Christopher Golden - The Shadow Men

The wraiths seemed unconcerned at the appearance of these new things, and unsurprised. They joined in brutal battle without preamble, and the conflict seemed more violent because of its utter silence. One of Veronica’s wraiths was flipped around and crushed against the ground, rupturing the concrete paving with a loud crack! that gave the fight brief voice. And at last Jim saw the thing that had met the wraith and bettered it. It had a silvered, flickering blank face and long limbs, and its gray shape seemed to flex and shiver as though trying to retain a hold on reality, but that ambiguity detracted nothing from its strength. It stomped down on the floored wraith, driving its foot into the thing’s head and twisting, sending glittering shreds across the road. They shriveled and turned black before fading away, and the rest of the wraith melted to nothing.

The faceless man motioned to Jim to follow. Every fiber of his being urged him to grab Jennifer and flee, but while conflict raged around them, this creature seemed the safest ally they had. Still Jim paused, glancing around at the fighting, thrashing things that had come from thin air and belonged. He heard Jennifer gasp, turned around, and the faceless man was so close that Jim could have touched it. His hair stood on end, and his balls tingled. The shape raised an arm and pointed at the house of this Boston’s Oracle. And then it signaled once again that he should follow.

They hurried after the shape as it seemed to float across the street, away from the house and the human bodies lying close by. They passed other bodies that were fading away-wraiths and faceless men alike-and Jim wondered if they hurt, and if the shift from living to dead meant anything to them.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jennifer said. “What are they? What is this?”

“It all has to do with the city,” Jim said, because he thought he knew where these things came from-from Sally, this Boston’s Oracle. Maybe they were constantly on guard outside her home, but he thought not. If they were, why the dead people, the smashed windows, and the sense of something momentous having happened here? The other alternative was that Sally had left them here to wait for him. That seemed more likely, as this thing was guiding them somewhere. And the only way he could figure this out was that Trix had gotten here first.

He only hoped she was all right. And he hoped and prayed that she and Sally had found his wife and child.

The thing led them quickly away from the battle, edging into an alley between buildings, headed west. It passed over a recently tumbled wall, waiting on the other side while Jim and Jennifer climbed the precarious pile. It exuded no impatience but walked on as soon as they were ready, moving unerringly through streets and alleys, across parks, and into the heart of the ruined city. They went through the theater district and kept moving west, crossing streets where buildings had collapsed or fires were raging, passing crowds of onlookers or people trying to help, and no one saw the faceless man. Jim didn’t believe for a moment that it was invisible to all but him and Jennifer-how could it be?-but perhaps it had some way of diverting attention, or seeking paths between perception.

Every few minutes the thing held up its hand and turned around, moving past them the way they had come. It’s listening, and watching, Jim thought. And indeed the phantom seemed to stand for a while breathing in the air and scanning their surroundings. For some reason, that did not make Jim feel safe. He believed the faceless man was just as dangerous, just as inhuman, as the wraiths that had killed O’Brien. He was only grateful it was on their side.

“Where’s it leading us?” Jennifer asked.

“I think toward Trix’s apartment in this Boston. And hopefully Sally.”

“Sally?”

“The Oracle. You’ve heard of her?”

Jennifer frowned, a little unsettled. “I’ve heard the name Oracle before, yes. A friend of a friend visited her once, so he claims. Helped him find a brother adopted at birth.”

“Well, she’s the only one who can help me here,” Jim said.

“Help you find your wife, Jenny,” Jennifer said.

“Yeah,” Jim said, and he had to shake himself again. This isn’t Jenny. This is Jennifer.

“And you believe in all that mystical stuff?”

“Days ago, no, not really. But now… if whatever it is works, then yes, I believe in it.” He pointed ahead at where the phantom shape had paused at a road junction. “And you’ve got to account for that.”

“Not today,” Jennifer said. “I don’t need to account for anything today. Maybe tomorrow, when all this is…” But she trailed off, because what they’d seen of the city proved that this would never be all over. Things might improve, people might be rescued, and the injured would recover, but Boston would never be the same again.

As they followed the phantom, Jim started to wonder just what Jennifer-not-Jenny felt about him. Because there was a spark. And however much he tried to smother it, it burned brighter with every passing minute. “Not far now,” he said, wondering what they would find upon their arrival. “We’re almost there.”***

Trix leaned back against the wall of what might be her apartment, watching as Sally worked, and she knew that she should be able to control herself. She knew what this was and what it meant, and she was better placed than almost anyone in Boston today to understand what was going on. Yet she was shaking and scared, lonely and feeling shunned by the world she knew, and those worlds she did not.

And she couldn’t help feeling jealous. I need help, too. Sally should be doing that to me. She hated the self-pity but could not rein it in. Too much had happened for her to beat herself up about how she felt.

Sally was kneeling beside this alternate Jenny and singing a soft song. This Jenny called herself Anne-her middle name-and had been begging Trix to recognize her and love her. It’s Anne. Don’t you know me, Trix? Don’t you know me? It must have been Trix’s haunted expression that threw Anne into a terrified fit. That, and the fact that she was dead in Anne’s world, victim of a car crash three years before.

I’m no ghost, Trix had said, but it was taking the Oracle’s ministrations to calm Anne down.

Sally rocked slowly back and forth on her knees, one hand running gentle circles across Anne’s stomach, the other seemingly molding the air around her. The song seemed more solid than mere words, heavier than a voice. The air around Sally and Anne danced and flickered, heat haze where there was little heat, and Trix saw distortions that twisted their faces into terrible shapes. Yet she could not look away. Not only was Anne almost identical to Jenny in every way, she had also known Trix before she died in this world.

She knew me, as I’ve always wanted to know her, she thought. Knew the heart of me, my deepest secrets, my fondest desires. Anne had not taken her eyes off Trix since stepping back from that kiss-that wonderful kiss-and she still stared at her now. But her eyes had grown lazy, and her breathing had calmed.

Trix closed her eyes to escape that stare, and found herself staring right back. In her mind’s eye she saw herself as she might have been in this world: shorter hair, perhaps heavier-boned, happy and content. And she had died young. In one world she survived, in the others she died, and she knew she should feel lucky and blessed. But she could only feel sad.

“She’ll rest for a while,” Sally said, and she continued her slow, melancholy song.

“And when do I rest?” Trix asked. But she might as well have been talking to herself. Sally ignored her, rocking and singing, and perhaps somewhere in that song was comfort for the Oracle as well.