Shadows secrets cast

Disclaimer: This story contains themes that include mental health issues, violence, and suicide.

I could feel them. The weight of the secrets of every person I passed on the rainy leaf-covered street. Most were completely insignificant, like a kiss with a colleague at the Christmas party, masturbation to questionable content, or stealing a few cents from the register when the boss wasn’t looking. Those didn’t interest me. No, I was searching for the ones followed by a shadow blacker than coal, a shadow only I could sense.

I don’t remember when I got this ability, but I know I was a kid. My first memory is of Agent P’s stern face looking down at me. He was something of a parent to me, since I never had any real ones. Although his appearance terrified me the first time I saw him, his gentle fingers massaging my temples were the greatest comfort after the long, painful lab tests. And those happened daily.

I miss P. He died a few years ago of throat cancer, and afterward I was assigned to Agent O. Young, ambitious, and eternally serious. He only ever called me on the phone, explained my task, and immediately hung up. Barbara, you’re on your own from then on. Most often I would receive a list of persons of interest whom I had to locate, and among them discover the one with the darkest shadow. And then… Then I would work on them for several months. And I always succeeded.

“Can you keep a secret?” They always asked.

“No.” I always thought.

“Yes.” I always said.

Luckily, there weren’t too many assignments, and I could spend most of my time however I wanted. My power, however, was strictly forbidden for personal use. Too great a risk of discovery, they said.

But risks never bothered me.

I had exposed dozens of murderers, rapists, and pedophiles; I had even put a few corrupt statesmen behind bars. It wasn’t always in the interest of my superiors, but justice doesn’t care about interests. If you’re scum, you deserve to be exposed, whoever you are. That indescribable weight and darkness I would feel in those people always delighted me.

And just this morning, on this rainy day, I felt exactly that.

The feeling came from an elegant, older lady in a red coat. She walked briskly, her posture impeccable. A perfectly set hairstyle was untouched thanks to the black umbrella in her hand. She passed me by. She didn’t even look at me.

“Excuse me,” I said in a thinner voice than usual. “I don’t want to bother you. But your coat… it’s phenomenal and looks great on you! Where did you buy it?”

The hard mask of her face cracked in an instant. It was replaced by a wide smile. A genuine smile.

“Oh, thank you! My late mother left it to me. Incredible quality, isn’t it? Back then they still made things to last. Not like today…”

“I totally agree with you! Today coats last one season, if that.”

“Everything is so…”

“So cheap.” I jumped in. They love when you finish their sentences.

“Exactly,” she said and offered her hand, immediately dampened by raindrops. “I’m Maria.”

Her hand was cold to the touch, and the pressure of her secret overwhelmed me. “Barbara, nice to meet you.”

The bait was taken. The hunt had begun.

*

Eleven months passed. Eleven! We’d seen each other hundreds of times, eaten countless lunches, even gotten drunk together a few times. And nothing. Not a hint of the great secret she was hiding. Still, I learned a lot about her.

Maria was the heiress of the biotechnological multinational Abrix, which she had successfully led for the past thirty years after her father’s death. She was a licensed pilot, an excellent equestrian, spoke five languages, mastered three martial arts, and owned a collection of thirty vintage cars.

To say she was versatile would be an understatement. On top of all that, she was generous. Extremely.

From cruising her yacht along the French Riviera to flying in her private jet to the world’s most secluded places, Maria never denied her friends anything. “When you’re mine, you’re mine,” she used to say. And she considered me hers. I must admit, I enjoyed her company, regardless of the luxuries she showered me with.

Her friends, however, didn’t impress me. Every single one was either an heiress or married rich. I didn’t understand why Maria surrounded herself with them. Though she too was an heiress, she was neither a snob nor a shallow fool. Still, I tolerated their company, because as much as I liked Maria, her shadow was stronger and larger than all her friends’ shadows combined. And I wanted to uncover what lay behind it. At all costs.

The chance finally presented itself while we were drinking wine at her old ivy-covered villa in the heart of Provence. We were lying on loungers by the pool crowned with animal sculptures — a rearing deer, a roaring lion, and an eagle in flight. The splendor with which the French aristocracy once flaunted its wealth was fully displayed in this villa.

Maria’s friends Clara and Gertrude were with us as well. The first from an old noble family, the second from a younger industrial one. The first’s fat spilled over her lounger, the second’s old bones jutted through her skin as if they might pierce it any moment. Despite their differences, they had one thing in common: They disgusted me.

“My dear Barbara,” said Clara, lazily turning toward me, her rolls of fat trembling. “What was it you said you do again?”

“School psychologist,” I replied, the lie well-practiced a hundred times. “I work with children.”

“A pity,” Gertrude chimed in. “Such a pretty girl, you could have slipped into modeling without a problem. Maybe it’s too late now. What are you, twenty-six, twenty-seven? Still, I could pull some strings, you know.”

I waved it off with my most modest smile. “No need, dear Gertrude. I’m content with my job.”

“Job.” Clara spoke the word like it was the foulest thing in the world. “I can’t imagine working eight hours. For people from… ah… humbler families the best tactic is a rich marriage.”

“That’s not without complications either,” Maria said, having been silent until then, sipping her wine. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the edge of the forest surrounding the estate. “Rich families are often full of prejudice against… humbler people.”

There it was. The thread of the secret. I didn’t want them to notice my excitement, so I slowly took a sip of wine. Careful now, Barbara. Don’t rush it. Clara and Gertrude seemed to know something I didn’t, both casting Maria sympathetic glances. Maybe…

“I know exactly what you mean,” I began. “I had a boyfriend, seven, maybe eight years ago, whom I adored. We met at a swimming pool, totally by chance. I accidentally swam into his lane, and he said some silly line like, ‘Now you have to pay damages for this collision.’ I liked him instantly. He was so cheerful, goofy, carefree. He asked me to dinner that very day, but I refused. You don’t want to seem too easy, of course. For a month we only saw each other at the pool. He kept making silly jokes and I kept falling deeper in love, while having no idea who he was. Only when I finally agreed to go out with him and he picked me up in a Rolls Royce did I realize he was rich.”

All three women listened intently, but I only watched Maria. Her expression was unreadable, but I could see she absorbed every word. I took a long sip of wine and sighed.

“Everything was perfect. Until the moment I met his family. It was an old banking family that grew richer and more powerful with each generation. At the very first dinner I knew they didn’t like me. His mother tried to hide her disdain behind a fake smile, but his father wasn’t one to hide feelings.”

Maria snorted and took a sip of rosé. Maybe something about her father?

“Months passed, and his parents’ pressure didn’t stop. He told me about all the threats they tried to scare him with, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be with me and that was it.”

“But you’re not with him anymore. Surely you weren’t the one to break it off?” Gertrude asked.

“I was. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. But in the end, I had to leave him. How could we have a happy relationship if his family despised me?”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Clara said. “His parents would’ve lived at most another twenty years. With each passing year they would grow older and weaker. Soon they’d accept you. I’ve seen such cases, trust me.”

“I understand you completely Barbara.” Maria said, her face serious. “You can’t fight against such parents.”

A heavy silence fell. Neither Clara nor Gertrude wanted to oppose that opinion further, though it was obvious they wished to. Maria then shifted to a lighter topic about buying new horses for her stable, so the three of them chatted while I had little to say. Now let’s see if my lie broke down any walls.

Night was falling, and Clara and Gertrude withdrew to the villa, weary from lying in the sun. They were older ladies after all. But Maria seemed immune to aging, though I had noticed she’d lost some weight in recent months. I hadn’t pressed her about it.

“I have my own story, you know,” Maria said. The candle flames cast shadows dancing across her face. “It’s similar to yours, only our roles were reversed.”

She usually spoke slowly, but under the influence of alcohol she spoke even slower. I knew not to rush her.

“I studied with him. Marcus was one of the best students of our year, truly brilliant. I knew he was destined for great things. But he was as poor as a church mouse. Scholarships got him into university, but he barely made ends meet. I can’t explain it, but the moment he spoke, he had me. Some silly line as well, you know how they are.”

She paused to take a sip.

“We soon started dating, and just as quickly my father found out. He lost his mind. You’ve never met a man like him. He parented with an iron fist. ‘I’ll send you to the other side of the world,’ he said. ‘You’ll study in New Delhi, I don’t care.’ And I didn’t care either, you see. I kept our relationship going, we even planned to marry.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.

“What happened then?”

“He disappeared. Completely disappeared. As if he vanished into thin air. My father couldn’t wait to gloat. ‘See what a wretch he was. He abandoned you.’ I knew he hadn’t. Fortunately, a life of wealth creates quite a network of connections. One of my best friends was in the government, some kind of intelligence officer. He could never tell me exactly what he did. I described the situation to him, the state of Marcus’s apartment, the lack of any note. From all this, he concluded it was a forced disappearance, though he couldn’t prove it. That was enough for me. I just knew. From that day on, I truly hated my father.”

I didn’t know what to say. Somewhere in there was the secret, but I didn’t want to push.

“I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. Soon I’ll join him.”

My hairs stood up on the back of my neck although it was a pleasant summer night.

“I hope not yet. You’re incredibly vital for your age.”

“Because my dear friend cancer hasn’t yet shown its true symptoms. But it’s there. And everywhere.”

“When did you find out?”

“A week ago. I’m preparing myself mentally for those dreadful chemotherapies.”

I reached out, took her hand, and held it tightly. “I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, dear.”

We spent the rest of the evening in silence.

*

I sat in the chair by the hospital bed, Maria’s pale, thin face turned to the side. She was sleeping. A shadow loomed over her bed, vast and black. It was hard to look at her, but I had promised to be there. She woke, her sunken blue eyes meeting mine. She gave me a weak smile.

“Just a little longer, dear Barbara. Just a little.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

She smiled again.

“You know, if I’d known what agony this is, I would’ve let my father grow old and let cancer finish him.”

“What do you mean let?”

She looked at me in long silence broken only by the steady rhythm of hospital machines. Eventually, she sighed. “Ah, who cares, I’m dying anyway. When my father killed Marcus — yes, he killed him, Barbara, there’s no other explanation — I hated him.”

She paused for breath, then continued slowly.

“For a long time, I did nothing. Until the day he tried to marry me off to someone else. The next day I poured poison into his wine.”

She coughed, dry and long, looking like she was choking. I thought I’d have to call a nurse, but she soon calmed down.

“He died quickly, too quickly for filth like him.” She wiped her saliva-wet lips on the hospital blanket. Her strength was fading. “Then I became the queen of his vast kingdom.”

She stared at the white hospital ceiling, her bony fingers crawling over the bed searching for mine. I let them find me.

“Do you think I’ll see him again? Marcus?”

“I know you will, dear Maria.” I lied. I didn’t believe it.

She closed her eyes, squeezed my hand once more, and drifted into sleep. That was the last time I saw her.

*

She died a few days later, as I learned from a news portal. Her funeral was magnificent, a procession of a thousand people, speeches by magnates and business titans, live news coverage. Even the coffin was special, shinier than any I had ever seen. I knew that inside, despite it all, lay her small, withered body.

It was raining again when I returned home, carrying a black umbrella just like hers. At the entrance to my apartment, on the doormat, an envelope awaited me. A shadow poured from it, huge and terrifying. I didn’t want to approach. But I did. Slowly, I opened the envelope and unfolded a simple sheet of paper written in neat, elegant handwriting:

“Dear Barbara,

Even on my deathbed, on the brink of freedom from the chains of life, I could not tell you everything, though I told you more than I ever told anyone. I don’t know why. You are dear to me.

I didn’t kill my father because of an arranged marriage. I killed him because I found out I was pregnant. I knew what would happen if he discovered, and I couldn’t allow that.

After killing him, I fled to one of our countless estates to spend the pregnancy in peace, far from prying eyes and the media.

But the murder weighed heavily on me. With each day, my mental state worsened. Marcus was gone, and I had become a killer. That didn’t bring him back. I was completely alone, and something in me broke. I prepared a noose, then set it aside and called my intelligence friend. I had no one else. His name was Percival.

He came within hours. I explained the situation, told him I wasn’t fit to raise a child, that I wanted to end it all. I didn’t know what to do.

He looked at me for a long time, and I think he understood that I truly wasn’t well. He promised to take care of the child. That it would want for nothing, and that it would be special. He explained the program they would put the child through. I was afraid, but in the end, he convinced me it was harmless. I agreed.

A few days later, the contractions came, and then my little baby girl. And then the black armored SUV with several men dressed in black. I didn’t resist when they took her. I wanted her to be well, and I wasn’t then.

Years passed, and with therapy my mental health got better and better. I wanted my child back. But Percival told me it didn’t work that way. That the nature of the program meant any contact would endanger the child. I couldn’t do anything.

Dear Barbara, this was the greatest mistake of my life. I allowed my child to be taken away because of a single moment of weakness. I was so ashamed of myself. And there was nothing I could do to bring her back.

I never told anyone this, but I wanted to let it out before I die. And I know you will keep my secret.

Thank you for the wonderful friendship. See you up there.

Love,

Maria.”

The shadow dissolved before my eyes. A tear fell on the paper, then another. And another.

“I will keep your secret, Maria.”