Jack Of Shadows

"The one you had in your hand a minute ago!"

He extended his hands, palms forward.

"I have no knife. You may search me if you wish. You will not find a weapon."

She moved to the chest of drawers, closed the one which had been opened. Stooping, she opened a lower one and removed a newsprint-wrapped parcel.

"This is a part of it," she said. "Why am I nervous? This is why!"

She placed the parcel on the table and undid the strings which held it.

He moved to her side and watched as she unwrapped the papers. Inside were three very old books.

"I thought you'd taken those back already!"

"I intended to-"

"That was the agreement."

"I want to know where you obtained them and how."

He shook his head.

"We also agreed that if I were to recover them, you would not ask me those questions."

She placed the books side by side, then pointed at the spine of one and the cover of another.

"I am certain those were not there before," she said. "They are bloodstains, aren't they?"

"I don't know."

"I tried to wipe some of the smaller ones off with a damp tissue. What came off certainly looked like dried blood."

He shrugged.

"When I told you these books had been stolen from their cases in the Rare Books Room and you offered to recover them, I said, 'Okay'." She continued, "I agreed that if you could get them back. I'd see that it was an anonymous return. No questions. But I never thought this meant bloodshed. The stains alone would not have made me think that that is what happened. But then I began considering you and realized how little I actually know. That's when I began noticing things like your eyes and the quiet way that you move. I had heard that you were friendly with criminals-but then you had written some articles on criminology and were teaching a course on the subject. So it seemed in order at the time I heard it. Now I see you move through my rooms with a knife in your hand, presumably ready to kill an intruder. No book is worth a human life. Our agreement is off. Tell me what you did to get them."

"No," he said.

"I must know."

"You staged that scene when we walked in here just to see what I'd do, didn't you?"

She blushed.

Now I suppose she'll try to blackmail me into marrying her, he thought, if she thinks she can make this thing big enough.

"All right," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets and turning to stare out the window. "I found out who did it and had a talk with him. During the misunderstanding that followed, his nose got broken. He had the poor grace to bleed on the books. I couldn't get it all off."

"Oh," he heard her say; and then he turned and studied her face.

"That's all," he said.

He stepped forward then and kissed her. After a moment, she relaxed against him. For a time he massaged her back and shoulders, moved his hands to her buttocks.

Distraction complete, he decided, moving up along her rib cage and inward, slowly, toward the buttons of her blouse.

"I'm sorry." She sighed.

"That's all right," he said, unfastening them. "That's all right."

Later, while staring at a pillow through the curtain of her hair and analyzing his reactions to earlier events, he felt once again the nearing presence, this time so close that it almost seemed as if he were being watched. He glanced quickly about the room but saw nothing.

Listening to the sounds of traffic on the street below, he determined to be about his business soon, say in the space of a cigarette.

There came a sonic boom from overhead that rattled the window like a sudden hand.

Clouds, slowly gathering, obscured the sun somewhat. Knowing he was early, he parked his vehicle in the faculty lot and removed his heavy briefcase from the rear. The trunk of the car contained three heavy traveling bags.

He turned and began walking toward the far end of the campus. He felt a need to keep moving, to be ready to run if necessary. He thought of Morningstar at that moment, watching rocks and clouds and birds, feeling winds, rains, lightnings, and he wondered whether that one was instantly aware of every move he was making. He felt this to be so, and he wished that his friend were at hand to counsel him now. Did he know-or had he known for a long while- the outcome of what he was about to attempt?

The leaves and grasses had taken on that faint incandescence which sometimes precedes a storm. It was still quite warm, but now the heat was tempered by a light breeze from the north. The campus was almost deserted. He passed a group of students seated about the base of a fountain, comparing notes on an examination they had just taken. He thought he recognized two of them from his Introduction to Cultural Anthropology of several semesters back, but they did not look up as he went by.

As he passed Drake Hall, he heard his name called out.

"John! Doctor Shade!"

Halting, he saw the short, heavy figure of the young instructor Poindexter emerge from the doorway. The man's first name was also John, but since he had been a newcomer to their card group they had come to refer to him by his last name rather than confuse conversation.

Jack made himself smile as the man approached and nodded a greeting.

"Hi, Poindexter. I thought you'd be off recuperating by now."

"I still have some damn lab exams to grade," he said, breathing heavily. "I decided I wanted a cup of something hot, and the minute I closed the door to my office I knew what I'd done. The keys are on my desk and the door locks when it closes. There's nobody else in the building and the front office is shut down, too. I was standing there waiting for a guard to come by. I thought they might have access to a master key. Have you seen any guards?"

He shook his head.

"No, I just arrived a few moments ago. But I know the guards don't have access to masters.- Your office is on the far side of the building, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I forget how high off the ground that would put it, but what about getting in through a window?"

"Too high, without a ladder-and they're both locked, anyhow."

"Let's go inside."

Poindexter ran the back of his hand across his ruddy forehead and nodded.

Entering and moving to the rear of the building, he removed a ring of keys from his pocket and fitted one into the lock of the door Poindexter indicated. It turned, there was a click, and he pushed the door open.

"Lucky," he said.

"Where'd you get a master?"

"It's not a master, it's the key to my office. That's why you're lucky."

Poindexter's face opened into a yellowish smile.

"Thanks," he said. "Thanks a lot. Are you in a hurry?"

"No, I'm early for what I was about."

"Then let me get us something from the machine. I still want to take a break."

"All right."

He moved into the office, placed his briefcase behind the door, while the other's footsteps receded and were gone.

He stared out the window at the gathering storm. Somewhere a bell began to ring.

After a time, Poindexter returned and he accepted the steaming cup he proffered.

"How's your mother?"

"She's doing well. Should be out quite soon."

"Tell her I said hello."

"I will. Thanks. Nice of you to visit her."

They sipped at their cups, then, "It is lucky you came along," Poindexter said. "Maybe ours are the only two offices on campus with the same lock. Hell, I would have settled for the ghost if he'd gotten me in."

"Ghost?"

"You know. The latest stunt."

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of it."

"...A white thing, allegedly seen flitting around in trees and on the tops of buildings."

"When did this start?"

"Just recently, of course. Last semester it was mutagenic rocks in the Geology Building. The one before that, I think, it was aphrodisiacs in the water coolers. Same as always. A semester closes like the end of the world, I guess, full of portents and rumors. What's the matter?"