Shadow

By Michael S. Booker

Nathan Grayson, Blake Coleman, and Justin Bronson are three close friends, living together in a three bedroom home in a quiet Bay Area town. For the most part, they lead relatively normal lives, although each of them possesses a special skill: Nathan can see glimpses of the future and past, Blake can read minds, and Justin can move objects by thought. They have managed to keep these abilities hidden, until a sudden incident arises that threatens their safety.

Nearly one year after their break-up, Nathan has a premonition that he will receive a call from his former boyfriend, Russell, whom he has not heard from in months. His prediction proves to be accurate, as Russell calls and asks for aid in finding his current lover, Andrew, who has mysteriously vanished. Still healing from the emotional wounds from their failed relationship, Nathan reluctantly agrees to use his psychic abilities to help Russell, against the wishes of Blake and Justin, who doubts Russell's motives.

As Nathan delves deeper into the investigation of Andrew's disappearance, he and his friends unwittingly become the target of a malevolent, relentless supernatural force that weaves itself into their minds, and releases an explosion of terror that will jeopardize their friendship, their sanity, and their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael S. Booker
• Release date: Jun 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476107431

Michael S. Booker

Fiction writer, photographer, blogger, living in the San Francisco Bay Area. Check out "Shadow", "Not Safe for Work" and "Freshman". Michael S. Booker can be contacted at [e-mail]

Book preview

S H A D O W

M I C H A E L

S.

B O O K E R

Copyright © 2011 by Michael S. Booker

1984 Press

Cover by Michael S. Booker

E-Book Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, in any form or by any other means, without the written permission of the author.

OTHER BOOKS IN THE SHADOW SERIES

Shadow

Anomaly

Echo

Whisper

Lullaby

To my mother, Bertha Booker and my aunt,

Dr. Najuma Z. Shurn.

For their encouragement and enthusiasm

toward this project

1

The Quiet

The quiet snatched Andrew Dominguez from sleep.

Normally, Andrew heard noises, even in the depths of his sleeping: voices from the TV, cars coming in and out of the apartment complex, the neighbors’ loud music, or Russell’s soft snoring, beside him. Even in a state of deep sleep, Andrew heard things from the outside world. Now, he could hear nothing at all and instinctively, he knew something was wrong.

Andrew rolled over in bed, checking the spot next to him.

Empty.

Andrew slid his hand over Russell’s side of the mattress. It felt hard and cold, like nobody had been sleeping there. Through hazy eyes, Andrew gazed at the alarm clock on his bedside nightstand: a quarter past one on a Wednesday morning. Russell should have been home from work by now. He should have been in the bed, beside Andrew.

Russ?

Andrew sat upright in bed. Despite the mid-January cold, sheens of cool sweat covered his body. He was incredibly sluggish. Andrew shivered, as he waited for Russell's response.

Two things Andrew suddenly knew for certain: Russell was not home—but there was someone, other than Andrew, in the apartment. Andrew had purposely left the television in the living room on, set to a low volume, before going to sleep, as he did every night that Russell worked long night shifts. Usually, Russell turned the television off for Andrew when he came home.

The television was off. Darkness permeated everywhere and everything.

Andrew and Russell shared a small one-bedroom apartment, in Emeryville a tiny town, sandwiched between the busier cities of Berkeley and Oakland, consisting of mid-priced and expensive lofts and trendy retail shops.

Their living room was barely larger than their bedroom, which only fit their king-sized bed, a computer desk, and a clothes dresser. No single room in the apartment had enough space for them not to be able to hear the other’s voice, even if they whispered. If Russell were home, he would have said something by now.

Yet, Andrew could not get rid of the feeling that someone was in the apartment. More specifically, he felt someone standing directly outside his bedroom door.

The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees in mere seconds. Despite being covered up with thick blankets, a deathly chill infiltrated Andrew’s body, penetrating him down to the bone. A singular sound filled the silent darkness: his heartbeat.

Andrew had dreamed of this exact scenario, only a few hours earlier, before abruptly waking up in middle of the night. He had awoken, before finishing the dream, but it appeared like the dream would not end well for him.

Suddenly, Andrew remembered the automatic pistol, located in one of Russell’s shoeboxes in the closet. Andrew had never used it before, but he knew how to fire a gun, if ever needed.

Andrew’s cell phone rang.

The sudden noise made Andrew jump. He looked at the cell phone on his nightstand. Beyoncé’s song, Halo filled the silence. Andrew immediately knew it was Russell calling. He reached over and picked up the phone.

Where are you? he whispered.

Just getting off, Russell responded. Hearing his deep voice made Andrew feel somewhat more secure. Sorry to wake you up.

I was already up, Andrew replied softly, his eyes glued to the door. …woke up a few minutes ago.

Bad dream? Russell asked.

Andrew’s stomach tightened. Yeah…

The dream you keep refusing to tell me about?

Andrew frowned. Russell was right. He had deliberately chosen not to tell the details of his nightmares, for Russell's benefit.

Sorry I’m not there. I should be home, in about fifteen minutes.

From the other side of the bedroom door, Andrew distinctly heard footsteps.

Drew, are you there?

Hurry up, Andrew urged, trying not to sound too panicked.

What’s up? Why are you whispering? I can barely hear you.

Andrew felt uncertain if he should tell Russell that he feared that was intruder was in the apartment, when he was basing his assumption on intuition and what sounded like footsteps outside his door. However, Andrew always trusted his instincts.

Get here, soon as you can, Andrew said.

Fifteen minutes, Russell assured him

Make it ten.

Russell laughed. Ok. I will. Love you.

Andrew shivered. Me too.

He hung up the phone and realized he needed to make a plan.

Andrew got a horrific feeling that it would be the last time, he heard those words from Russell. The phone slipped from his hand and fell onto his lap. He replaced it on the nightstand and pulled the blankets up to his chin, like a little boy afraid to see the monster hiding in the closet.

Russ will be here, soon.

The more Andrew tried convincing himself, the sharper his fear intensified.

Andrew took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Even with the blankets covering him, he could not expel the icy grip of fear rapidly filling his body.

The doorknob rattled.

Andrew could not have mistaken that sound.

Fuck, Andrew thought.

Andrew shot upward in bed again, all the muscles in his body were alert. His eyes locked on the doorknob, and despite the dense darkness, he could clearly see that the doorknob was moving. Andrew’s nightmare was becoming a reality and he had nowhere to hide. The closet would be the first place any intruder would look, and he was too large to fit under the bed. He thought about the gun in the closet and wondered if he would have enough time to go in there and get it. Andrew vividly recalled closing and locking the door, before going to bed. Besides, nobody could even get through the security gate or the building’s main door, without a pass code. In the nine months since Andrew moved in with Russell, there had been surprisingly very few reports of vandalism, thefts, or intrusions. This had been a nice, quiet, and safe place to live…until now.

The door swung open gently and very slowly, without one creak.

Fear inundated Andrew’s entire body. He was frozen, paralyzed with terror. Andrew kept waiting for himself to wake up from this nightmare, but it refused to happen.

Get the gun, before it’s too late.

Andrew knew that he would not have enough time to get it. He hated himself now for not telling Russell what was happening when he had the chance. Andrew regained enough control over his body, to reach over and switch on the lamp, beside his bed.

It only took seconds for Andrew’s eyes to adjust to the sudden light. The bedroom door was fully open, but Andrew did not see anyone standing near it, but he felt something standing at the foot of his bed, watching him.

No way that this is really happening—

The Shadow pounced on Andrew.

Before Andrew could react, two brutally strong hands wrapped themselves around his throat and squeezed, crushing the air out of him. Andrew thrashed and kicked, futilely. The invisible intruder had him pinned down to the mattress, severely restricting his ability to move.

Andrew’s cell phone rang, as he asphyxiated.

Russ!

Andrew attempted to turn his head toward the source of the ringing. He tried reaching out his arm to grab it, but he was powerless. The more he fought, the tighter his attacker gripped his throat. His heart raced, at an impossible speed and everything in the room spun and grew hazier by the second. Andrew stared up at the ceiling, forcing himself to maintain focus, refusing to allow the encroaching darkness surrounding Andrew on all sides, to overtake him. Andrew opened his mouth, in one final attempt to scream, but nothing came out, except frigid silence. The phone rang a few more times, before suddenly stopping.

Everything went quiet.

2

The Call

Nathan Grayson knew something was wrong, but he could not tell what was wrong exactly—not yet anyhow.

The vision started as a dull throbbing at the back of his head, before slowly developing into an intrusive headache. A vivid image of Russell Moore, sitting alone in a bedroom, on a messy bed, entered Nathan’s mind. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Nathan had done well for the last few months, blocking Russell’s gorgeous face from his brain. He had been trying to forget Russell’s voice, smile, and how his hard body felt against his own body, when they slept. A full year had passed since Nathan had last seen or heard from Russell. Yet, when Russell unexpectedly popped into his brain, his image conjured a string of negative emotions in Nathan’s mind: loneliness, melancholy, and resentment.

You okay, Nate? Blake Coleman asked. He lightly touched Nathan’s shoulder and Nathan felt a warm sizzle throughout his body.

I’m cool. Nathan tried to maintain focus on the television show that he, Blake, and their other roommate, Justin Bronson, watched. He was distracted, however, by continuous mental flashes of Russell’s face, followed by extreme emotions of worry and fear. Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the images, from his head. His minor headache turned major, in less than a minute.

You don’t look like it, Blake noticed. Concern seeped into his mesmerizing, cocoa-colored eyes. Something you need to talk about?

No, I’m good. I just need to go to the bathroom, right quick.

Nathan got up from the couch and headed to the staircase. He knew Blake would follow him. Justin continued to watch television, lying on his stomach on the carpet, entirely transfixed as Tyra Banks decided which of two remaining girls, would still be in the running, in hopes of becoming: America’s Next Top Model. He never noticed Blake or Nathan going upstairs to the bathroom.

Blake, you didn’t need to follow me, Nathan said, as they both entered the bathroom, which barely fit the two of them. Nathan turned on the light and went over to the sink.

Tell me what’s up, Blake responded, closing the door, and leaning against it. He folded his muscular arms over his built chest. I’m not going anywhere, until you do.

Nathan sighed and pulled open the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of Aspirin. I told you already, it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just a little headache…where’s the pills?

We're out. Blake unfolded his arms and tentatively stepped toward Nathan. It’s about him, huh? Russell?

Nathan closed the medicine cabinet door and gazed at his reflection, in the mirror. On a good day, he would consider himself cute—not sexy, but cute. He had a warm caramel complexion, with thick eyebrows and coffee-colored eyes.

Nathan had nice, full lips and great teeth. When he smiled, he went from cute to being handsome. Right now, however, he looked average and tired. His eyes appeared worried and strange. He almost did not recognize himself.

I haven’t thought about him in a while. Now, all of a sudden, he just pops into my mind, Nathan told Blake. He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face. It did not help. As Nathan glanced at his reflection again, he saw that he looked soggy and even worse than before. He switched his eyes from the mirror over to Blake.

Russell’s going to call me. The pain in Nathan’s head intensified, as he spoke those words.

Blake did not speak right away, he just glared. Nathan knew exactly what scrolled through his mind: Just when I thought he was starting to get over that asshole…

It’s not like that, Blake, Nathan said.

Don’t talk to him, Blake replied. If he calls you, don’t pick up.

I wish it was that easy.

"Nate, it is that easy."

I haven’t talked to him in a year, Blake.

That’s not long enough.

I just can’t ignore his call.

Nathan could see the anger mounting in Blake’s whole disposition. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall. Blake, there’s no need for you to be so upset. This has nothing to do with you.

Blake clearly took offense to Nathan’s words. It upsets me, Nate, `cause you’re still in love with that asshole.

Those words hit Nathan’s chest like bullets, stunning him into total silence. For a second, he could not breathe. Blake must have known he had spoken out of line, because the hardness in his face melted.

I’m just trying to look out for you. After the way things went down...

Look, Blake…I’m glad you’re looking out for me, but I’m an adult. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you making decisions about who I should speak to.

You’re right: do what you want, Blake retorted. They were interrupted, by a knock on the door.

Are you two sucking each other off in there? Justin asked from the other side of the bathroom door.

Blake pulled open the door. Justin stood there, arms crossed, with an irritated look. We’re just having a little talk, Blake told Justin.

You guys always have your ‘little talks’ and leave me out of them, Justin complained.

Justin, don’t worry about it, Nathan said, stepping past both Blake and Justin as he headed out the bathroom. It’s nothing. I’m getting ready for bed.

It’s only ten! Justin exclaimed. "I thought we were all going to watch Project Runway."

Not tonight, Nathan replied. I’m tired. He sauntered to his bedroom, across the hallway. Good night.

Before entering his room, Nathan heard Blake’s voice in his mind: We’re not done talking about this yet, Nate.

Nathan turned around to see Blake staring at him sternly. Yes, we are.

Nathan went into his room, shutting the door behind him. Turning on the lamp near his bedside, Nathan noticed his window was slightly open. He had not remembered opening it at any point during the day. A cold breeze slipped inside and gave him chills. Nathan ambled over to the window and closed it, staring out into the darkness, seeing nothing, except for the huge black shape of the house located next door to their spacious two-story townhouse.

After changing into his night clothes, simply consisting of a pair of underwear briefs and an old T-shirt, Nathan crawled into bed, taking his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He set his alarm for six-thirty in the morning and placed it on his nightstand. Before turning off the light, Nathan looked at his phone momentarily, waiting for it to ring…waiting to hear Russell’s voice.

It had been two and a half weeks after New Year’s Day, the previous year since they last spoke. Russell had not even had the decency to end their relationship face to face, but through a text message. Nathan had predicted everything Russell would say. It was the cruelty of precognition. Even though Nathan knew in advance, it did not quell his pain. It only made the pain worse.

Nathan remembered the humiliation, of calling Russell for the next several weeks afterward, desperately attempting to have a more in-depth discussion, as to how and why Russell had suddenly stopped caring about him. He needed to know, how after being in a relationship, for two years, Russell could just treat Nathan like a random person, off the street. Russell never responded to any of Nathan’s calls, although he did send one text message shortly before Valentine’s Day. Nathan recalled it verbatim:

Sorry, Nate, but I’m with someone else now. Please understand. Take care of yourself, and maybe we’ll talk sometime soon. Happy V-Day btw.

Those last three words stung more than anything else in the message. For many months, Nathan kept that message stored in his phone, reading it several times a day, especially before falling asleep. He hoped that ‘sometime soon’ would be today.

‘Sometime soon’ never came.

It was only a few months ago that Nathan erased that text from his phone, along with Russell’s number, tearing up most of the pictures they took together, save for one or two, and deleting the rest of them from his computer. Still, after all this time, Nathan still could not erase Russell from his brain.

If his intuition was right, which Nathan absolutely believed it was, then Russell would be calling him, soon—tonight.

But to tell me what? Nathan wondered. That he broke up with his boyfriend? That he wants to get back together with me?

Nathan reminded himself, not to speculate so much and not to get too excited.

For a long time, Nathan thought about what would happen if Russell were to call him and say, You know what Nate? I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Could you please forgive me? Can I be with you again?

Nathan always had two versions of his response: In one fantasy, Nathan would have forgiven Russell. Nathan would have kissed Russell passionately and proceed to have sex with him. In the alternative fantasy, Nathan would knock Russell flat on the ground (although Russell was six-foot-one with nearly two hundred pounds of muscle, and Nathan was five-foot-eight and weighed one hundred and forty pounds) screaming: I’ll never forgive you.

It was easy to imagine