Among the Shadows

I hate cemeteries!

Not that I buy into ghosts and that crap. No, graveyards have too many shadows. Too many places for the fuck ups of society to hide. Darkness hides the bastards who can ambush you. Shadows can kill you.

That’s why I’m slowly took my time, hustling from one headstone to the next. Then, I listen. The footsteps start again, and I trace the path of the suspect. So, I slip through the shadows and follow him. My goal is to keep my presence like a ghost, unseen and unheard.

Eventually, I hear his ragged breathing and the thumping of his footsteps when he runs to the next spot. Hell, I’m not doing much better since I’m overweight and nearing forty. Sitting in a squad car and handing out tickets most of the time doesn’t get you in shape for this crap. Fortunately, the guy I’m chasing is not smart.

The bastard shows up at the counter of a convenience store with a gun in his hand and things go south. He’s an idiot like ninety-nine percent of the criminals you run into in my job. Picks up a gun and thinks he’s got the world by the balls. After shooting the lady behind the counter, he shits his pants and runs away. Maybe he got a couple of packs of cigarettes. I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s the least of my worries right now.

The only thing I’m thinking about as I wait for a moment is getting home without a bullet in me. That’s because if I shoot the bastard, there’s too much bullshit afterward. Put a thug down with a bullet, then deal with all the paperwork, along with an internal investigation. Then, add in the spice of every lowlife lawyer and left-wing lunatic coming out to cry about police brutality. The bastards never show up for a fallen officer’s funeral, but damn if they won’t browbeat the chief and the D.A. into pushing charges on a cop. Politicians appease those bastards and their media mob, and I don’t plan on becoming their next sacrifice.

While I’m considering my next options, I try to calm my breathing. Let the suspect escape if you must, citizen safety be damned is one option. It’s a public secret out there now; an attitude cops must carry. Saves on paperwork and ensures that I go home alive. Screw the stupid voters who like the revolving door of criminals coming back on the street after a night court visit. I just need the excuse to let him get away before he pumps bullets my way. Otherwise, it’s more paperwork.

A bit of movement ahead in the darkness causes me to freeze. After I get a better bead on the shadow, a grin comes to my face with another option. The suspect has his back toward me now. I creep forward in the darkness, silently pulling out my taser. It means I’m less likely to get charges. Plus, the bastard gets to feel some pain. A little payback for shooting a timid clerk is good karma. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Then I stopped when I noticed the kid was staring up at something.

Who’s he talking to?

Carefully, I inch closer. The idiot has the gun sitting on the top of the headstone. My hands are full and sweaty. Things can always go screwy even though I have my HK 9mm pistol in one and the taser in the other. Not good form, but the suspect could have to turn around before I send the electric shock through him. Otherwise, he should drop quickly. I still don’t get why he’s looking up until I see what appears to be a statue. A quick glance shows me an old-fashioned headstone, obscured under the canopy of trees.

“It’s been so long. I’ve missed you, mom!”

He appeared to be listening to someone, nodding his head in agreement.

“You’re right, I’ve been bad. Will you help me?”

What the hell! Christ, I’ve got a mental case here!

“Yeah, I trust you!” The young man spoke to the air.

The decision’s made now. I squeeze the trigger on my left hand and two small, barbed darts shoot out of the taser. Before he can react, the darts push into his upper back and a surge of electric shock nails him. The bastard’s head is jerking around to get a look at me as his muscles start their involuntary contractions. A few seconds later, he flops over. Hurrying next to him, I secure his gun. When I turn off the voltage, I flip on my flashlight.

“Alright, hands behind your back…huff…huff…you know the drill.” I pant out while I keep my gun on him.

He didn’t move. I kick his foot, then bring the beam from the flashlight onto his upper body. His head’s got bloodstains, and it’s close to the base of the headstone. I see dark stains dripping down from the edge of the marble, where the suspect’s head hit the stone. Now it’s clear why he’s not moving.

Fuck, more damn paperwork!

~~~

Until the internal investigation finally completes, I hang around the apartment for a week. Luckily, the coroner is backing my version of the events. I heard from some friends it wouldn’t be long until they let me back on the force. The relief washes over me when I receive the news. Being at the station or driving my patrol route were the reasons I get up each morning.

Still, the kid’s death weighs on me. For all my negative thoughts about the work and the crap lawyers, I hate it when people die. It’s always a waste. Worse, it makes no sense. People who are good die by accident. Yet, the most worthless bastards who kill and maim for pleasure always seem to thrive. Fate is damn fickle, and I hate the way she works.

I turn my thoughts to the one thing that continues to bother me about the dead suspect. The conversation the guy had at the time I got him with the taser. According to the information I had, the kid wasn’t a mental case. Just another crook who thought he’d get more out of armed robbery than stealing from a house.

After letting out a sigh, I lean back on the overstuffed couch and look around the room. The television and cheap A/V equipment still have the HDMI and RCA cables dangling over the top from another project I’ve never finished.

Well, what’s the point?

The silence is deafening, and the décor remains the same. The delicate knick-knacks on the shelves sit between the rows of books along one wall. By the window next to the shelves is a small padded rocking chair. It reminds me again why I seldom stayed in the apartment.

I looked across the room but found nothing of interest. Inevitably, I went back to the chair where I saw the petite brunette sitting there. It was a fond image from my past which got me through the lows. Zoe would sit in the chair, leaning to the side with her legs hitched up so she could rest her chin on her knees to read. I always wondered how she could keep such an uncomfortable position. When I asked, she gave me that sweet smile and shrugged.

Typical Zoe attitude, so innocent and carefree, always kept me level. She was the one who enjoyed watching the television, especially at the end when she had little strength left. I sat on the floor while I worked on upgrading the television sound the day Zoe passed. As I looked at my unfinished work, I came to a conclusion. It was a shrine, kind of like a tombstone.

To the day I died with her!

Depressed by the memories and silence, I left the apartment and walked several blocks to a local bar. I need the loud noise around me, along with a few beers. When I arrive, I tell Jock, the bartender, to give me my usual. He nodded and pulled back the cooler lid to retrieve a beer bottle.

“Marty, I hear you’ll be back before long. The guys say you had a mental case. Too bad.”

Jock is the ex-cop who got screwed over by the D.A. and runs the bar. A lot of us come down to keep his business going while we flip off the bureaucrat ass-kissers running the police department. He keeps up with all the rumors.

“Yeah, it’s good for a vacation. Doc always says I need more holidays to unwind from the stress of the job,” I joke.

“Sure, doctors cover their ass by saying those things,” Jock agrees.

“Still, running around in the old section of the cemetery is not fun at night. Too many shadows to hide in, you know what I mean?”

I took a drink, then shook my head.

“Still, I can’t get the kid’s conversation out of my head,” I confess. “Never saw a guy talking to the sky like that before. Some nut job, huh?”

Jock’s expression changed at my comment. He wanted to tell me something but apparently decided against it.

“Say, what’s up?” I ask.

The owner glances around, then comes closer as he leans over the bar.

“You said the old section. Are you sure?”

His whispered concern makes me look around as well.

“Yeah, of course I am. I’ve been through that damn cemetery too many times. What’s with you?”

Jock sighs. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just an old legend.” He chuckles, but there was no humor in it. “I guess I’m getting old.”

Of course, I’m looking at him like he’s got a third eye on his forehead. I finish my beer and shrug.

“Well, don’t get so creepy. Graveyards are just places for us to go remember how bad we fucked up with our friends and family when they’re alive. It’s nothing more than a place where we remember all our regrets.”

“You don’t believe that,” he sneers. “I know you play the hard ball cop, but you and Zoe — ”

“Yeah, I believe exactly that,” I interrupt him while sliding across my empty bottle. “My wife watched me play cop while she died. Never complained once about how much of an ass I was for worrying about the safety of a public that couldn’t care less. There are no second chances for stupidity.”

Or regret!

“Grab me another.” I point at the bottle.

Jock came back after he popped off the cap.

“I guess you never knew about the legend out there.”

“Oh, the one about the Griggs statue that becomes the grim reaper?” I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah, I’ve heard about it a couple of dozen ways. There’s the one about the crypt opening to take the dead down to hell. There’s another story about the statue moving to collect the souls about to depart this earth. My wife said it was like the grim reaper. I heard about those when I first moved here.”

I pause, inspecting the beer bottle.

“She enjoyed walking through there.” I let the words slip. “She told me her memories of — childhood. That’s why her…gr — well, she’s near there.”

The image of her gravesite overcame my thoughts as I went silent.

“Sorry for opening old wounds. I like to talk too much,” the bartender says.

After I shook my head, I down half the bottle.

“No, Jock. You’re fine. It’s me being an ass. It’s been two years and seven days. Still running around with a chip on my shoulder.” I shrug. “The thing is, I can’t just pop the reaper in the nose for taking the wrong one first.”

As I walk back to the apartment, I reflect on my conversation. Jock snickered at my joke, but he left me alone the rest of the time while I finished another couple of beers. It was clear that my reaction embarrassed him. I found it ironic for him to worry about me. He didn’t know Zoe well, but cop’s wives definitely hang together. So, he had a good idea about my wife’s suffering. Like her, he was also a local who bought into the area legends. It seems ghosts and strange things were required knowledge for people growing up here. I wouldn’t know since I grew up from town to town as an Army brat.

When I turn down the dark path between two old buildings, I notice a shadow out of the corner of my eye. The hairs prickling on my neck, my eyes follow the shadow while it moves into a darker corner by the building. Frustration fills me while I calm my nervousness. I approach closer.

Fine time to get spooked from a shadow!

It was the willies coming from my imagination after talking to Jock; I decided. When I get near the pitch blackness where I can no longer see into, I pull out my cell phone and turn on the flashlight. A weathered metal case covering the electricity to the building immediately came into view. I release a pent-up breath.

Figures!

Flipping off the light, I stop for a moment to catch my breath. I can feel the beating of my heart all the way into my brain. After a moment, I continue on my path back to the apartment. Thinking of my scare, it always amuses me how you can scare yourself in the darkness. Your eyes play tricks on you when you believe something is moving and find out it’s nothing more than a box. The event also reminded me of one of my wife’s interests.

I got my first clue about Zoe’s passion for ghost stories when we started dating. My wife gathered ghost stories from around the area. From a young age, she put them into a journal with an ultimate dream of creating a novel. After we married, she enjoyed telling me the stories she gathered over the years. Sitting in bed as we went to sleep, my wife read from her journal. It was something I treasured.

As I continued walking, my mind went back to those pleasant times with Zoe. I could recall her expressive change of expressions as the story unfolded. While I didn’t remember the stories in detail, the memory of her adorable profile remains embedded in me. Watching her eyes lit up as she spoke made me want to watch her all night long.

Shaking my head, I smile to myself when I think about her telling me about the reaper inside the old cemetery. She was so earnest about the legend. A creepy looking statue of the grim reaper came to life and met with those who were about to die. Zoe claimed the statue showed up throughout the city over the years and she had evidence. When I give her a skeptical reply to the idea, she thumps me in the forehead lightly.

“You’ll see when we’re old and gray,” she chuckles. “We’re going to meet that statue together.”

I scowl when I recall our lighthearted laughter at the joke. A young couple carries strange ideas like being together until the end. The world seldom lets such things impede fate.

Yeah, Zoe, I was young and stupid, wasn’t I?