Slipping Into The Shadows

When we were born, no one could tell us apart. Emma and Eliza, identical in every way. Both with wild blonde curls, wide blue eyes, and matching dimples on our right cheeks. Our parents bought our clothes, bottles, and bibs in different colors to help tell us apart. Emma’s color was pink – Mom’s favorite. Mine was purple. Dad’s favorite color was red.

We shared everything. Birthday parties, toys, and secrets. The two of us were inseparable. Two halves of one whole. Wherever Emma went, I was always by her side, my hand in hers.

We weren’t just sisters. We were best friends.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

By the time we were five years old, our bond deepened in a way that puzzled our parents. They called it “twin telepathy”, but it was something more. We could open the doors of our minds to each other, sharing our thoughts, dreams, memories – everything.

When we were young, we kept the doors open every moment of every day. But as we got older, Emma’s door started to close. Slowly, quietly, then completely.

By third grade, we were two strangers who shared the same face.

In school, Emma was always the first to raise her hand. I was content to sit silently in the back of the class. At lunch, girls flocked to Emma like moths to a flame. I sat near the exit, reading.

The seats around me were always empty.

Emma’s powers surfaced when she was thirteen. It started with shimmering lights around her and blinding flashes when she got angry. But it quickly grew into bending sun rays and creating beams of light in the palm of her hand. Her powers seemed to grow stronger and more controlled each day.

My powers, however, were different. Mine manifested months after Emma’s. I was able to manipulate shadows. I could make shadows grow, stretch, and appear from nothing. I could slip in and out of the darkness, hiding myself in plain sight. Unlike Emma, my powers were harder to control. Shadows would move towards me without me willing them to.

Emma’s powers were beautiful. Mine made people uneasy.

My parents never said it – they didn’t have to – but I knew they were appalled by my powers.

At first, I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind when Emma won the school’s talent show, or when she placed first in the science fair. I didn’t mind when Emma made the local newspaper for stopping a shoplifter with a flash of her light. It never bothered me that Dad called Emma “his little sunshine” or that Mom smiled a little brighter whenever Emma was around. But as time went on, one thing became clear: Emma was the one who mattered.

I was the one who was forgotten.

I wasn’t bad at school – or a bad kid.

In fact, I was quite the opposite. I had a rare aptitude for puzzles and strategies. I was just as smart as Emma, maybe even more. I was just quiet.

Maybe that’s why Mom and Dad forgot to love me the same way they loved her – I was too quiet.

Emma was the star. I was her shadow.

As Emma’s light continued to grow, I found myself slipping further and further into the shadows.

Slipping so far, I wondered if anyone could see me at all.

The smell of roasted garlic and lemon chicken fills my nose as I walk through the front door of my childhood home. I leave my two suitcases by the door and follow the sound of Dad whistling the theme of an old sitcom. It hasn’t changed. The sound, the smell, the feeling of walking into a life where everyone is moving on without me.

I turn the corner into the kitchen to find Mom stirring a pot on the stove, with Dad doing the dishes by her side. I stand in the archway and begin to count to see how long it would take for them to notice me.

1…2…3…35…89…130…167

“Oh,” I turn to find Emma behind me carrying a vase of pink peonies into the kitchen, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Mom looks up at the sound of Emma’s voice and finally sees me. She wipes her hands on the tea towel hanging from the oven door and hurries towards me.

“Eliza, how long have you been here? We didn’t even know you got here.”

167 seconds. Almost 3 minutes.

“Not long,” I say, stepping fully into the kitchen to accept her hug. She smells like rosemary and vanilla perfume. I found myself wanting to lean into her hug, but before I knew it, she steps back.

Dad comes over next and places his hand on my shoulder, “You look… different,” He says before passing me to take my bags up to my old bedroom.

“Four years will do that,” I say as he comes back into the kitchen.

I watch as Emma grabs the chicken out of the oven while Mom and Dad carry the side dishes into the dining room. I follow behind Emma, who is still in her suit. A full-body white suit, with gold streaks that look like sunrays.

While I was across the country at college, Emma stayed at home and became the city’s superhero. She’d stopped thieves, saved people from trapped cars, and even saved the mayor’s life after his house caught on fire last year.

“Why are you still in uniform, sweetie? It’s 5:30 on a Friday night,” Mom asks as she takes her seat across from Dad.

Emma takes her seat next to Mom, “Well, after the car chase earlier this afternoon, it’s best to be prepared,” Emma says as she places her napkin in her lap.

I mentally roll my eyes.

Dad's face lights up, “I saw someone posted a video of it online, and it went viral. I mean, it got what…3 million views?”

“4 million now,” Emma says, smiling as she takes a bite of mashed potatoes, “I blinded the driver as he was turning, so he crashed into a fire hydrant.”

Dad chuckles, “Better a fire hydrant than another car.”

“Absolutely brilliant, darling,” Mom says, smiling proudly. She sets down her water glass and looks at me, “So tell us, Eliza, how is school going? When does the next semester start?”

It feels like I’ve been struck across the face, “I graduated 2 weeks ago, Mom. I’m done with school.”

Everyone looks at me. I see Emma’s smile drop, and for a single second, I think she might be feeling guilty. That maybe for once, she might see it too.

“Oh, that’s right,” Mom says as she starts cutting her chicken into tiny pieces, “Well, you know we have just been so busy here. We would have gone if we could have. You know that.”

“I sent a link to watch the livestream online to all of you over a month ago.”

“Well, I must have missed it.”

“I watched it,” Emma says quietly, looking at me from across the table, “You looked…good.”

She hesitates as if she wants to say more. Like maybe she wants to tell me she’s proud of me, but she stops herself. That pause hurts more than if she had said nothing at all.

I spear a green bean with my fork, “Thanks.”

Everyone goes quiet. The sound of forks and knives scraping plates fills the emptiness.

“So what now?” Dad asks, turning to look at me.

I set my fork down, “I’m not sure. I thought I would come home and regroup. Figure it out.”

Mom clears her throat, “Well, there’s no rush. We’re just glad to have both of our girls back in the house.”

“Even if it’s just for a little while,” Emma says, pushing her food around on the plate.

I clench my fists, “Before I just vanish again, right?”

She looks at me sharply, “That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” I say, tossing my napkin down onto the table, “Then what does it mean, Emma?”

“It means you left the second we graduated, and haven’t even visited once. It’s been four years, Eliza.”

“You think I left because I didn’t care?” My voice gets louder, “I couldn’t breathe in this house.” The entire house was a museum of Emma. In every photo, it was Emma laughing, Emma smiling, Emma saving the day..

“Eliza, that's enough,” Dad says, rubbing his temple.

“No, Dad, I’m not finished.”

Emma scoffs, pushing her plate away,, “Don’t say you left because you needed space. You left because you were jealous of me, and you always have been. You chose to leave..”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want me gone,” I say, throwing my hands up, “I bet you loved getting Mom and Dad all to yourself.”

“When have I ever said that?”

I laugh, “You never had to. Everyone could see it.”

I see Mom dab at a tear with the cuff of her sweater, “Girls, please.”

Emma gestures to our parents, “You’re acting like it’s a competition to see who Mom and Dad like more.”

“It was never supposed to be,” I feel a traitorous tear escaping my eye, but I wipe it away quickly, “No matter how hard I try, it will never be enough. So that’s why I left. I couldn’t win.”

I can see tears forming in Emma’s eyes, but she says nothing. She just looks down at her lap.

My throat feels like it’s closing up.

“I miss you, Emma.”

I look up at her and wait. Tears freely falling. Say something. Say anything. I secretly beg.

But she says nothing.

“Thanks for dinner,” I mumble, standing up, “It was…exactly how I remembered.”

I slam my door shut and sit on the edge of my bed, surrounded by my childhood memories. Faded posters and pictures cover each wall. Required reading from high school lines my shelves. My eyes land on a shadow peeking out from under my dresser.

I call out to the shadow.

I watch as it slowly slides its way across the floor and up into my hand. I lie back and let it envelop me. I feel the coolness covering my entire body. It feels familiar. Safe. I can finally breathe.

Once I am fully hidden in the shadows, I hear a knock on my door. I move the shadow back under my bed, not wanting to give whoever is behind the door another reason to hate me. “Come in.”

The door slowly creaks open to reveal Emma standing there with the neckline of her uniform tearstained, “I needed you, and you were gone,” she hiccups, “I still need you, Eliza.”

My heart breaks clean apart. I pat the bed next to me, and she rushes to me.

Despite the pain, she’s still my sister.

Her voice trembles, “When you left, the weight of everything fell on me. Every crime, every accident, every press conference. It was all on me. Everyone was counting on me, and all I could think about was all the ways I was going to eventually fail them. I don’t know how much longer I can do it on my own.”

I swallow, my jaw tense, “Why did you shut me out?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our doors? Mine is still open, but you closed yours years ago..”

She lays her head on my shoulder, and I shudder as she talks to me through her mind, “I was scared.”

“You were ashamed.”

She lifts her head off my shoulder and looks at me with tears streaming down her face, and I know it’s true.

Even though it hurts, I grab her hand. She falls into my lap sobbing, "I'm sorry. For everything.”

I hold her as she sobs in my lap, rubbing circles on her back until her breathing begins to steady.

After many minutes pass, I hear her whisper, “Come back.”

My hand freezes. “What?”

She sits up and faces me, “Come back home. Help me. We can be a team,” She places a hand on my leg. “There’s been talk of an art heist at the city museum next weekend, and I need someone who can figure out how these people think. I can’t do it by myself. I need you.”

She’s asking for my help.

I can’t remember a single time in our lives that Emma has asked for my help. Part of me wants to tell her no. To protect myself from the hurt she’s caused. But the other part of me still remembers what it feels like to hold her hand. To face the world together. The part of me just wants my sister.

That part of me aches.

It’s that part of me that agrees to help.

A week later, I find myself crouched on the glass roof of the city museum, cloaked in shadows.

I had barely slept since I agreed to work with Emma. I memorized the blueprints, studied the security systems, and tracked the suspected robber everywhere he went.

I had come to know every square inch of the museum like the back of my hand.

Inside, I watch as the would-be thief enters through the west service door. Exactly as I predicted. His movements are calculated, smooth. He slips past the laser grids on the black and white tiled floor with skill that shows he’s done this before. His eyes scan the glass ceiling. I hold my breath. His gaze passes over me, but he doesn’t see me.

No one ever does.

He approaches the exhibit. The famed painting is part of an overseas collection and is valued at close to five hundred million dollars. But, if sold on the black market, it’s worth double.

I let him get close. I let him believe he might actually pull this off.

He reaches for it.

Then I summon the shadows.

One by one, every shadow in the room begins to move across the floor, crawling up the painting, concealing it from view. He turns slowly in a circle as the shadows cover everything in sight. They dance across the floor, closing in on the thief. He whirls around, trying to find an exit that no longer exists.

The room is pure darkness.

There’s no way out.

The shadows form a tight circle around him, only allowing a sliver of light in through the ceiling where I watch.

I can see his fear.

I see it in the way his head turns back and forth desperately, and the way his shoulders rise and fall frantically as his heartbeat increases. I see it in the beads of sweat gleaming under the glow of the moonlight.

The shadows twist around his ankle.

I squeeze.

I should stop. It’s enough.

But I can’t.

I release a shaky breath as they slowly travel up his leg.

I want him to feel it. The same pain I have felt my whole life.

They tighten around his waist.

The fear that you are slowly disappearing in the darkness.

They wrap around his neck forcing him to look up at me with wide, fearful eyes.

Shadows brush his chin, and I watch as he claws at his throat wildly trying to get the darkness to relinquish its hold. His movements begin to slow.

He’s dying.

The thought snaps me back. I force the shadows to retreat, leaving him trembling and gasping for air..

He stumbles and falls to the ground just as Emma bursts through the door, shining as bright as the sun. Her light blinding the thief and shattering the glass ceiling under me. I hold tight to the shadow around me as I fall to the ground in a swirling storm of glass and light.

It takes me a moment to reorient myself after I hit the tile floor. When I open my eyes, I see Emma standing tall amongst the debris, holding on to the thief.

The door to the museum slams open, and swarms of police come flooding in. Flashes of blue and red light illuminate the room as camera flashes go off outside. Emma follows the crowd outside towards the flashing lights, golden and glowing.

She doesn’t look back.

The doors to the museum slowly squeak shut, leaving me alone in the shadows.

The next morning, the headlines read: Blinding Brilliance: Emma Saves The Day Once Again.

Nothing. There is no mention of me.

Later that night, Emma comes in wearing her white and gold suit with a small cut on her eyebrow – the very picture of a hero.

She pads across the wooden floor to my bed and I feel the mattress sink down beneath her weight. After a moment of silence, she whispers, “I didn’t forget what you did, Eliza.”

I keep my gaze forward, staring at the door, “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

She lets out a pained breath, “It’s complicated,” I feel her eyes on me, begging me to look at her, “People don’t want shadows. They want light. You get that…right?”

I did.

That’s why I didn’t stop her when she left.

Hours after Emma leaves, I sit alone in the darkness. I watch as a shadow forms in my open palm and slowly slithers up my arm, with an energy I can no longer control.

But I don’t fear it.

It brushes across the base of my neck with a chill that settles deep in my bones.

They continue to crawl across my back and stop at my shoulder blades. My breath catches as they embed in my body. And slowly, begin to grow.

My shadows were no longer chains.

They were wings.

They unfurl behind me, made of endless shadow.

No one ever truly saw me. But now, they would look.

They would no longer see a scared girl. They would see someone to fear.

I couldn’t be the hero, so I would be worse.

The world had forgotten me. But I would make them remember.