miss Barwick. I was playing. We all were.”

She took another step toward the door. It was thick and heavy. Mahogany or something. It was the first thing she’d loved about this house and she was never more thankful for it than now. She wondered if he had the balls or the sense of drama to crash through a window. They were five feet above the ground outside and he’d have a tough time climbing through. She’d get a few swings at his hands with the bat before he hoisted himself up, anyway. “That’s sick,” she said. “And I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe me?” Coyne seemed puzzled. “Hell, you saw…” He was recalling something. “You’re a TTL, aren’t you? I checked it out. You write for both Tribune s. Shadow and real.”

Checked it out? How did he do that so fast? In the middle of the night?

“I know it must have been scary for you. In the garage. I didn’t know. If I’d known you were a True-to-Lifer I wouldn’t have come on so strong.”

Come on so strong? Jesus.

“Why did you do it?”

“Kill the blonde?”

Incredible. “Yes, kill the blonde.”

Pause. “I don’t know… It’s a game. Look, I want to talk to you because, well, maybe we can work something out. I’m an attorney.”

“So?”

“So, you’re writing an article, aren’t you? For the Shadow Tribune or the real one, or both? Whatever it is you’re going to write about me, there would be certain things that would be, obviously, embarrassing if they were to get out.”

No kidding. “How many other girls have you killed?”

He sighed. It was an odd and frightening sound, Sally thought. The discontented sigh of a serial killer. “This isn’t an interview, Miss Barwick. Not unless you can guarantee my name will stay out of the paper with regard to tonight’s incident.”

Barwick placed her hands and her right ear against the door. Where were the cops? “I can’t guarantee anything, Mr. Coyne.”

“You have to let me give my side of the story, then, at least,” Coyne said. He was just beyond the door, his head only inches away from hers.

Sally thought about his offer. An interview. An interview with the Wicker Man. To expose him. Capture him. When the police arrive, the opportunity will have vanished. She checked the chain to make sure it was secure. She put her hand on the knob. This is what it means to take risks for your career, she thought. She turned and pulled the door open until the six-inch chain stopped it. Coyne leaned from the other side, expecting to be let in the house. He wrapped his fingers around the door and pulled his face into the opening between the door and the molding. “Miss Barwick?” he said.

Face-to-face at last, she looked him in the eyes.

And as the short, loud braaaap and blue-and-red lights of a police car pulled to the curb, she got the answer she’d been pursuing for nearly thirteen years.

With no word from Sally after five minutes, Justin called the police from his cell phone. The emergency dispatcher told him a car was on its way to her address. Justin ran a search on his computer for Sally’s number and dialed. No answer. He left a breathless message.

After half an hour with no sign that Sally had returned to the game, Justin discharged her from Shadow Stroger Hospital and drove her back to her Shadow condo. Periodically he tried to start a discussion just to see if he could see some sign of the real Sally. Although her avatar hadn’t gone entirely lethargic from her absence, she showed no signs of warmth toward him, either. Shadow Sally thanked Justin politely and perfunctorily and let herself in with her key.

Speeding through wide gaps between early-morning reverse commuters, Justin got his avatar home before dawn. He gave his Shadow mother a ridiculous story about going for an early-morning jog, then shut down the game and hopped into his real bed. It was almost time to get dressed for school. He removed his sweatshirt and his pants and pushed them down to the foot of the bed with his feet.

He heard the phone peal down the hall. His mother hushed it on the fourth ring and a moment later rapped on his door.

“Justin?” Martha Finn called.

“Yuh?” he said with manufactured grogginess.

“It’s for you. It’s a girl.”

Justin wondered if Sally had the guts to call here. If her name would show up on caller ID. If his mother would recognize her voice all these years later. He rolled out of bed and unlocked the door and opened it just enough to slip his hand through the crack. He gripped the phone and pulled it back inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Sally,” he whispered, even though his mother might have the extension to her ear.

Silence.

“Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Coyne?”

Nothing.

It occurred to Justin that it might not be Sally on the other end. It might be Coyne. But how would he know who Justin was? Or where to find his number? Sally and Justin had never spoken outside Shadow World, not since he was a kid anyway.

“Sally, are you all right?” he asked again.

“I’m fine,” Sally said finally. “The police came. He’s gone.”

“Thank God.”

Neither one of them said anything more for at least a minute. Justin couldn’t explain the awkwardness. Despite their close friendship in Shadow World, it was almost as if they were strangers in real life.

“Anyway,” Sally said.

“Anyway,” Justin said. “I’ll meet you in the game later. After school. We’ll talk then. You’ll tell me everything.”

“All right. Good,” Sally said, and then, before she hung up, “Wait a minute, Justin…”

“What?”

Another long silence. A sigh over the phone. “Nothing. No. I mean…” It sounded to Justin like she was crying. She said, “Happy Birthday.”

Justin at Sixteen

These stones had been brought to America on ships from Egypt, and the tomb reconstructed here inside the Field Museum years and years ago, Davis noticed, when you could still pull a stunt like that. The exhibit twisted along narrow hallways and opened into small chambers where ancient artifacts were displayed alongside reproductions and bits of history unfolded on metal plaques. Twenty-three actual mummies were the main attraction, though, a graphic demonstration that no resting place is ever final.

Sally Barwick had asked to meet him here, in a small, dark room with two old urns and some re-created hieroglyphs. She was comfortable here. It was a place in the real world she could go when she couldn’t escape to the game. And it was important this conversation be private.