In Shadow E-Book

Giselle Renarde

• Herausgeber: Giselle Renarde
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

As far as Clover’s concerned, she’s got two choices: remain an outcast in the small town where she’s lived her whole life, or move clear across the country like her prodigal stepbrother Mason. Clover is forever paying for her father’s sins at home, but the idea of leaving is too daunting to imagine. When Mason comes home for their sister’s wedding, his presence reignites Clover’s past. A dark force follows her everywhere she goes. Even in dreams, there’s no escaping a hungry shadow...

Leseprobe

In Shadow © 2016 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design © 2016 Giselle Renarde

First Edition 2016

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

In Shadow | A Novel | By | Giselle Renarde

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

ABOUT GISELLE RENARDE

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In Shadow

A Novel

By

Giselle Renarde

Chapter 1

You’ll call me a crybaby when I tell you this story, but keep in mind I was only fourteen when it happened. I barely knew what sex was. I’d certainly never thought about actually... you know... doing it.

It was summertime, a few weeks after my Grade Eight graduation. My mom came home from the Buy-and-Go with photos from my graduation party. Mom and Gord had only been married a year.  He was obviously trying to prove himself as a stepfather.  Why else would he have put on a massive backyard bash for my whole class?

So my mom came home with photos and we all crowded around to have a look. There was this one picture of my stepbrother Mason teaching me to throw horseshoes. That’s something Gord figured Grade Eight kids would enjoy.  Haha, right?  Although, in truth, we were an innocent bunch. Not like city kids. You wouldn’t believe what my cousins in The Big Smoke got up to at school dances. One time I overheard my cousin Laura telling my big sister Brooke about having oral sex behind a pile of gym mats. I remember wondering what oral sex was.  I figured it must involve talking, like an oral assignment at school.

I wonder if Brooke knew what it meant. She would have been sixteen at the time, so maybe she did. I never asked her. We weren’t the kind of family that talked about sex stuff.  Not ever.

Anyway, I keep trying to tell you this story about the grad party pictures and I keep getting sidetracked. That’s because I’m still embarrassed about it. I want to tell you, but I also don’t want you to know.

What part was I at? Oh yeah, the part where Mason was teaching me how to throw horseshoes. So, he was standing behind me and I was kind of in front of him and to the side, totally innocent. I mean, he was nineteen at the time. I was fourteen.  Of course it was innocent.

But when the pictures were developed, my mom and Brooke and Gord all started laughing. I didn’t get why, at first, until Gord pointed to our shadows. It had been a sunny afternoon and our bodies cast long shadows across the high wooden fence.  It looked like our shadows were... well, let’s just say he was behind me and I was bending forward and it didn’t look exactly innocent.

Maybe if I’d been older I could have laughed at myself. Or maybe if I’d come from a less repressed family. But when I saw what they saw, I just felt so ashamed. If Mason had been in the room at the time, I probably would have dropped dead of humiliation.

As it was, I couldn’t bear the indignity. I screamed “Stop laughing at me!” and stomped up the stairs in tears. I slammed my door, but once wasn’t enough. I opened it and slammed it again, and then a third time and a fourth. I only called it quits when one of my mother’s framed watercolours fell off the wall. If the glass had smashed, she would have killed me. But it didn’t, so I felt safe to throw myself across my bed, plunge my face into my pillow, and sob until I could sob no more.

My mom never came to check on me.  She wasn’t comfortable with tears.  I was full of tears at that age, so we grew apart.  We’ve since grown back together—I mean, I’m twenty-four years old and I still live with her, so I guess we’re pretty okay with each other—but my teens were a tough time.

I mentioned Mason wasn’t in the kitchen when all this happened, but he was in the house.  Gord must have told him what all the door-slamming was about, or showed him the picture, because it was Mason who knocked at my door while I cried into my pillow.

I screamed, “Go away!”

He didn’t.  He knocked again, then said, “I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in.”

I rolled over to face the wall, because I sure couldn’t face my stepbrother.

“Clover?”

“What?”

“Yikes.”  He laughed nervously, then sat beside me on the bed.  “Sorry you’re upset.”

“It’s not your fault,” I told him—pretty reasonable, for a fourteen-year-old.  “I just don’t like people laughing at me.”

“They weren’t laughing at you,” Mason said.  “They were laughing at the picture. At our shadows.”

I rolled over in bed.  “But our shadows are part of us.”

He shrugged.  “Not really.  We can’t control what they do.”

Maybe he was right.  He was older, after all.  He knew better than I did.

When I sat up with my back against the wall, he said, “I’m going to the hardware store in Cloyne. Want to come with me?”

It wasn’t exactly a Full House heart-to-heart, but it was pretty close. 

Mason made me feel special.  I don’t think he even realized it, but that little talk and our trip to the hardware store (where he made photocopies of his resume to mail clear across the country) changed my life.

That day changed his life too, because he was offered a job by one of the companies he contacted. A job all the way out in Vancouver.

By the time I started high school, he was gone for good.

Chapter 2

Brooke’s friend Shannon had her heart set on male strippers. She found a service in Kingston that would send one to your house, but they said our tiny town was too far to drive. Anyway, who wants some greased-up guy taking off his clothes in your mother’s basement? Gross.

They ended up going all the way to Toronto just to see strippers. 

I guess they did other things, too, but I didn’t want to hear about it. 

Shannon invited me to come along.  I was the bride’s sister, after all.  But I didn’t want to cramp Brooke’s style, and I never really liked Shannon. She was always yelling.  She seemed incapable of speaking with what my mother called an “inside voice”—everything she said had to be at maximum volume.  Imagine how embarrassing it would be to walk down a busy street in Toronto with this girl screaming about male strippers.

But maybe everyone in Toronto was loud like that.  I’d only been to the downtown part once, and I don’t really remember because I was four at the time.  I do remember being so afraid I peed.

Needless to say, the city wasn’t my favourite place in the world.

Anyway, it was good that Brooke spent a weekend away with her Maid of Honour. Gave me a chance to spread out my squares in the den and work on the quilt I was making for her as a wedding present. I made it all white even though Shannon had spilled the beans about Brooke and Craig sleeping together before they were even engaged.  I’d never seen Brooke’s cheeks glow quite that shade of crimson.

Like I said: we don’t talk about sex in this family.

Brooke being in Toronto also meant she could meet Mason when he flew in for the wedding.  If there was one thing I’d brave the mean streets of Hogtown for, it would be to greet my stepbrother at the airport. I did momentarily consider going for just that reason, but it didn’t seem worth having to sit through a strip show with my sister. 

Life is full of tough decisions.

Anyway, it’s not like I’d never seen Mason in the ten years since he moved to B.C.  The first year, he got a week of paid vacation and he came back home to see us.  I spent the whole time doting on him.  Ever since that day when he’d consoled me in my room and then taken me to the hardware store to make photocopies, I’d had the tiniest bit of a crush on him. 

Okay, you caught me—it was more than a crush. It was a full-blown case of Masonitis. I used to write him letters and imagine them flying on the wings of a dove all the way across the country.  I kissed each one before sealing the envelope, and then kissed it again before putting it in the mailbox outside Ed’s Everything Store.

But the letter-writing didn’t last long.  Looking back, I’m amazed he took the time to write me at all.  He had a good reason for slowing down.  He started his own company while he was still working full-time, so that ate up pretty much every hour of his day.  Even though he explained to me what he did, I never really understood.  Something to do with consulting on home renovations?  He said there was so much red tape to cut through, and ordinary people would rather have someone else do the legwork. I don’t know.

All I do know is he got rich off red tape.  Rich enough to buy a dream home by the ocean.  I don’t know if the house attracted Maureen, or if she was already in the picture by then.  He never mentioned her to me, or to anyone in the family, until after they’d eloped.

And after that, we didn’t hear from him at all.

None of us ever met Maureen, but she obviously wasn’t a fan of small-town Ontario.  They never came home for Christmas in the whole time they were married, and they sure didn’t invite us to see their waterfront oasis.

I know it sounds mean to say good riddance to someone else’s marriage, but we were all glad when Maureen filed for divorce.  Mason wasn’t so hot about it, obviously.

When he came home that Christmas, he kept pretty quiet.  We all did.  Except Shannon—she tried to pry him up on the dancefloor during the Christmas Eve Open House.  Gord sent her home.  If there’s one thing I really respect about my stepfather, it’s how fiercely protective he is of this family. He’s a good guy.

And so is Mason.  He deserved better than the Maureens of the world. As far as I know, he hasn’t chanced it with women since the divorce. Not that he would tell us if he did.  We really don’t talk about stuff like that.

* * * *

By the time Shannon’s car pulled into the driveway after the big bachelorette weekend, I’d completed Brooke’s bridal quilt, folded it up in a box and wrapped that box in glossy white paper from Ed’s.  I’d been saving a particularly pretty bow for it ever since Christmas.

I sat inside the bay window like a puppy and watched Mason step out of the car.  The three of them unpacked the trunk with huge smiles on their faces.  Mason was good with Shannon.  He had a way of keeping her noisiness in check.  Brooke did the same thing I was doing: stood back and quietly watched while the other two carried luggage and shopping bags toward the house.

“They’re here!” I called out to Gord and my mom as I rushed to the front door.  “Guys, Mason and Brooke are back!”

Shannon was close enough to the house that she heard me through the screen door.  “And Shannon’s back too!” she shouted. “Yay, Shannon!  Everybody loves that girl.”

I tried to catch Mason’s gaze while I rolled my eyes, but he was grinning in Shannon’s direction.  Brooke opened her eyes wide while I opened the screen door for them.  That was her way of silently saying, “I know, right?  Why am I even friends with her?”

Brooke stepped inside and so did Shannon.  I could already hear my mom asking them about the city when Mason looked at me for the first time.

He seemed taller than before, which made me feel smaller. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but you could tell he was rich.  I couldn’t explain it, since I wasn’t up on designer brands, but there was something about the cut of his jeans and the crispness of his shirt that screamed, “I’ve got big money!”

Oh, and his sunglasses, too.  He’d tucked them in the front of his shirt, but they were so black and shiny and new-looking you could tell they cost hundreds of dollars.

“Hi, Mason.”

Pressing his forehead against mine, he said, “Hi, Clover.”

My face turned to fire.  I could smell his cologne, and it smelled rich too, but that’s not what made me burn up.  It was just his proximity to me.  His forehead touching my forehead. 

I almost fainted.

Gord called out, “Mase, my boy! How’s the city by the sea?”

Laughing, Mason said, “Nobody calls it that.”

“Somebody does, because I do.  Are you saying I’m not a somebody?”

“You’re the most important somebody I know,” Mason said, sweeping into the house to shake his father’s hand.

As I shrunk away from the door and rounded the corner toward the garage, I could still hear Gord saying, “I bet you tell everybody they’re the most important somebody—that’s how it’s done in business.  That’s how you keep all those nose-in-the-air clients coming back for more!”

It was hard to imagine Mason sucking up to clients. Didn’t seem like a Mason thing to do.

What was I doing outside while the whole family caught up in the house?

I just couldn’t face them—not all at once.  I stared at Shannon’s car for what felt like three hours, wondering if they’d brought everything inside or if I should be doing something. Helping in some way.  I knew I should go back in, but I couldn’t.  I leaned against the garage door. It was so hot it burned my shoulder, but oh well.  Sometimes in life you get burned.  Gotta learn to live with it.

When the screen door opened I crouched in the corner. I don’t know why.  Guess I didn’t want to be found by whoever was coming out.

“Well, thanks again for meeting me at the airport,” Mason said.  “Are you sure you won’t let me chip in for gas?”

Shannon giggled. What an idiot.  She said, “Don’t be silly, Mase.  Not that I mind taking a man’s money, but you just got back in town.  How’s about I wait a few days before sucking you dry?”

What was that even supposed to mean?  Mason obviously didn’t know, because the way he laughed he might as well have been saying, “What is wrong with you?”

Shannon opened her car door, but she didn’t get in right away.  She stood with both arms folded over the window part, jangling her keys.  The way she gazed up at him with that stupid grin on her face just made me want to smack her.

“Well,” Mason said.  “Thanks again for the drive.”

“A rich guy like you?  I’m surprised you didn’t rent a helicopter, land it in Nelson’s field over there.”

“A road trip’s more fun.  And my hair doesn’t get so messed up.”  He ran a hand through his dark brown coif—which, yeah, was pretty impressive.  The haircut added to the rich guy mystique.  Most dudes around here had either long hair or buzz cuts. Nothing much in between.

“You’ve got great hair,” Shannon said, reaching out like she wanted to mess it up.

Mason stepped away so she couldn’t touch him. 

The look on her face was less hurt and more irritation that he’d backed off.

“Anyway,” Mason said.  “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Before then.”  She got into her car and shut the door, but opened the window.  “I’m over here all the time.  You’ll be sick of me by the end of the week.”

“He’s sick of you already,” I said, but under my breath so they wouldn’t hear.

Mason stepped away from the car.  “In that case, I’ll see you when I see you.”

He waved and she waved, and finally she backed out of the driveway and drove off.

“I don’t know why my sister’s friends with her.”

Mason jumped and turned around, clutching his hand to his heart.  “Jesus, Clover.  What are you doing down there?”

I shrugged. “Not spying on you.”

He gave me a funny look and said, “Sure...” 

Chapter 3

When I tried to stand, I realized my knees had locked in that crouching position.  I couldn’t get up.  “Little help?”

I stuck out my hand and he grabbed it and yanked me to my feet.  Until our palms touched, I didn’t realize how sweaty mine were. That was embarrassing, even though I don’t think he noticed.

He asked, “Why aren’t you inside with everyone else?”

“Why aren’t you?” I shot back.

“Just thought I’d walk Shannon out, thank her for the ride. But I’m sure you heard all that.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I said, mainly because I was kind of known for it.  Everyone considered eavesdropping my super power, practically.  “I just came out here because...”  Think, Clover, think!  “Because Mom gave me her studio.  I wanted to show you what I’ve been working on.”

“Gave you her studio?  Don’t tell me she quit painting.”

“No, no. Didn’t your dad tell you?  He built her a new studio out back.  It’s practically its own house—got its own bathroom and everything.”

“Fancy,” Mason said as he followed me.

I opened the side door to the garage and led my stepbrother into the studio space I shared with Gord’s truck.  “See?  I put up this curtain so your dad has his side and I have mine.  My mom didn’t like working in here anyway.  You don’t get enough natural light.  She ended up painting in the kitchen.”

Mason didn’t seem like he was listening to me. The way he wandered into the garage, I thought maybe his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness. But then he said, “Wow! Tell me about this piece.”

“Oh. That’s not finished.”

“Tell me about it anyway.”

The work he was talking about was mixed media—acrylic and newspaper on board.  “I got the idea when my mom and I were out for a walk in the woods with your dad.  There’s a spot we hike to and take a picnic lunch.”

“I know that spot,” Mason said, seeming a bit irritated.  “You talk like I’m not part of this family, but I used to go too when our parents first got together.  Remember?  You and me and Brooke brought a Frisbee that one time.  It got stuck in a tree.”

“Oh yeah.”  Honestly, I’d forgotten about that.  I guess I would have been eleven or twelve at the time?  That was early, early on.

“I’m part of this family too,” he said.

“I know you are.  Jeeze, Mason.”

His expression fell, and for a second I thought he might apologize. But he didn’t.

“Anyway...”  Turning to my work in progress, I said, “One time, your dad brought the newspaper to read while we had our picnic.  My mom said how much the paper looked like the birch trees.  That’s what gave me this idea.”

I’d torn strips of newspaper and pressed them into wet acrylic so it looked like a forest.

“I love it,” Mason said.  “It’s so dark.”

“Not really.  There just isn’t enough light in here to see it properly.”

“Not that kind of dark.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“You obviously don’t see it.”

I obviously didn’t.  When I looked at my painting, all I saw was a birch forest on an autumn day. Whatever darkness he saw was obviously coming from him.  Not from me.

“How much time do you spend in here?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I get up and come here. Go inside at dinnertime, watch TV. Sometimes I come back at night, but only if I can’t sleep.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?”

“No,” I said.  “Just sometimes. You know.”

I stood behind him, staring at his back.  His shirt was creased from the car, but you could see the quality. It’s not the kind of thing you could buy around here, not even if you drove all the way to Belleville.

He wasn’t looking at me when he said, “Your mom still makes you dinner?”

The way he said it was casual enough, but it still sounded super-judgemental. So I snapped a bit when I said, “No. Not always.”

“Oh, right,” Mason said. “Sometimes my dad makes it.”

He had me there.

“How old are you, Clover?”

I didn’t answer. He knew very well how old I was.

“Too old to be relying on your parents for every little thing.”

“I don’t!”

“I bet your mother still cleans your room on Saturday mornings.”

“She doesn’t!”

Yeah, she totally did. I always woke up to the sound of the vacuum approaching the foot of my bed. But I wasn’t about to tell Mason that.

“Who does your laundry?” he asked.

“Who does yours?” I shot back, because apparently I’d turned into a six-year-old.

My lungs froze up when he said, “Anya.”

“Anya?”  I could barely push the name through my lips.  “Who’s Anya?”

He turned his head around to look at me briefly.  He had that teasing stepbrother smile on his face—the sort of smile that told me he was about to make fun of me.

But he didn’t.  He just turned back around and said, “Anya’s my cleaner.”

“Cleaner with benefits?”

I don’t know why I asked that, but I don’t think he got what I meant anyway, because he said, “What, like health benefits?”

“No.”

“Dental?”

“No.”

He turned again and winked, and I felt like an idiot for thinking he hadn’t understood what “benefits” meant.

“They’re gonna wonder what you’re doing out here,” I said.

“Who?”

“Mom and Gord and Brooke.”

“I’m looking at your art.”  He stepped to the wall, where I’d hung canvases all the way up to the roof. It wasn’t so much for display as it was to let them dry in peace (sometimes I’d start a piece with acrylic, then paint oil over top of it, and those took forever to set), but Mason kept going on about how good the arrangement looked.

He was still talking when I first noticed what our shadows were up to.

And this is the point in the story where you’re either going to think I’m lying or I’m crazy, or maybe both. Well, I’m not lying, so I guess that leaves you with your answer.

The afternoon sun was streaming in through the window above the door.  It cast long shadows across the fabric dividing my studio from Gord’s portion of the garage. That wasn’t the weird part. In fact, I hadn’t even noticed our shadows until they started to move.

At first, I thought it was the fabric moving. I thought maybe Brooke had snuck in and got behind it. I thought she was trying to scare me like she used to do when we were little.

But the fabric wasn’t moving. The fabric stayed absolutely still while my shadow started bending forward.

That might have been the weirdest part, because I knew for a fact I wasn’t bending. In that moment, I don’t think I could have budged if I’d tried. My feet were two blocks of ice frozen to the cement floor, and my arms were like dead weight at my sides.

But my shadow’s arms?  That was another story.

They rose at my shadow body’s sides, then wrapped ominously around my stepbrother’s shadow.

I was so sure Mason would whip around and be like, “Hey, get your hands off me!”

But he didn’t seem to feel it. He couldn’t seem to sense my shadow wrapping itself around his.

His shadow’s head turned to mine. I swallowed hard, because I could feel everything. Feel his head, his breath, his hardness. I could feel it all when his shadow kissed mine. I could feel the hugeness of his tongue in my mouth.

A warm flush whipped through me like lava, filling my cheeks with crimson heat before sliding down my throat. I felt him all over me and inside me as my shadow attached to his.

The real Mason talked the whole time, but I couldn’t hear a word. I couldn’t draw my gaze away from his shadow lifting my shadow off its feet, slamming its back against the wall, hiking up my skirt and...

“Clover! Mason! We were starting to wonder if Shannon had kidnapped you both.”