Shadow Of A Man June 3rd, 2003, it was Rick Street’s first summer working in the East Roanoke Library. In the reference desk he sat in the most uncomfortable, unpadded seat, at his oak desk. Street received a phone call, a phone call that sent a shockwave into his life for two years. On the other line he couldn’t understand the mumbling whines from his mother. “She’s gone, Rick!” Mrs. Street fumbles through her words. “What ma? Who’s gone?” “Susan, Rick, Susan’s dead.” “What, w-w-what? No. That’s not true” Rick refused to comprehend the fact that someone had taken his sister, and best friend off of this earth. “I’m sorry Rick, she was killed, murdered in her own damn house.” Two years later, Street still sits in that God-awful seat in front of the now cola stained oak table. He still gets the same shudders and still sheds the same tears he had two years ago. “What are you up to Mr. Street?” A new employee interrupts Street’s research. “Just the usual Rob; shelving books, making phone calls, registering new library cards.” Rob Fitzpatrick was new at the library, even new to Virginia. He always seemed to be asking Street what he was doing or how to do something. But he was always so polite about it, always calling Rick Mr. Street and always saying, “Do you mind if…?” Rob was a great worker to have around, someone that could always keep someone company. 10:45 pm. Street finally leaves the library. It’s the night and closing shift. He hasn’t taken any other since his sister’s death. He refuses to go out at night and the only time he smiles is when he listens to the sweet jazz music spilling out of his silver Honda Accord car speakers. Getting into his car, his polytonal ring tone ruptures his ears. Who could be calling me? “Hello?” his unenthusiastic voice answers the phone. “What’s up man? It’s Will. Are you out the library yet?” “Yeah, what do you want?” “Rick, don’t sound so excited,” The sarcasm was hardly disguised. “I just wanted to know if you wanted to go grab a couple beers tonight.” “No thanks, I’m tired and just want to go home.” The short drive home is filled with Miles Davis. The trumpet lines from “So What” flow through Street’s body, from his head, down his spine, and all the way down to his toes. For a brief time, remorse for his sister is placed in the back of his head. 11:05 pm. Arriving at his apartment he flips on the living room switch lighting up the almost vacant apartment. Bills are stacked up on his table, and newspapers are all over his only couch in front of where the television usually would stand. He walks past the kitchen where one chair is up against the wall. The refrigerator hasn’t held a dozen eggs or a quart of milk in months. Walking into the bedroom his bare walls and twin size bed represent his empty life. He has nothing left to live for except his library books and the channel 5 news he records every night to catch up on the world that ran right past him that day. Rick strolls into his sister’s bedroom to find her sitting on the edge of her bed watching television. “Hey Susan.” No response, complete silence. As another gasp of breathe climbs up his throat to try and grab his sister’s attention, the door swings open. A shadow of a man emerges and the fear of God engulfs his sister’s face. Rick tries again to scream to her, but she can’t hear him. The shadow man slowly approaches Susan holding knife at his side. She can’t escape. “SUSAN! SUSAN!” His breathe rushes up his throat and out his mouth but it can’t help her. He reaches for the shadowed man but can’t move his body. He is immobile at the doorway. Every step closer the terror on Susan’s face grows thicker and thicker. The shadowed man raises the knife above her body and takes the first strike at her shoulder blade. The screams from his sister ring through his ears as the killer continues the destruction of his sister’s angelic body. As the shadowed man leaves the scene, Susan’s body is limp and has disintegrated into darkness. The nightmare is finally over, literally but yet he faces another night of tossing and turning to the mercy of this re-occurring nightmare. 12:30 pm. The alarm chimes in Street’s ears. Rolling out of bed after a night of cold sweat Street eats his breakfast alone as usual. Migrating back into the bedroom Street opens up the only other piece of furniture besides his bed. The dresser contains his dull wardrobe, which consists of four sweater vests, all brown and green, five dress shirts, four khaki pants, and six ties. Before he leaves the house he grabs one of his identical pairs of brown Doc Martins. 2:30 pm. On his way to work another call comes in. But this time he if fully aware it’s his old college buddy Will. “Hello,” Rick imitates the same response he gave him last night. “Rick, it’s Will again. I know you are busy now but the guys and me really wanna hang out again tonight, “ Will practically pleads Street. Trying to end the conversation as soon as possible, Street lets the word “fine” escape his lips. 11:30 pm. The silver Accord pulls up to a new jazz club in town. He sees his buddy Will with two other guys. Street can recognize those guys anywhere. Roy Green and Pat Hampton. The four of them, including himself and Will, go all the way back their college days. They made up the Virginia Tech jazz band trumpet section. With Roy and Pat covering the third and fourth parts, Street rocked out the solos, and Will belted out the lead lines. They were the best trumpet section that school had ever seen. The first smile created by something other then Miles Davis in two years starts to crack across Street’s stone face. “Street, why haven’t you come out with us before?” “I don’t know Roy. I…I don’t know.” Pat finally fills a pause in the conversation. “You’ve always wanted to be an author. Why don’t you write about your sister’s story?” Pat’s statement lit up Street’s big brown eyes. That was the first night Rick Street lived again. 2:45 am. When he arrived back home Street broke his daily routine of watching the news and going straight to bed. Instead, he took up Pat on his offer and started tackling the story of, and for Susan. It was around 4:45 am when his leaky faucets of eyes trickled the first tears of the night on his laptop. He knew it was time to call it quits for the night. 3:00 pm. The next day at work Street does a little researching to get his story as accurate as possible. He found the names of suspects; time of death and even exact places where his sister’s poor delicate body was horribly disfigured. That sick freak. 10:45 pm. Street stays after closing time to catch up on the story he couldn’t write while he was working. The trumpet vibrato coming from Miles Davis’ horn soothes Street’s tense fingers and eager mind. The darkness in the library is frightening, but relaxing at the same time. Rain starts to fall on to the aluminum rooftop. It gets harder by the second. The pounding raindrops let Street know he won’t be leaving his story for a while. Finally, ready to get back into his story, scuffling of the carpet stops Street’s heart for a second. Is someone else here? He stands up as if he was expecting to catch the culprit in the depths of the eternal darkness. From the pitch black room the scuffling noise grows every second. The sound gets and closer making every bone in Street’s body shudder. “Who’s there?” Street’s voice shakes more than Miles Davis’ vibrato. The scuffling stops, and faster then it came towards him, it fled the scene. In the corner of his eye Street sees the light switch a good 10 feet away. Deciding to bolt for it, he illuminates the room to catch a mere shadow scurry behind a bookshelf. I got him now Slow steps to the bookshelf, Street is shaking and sweating the whole way there. He’s unarmed, but trying to catch the shadow by surprise. He jumps behind the shelf just to catch a book cart in the gut. At the same time, books crash to the ground across the room and the previous shadow is now a man bolting for the door. Still facing the door and realizing he was trapped the man pulls out a magnum and motions Street to stay away. Grabbing a wooden chair next to the door the man breaks the window and escapes into the pouring rain. Who would break into a library, and did he want to kill me? After a night of interviews and police officers the library was to be closed the next day for investigation. Weeks pass and the story is starting to slow. Rob turned out to be more then just a co-worker but a good friend. 12:30 am. The phone rings in Street’s apartment and startles the author in the middle of his work. “Street, its me, Rob. I can’t say much, but meet me at my apartment. I have some information about your sister’s murder. Get here fast. Bye” Not even having a chance to respond, he rushes out the door and jumps into his car. The speed of the car was matched by the tempo of “Salt Peanuts” by Dizzy Gillespie. His heart races in the anticipation of what Rob had to say. What could be so important he couldn’t say over the phone? Does he know who did it? 1:15 am. Street pulls up to the apartment complex and realizes Rob’s lights are off. Something didn’t seem right. Rushing up to the room, he is greeted by an already open door. Someone beat him, but whom? Who was inside with Rob and what was he trying to hide with the lights off. With his heart racing faster then it ever had before he pokes his head inside the door. Street finds the light switch and turns it on swiftly as if it would save his life. In the corner of the room, Rob’s lifeless body sits a bloody mess. His arms are slashed and his chest is completely black and blue from bruises. Someone didn’t want Rob to tell the truth. Chairs are flipped and the blinds above Rob’s head are torn on one side. Scanning the room for the intruder, his eyes catch movement down a dark hallway connecting to the room. It resembles the same shadow from the library and from his dream. The shadow of a man slowly crept towards Street. Oddly enough, Street was immobile again. Knife at side, the killer is ready for his second victim of the night. Come on Street, do something. Finally gaining life back in his body, Street flicks the light switch off and takes a dive towards the shadow. Street tackles the monster into the wall. A knee to the gut knocks Street to the ground. Now on his back, Street sees the shadow man cover his body. The same fear his sister showed in his dream visits the face of Rick Street. With the knife raised, the killer swings it towards Street’s body, but only hits his left arm. Street, struggling to move his arm rolls to his side to evade another swing. Street jumps up to his feet. The wound is now dying his dress shirt blood red. The pain from his body is overpowered by the will to avenge his sister. Punching the killer in the back, he sees the knife fall to the ground. With the killer weaponless one more swing knocks the killer out for sometime. After kicking the knife to the side, Street contacts the police and waits to be rescued. In one final attempt to find an ending to his sister’s story, he looks into the face of the man who took his sister’s final breath away. The final line of Street’s story read, “In the very same moment, I put my sister to rest and lost a friend. Will, how could you?”
Copyright © 2005 Michael J Musto |