The Shadow Men hc-4 Read online

  “I wanted to take you and Holly out today,” Jonathan said to Jenny. “Lunch in town, then maybe we can look around for something I can buy Holly for Christmas.”

  “That’s two months away!” Jim said.

  “I like to be organized,” Jonathan said. “How do you think you get all those fine deals I make for you?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jenny said. “We don’t really have any plans for today, do we, Jim?”

  Jim shrugged. No plans, though he had been thinking about just hanging around the house as a family, watching a movie, maybe getting takeout later. Jonathan smiled at him, and the sadness had infected his eyes as well. Jim realized that he just wanted to be out doing something, in company he felt comfortable with, and he really couldn’t blame his friend for that. If he ever lost Jenny…

  “Jim’s been up all night painting, anyway,” Jenny said.

  “Really?” Jonathan said. “Not working on the pub thing, though…”

  “One of my cityscapes,” Jim said. The rich aroma from the coffee machine was filling the kitchen now, and combined with the smell of donuts, it was almost heavenly.

  “Is it…?” Jonathan began. He’d never liked those paintings. He said they weren’t salable, and it was one of the few times he and Jim had disagreed about his work. It’s not all about the money, Jim had said, and Jonathan had thrown a fit, offended that Jim even had to say that. I’ve always supported your art, he’d said, and that was the truth.

  “It’s different,” Jenny said.

  “Still needs work. Needs finishing. I’ll do it today while you’re out.”

  Jonathan nodded, then flipped open the box’s lid. “Anyone mind if I have first dibs?”

  “Help yourself,” Jim said, pouring the coffee. So, that was today laid out before them. Usually the idea of spending a few hours on his own, working in the studio with music blasting and lunch on the balcony luring him on, would have filled him with delight, but now he felt painted out. Four intense hours had done that to him, and the revelation of his faded dream on canvas had left him with a familiar sense of dislocation. Maybe all dreams born were meant to die, but he’d had the same feeling after painting each of those unknown cityscapes-the one today, with low roofs, and the other unknown Boston, with high buildings and a never-seen silhouette. If he was left alone at home, he’d more than likely end up puttering in his studio for an hour or two, then coming down to the living room and falling asleep in front of the TV.

  “So, how are you?” Jenny asked.

  “I’m okay,” Jonathan replied.

  Jim placed their coffees in front of them and took a seat. Jonathan was smiling sadly and looking down at the table. He picked up a crushed blueberry that they’d missed and examined it on the end of his finger, then raised an eyebrow and tasted it. “You had pancakes and didn’t leave any for me?”

  Jim looked at the box of a dozen donuts and burst out laughing.

  “Hey, comfort food!” Jonathan said. “I’ve just suffered a very traumatic separation, and considering I haven’t had a drink or a smoke in years, what do I have left?”

  “Hard drugs,” Jim said, still chuckling.

  “They don’t agree with me,” Jonathan said, arching an eyebrow.

  “So, donuts it is.”

  Jonathan bit into his donut, sugar speckling the stubble across his top lip.

  Jim could see already that Jonathan’s spirits had lifted in the few minutes he’d been here. Jenny had always had that effect on him. She was one of life’s calm ones, and she seemed to be able to pass her gift on to anyone who needed it, whatever the circumstances. They chatted some more, shooting the breeze, and Jim refilled their coffee mugs. Jonathan laughed a lot, and mostly Jim could tell that it was genuine, though sometimes it was not. It would take him a long time to get over Philip, tempestuous though their relationship had been. Once when Jim had asked about it, his friend had replied, I just love loving someone who’s so fucking alive!

  Jenny finished a donut and went to take Holly upstairs to wash and dress. The two men waited in companionable silence for a couple of minutes-the sort of unpressured quiet that only good friends or lovers could ever maintain. Jonathan rested his elbows on the counter and kept his mug pressed to his lips, looking into the middle distance.

  “Dude, nine inches?” Jim said. “Dude” was a word he only ever used when the subject was a little uncomfortable; it softened the blow.

  Jonathan looked at him, mug still in front of his mouth. He raised an eyebrow. “Better believe it, dude.”

  The two men laughed again, and when Jonathan left with Jenny and Holly, everyone seemed happy, looking forward to the day. Even Jim. He’d resolved to stay out of his studio, spending the time instead catching up on some reading, and if he drifted off to sleep, well… he’d welcome it.

  He kissed his wife good-bye at the door while Jonathan strapped Holly into his BMW.

  “Have fun,” Jim said as they hugged.

  “Will do,” she said. They both squeezed a little bit harder.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you more,” Jim said. He watched her walking down their front path to the car, then closed the door, breathing in the silence.

  When he awoke, the house felt empty. Not just silent or still, but empty. He sat up quickly, gasping as if startled awake by the phone or doorbell. But there were no echoes, and his phone was on the carpet beside the sofa. Christ, me and these fucking dreams!

  Jim rubbed his eyes and looked around. The large living room seemed different, and he couldn’t quite place why. Something appeared to be missing, but recognizing things that had gone was not as easy as seeing things that shouldn’t be there. He frowned and shook his head, resting it in his hands for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts. He glanced at his watch-almost five p.m. Jenny and Holly had left with Jonathan over six hours ago; he’d had no idea that they would be gone so long.

  Picking up the phone, he expected to see a text, but there was none. That was weird. Jenny usually kept in touch when she was out, especially when she was going to be home later than expected. They’d never lived in each other’s pockets. They both had space to spread out-he with his art, she with her teaching and wide circle of friends-but they both understood the limits of their relationship. If Jim expected her and Holly home at a certain time and they were going to be late…

  He opened a new text and keyed in, Hi sexy, got an ETA? Then he scrolled down his contacts list, missing Jenny’s name, pressing the red button by mistake, and having to enter the list again. Damn it, he needed to get up, stir himself, have a strong coffee and a shower.

  He smiled at the memory of that morning’s shower. Her deep sigh as she came, her leg hooked around his. The warmth as he soaped her down. Her look of surprise when she’d found him hard again so soon…

  Her name wasn’t in his contacts list. That was weird. And then he frowned, because he couldn’t remember her mobile number. He’d never had to; whenever he called or texted her, the number was already entered in his phone.

  “Fuck it.” He stood and stretched, and all the while his eyes were darting left and right and something felt wrong.

  “Hello?” he called, because the silence was becoming oppressive. But no one replied. He hadn’t expected them to, because if they had come home earlier and found him asleep, Holly would have leapt on him, bouncing on his chest until he woke so that she could tell him about her day, the shops they’d visited, what she’d had for lunch, and the jokes Uncle Jonathan had told.

  He began to stride from the room, blinked, then froze.

  There was a picture missing from the wall beside the flat-screen TV. His and Jenny’s wedding photograph-unobtrusive, yet one of his favorite images of them together. They’d spent almost a thousand dollars on an official wedding photographer, but this snap had come from Jonathan’s camera, capturing more of their love and happiness than any amount of posing could ever find.

  And now it was gone.

&nbs
p; “Okay,” Jim said. “Okay.” He glanced around the room. The TV looked different-same size, same sleek black shape, but…

  It was a different make.

  “That’s just-”

  Just before he’d fallen asleep, he’d noticed Marv the Moose sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Night, Marv, he’d said, smiling because it made him think of how Holly cuddled the thing the same way every single night, snug under her left arm with its face pointing up at hers. But now Marv had vanished as well.

  “Okay,” he said again, then snapped his phone open again and scanned down for Jonathan’s number. He called, and as the ringing tone whispered in his ear he shoved aside his unsettling thoughts. He was still tired and confused from his afternoon sleep, his legs hadn’t woken properly yet, and maybe he’d dreamed something weird again-something that still impressed upon him without him being able to remember anything.

  “Hey,” Jonathan said when he answered. “How’s it hangin’?”

  “Less than nine inches,” Jim said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Are Jenny and Holly still with you?”

  “Who?”

  “Jenny. Holly. They must be still with you, because they didn’t take our car. I was just wondering when they’d be home.”

  Jonathan was silent for a few seconds. Jim heard his agent breathing softly, and he listened for Holly’s conspiratorial giggle as she watched her uncle Jonathan playing a joke on Daddy.

  “Say that again. What are you talking about?” Jonathan asked.

  “Jenny and Holly. Where are they?”

  “Who the hell are Jenny and Holly?”

  “Jonathan, stop screwing around. I was going to get takeout tonight, and I need to know when they’re coming home so that-”

  “Have you been drinking?” Jonathan asked.

  “No.” Jim frowned, looking around for an empty glass or bottle. Have I? No, that was last night, because I always get horny the morning after a drink and… He remembered sex in the shower, and the taste of Jenny on his tongue.

  “So who are Jenny and Holly? Did you have one of your weird dreams again?”

  “Okay, that’s enough. I’m tired and cranky and-”

  “ You’re cranky? The love of my life has left me, my liver’s about to call it quits, and you’re cranky?”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Yes, dude?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Jim… this is just weird. I mean… you know what I’m going through here.” He fell silent again for another few seconds, his breathing not as light as before. “Jim, you’re not on drugs, are you?”

  “No! You know I’ve never…” Jim closed his eyes and trailed off, rubbing at his head and trying to contain his anger. Then he opened his eyes again, looking at where their wedding photo had once hung.

  “What’s happening?” Jim asked. “Where are they? Help me here, Jonathan.”

  “Jim, I have no idea who you’re talking about. Jenny? olly?”

  “ Holly! My daughter, Holly. And Jenny, my wife.”

  “Riiight…,” Jonathan drawled. “Okay. Well, considering you’ve never been married-”

  Jim snapped the cell phone shut. He’d seen something that thumped at his chest, something not there that he’d only just noticed, because things not there were so much harder to see. He closed his eyes and thought back. The photograph had been there forever. Mummy and Daddy got mallied, Holly would shout, and Jonathan never failed to comment on his superior photography, and how his talent was wasted as Boston’s most successful artistic agent.

  He opened his eyes again and walked across the room to where the picture had been removed. There was no square mark where the paint on the wall behind it had faded over the years, no hook, no nail.

  No hole.

  It was as if the picture of him and his wife had never hung there at all.

  Man with No Country

  Breathe, Jim. He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to take four long, shuddering breaths, then opened his eyes again and looked around the living room. His hands were clenched into fists-not in anger, but in some subconscious attempt to grab hold of the fabric of the world, as if he could clutch it to himself and it would not slip away.

  The wedding photo had been just the beginning. His mind had been muddled by sleep and then by irritation with Jonathan, but that empty place on the wall where the photo should have hung-and the absence of any faded paint, any hook, any evidence of a nail-sparked a barrage of tiny epiphanies that paralyzed him. At first he’d thought the furniture had been rearranged, but that impression lasted only a split second before he realized that the room around him had changed much more than that.

  The armchair by the fireplace had been stiff-backed, striped in white and burgundy, but the chair that now occupied that spot was wider and plusher, upholstered in a chalky shade of blue. The end table beside the sofa and the long teak coffee table were the same, if a little more pristine than he remembered, but the lamps were different. When Jenny’s grandfather had died, her mother had sold the house and asked them to take whatever they wanted. The only furnishings Jenny had claimed were a set of antique lamps with glass shades hand-painted with red and pink roses. The lamps had vanished, replaced by more modern lighting, including a brass floor lamp Jim could not imagine ever buying.

  “Jenny?” he shouted in the empty apartment. “Holly?”

  His voice filled the place, giving it a sense of occupancy that felt entirely wrong. His voice alone shouldn’t be enough to make the apartment seem full. The very life and laughter of the place had gone from it, and it did not yawn with emptiness the way a home ought to when its people were out.

  He glanced at the mirror over the fireplace. He had inherited it from his own mother. It remained, but something caught his eye, and Jim finally snapped from his paralysis and rushed over to stare at the mantelpiece. The two small framed photos that had always seemed to attract too much dust were now missing. One had been a baby picture of Holly, the other a snapshot from a Vermont trip a few years ago when Holly had been four or so, the three of them sitting on an old-time toboggan in the snow. But the pictures weren’t there. Neither did he see any sign of the usual detritus that having a daughter provided. Jim and Jenny were constantly picking up small parts of her toys-plastic Barbie shoes, pet bobbleheads, Super Balls, beads from broken bracelets-but the mantel was clear.

  These absences hit him faster now, and his gut churned with nausea. A quick glance at the curio cabinet behind the chair revealed awards he had won and small statuettes, knickknacks of a lifetime. Bronze replicas of western-motif sculptures by Frederic Remington were side by side with the carved glass Viking he’d picked up in Sweden and the crystal ball Jonathan had given to Jim after he’d earned his first million-“to see the future,” he’d said.

  His face felt flushed, and he leaned against the chair, staring in through the glass doors of the cabinet. His hands were shaking as he reached out to touch the knob. They had built in a magnetic latch to keep Holly from getting into the cabinet, but the door pulled open easily. No latch.

  Gone were the Lladro figures that Jenny had so loved: the mermaid, the mother and daughter, the Japanese woman in her kimono, and others he could not recall. Gone were the matryoshka nesting dolls Jenny had brought home from St. Petersburg when she was pregnant with Holly.

  Shaking his head, trembling even more, he backed away from the curio cabinet until his legs hit the coffee table. He turned around in circles, a peculiar kind of anger blazing up within him, fueled by fear and confusion. “This. Isn’t. Funny!” he shouted.

  You’re being ridiculous. The common-sense voice threw cold water on his panic. It’s a joke. A really horrible, almost unforgivable joke .

  He left the living room behind, striding purposefully into the dining room. Something on top of the china cabinet caught his eye. A platter, incredibly detailed, bone china with blue trim. It had sat in the same place in his childhood home in Andover, u
sed only on Thanksgiving, a family heirloom that had come down from his mother’s grandmother, and it would have been his, except that on the first Thanksgiving after he and Jenny had begun dating, she had caught her foot on the carpet and tripped, destroying both a century of family history and Thanksgiving dinner in seconds. Jim’s mother, God rest her, had never forgotten. For the few years she had left of her life, she had tried to make light of it, but Jim had felt the distance the woman had placed between herself and her future daughter-in-law, and he knew Jenny had felt it, too.

  In his mind’s eye, he could still see the shattered platter and the ruined bird on the floor of his parents’ dining room, the shards like the rough edges of broken clamshells.

  Yet there it was, good as new, on display on top of his china cabinet.

  It broke him. He stood on tiptoes, reached up on top of the cabinet, and swept the platter onto the floor. It shattered, smashed as it should have been, and then Jim bolted for the stairs, not pausing to study the kitchen for the thousand inaccuracies it no doubt contained. One picture hung on the stairwell’s wall-him and a gorgeous young woman he did not know, holding hands on a skyscraper balcony somewhere-where there should have been a dozen snaps of him, Jenny, and Holly. He ignored the unknown picture and ran his palm along where the other frames should have been, a cold knot forming in his belly. He passed the door to the guest room, running into his own room. His and Jenny’s.

  His eyes began to burn with unshed tears, blurring.

  She’d left no trace of herself behind.

  “Jenny!” he called, like a medium trying to summon a ghost, looking at the ceiling and at the shadowed corners of the room. “This isn’t funny!”

  This isn’t funny. The plaintive wail of a child left alone in the dark by his older siblings.

  Slowly he turned to look at the door to the corridor-the one he’d just come through. He took short, sharp breaths and then forced himself to leave his bedroom and walk toward the back of the apartment. If it wasn’t a trick, what was it? Had she left him? Could he have done something terrible to her without even knowing it? Something so awful that it could have driven her to abandon him so thoroughly?