Page 66 of The Shadow

“Shit.” I hear his muffled voice as he approaches the run-down motel in the middle of nowhere Mexico. He struggles with the key. “Come on,” he grumbles, jiggling it until the lock finally gives and he’s able to push open the door. He takes a quick glance around over his shoulder, a comical move considering he looked right at me and didn’t even notice me standing there, then slams the door behind him, drawing the shades tighter as well.

I was a little disappointed I didn’t get the chance to confront him in his office. Or perhaps at his house when the hit man he hired showed up to kill me, but this… this is a much safer and cleaner option.

I haven’t decided how I’ll do it yet. The confrontation part, I mean. I’ve debated on fucking with him. Cutting the power to his room or knocking on the door and running away. But I’m not a cat and I really have no interest in playing with my prey. So I wait patiently until it’s the darkest part of the night and the most quiet. When I know he’ll be asleep and at his most vulnerable.

I slide my lockpick tool into the lock and a second later, I’m inside. I stand over his bed, his pathetic body curled up in a fetal position. I move quietly, looking in the most obvious places a moron like him would hide his gun. I open the nightstand drawer slowly and there it is.

Fucking idiot.

I take the gun, checking the room for any others, but this is the only one; there isn’t even any extra ammunition. Then I take a seat in the stained chair at the far corner of the room and I wait.

Two hours later, his body stirs and then he groans. He flips the covers off his body, sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He stands, walking toward the bathroom, before stopping to look at the door again. His eyes must scan right over me but with the shadows and the heavy curtains, I just blend right in. But that’s when I see his eyes, a look of panicked desperation in them.

Good. He deserves to feel the kind of fear and desperation he forced onto Aspen.

He leaves the bathroom door ajar, the light shining across the bed as I hear the familiar splash of urine hitting the toilet bowl. A few seconds later, he shuffles through the door, yawning as he flicks off the light and climbs back into bed.

But just as he pulls the covers up around his shoulders and snuggles back down into comfort, I let him know he’s not alone.

“Good evening, Connor.”

He sits up, his hands fumbling for his gun in the dark. I can hear the drawer open frantically, his nails clawing at the cheap wood before he jumps from his bed and stares at me.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” he says. “I have a gun!”

“Oh, come on now, Connor.” I click my tongue at him. “We both know I have your gun.”

“Harvey?” He chokes out my name. “I have money, lots of it. I can get you whatever you want.” He’s holding his hand out in front of him, walking slowly toward the bathroom like he’s attempting to talk down a wild animal from attacking him.

“Oh, wrong again,” I say just as he’s about to make a mad dash for the bathroom. I pull back the hammer on his own gun. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say and he freezes.

“Please.” His voice cracks, choking on a sob as he falls to his knees. “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything.”

Is it fucked up that this is bringing me pleasure?

I push the thought from my head, not wasting too much time feeling bad about it considering the person the gun is pointed toward.

“How did you find me?”

That’s the same question my dad asked when he saw me after all those years. In my opinion, it’s a pretty obvious question you’d expect from an arrogant narcissist. I saw it in the Marines over the years. They can’t fathom the idea that there’s someone else smarter than them, or like it is in most cases, they can’t fathom the idea that they’re the ones who made a fatal mistake along the way.

“Does that really matter when you know you can’t outrun me?”

“What do you want?” His voice is a pathetic cry now, his hands folded in front of him as he cowers on the floor.

“You know what I want. Justice, for Aspen. For all the women you tortured and tossed aside, for all the lives you ruined over the years.”

“How? You don’t want money, so tell me what you want!”

And now I just sit in silence, letting him marinate in the realization that there is no form of justice I want besides his death. I can see it as it takes over his face, moving from his eyes down to his lips that turn up into a deep frown. “Killing me won’t fix it. It won’t change things.”

“You are right there. Killing you won’t right those wrongs, but neither will money, Connor, and that’s a valuable lesson that you never seem to learn in this life. There are consequences, far greater than losing money or status or wealth, when it comes to fucking people over. Especially when that person is the woman I love.”

“You’re making a mistake,” he says. “Think about Aspen, think about your life together. This would ruin it. They’ll know it was you. You think you won’t get caught but you will. You’ve left a clue or a fingerprint somewhere.” He’s panicking again, rambling, trying to reason with me.

“Do you know why Jimmy told you they called me the shadow?” My question is met with silence. “It’s not because I’m undetectable or hidden. It’s because you forget I’m there. You forgot, Connor, that’s where you fucked up. You got so used to me being around, being your shadow, that your own brain made you forget that I was the threat.”

“There has to be something,” he starts to beg again, “a deal we can make.”

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