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Chapter 10

The Shadow walked down the beach and promised to stay within shouting distance as I stepped into my ragged trousers and tattered shirt. The smell alone made me sick to my stomach, and I splashed water onto my face. My body felt cold down to the core and I shivered as the adrenaline wore off and every bit of pain caused by the encounter with my father and the two nameless men gripped me with vicious force. I fell to my knees, brushed my hair back from my face, and began sobbing again.

I wondered how long they had watched me in the water. The more I thought about it, the harder I wept. I could not understand why two men who did not know me would be so cruel. I had done nothing to them and yet they wished to hurt me in the most intimate of ways possible. I looked down the length of my body, at the parts now covered by trousers that were far too short, too tight, and long past being repaired. I had worn the same pair of trousers for what seemed like four years but could have been much longer. After what had happened, I vowed to never give into my urges again. No matter how I tried to focus on dressing, I could not pull my thoughts away from how I had been so deeply violated. Eventually I vomited bile into the tall grass and momentarily allowed myself a moment to lay with my cheek resting against the sand. I was not sure if I lost consciousness, but I had no idea how long I lay there staring at nothing. Eventually I forced myself to sit upright, rubbed my eyes, and found my composure. The birds were awake, their chirping in the distance giving renewed life to my surroundings. I realized it must have been around four in the morning.

The Shadow returned as I splashed more water on the back of my neck. He watched as I straightened my mask—the one he had given me—as he leaned on his cane. I wondered if he had seen me as well in the water, furiously satisfying my vile desires. If there was any doubt in his mind I was a beast, surely he knew now I was less than human.

I couldn't look him in the eye.

"You haven't been to the cemetery for weeks, my child. I feared they had taken you away without allowing me a proper farewell," he said softly.

I couldn't speak. I felt sick to my stomach with worry though I couldn't pinpoint my fears. Every time the long blades of grass twitched in the breeze, I thought it was my father coming to drag me back home. The roar of the waves sounded like laughter, and my head buzzed with the sound of my father's two accomplices mocking me in my nakedness. Head bowed, I shifted my weight and shivered. I would have welcomed a stay in the asylum if I could have erased every single second of this night. The rawness I felt was something I had never experienced before.

"Did he force you to walk here?" The Shadow asked.

At last I shook my head. I widened my stance in the water, afraid my knees would give out.

"You came here willingly?"

I had come here quite freely, I wanted to tell him. I had discovered something about myself, something dark and private and satisfying that I had never known existed. I had come here seeking a moment of relief, of floating with the waves drowning out my own tormented screams. I had come here to be alone, free of my mother's nonsensical babbling and my father's cruel hand. I had walked here by myself, intent to experience a heartbeat of self-induced pleasure despite how ashamed I was of my actions.

I had come here a fool and I was leaving torn apart, eviscerated for something I had no idea was normal for a boy my age to experience. The loneliness I felt inside consumed me.

Tears pricked my eyes again, the humiliation I felt far too much to bear. I didn't want to speak of what had happened, didn't want to think of this night ever again. My only desire was to return to the sea and disappear beneath the murky depths, find an island where I could build my hermit's house and live alone. Leave me alone, I wanted to tell him. Please leave me alone.

But I feared my own company, dreaded the thoughts I felt pushing against the wall I had haphazardly created in my mind. What I needed was an escape…a path away from the looming darkness which had always surrounded me. I could not bear the weight of my solitude.

I started to cry, though it was no slow buildup of emotion. Ankle-deep in water, I sank to the ground, heedless of how I ruined my filthy clothes. I covered my face, shook without sound, and made myself sick again. I felt the cold water lap against my thighs and considered drowning myself. Perhaps then the suffering would finally come to an end. I was too much a coward to find out.

Eventually I was aware of The Shadow kneeling beside me. He held one hand on my shoulder and splashed water over my lips as he spoke softly, like a father singing a lullaby to a small child.

"Come," he said. "Your shirt is soaked. Remove it, my son, it's far too cold. I have a few items at my home that are much better suited for you than these rags."

I obeyed and pulled my shirt over my head. There was a reddened mark in the center of my chest in the shape of a boot. Pebbles lodged in the sole had torn through my flesh and left long, jagged lines as though I had been clawed. Further down, low on my stomach, there was a small puncture from the knife.

The Shadow motioned me up the sandy hill, and I followed him away from the beach, my gaze steady on my bare feet. He didn't speak until I had stopped sniffling.

"You are not the one who should feel shame."

His words meant little to me. Shame was the basis of my existence. Each small step I'd attempted to take toward manhood was stilted by this night. I was no longer a child and certainly no adult. Where it left me I didn't know, and my hopeless future—one without even death in sight—left me wilted. I was surrounded, contained within a dust mote where the rest of my life vaguely was visible but intangible through the cloud.

But The Shadow would not allow the thoughts which had been resurrected. His arm brushed my shoulder, a subtle reminder of solitude finally broken, of the constant struggle finally put at ease—however briefly.

"I will never do it again," I blurted out. My lips quivered, tears threatening again.

He looked into my eyes, his face thin, gaunt, even. "You are no different from other boys your age, my child." His features softened. It's a worthless man indeed, one who causes the suffering of a child."

I had caused my ow suffering, I wanted to tell him.

"Would you tell me honestly, my son, did you love him?"

I nodded without conviction and looked away. I did not want to love him, not after what he had done to me this night, but I clung to the only person who ever spoke to me, albeit harshly, and loved him for the attention he bestowed upon me. I realized I did not mind the beatings so much as it meant I was not alone for hours on end. At least he gave me something.

"Your loyalty may be your salvation or your greatest curse."

We walked for what felt like an hour. My ankle still hurt, but not nearly as bad as the rest of my body. Eventually we came upon a small, dilapidated building on what I presumed was the opposite side of town. The smell of fish wasn't as strong here, or perhaps it was masked by the scent of pipe smoke. I grew fond of the aroma, the memories it elicited. The butcher shop was closed, and I do not remember the smell of blood, but I am certain it lingered in the air.

"I had lamb for supper—or perhaps its more fitting to call the poor old beast a sheep." He chuckled when he spoke, and I followed him inside and up a flight of narrow, uneven stairs that made me feel like I was staggering as we climbed up. "There is plenty of meat left over for you. I considered bringing it with me on my walk, but it's been so long since I've seen you." He glanced at me, a full sweep from head to toe. "In the same clothes, no doubt."

Shamefully I looked away.

"We'll remedy that once you've eaten. You are thinner as well. He has not fed you."

There was no question presented. I could not recall the last time I had eaten more than a piece of molded cheese the size of my thumb.

In his tiny kitchen at a table with uneven legs, he brought me clean, fresh water to drink and served me more supper than I'd ever seen in my life. Any moment I expected to wake at the bottom of the stairs in the cellar and discover my fortune was little more than a cruel dream. I sat merely staring at the food on the table, afraid I would wake and everything before me, including the man who had saved me, would disappear.

The Shadow lit his pipe and straddled a chair. "Come now, my son, you must be starving."

He didn't have to coax me into eating a moment longer as my hunger could no longer be denied. I undoubtedly would have made myself sick if he hadn't told me to slow down and savor my meal.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I cannot guarantee you food such as this once we leave."

Immediately I stopped eating and stared at him with uncertainty. For the first time I noticed how the whites of his eyes were indeed yellow, but his face was thin and pleasant. He didn't look like a man who would prove dangerous to three drunken bullies, yet he had warded off my attackers.

Still, I couldn't look away from his yellowed eyes until he blinked. It startled me, and once I finally gathered my wits I stared at my half-empty plate while The Shadow sat forward and leaned on his elbow.

"I apologize, child as it appears I've given you few choices in the matter." He paused, waited for me to speak, which I did not. "I'm afraid I've made it nearly impossible for you to return home or slip unnoticed into the confines of an asylum."

"I don't want to go to an asylum." My first words since we'd left the beach were spoken in desperation. The fork clattered from my grasp and fell onto the table before it landed on the floor. Horrified, I dove under the table and retrieved it, afraid he'd reprimand me for my clumsiness.

When I looked up again he merely sat and watched me, not in anger but with curiosity.

"You move very quickly," he said. He appeared amused. "But you should understand by now, my child, I have no intention to harm you. If I had chosen to do so I would have walked to the pier and offered you to the sailors and lonely fishermen, many of whom would just as soon find pleasure in the arms of a child as they would in a woman. It wouldn't have earned me much, but it would have been enough for a meal or two. They know me well. They'd trust in my wares."

My understanding was fractured, though I knew enough to feel my muscles tense and my breath to pause in my lungs. Offered, pleasure, woman. Trust… No one would have gone looking for me. I could have easily been bound, gagged, stuffed onto a ship and used for whatever perverse desires men wanted until I either died or was tossed overboard.

"There is no need for me to keep you a moment longer if I merely wanted to murder you or put you to use elsewhere," he said. "But I have no intention of harming you. I understand if this concept is foreign to you."

"Why do you help me?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper and I did not recognize it as my own.

He rose to his feet and left his pipe on the table. Once he wiped his hands on his pants he motioned for me to follow him. Still uncertain, untrusting—as there were too many years of betrayal to be undone in one night—I treaded lightly to the end of the hall and watched him light a candle.

He pushed open the door and stood before a cramped room filled with a rolled up rug, chests piled one on top of the other, and several other items.

"This belonged to my son."

The air smelled strange in the room. I didn't recognize the smell of abandonment and disuse, of a closed space which hadn't been opened in many years.

There was a cradle against the wall and a wooden toy on the floor.

"Pneumonia," he answered before I dared to ask. He sighed heavily and I looked away, my eyes fixed on the small toys in the corner. "He had a terrible affliction to his spine. Left him unable to stand all four years of his life, but he never seemed miserable. He learned to pull himself across the floor—all the way down the hall, in fact, where he'd sit with his older brothers and listen to me play the violin."

I frowned. I'd never see his violin again, I realized. I felt as though I'd failed him.

The Shadow nodded as though he understood my concerns. "He died a month after his mother passed away. I've never forgotten either of them."

"What was his name?" I questioned.

"His name was my name."

He left his mysterious answer hanging in the air as he walked into the room and looked around. He appeared melancholy, which was expected, but the emotion didn't engulf him. He still appeared hopeful. I didn't understand.

"What is your name?" I asked. I realized then that after months of seeing one another, I had never asked for his name.

"My name is Alak Kimmer."

"Your name is Kimmer?"

He turned and faced me. With a nod, he smiled. "Aye, it is my surname."

"Like my father?"

"Aye. Your father knows it quite well. He used to answer to it long ago, before he found more interest in a bottle than a fishing net." He paused and regarded me a moment with a wide smile. "It is your surname as well."

The food had settled in my belly, and just as before, with a full stomach I was willing to speak. "You called my Kimmer's son."

"That I did."

"You are..." I snapped my mouth shut, unsure of what to call him. Family seemed far too intimate of a term and yet at the same time, family meant nothing to me.

The Shadow nodded and stood closer to me. He searched my face for a long moment, and I looked him over as well for the first time. My muscles tensed, my breath caught in my throat. He looked nothing like my father, who was shorter, heavier, and wild in appearance. This man, this shadow, was taller, thin like me, and both rugged and weathered while at the still time appearing gentle and calm. I thought of how he had struck down the two men on the beach, how that perfect calm turned into a violent strike. It reminded me of a storm at sea; how the beauty and the darkness split with a strike of lightening for only a second.

"You are my uncle?" I asked at last.

"I am. And now that you know my name, what do you prefer being called? Do you like the name Erik?"

"I don't know." I blurted out. Then I shook my head. "No. I don't prefer Erik." In fact I hated my name suddenly because it was what my parents had called me. The pendulum swung in my heart and I hated them. For years I would feel this wrenching pull of love and hate. "But it is my name. I do not know what I wish to be called."

"It's a good name. If you wish to call yourself Erik then do so, but if you wish for a different name, then you tell me what I am to call you."

A good name, he had said. If he thought so, then I would do the same. I nodded at last.

My uncle gently squeezed my shoulder, and his touch felt familiar to me, like I should have expected his freely given affection from the moment we had first met. II wanted desperately to attach myself to him, to bond with another male and glean every bit of knowledge and strength he possessed.

"This room has not seen a child in it for many, many years. But tonight it shall be your room, my son. Rest yourself. We shall leave at nightfall."

"Leave?" My heart began to race. I could not leave, I told myself, not without my parents' permission. My father would be furious, and if he ever saw me again, I would pay dearly for my insolence.

"And God willing we shall never return."