In His Shadow

A/N: My usual disclaimers: all copyrights go to those who rightfully own them.

So I was inspired by watching the 1994 flick The Shadow (which is the only Alec Baldwin movie that I like) and decided to create a new story as to how the Shadow and Margo met. The world has some things from the movie but is mostly based off the pulps/radio show/serials.

With that said, enjoy and destroy.

A Fuse is Lit

Something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut as I flipped the sizzling bacon in the cast iron skillet. Most normal people would've shaken it off or chalked it up to nerves.

But then again, I wasn't your average twenty-four year old woman in 1937 New York City. My mom often joked that I must've had a sixth sense. How did I always seem to know what was going on and that nothing could surprise me? She had no idea of how right she was…

Things are fine. I tried to reassure myself. Mom and Dad are just running late from rehearsals at the Mercury Theater. They'll be home soon and we'll settle down to BLT's and rehearsal for Beauty and the Beast. But I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong.

And there was another feeling. That there was somebody watching me…it wasn't a bad or evil feeling. It was a protective feeling. I turned around to the fire escape, open on account of the muggy August night. I tightened the ribbon holding my long brown hair up in its bun. There was nobody there. But I still had the sense that somebody was there. I sensed a man wearing a large hat, and a long cloak and scarf.

Could it be…oh yes, it had to be him…

A sad feeling overcame me. Everything finally made sense. "Mom and Dad are dead, aren't they?" I asked, hoping I was wrong but knowing I was right.

"Yes." A disembodied and sinister male voice said from the fire escape. "I'm sorry."

I squinted, trying to see who was there or how he managed to make himself invisible. But all I succeeded in doing was giving myself a headache. "How come I can't see you?"

"The clouded mind sees nothing." The voice floated. There were footsteps as whoever it was walked around the table. A chair pulled out, seemingly of its own accord. "Sit." He ordered. Numbly, I did as ordered. The footsteps returned to the other side of the round table. A chair was pulled out and I heard the sounds of somebody sitting down in the chair. It scooted inward.

"What happened?" I asked. I just knew that he had some degree of responsibility.

"Your parents crossed a man they were investigating and landed with cement shoes in Hudson Bay." His voice had a sense of regret. There was a flash of movement and something landed on the table. It was a silver ring, embedded with a pearly white opal. I recognized it as my mother's. Dad had one just like it, but the band was wider and the opal was larger. "Your parents were two of my best agents."

"Agents?" I felt numb. How did they manage to keep this one a secret from me? "Why didn't they tell me anything?"

"Because I ordered them not to!" The voice snapped angrily. I also sensed that he was the reason why I didn't know what my folks were up to. He must've blocked my thoughts somehow…"There is much to do and I have little time to teach you."

"You don't know anything about me…" I argued back. What makes this guy think I can help him?

"Your name is Marguerite Agnes Lane but go by Margo. You're the only child of Walter Brown and Anne Gibson Lane. Both were disowned by their affluent families when they chose radio acting as their profession. You're following in their footsteps, having just been recruited by the Mercury Theater and making your debut next month as Belle opposite Orson Welles' Beast in Beauty and the Beast. You're an avid reader, preferring the classics and were mostly homeschooled. There is a scar on your right knee from where you slipped and fell on the ice last winter. And the bacon in your skillet is burning. Is there anything else I should tell you?!" He snapped at the end of his spiel.

Running back to the stove, I turned off the burner and moved the skillet. "Join me, Margo Lane. Become who you were born to be."

"Get out." I said in a cold voice.

There was silence. I sensed that he was angry. Very angry. And yet…he decided to respect my wish and leave me alone…for now anyway. I listened as he pushed the chair away and left through the fire escape. He was gone, but I didn't feel alone.

For some reason, he had left Mom's ring on the table. I touched it; it was still damp and was cold. Did he take it off her cold dead fingers…? Everything began to sink in. Grief at my parents' murder. Fear of what was going to happen to me. And anger. Anger because he was responsible. True, he might not have dumped their bodies over the bridge. But if he hadn't gotten them involved…

God…I began to cry, holding Mom's opal ring in my hand. "Why…why?!" Sobs wracked my body.

Hidden in the shadows, he watched her from the fire escape. Marguerite was crying, he could sense her inner turmoil eating her alive. A normal human being would've felt pity. And a small part of him did feel sorry for her. But there was something far deeper to her.

He just knew that there was.

If there wasn't, then why did he feel her strength anchoring her down?

Marguerite wiped her face dry, kissed the white girasol stone and carefully put the ring on her finger. A new look slipped over her face like a veil. Gone was the frightened face, instead there was a calm determination.

She's accepted her fate. She's accepted her destiny. A worthy successor…unlike the last one, a mistake he had made…he would be after her soon.

A knock came at the door. He could just smell the evil intentions of the people on the other side of the door. Silencing his footsteps, he stepped inside the apartment. He wasn't going to allow anything to happen to her. But not yet. He needed to see how she's react in a situation where danger threatened her.

When it got to be too much for her, then he'd step in. He didn't need to have psychic powers to know that she wasn't a battle hardened commander like him, but a shy and naïve young radio actress.

I was going to pack up my most important things when somebody knocked at the door. Something didn't feel right. Maybe it was because I could feel him standing behind me, a watchful protective presence.

"May I help you?" I asked. Because the door didn't have a peephole, I had to open the door. But I made sure the chain link was fastened.

"Margo? It's Mr. C. I heard about your folks." The voice was familiar. Peeking through the crack, I could see Mercury Theater's biggest sponsor; Oscar Conway, Mr. C for short. Lanky and tall. Mussed up dark brown hair. Vibrant blue eyes under thin wire glasses. Dressed in his usual nice charcoal brown suit. He was smiling sympathetically. "May I come in?"

Normally, I would've unlatched the chain and let him right in. But something was wrong. How did he know what happened? It also didn't help that I was sensing that he wasn't alone; the others were standing off to the side, out of my line of sight. How did he…unless…he was the one Mom and Dad were investigating!

My invisible guest was silent, watching. Why? Was he trying to figure out what to do next? Or was he trying to see what I was going to do?

"Margo? Are you okay?" Mr. C asked.

"Yeah." My mind grasped at straws. The pistol…"Give me a couple of seconds, please. I…I need to rinse my face…"

"I completely understand, take your time." Mr. C smiled as I closed the door. His smile now seemed evil, false. I shivered despite the heat. I rinsed my face in the kitchen sink, as if to cleanse the memory away. I hurried to the end table where Dad had stashed his service pistol from the Great War. Grateful that Dad had shown me how to load and fire that pistol long ago, I began slipping ammunition into the chambers.

CRACK! SNAP! What was that?! I whipped around as the door was kicked down the chain snapped in two. Two burly men ran inside, the ones I had sensed. Fire the goddamned pistol, Margo! I raised the pistol to fire, but I felt a violent tug on my arm. It felt like an invisible somebody was pulling on it with all their might. What the…?! I watched, dumbfounded, as the pistol flew out of my hands and into Mr. C's. He stepped into the apartment, still smiling.

"Did you really think you could fool me, my dear?"

"What…what do you want?" I shivered, backing into a corner by the still hot stove.

"Don't play games with me; I know he's visited you. What has he told you?"

My hand happened to rest upon the handle of the cast iron skillet, still hot. The bacon grease was quietly popping. I got an idea. "He told me to give you this." Gripping the handle, I swung the cast iron skillet in his direction. Hot and slick bacon grease flew into the face of one of the men. He screamed and ran off, I don't know where he went. I swung the heavy skillet into the face of the other.

But he was faster and caught my free hand. In a flash, he moved my arm to my back and bent my elbow. His grip felt like a vise. I felt my bones ready to break. Screaming in pain, I dropped the cast iron skillet. It landed on the ground with a loud clatter.

Mr. C looked at me with a cold and sadistic smile. My blood ran cold. "Very clever, my dear. But you'll regret crossing me." He turned to my captor. "That stove burner looks hot. It could burn her cheek, now wouldn't it?"

He watched from the fire escape, having managed to hide himself from Mr. C's gaze. So far Marguerite was smarter and braver than he anticipated. But she was foolhardy and didn't take the opportunity to run after throwing the bacon grease in that man's face.

Marguerite screamed and fought back as the much bigger man pushed her head close to the hot stove burner. He sensed her desperation. She was screaming for help, her frightened blue eyes looking at him.

Now he had to step in. Getting to his feet, he ran into the room.

My cheek was close to the hot metal. I could feel my skin beginning to blister.

Then the laughing started. It was frightening and loud. There was an almost evil quality to it. I felt an icy sensation running down my back. My captor stopped and looked around in fear. Even Mr. C looked afraid. "You murdered two of my best agents…Conway." The laughing stopped and a creepy voice said in an echo. "Did you think you it was going to escape my notice?"

I saw the large shadow against the wall, of a tall man wearing a slouch hat and cape. "Oh shit! It's him! It's goddamned Shadow!" My captor whimpered.

I took the distraction and got out of the man's grip. "Get out of here, Marguerite!" the Shadow ordered. I didn't need to be told twice. I ran to the fire escape and began running down the stairs two at a time. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of a fight. But I didn't look back to see what was going on. Hurry up, Margo! I thought as I nearly tripped several times as I made my way down.

Once I reached the alley at the bottom of the staircase, I had to make a decision. Where was I going to do? Where was I going to hide? But I didn't have time to decide. Somebody grabbed me from behind, locking me in a chokehold. It was Mr. C. I gagged as he hissed in my ear. "Think you could get away?"

"Let me go!" I screamed, trying to stomp on his foot and kick him. But the effort only resulted in him tightening his ironclad grip on me. Lights began dancing in my eyes and my chest burned for air. Nobody was coming to my aid, not even the Shadow, where was he?! "Somebody! Please help me!"

The effort, unfortunately, exhausted me. I eventually gave in, hoping he'd release his grip and let me breathe. But he didn't. If anything, he tightened it. I felt my vision spin and I was getting dizzy.

"You're going to regret that you know…" Mr. C's tongue licked against my hairline. I felt disgusted.

WHACK! There was the sound of a punch being thrown and his grip released. I fell to my knees, gasping for air. I watched as their shadows battled against the walls.

Conway's remaining lackey proved to be more challenging than the Shadow anticipated. What the Shadow had in his power of invisibility and tactical genius, the lackey made up for with sheer strength and unending determination. He felt himself growing tired after throwing several punches that were repeatedly blocked. But the Shadow didn't want to use the pistols in his shoulder holsters. The police couldn't hear a fistfight from this high up. But they could easily hear a gunshot and would come running.

He needed to be stealthy and silent like his namesake. If they were to come now before his infiltration into Conway's criminal web was complete, everything would be blown. Conway was slippery as an eel, he could get off scot-free and then Annie and Walter would have died for nothing.

With that in mind, the Shadow focused on finding a weak point in the lackey's fight style. And find one he did; a hard kick to the shins to distract him. The lackey fell to the floor, groaning. The Shadow kicked him in the head, sending him to the floor in an unconscious heap.

He heard Marguerite screaming from the street. Projecting out his mind, he saw that Conway had grabbed her and was now trying to pull her into the getaway car. Desperate, the Shadow jumped out the window and began running down the stairs. The Tulku who trained him was said to have harnessed the power of flight, traveling great distances in a short distance without being seen. But it was a skill he never passed on to the Shadow, claiming it wasn't something learned but came after years of practice and meditation.

Marguerite had managed to keep Conway from dragging her away. But he could see that she was tiring. Summoning up his strength, the Shadow began attacking Conway. His former protégé had never been a fighter, preferring to use his wits to escape confrontation. A simple twisting of Conway's wrist and flipping him over his shoulder was enough to call the fight in the Shadow's favor.

The Shadow looked down at him. Conway couldn't hide the fear in his eyes. It felt so satisfying. "She is under my protection now. If you harm her…nothing can save you." Conway nodded, frightened. The Shadow punched him in the face. He could hear the bones popping and cracking like popcorn.

Moe, it's time. Come get us. The Shadow projected his thoughts out to the loyal cabbie waiting a few blocks away. He could hear the cab revving up and coming closer. He went over to Marguerite, who was at this point kneeling on the ground, shaking. A quick glance over confirmed that she was unharmed but very frightened. He offered his hand to her. She looked at it, unsure if she should take it.

"Come with me." He ordered as the yellow and checkered cab came swerving around the corner. Marguerite was either too frightened or wise to ask him why. Impatient, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

The timid girl finally snapped. "You won't treat me like that." Marguerite finally lost her fear and yanked her hand back.

A spark of admiration crossed his eye. But it lasted only a few seconds. He wouldn't be disobeyed. She'd have to learn her place as his apprentice. He merely glanced at her. Her spirit immediately became meek and humble. But he'd have to remember to keep her in line.

I shivered as the cab doors opened but was determined to keep him from controlling me. At that moment, I swore that I was going to beat him at his own game. I would help him, but only for avenging my parents' murder.

Pretending naivety and meekness was my best defense, I allowed myself to get into the cab. I didn't think he would hurt me. While he was frightening and with a touch of evil, I sensed that he wanted something with me.

The cab smelled like onions and beefsteak. The bulky cabbie had his back to me, a large newspaper cap was on his head. I felt the Shadow get in next to me. "Drive." He ordered.

"Yes, boss." The cabbie responded with a thick Brooklyn accent. He slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and we were launched forward. We wove through the streets of New York. Horns honked and tires screeched as the cab made its way to the fancy Long Island neighborhood. It was the place where the hoity-toity folk lived. Quite different from the life I had lived.

"May I ask why we're going here?" I asked nervously.

"It's your first assignment." The Shadow said, looking forward. He didn't turn to face me. "I need you to get close to Conway. Your training as an actress will help you. There will be more information at the safe house. A courier system will come by every day. You will give your reports to them and they will relay them to me. When you hear one of my agents say 'Today is a lovely day', you will reply 'Yes, but it seems that I've forgotten my umbrella.' This will identify you to each other."

I felt a shudder go up my back as we parked at this beautiful townhouse in Long Island. As I was about to open the door, I felt the Shadow's grabbing my elbow. "Your life as Marguerite Lane is over and done with." The Shadow said to me in a cold tone. "Conway will be after you and he will kill you the first chance he'll get. You cannot go back to your old life. Do you understand?"

I nodded, it hadn't really sunk in yet. The Shadow passed me my key and let me leave. I got out and unlocked the door.

The Shadow watched as Marguerite went inside the house. He projected his mind out, making sure she locked the door behind her. Leaning back against the black leather seats, the Shadow sighed, taking off his hat and scarf. Moe was one of the very few who knew his secret. "Home."

Moe turned back to the Cranston estate, about eighteen blocks away. For a while they were silent. "Do you really think she's the one, boss? Especially after what happened last time?"

"She has to be, Moe." The Shadow said as he looked at his ring. "She has to be."

A/N: I know Margo is kind of a damsel in distress and the Shadow is a bit of a bastard in this. However, this is Margo before we know her and I'm going to have her really grow up in this work. Also, the pulps Shadow is a scary bastard who won't hesitate to abuse/terrorize/kill anyone that gets in his way.

So does anyone want more?