Title: Ghost
Author: Jayde
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then I don't own it. TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michaelangelo, April, Casey, Splinter belong to Eastman and Laird, Mirage, and so on and so forth. Don't sue.
Credits: This could not have been done without the gentle and thorough editing of sss979
Summary: Is it stalking, or the supernatural.
Darkness is usually my friend. I stick to the shadows, and live my life hiding from the eyes of the humans. I accepted it long ago. It's just the way it is. They cannot accept me; my shape and form instill fear and even horror in the people who live in the city above me. We - my brothers and I - have helped many humans, but it has not bought us the freedom to walk in the light. But I'm not cynical.
To be fair, there have been some rare instances when we have been accepted and even embraced by the people we have helped. But that same help we have provided has often turned to danger as our enemies make attempts against us through our newfound friends. It's a catch twenty-two, any way you look at it. The obligations to those friends weigh on me at times, as does my responsibility for my brothers. I don't believe that they always understand how precarious our situation is, and how careful we must be to remain invisible.
I paused for a moment, and shifted the sack I carried. It was heavy with boxes and cans of food, and beginning to cut off the circulation to my fingers. Normally I wouldn't be bringing back groceries alone - the simple fact was, one person could not bring home enough groceries to make a trip to the store worth it. I'd only gone because I had felt the need to get away from my brothers for a while. Our home, although it was the closest thing I would ever have to a place of refuge, had begun to chafe.
I wasn't alone in needing to get out, be away, and have some space to myself. They all felt it, and they all manifested it in different ways. Don hid in his room most of the time, only joining us for meals and the occasional practice. Mike watched too much t.v., and he had given up his practical jokes. And Raphael ... Raphael was about the same. Maybe a little more brutal in a fight, or a little more biting at home. Too much emotion roiled just below the surface in all of us, and the quarters were too close to contend with the charged atmosphere.
The walk had helped me. I felt refreshed, and my mind was clear. Water swirled around my feet, muddy and murky and flowing toward home. It was amazing that in all the years of walking barefoot through the runoff from the streets of New York City, we'd never managed to contract anything deadly or dangerous. I knew for a fact there were hypodermic needles in here, and broken glass, and God-knows-what-else. But somehow, the cuts never got infected; the needles never had AIDS; the poison that flowed in the dirty stream never made it into our bloodstream.
Breathing.
Instantly, I was jerked out of my thoughts by the realization that I was not alone. I spun so quickly that I could not keep my grip on the sack, and it splashed into the water beside me, spilling its contents. I realized one hand was on my weapon, placed there by instinct alone, but I didn't withdraw it. Not yet. I could see nothing in the darkness behind me. I could smell nothing. But I could feel it. And I could hear its breathing.
Very slowly, I drew my blade. The hiss of the steel against the sheath drowned the evidence of another presence. I stood still, waiting, my own breath stopped by an act of my will.
Nothing.
The sound was gone. There was nothing, now, to tell me that any living thing had passed close to me. I replayed the last few moments in my mind. I had been distracted, and my thoughts had not been on my surroundings. Could I have misinterpreted the sound?
After an endless period of waiting, I returned the weapon to the sheath resting against my shell. I paused again, almost expecting the threat to manifest itself once again now that my weapon was not in hand. But the only sound was the faint trickle of water past my feet, and the slight rustle of the plastic grocery bag as it fought the current. I sighed as I reached for it, gathered the spilled contents, and turned toward the lair again.
Every few feet I paused, listening. Nothing was there. At least, nothing that I could see. Still, I kept myself on alert as I approached the tunnels near our home. We had enemies, still, who would be glad of our destruction or capture. Enemies that would certainly follow me if they ever had a chance. But there was no enemy. There was only the water, the crinkling plastic bag, and the sound of my own breathing.
The remainder of the trip went without incident. No other unusual sounds came to me, and I began to relax a little. It could have been something innocuous. A stray pet, or an echo of something from the surface. I shrugged my shoulders, throwing off the tension that had haunted me through the end of my walk. I wanted to regain that feeling of renewal that I had experienced before the odd noise had shattered my peace of mind. The walk would be for nothing if I walked in the door as tense as I'd been when I'd left.
I leaned forward, listening through the door. No sound escaped from the other side, which I took to be a good sign. My spirits lifted anew, and I was looking forward to being inside among my brothers. Maybe I could convince Mike to cook a meal, and we could eat as a family tonight. Memories of happier times helped me shake off the last of my darker thoughts. We weren't children anymore, but perhaps we could find a way to be civil together every now and again.
I slipped through the door, and headed straight for the kitchen, dropping the sack onto the ancient table. It struck me, belatedly, that this probably wasn't the most hygienic thing to do. I searched the kitchen cupboard for a rag and some soap or cleanser.
"Heya!"
I spun away from the cupboard, weapons drawn before Mike could jump back. Thank God I saw him before any more reflexes kicked in. I made a conscious effort to lower my alertness to a safe "home" level, where I could expect such things as other peoples' voices.
"Time to lay off the caffeine, Leo." Mike laughed at me. I dredged up a smile and self-consciously put away my katanas. Drawing them without need twice in one day was overkill.
"What'd you get?"
I shrugged, and spread open the top of the bag. Mike pawed through the contents, grimacing at the boxes that had gotten wet.
"Sorry about that," I commented. "I ran into a little trouble on the way home."
"What kind?" Mike queried, unloading cans and stacking them in the crook of one arm.
"I uh..." I looked away, brow creasing as I considered carefully what kind of trouble I had run into. It was nothing, right? Either way, I didn't want to worry Mike. "I thought someone was following me." I glanced up and forced a smile as I briefly caught his eye. "It was nothing, though. Just stress, I guess."
Mike eyed me for a long moment, then turned his attention back to the bag, accepting the answer without a challenge. Apparently, he could believe in stress.
-----------------------
The middle of the night is the best time to be haunted. At two in the morning, every past decision, every move you've ever made becomes questionable. I was going over the incident in the tunnel. Over and over again, I was going over it. Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't get it out of my head. I was restless. I had tried lying in bed, only to find that I could not relax enough to sleep. So here I was, sitting on the couch in the dark.
The living room was a mysterious landscape of shapes and shadows; the doorway leading to the bedrooms a black void. I had given up on the TV; I wasn't in the market for wrinkle cream or a spray to make me look like I have hair.
So what was I doing here? I was listening. Faint strains of music came from Mike's room. I couldn't make out the words, but I knew from experience it would play all night. The faint whir of computer fans came from behind Don's door. Somewhere a clock ticked, but I didn't know who had it. Distantly, I could detect the sound of water running through the sewer tunnels.
I strained my senses, picking apart every whisper I heard.
This was nuts. I rose abruptly from my seat and stalked to the training room. I needed something to do to occupy my mind.
Once inside, I turned on the lights. I walked over to the weapons' racks and found my attention lingering on the staffs. I ran my fingers over the highest one on the rack. It was dusty from lack of use. Shorter than Donatello's weapon, this was the only jo in the practice room. As I ran my fingers down the worn length of the wood, I recalled the story of how it was invented. Muso Gonnosuke had created the jojutsu techniques to fight against two swords using a simple stick, and had triumphed over Miyamoto Musashi. I had been bested with it as well.
I debated taking it down and practicing with it, but instead drew my hand away. I rubbed the grey dust from my fingers onto my plastron, and turned back to the center of the room.
I wanted someone to spar with, but Mike and Don were asleep. Raphael, as per usual on a weekend night - or any other night for that matter - was missing.
I started a series of katas, concentrating on the movements. I forced myself to exert maximum effort, in spite of how tired I felt. Time slipped by, and I began to relax into the routine. Perspiration slid over my skin, tracing the hollows and grooves of my body. My arms and legs moved smoothly, muscle and sinew flexing. Graceful, but only through repetition. On the wall to my right a shadow ninja followed me like an exceptional student, mimicking every movement.
A breath slithered over the back of my neck.
Purely on instinct I responded with a spinning kick to strike ... nothing. Not a hint of motion or presence. The overhead fluorescent was violently bright, and the shadows had been chased from the corners when I first entered. Nothing could be hiding in this room.
I flinched as the front door to the lair suddenly banged open. Raphael was home. It was time for me to get to bed.
--------------------------
The sounds of the storm echoed through the tunnels, every crack of thunder reverberating off the walls until it seemed that the ground beneath my feet shook. Deafened by the sound of the rainwater pouring through the slits in the sewer grates, I was no less aware of my surroundings. In all honesty, I didn't mind the storm - even if it did make it a little harder to be in tune with my environment.
In a way, I suppose I was in tune. I was very much in tune with the storm, and at the moment, it constituted the majority portion of the world around me. I could feel the presence of the rain over me, pounding the street above my head. I followed those thick drops of rainwater as they ran together into one stream that flowed alongside a broken and trash-strewn curb. As they filtered into the sewer tunnels and ran toward the East River, I ran with them.
I could hear my heart beat to the rhythm of the rain, my breathing smooth yet heavy as I jogged at a pace that might have been considered a sprint for some. I ran in time with the storm, and let the waterfalls that curtained the tunnel in front of me mask the sound of my footfalls. Right now, at this moment, I was the storm.
It was a unique way of seeing the tunnels - a way that might have been frightening in my younger years. Each sewer grate leading to the world above created a wall, trapping me in a series of small rooms. No sooner had I broken out of one of them than I found myself trapped in another. Vision limited, hearing deadened, I still felt very much in control. I was bigger than the rain-made wall. I was the wall...
But suddenly, something was out of place. I came to an abrupt stop, skidding through the stream as I caught my balance and looked around me, scanning the darkness. It was a brief flurry of movement that caught my eye - a shifting shadow in a darkened tunnel to my right. Head lowered, I reached for my katana, and a low, threatening growl escaped my throat. The sky growled in unison.
It was only a shadow, but it was a living shadow. I could not see it clearly, but I knew that it saw me. All right... You have my attention... Now what did it want? I opened my mouth to speak, but it was gone before I could find words. My grip tightened around the hilt of my weapon as it fled. Oh no... not this time...
Lightning flashed, and I sprinted. Fueled by adrenaline and the fury of the storm, I splashed through deeper water as my quarry ran steadily ahead of me. Whatever it was, it was fast. And like me, it did not tire. For more than a mile, I followed closely behind. Then, suddenly, it was gone. As if it had suddenly disappeared, I could no longer see it. I ran further, but found I was chasing nothing. The Shadow was gone. I didn't know where it went, or how to follow.
I closed my eyes, reaching out with every sense I had. There was nothing but the sound of the storm, the feel of sweat beading mingling with the humidity and beading on my skin, the darkness that didn't move. A flash of lightning illuminated the world around me, but there was nothing to see - only the same tunnels that I had been seeing since I was a child.
I was alone.
-----------------------
"Who do you think it is?"
"I don't know, Don!" I couldn't seem to stop pacing. "All I know is that he - it - is following me."
"Does it know where the lair is?"
"It was..." I cut off as I realized that there was no way to explain to them what this thing was. "No. I don't know. I don't..." I struggled for a way to explain. "I didn't see it there."
"But you saw it following you today," Don reminded.
I turned away, hiding my face in my hand. "Donnie... you know how there's some things you can just... feel, but you don't really feel them? Or you can hear them but they're not really making a sound?"
I glanced back and saw him staring at me. I let him stare for a long moment, as if I had just grown another head, and then sighed. "Look, it's not... real. But it is."
Mike laughed. I could hear the tension there... "Well, it can't be The Foot," he tried. "They haven't bothered with us at all since..."
"It isn't the Foot!" I could've throttled him right then and there. Had he not heard a single word I'd said so far? "It's not..." And yet there was no way for me to better explain it. "It was in the lair, Mike. I felt it there. It's following me. Everywhere. I can..." Suddenly I felt a chill run down my spine as I realized what I was saying. "I can feel it. Like it's... in me. Or on me. Or... something. It's... more than just a person. It's a..."
"A spirit?" April offered. She crossed her legs and sat back in the dining chair as she waited for my response. Her right foot was swinging back and forth in the insanely high heeled shoes she still had on. April had been denied the opportunity to change after work by our abrupt arrival.
The eggshell walls gleamed softly as the evening light spilled in through the windows. Donatello had adjusted the blinds for our safety, but they did not block the sun. All the furniture matched the walls -- a collection of creams and beiges. There was no darkness here. I sat down, joining the others at the table.
"I'm sorry, April." I placed my arms on the table, and I tried not to tap my fingers impatiently on the surface.
"Leo, it's okay." April's hand clasped my left arm just below my elbow pad.
"So, pizza?" Michaelangelo's query drew smiles from most of those at the table.
"I'm on it," April said. Her hand slipped away from me as she stood up and crossed over to the kitchen and the telephone.
I was relieved by Mike's timely interruption. I had arrived at April's late, and been subjected to the third degree. I felt a moment of sympathy for Raph, suddenly. Was this what it was like when I questioned him?
------------------------
"So he's losing his marbles," Raphael commented, tilting back in his chair at a dangerous angle.
"Raph," Donatello moaned. "You're not helping."
No, Raph, you're not helping. I leaned my head back against the wall, surprised that they didn't sense me right outside our kitchen.
"Well, what'm I s'pposed ta say?" Raph shrugged. "Yer the doctor, Donnie. You tell me what the hell's wrong with 'im."
"I don't know!" Don shot back. "Maybe he's... repressing. Or maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him."
"Or maybe it's in the water," Raph smirked. I could hear his smirk.
My jaw tightened, and my hands curled into fists that I pressed against the wall. I didn't want to listen to them discussing my apparently fragile state, but I didn't want to tip them off that I had heard. I plotted my course away from the open door, and I had barely started my first step when Mike spoke again.
"What if it's a ghost."
I froze, stopped dead in my tracks. For a long moment, I rolled that over in my mind. Something had been there, and the natural laws didn't seem to apply to it. But that didn't mean it was a ghost. I wasn't buying a supernatural explanation. That was for Mikey and the SciFi channel.
"Come on, Mikey. There's no such thing as ghosts," Raph laughed at him. The statement was followed by a loud thud, and I glanced off the living room mirror into the kitchen. Raph was on the floor, a surprised look on his face. The chair he'd been tipping back had suddenly tipped back a little too far.
"You're sure about that, are you?" Mike gloated.
I pushed away from the wall. Raphael and I were thinking alike, and that wasn't a good sign. I moved through the living area and stopped at the front door in confusion. Where would I go? Into the tunnels to face this ghost or shadow or whatever it was? For once, the surface beckoned to me. There, I might see it coming.
------------------------
It only took a few hours of sitting on a rooftop to calm down. If Raphael could see me now ... I shook my head a little. The sun was just beginning to set the night sky to flame. I knew, better than anyone, not to be caught out in the daylight, but right now the sun seemed like the least of my problems.
I sensed the intruder climbing the fire escape, and I didn't even move as the turtle-shape vaulted neatly over the ledge.
"Hey, bro," Michaelangelo half-whispered. He joined me, facing the sunrise. "Pretty!"
I nodded, still looking out over the city from my perch on the ledge.
"So how much did you hear?"
I winced. So much for my superior skills in avoiding detection. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Mikey." My tone was soft, and apologetic. I had taken the time to think about it, and I knew they only wanted to help.
"Hey, no big deal, Leo." Mike patted my head. I hated that, and he knew it. I laughed a little, and peripherally I could see Mike raise an eye ridge at me, his expression reflecting how puzzled he was with my mood swing.
"I'm going crazy," I confessed between chuckles.
"No, man. You're not." But was he saying that because it was true, or because he didn't want me to lose it? "You're just ... I wish you'd talk about it, is all."
Somehow, I'd known that would be the first thing out of his mouth. But talking some things through wouldn't do any good. I'd tried to talk it through. I didn't have the words. I stood up, and heard Mike sigh as he joined me on his feet. I stepped back from the ledge, and turned away from the rising sun.
"Any sign of your Shadow?" I couldn't tell for sure, but I didn't think he was being sarcastic.
"No," I answered plainly. "No sightings today." I looked up at the few, lingering stars. They were fading fast as the light spread from the East. Finally, I turned my head to look at my brother. "You really think it's a ghost?" I couldn't resist asking the question, even if it was absurd.
"Well, let's look at this scientifically," Mike intoned. He proceeded to pace back and forth; very much the way Donatello would when he was working through a problem. I hid a smile. "Your Shadow can be heard, sometimes. It can be seen, but then vanish at will."
"Sounds like a ninja, not a ghost," Leo pointed out, looking away.
"No smell, though." Michaelangelo wrinkled his nose. "It can get in the lair without using the door. And the most important piece of evidence ..." Here Mike paused to hold up his finger in the manner of a lecturing professor. "If this thing wanted to take you down, it had the opportunity. Several times over."
That made me stop. That made me stare. For a long moment, I considered it. Yes, it was true. Whatever it was, it could've caught me unaware at any moment. It hadn't. Logically, it wasn't an enemy. "So you seriously think this is...?" I found I couldn't continue the statement. I believed in spirits to guide and protect us, but that was as a concept. This was actually happening to me.
"It isn't so strange, bro," Michaelangelo cajoled. "Think of it as a guardian, or something."
"Like an angel watching over me," I mumbled, looking away. I wasn't completely serious, but Mike nodded enthusiastically anyway.
I stared down at the rooftop beneath my feet, turning that over and over in my mind. "Anyhow!" Mike's sudden change of subject startled me, and I glanced at him. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
I nodded. "Thanks Mike," I afforded. "I'm okay.""A'right." He placed a hand on my shoulder, and left it there for a moment. "If you need anything..."
"I know."
Without another word, he was gone.
-----------------
A ghost.
Sitting against the air vent, legs crossed, I turned that word over and over in my head. What ghost? What was a ghost? And what could I do about it? Did I really want to do anything about it? Mike was right, it hadn't harmed me. It wasn't hurting anything... What did it want? What was it?
"A spirit?"
Sunlight found me. I could see it through my closed eyelids; a red glow. I felt heat gliding over my shoulders and down my arms. The skin above my plastron seemed to tingle from this delicate touch, and I tried to remember the last time I had experienced this sensation.
"A guardian."
The heat penetrated until I could almost feel it through my carapace. I felt sweat break out on my forehead as the light moved to shine more directly over me. Concern shivered through my consciousness. I was exposed here. I could not hide, and safety was far below this rooftop. If someone saw me...
My thoughts were interrupted when I perceived a presence nearby. I determined not to react, and instead tried to glean information without startling the visitor. The sound was soft and familiar. I questioned who could have come so close without my knowledge?
I opened my eyes, and glanced around the open space. Sweat ran into my left eye, and I swiped at it. Raising up, I turned to look in a complete circle.
A pigeon hopped a couple of times before walking away towards the fire escape. A breeze fluttered the loose tarpaper of the roof, and caressed my face. I felt the drops of perspiration cool and dry. The sun continued to beat down on me, but it was not oppressive, not unpleasant. I returned to my previous position, breathing deeply as I centered myself. I placed my hands on my knees, and stretched my fingers. Warmth. I turned my palms up, and let the sun heat them. Comfort. I lowered my head, and the soft wind returned to brush the back of my neck. Acceptance.
The light wrapped around me, holding me in a familiar embrace. And suddenly, I understood.
----------------------------
Three days later…The scent of wildflowers was, and forever would be, connected in my mind to sorrow. I turned my head to face the trees, and tried to erase the sweet stench with the cleaner smell of the nearby pines. I looked up, above the trees.
The sun was rising.
Subtle streaks of pink and gold appeared above the dark wood. The light was penetrating the glade, and the moist, early morning air was beginning to warm. On my knees in the grass I lowered my hands to the soil. The space before me was a dark slash in this colorful meadow, but already the raw earth was scattered with the shoots of new green. Soon, this scar would be covered in goldenrod and wild grasses, as though nothing had ever been here. I was surprised that it wasn't covered already...
I dug in with the digits of my right hand, feeling the loam slip between my fingers. It was dry; no rain had found this place for a few days. Yet the humidity still seemed to stick to my skin. The dew from the ground coated my legs. The day had yet to decide whether it was going to be hot or cold.
I wasn't sure how long I sat there, watching, waiting... expecting. This time, I was expecting. The sky continued to lighten towards a pure and brilliant blue. Insects, sensing the approaching heat, zipped mindlessly through the flowers. Their drone was like a white noise in my mind. I didn't allow it to distract me.
Then, suddenly, I felt it. It took me precious seconds to register the change in the air around me. A wind had come up from the calm, cloudless sky, rattling the leaves, and bending the meadow flowers. Suddenly, the ceaseless buzzing of the insects had vanished. I opened my eyes slowly, and saw the shadows shift around me. My senses reported conflicting messages. Someone and no one was here. This time, I was not startled.
I closed my eyes once more as I felt unseen fingers slide over my head; a tender and affectionate caress of flesh and the faintest whisper of fur. And I smiled. Faintly, sadly, I smiled.
"Thank you," I whispered, reverently. "Thank you for watching over me."