Drenched in Shadows

Rain. I always hated rain; I hated it against my skin. It’s cold and filthy and wet and… I just hate it. But today I was standing in a crowd, wearing my silk peacock dress, and I was enjoying the downpour that was washing away my pain. It felt good; it felt releasing. The rain is actually warm, or maybe it’s just my still-boiling skin.

Oh my god, why did I do it? What was going through my mind at that moment? Rage; it was rage mixed with agony in one glass that was simply too full and just spilled. I made it spill.

I raised my head and looked up; the sky was angry at me, and the rain… rain was piercing against my skin, like it was trying to break my flesh. But it felt good; it felt right because I deserved it. My heart is struggling to pump blood through my veins; it aches. It was a war drum for the past hour. My poor heart is exhausted and shocked and… cracked. I wanted the rain to dissolve me; I wanted to melt, to disappear.

My black heels are all soaked, and I can’t walk in them anymore. I leaned down and removed them; then, standing up, I looked around. I saw people hiding under umbrellas, rushing to take refuge, tourists walking with their plastic ponchos, also ignoring the rain as they probably have limited time to visit New York, and no natural catastrophe would stop them. I spotted a guy shirtless, running like the rain didn’t bother him at all.

With my heels in hand, I walked with my bare feet towards the trash can, and I tossed them on top of the empty coffee cups. My favorite pair of shoes is gone, along with my morals, my soul. What have I done… My skin was starting to ache from the roughness of the rain; my dark long brown hair felt heavy. People were starting to stare; some were whispering to each other, pointing at me. I locked gazes with a Mexican woman, like she wanted to reach me and ask me if I was alright, ask me if I needed help, but she didn’t. This is New York; no one cares, no one bothers to waste their time asking a random girl, one of millions of girls on this island, what happened.

That’s why I moved here five years ago from a small suburb in North Carolina: to be invisible. And I was invisible until today. Until my past decided to hunt me down, rip my heart from my chest, and shatter it into pieces. Again. The sky decided to be merciful; the rain softened, people started to walk frenetically around me, and noises intensified, hammering against my brain. I have to start walking; I have to move. I only got to Times Square, hoping to hide in the crowd so he wouldn’t find me. Because once he does, it will be the end of me, or maybe the end of him. He is alive; he must be alive. I couldn’t have killed him. No, certainly not. I tried to run through my memory, but everything happened so fast it’s all just a blur.

I hate the rain after all. I’m cold now, and I’m shaking. Shaking from the cold and from what I may or may not have done. I’m walking through the crowd, bumping into random people. Faster and faster. I need to escape again; I need to run again. A police car slowed down, and a police officer stared at me. Is he dead, and are they already looking for me? What’s going to happen now? My scared heart started to rattle against my rib cage, causing me more distress and discomfort.

“M’am, are you alright?” The young policeman in his thirties shouted, lowering the car window. I stopped, slowly turning my head, like I was ready to hear my death sentence. I looked into his deep hazel eyes and nodded. He gave me a rather hungry look, and I could see his lips arching into a peculiar smile as he closed his window, and the car drove away. I realized that that wet dress and the absence of a bra gave really little to the imagination. I suddenly felt exposed and even more vulnerable.

My apartment was 30 blocks away; I had no phone nor my bag, meaning no money for a taxi. And so I walked naked in a city that was supposed to hide me. Instead, new rules were in place: I was the wounded prey, and I was being hunted again. How could I love him? He was a wolf wearing a sheep's mask; I was 18 and blindly and unconsciously in love. He killed her; he killed that girl, and he was planning to kill me. I was supposed to be his next victim. And now he found me, and now I’m going to die. Memories flooded my mind, invading my senses, emotions erupting like volcanoes into tears, and my soul is aching. My heart will not survive this.

He kissed me once, telling me that he loved me, that we would spend our lives together and move to the big city, chasing our dreams. Josh and Emy conquering the world. I would do everything for him; I was ready to braid my soul to his. I was ready to carve my own heart and offer it to him on a silver plate if he would ask me. I would do anything until that moment I saw him with the bloody knife standing over a dead body. The ground beneath me just disappeared, and I was falling down into the unknown. I lost consciousness and had no idea what happened. I woke up in the ambulance. A few days later, I fled, leaving my aunt alone. It was supposed to be temporary. My aunt bought me a bus ticket to New York to stay with my cousin until the police would find Josh, but they never did, and I never came back. I just didn’t want to. My parents died in a car accident not far from home, and it was a constant reminder of the pain rooted deep in me. New York infused me with freedom and a chance for a new beginning, so I took it.

I got to my apartment; no keys. Shit. I started buzzing my neighbors, and somebody did open. I gave a spare key to my neighbor Stacy; she is an old widow who spends all her time writing in the small studio apartment. When I’m traveling for work, she usually waters my plants. I just hope she is home. I got to the elevator; I saw it was going down, so I waited. For some reason, my heart was thundering in my throat. The elevator door opened; my neighbor from the floor below, Mr. Stratt, exited, nodding with a friendly smile. I tried my best to force one back. I got in and pressed the button to the seventh floor. The elevator door opened; a silent, grey, and depressing corridor appeared in my sight. I walked toward Mrs. Stacy’s apartment and knocked. Thirty seconds later, she opened the door.

“Oh Emy, work travel or vacation this time?” Her voice was almost poking, as I had already asked her twice to water my plants in the last two weeks.

“Good evening, Mrs. Stacy. Actually, I lost my bag and was hoping to get the spare key,” I responded; my voice was breaking, like I was being strangled.

“Dear, are you alright?” She finally noticed my wet dress and my dirty bare feet.

“Yes,” I lied. “I just had a bad day.” I added; I certainly didn’t want to explain. All I wanted was to get inside my apartment and hide in the closet. Like that would help. Mrs. Stacy saw my impatience and kindly handed me the keys.

“Take care of yourself. If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know,” she said, suspiciously adjusting her big black-framed glasses, which seemed way too big for her slim face and short reddish hair. I grabbed the keys and nodded with a movie smile.

My hands were shaking while I was trying to get the key inside the lock, like on the other side there was a monster waiting for me that would swallow me. I turned the doorknob, and the door opened, allowing the darkness to peek outside in my direction. I felt it; something was off. The scent, his scent… Josh’s scent was lingering in the air. And my fear invaded the apartment.

My brain was commanding me to run, but my reckless heart was telling me to walk forward, to check if really anything was there, or if it was just an elaborate scenario of my brain.

“Em, I didn’t do it.” A deep voice said, making me freeze in place. My feet were made of concrete, my heart was a wild caged bird, and my fear was wrapping me with shadowy strings. The lights went on. And then I saw Josh, coming towards me with my bag and my phone. “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, and I can prove it,” Josh said, handing me a newspaper with the recent article stating they got the killer, and it wasn’t Josh. I didn’t read it; I couldn’t. I just read the title. And… it took a few seconds to realize I was utterly and completely lost.