Page 63 of Semblance

“So we discussed my five year plan,” I said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Shadow set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“There are two stories I can tell you,” he said. “One happy and cheerful—but it would be a lie, which adds onto the other pile of lies I’ve spun as a member of the Midnight Society—or I can tell you the truth, which isn’t pleasant. In fact, the truth may disturb you to the point where you’ll never want to see or speak to me again.”

“The truth,” I said with no hesitation. “I despise lies.”

“Okay then,” Shadow said as he polished off the last of his wine before continuing. “I’m sure you must know by now that both my parents were murdered.”

I nodded. “I wanted to give you my sympathies, but couldn’t find the proper time to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Shadow said. “Talking about dead parents tends to spoil the mood of a romantic getaway.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I guess we’ve been talking quite a bit about our dads during this trip.”

“Well, theywerethe people that shaped our identities,” Shadow said. “Think how drastically different our lives would have been if we were someone else’s kid. Everything you and I do, it’s because our parents influenced us that way.”

“Absolutely.”

“For the first ten years of my life, I always knew what my dream was—to impress my father and be a worthy successor to the Tremaine family name. Everything I did was for him; every goal I scored, every exam I aced—it was all done to earn my father’s approval.”

“Did he ever give it to you?”

Shadow shook his head. “My father wasn’t the type to hand out gold stars or pats on the back. To this day, I’ll never know if he was proud of me or not,” he sighed.

I reflected on my own dad and how he constantly congratulated me on each one of my accomplishments. His encouragement allowed me the confidence to face all my challenges head on and succeed. Listening to what Shadow’s childhood was like made me feel sorry for him.

“Have you ever seen something so horrible, you’ll never be able to rid yourself of that grotesque image, no matter how hard you try?”

I nodded as I recalled a dark memory of mine. “I was helping out my grandpa on the farm once when I was little. One day, I went out to feed the calves and I noticed one calf in particular was moaning and jerking her head around wildly. I remember walking up to her, only the left side of her face in view. She had looked at me with these wide eyes, terrified, her head swinging from side-to-side as if she were possessed. It wasn’t until I drew closer and saw the right side of her face that I realized what was wrong.”

I paused, and shuddered at the memory.

“You don’t have to tell me the story if you don’t want to,” Shadow said. “It was more of a rhetorical question anyways.”

“Too late now,” I said. “I always hated it when someone started a story and didn’t finish.”

“Don’t make friends with writers then,” Shadow said. “Many of them tend to start but fail to finish.”

I smiled at him. “Storytellers are equally as troublesome,” I agreed, before continuing with my memory. “What I saw was something straight out of a horror movie. It looked as if half her face had been chewed off by flesh eating worms; fat bulbous insects that ate away her eyes, the flesh on her cheeks, and her nose. All that was left was cartilage and bone. That’s the one image I can never forget, no matter how hard I try.”

“Has the image of the worms devouring the calf changed the way you look at the world?” Shadow asked.

“I was twelve at the time. For years, worms and skele-cows haunted my dreams,” I said. “But eventually I got over it. However take me to a restaurant and nine times out of ten, I’ll still choose chicken over steak.”

Shadow nodded.

“This is a lead into your story?”

“Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath. “The one image that will hauntmeuntil the day I die was opening the door of the study and seeing my mom and dad lying in a pool of blood. My mom had one solid stab wound through her neck, followed by multiple ones all across her body. Meanwhile my father’s neck was half sawed off, his head tilted back at an impossible angle.”

Shadow swallowed hard.

“I’ll be honest with you,” I decided to come out. “I already know all this. The other day, while I was relaxing in the park, Lucien approached me and gave me a package. Inside were transcripts of your sessions with your therapist.”

I felt guilty keeping this secret until now. I should have told Shadow the minute I received the package, but the mystery behind him was too tempting to resist. And then when I saw him at Angkor Wat, I contemplated telling him then but the beauty of Cambodia had stolen my heart and discussing the murder of Shadow’s parents was the last thing I wanted to talk about while we explored the magical Khmer ruins.

“It took him longer than usual this time,” Shadow sighed.

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