Chapter 1-2 The Alternate

Saskia came to a decision and decided to change the beginning of the book, so here is the alternative beginning to the book, and up to where she meets Shadow... Let's go

-This continues from where Shadow is in Sacramento and continues on into Chapter 3...-

 

Sacramento was totally quiet when the armored van containing one of the most wanted men in America rolled by. The parking garage was just as monstrous as the capitol. Shadow couldn’t see it though. He felt like the lions in the cage that Shadow always sat close to when he worked for a small time circus. He had been one of their best performers, yet he preferred the company of the toothless lion, who would sit with its nose at the edge of the cage, looking up at Shadow with the most beautiful amber eyes. He felt like the lion now, which was most likely dead and gone now. He felt people leering in at him, observing him like some kind of new weapon. He wouldn’t be a weapon for them; he would find a way to kill himself before he had to work for them.

Then the doors opened and another blindfold fell over Shadow's eyes. He was really getting sick of all these blindfolds. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the man was pulled from the back of the van and was walked somewhere where it was warm, and it actually felt really good. Doors opened before Shadow, but because of the well oiled hinges, Shadow didn't realize they had entered a building until the two doors clanked together. It echoed, he was inside of the Capital, what for? Then they were walking, and they were walking... and they were walking... and then they stopped again, some people talked, and they were walking... It was starting to get annoying, all this walking but never seeming to have a location, or a destination to be aiming for. Then another door - not as elegant and well cared for - opened and Shadow was pushed into a chair and tied down. They left him there, staring, interrogating him so quickly he didn't have a chance to think of the answer for the first question. As sudden as it had happened, the questions ceased, and a door closed. Then he was waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Waiting for what?

This part of Shadow's arrest was by far the worst. Suspense and anxiety were not healthy components, especially for Shadow. The man’s fingers drummed in time with the clock, his eyes blinking methodically in time behind the cloth. He could hear voices coming from outside the door. Conviction… Island… solitary confinement… Were they high? Shadow mulled over the snatches of words, and he realized what they meant as the door opened.

            “You’re not going to put me in… in… Alcatraz, are you?”

The officer blinked at the man, Shadow Rowan Parker, most dangerous man in America, sat actually trembling in his chair. Shadow sensed the man smile as he replied, “Who told you that?”

            “I heard it, so are you?”

            “Funny, it suddenly matters to you now that you could be in danger, yet you never thought about any of those other people you killed.”

Shadow didn’t reply. He wasn’t scared; he wasn’t going to let the man’s taunting get a hold of him. He was going to keep cool, cool as ice, cool as a cucumber…

            “They are considering keeping you in solitary confinement for life. You are too dangerous to keep with other inmates, even if you were on your best behavior an accident can just happen.”

No, he was going to be calm, he was going t relax, there was nothing to be scared of, it was just Alcatraz Island… just where the Bird Man, members of the Purple Gang… Wareagle, were held. It was just solitary confinement, and because Shadow didn’t need to eat, practically no human contact at all until Alcatraz closed down… which just might be never. Nothing big right? Wrong.

Shadow felt horrible, he wanted to disappear, he wanted the ground to open and swallow him. He wanted to not be there. No where in sight, maybe in the Demon realm, maybe with Hibernius who could cover him. Then again, it was that man’s fault in the first place, right?

Oh why couldn’t Shadow be as lucky as Mason at a time like this? He thought as restraints came undone and he was pulled from the chair.

Why?

 

Soho sat on the cliff edge that day, his legs dangling over the sides, teasing the hungry ocean. The coast Guards chaperoning Shadow across the bay was anything but discreet and inconspicuous. Sirens blurred and motors roared at volumes that Soho could hear halfway across the bay. He could see Shadow sitting in total solitude in the gut of the boat, maybe he was scared. No, impossible, Soho thought to himself as the boat came to a stop at Alcatraz dock. A tall figure that could only be Shadow was pulled from the depths of the boat, and walked up the stairs towards the check-in. Shadow wasn’t easily scared, but what if today was just another story? What if he was truly terrified? With a bitten lip, Soho stood up and dusted himself off. He cast the island what he hoped would be his last look and he walked into the house.

 

It was two weeks after the Museum mission, and Shadow’s arrest. Frescia came downstairs with her eyes puffy from tears. They had been like that a lot these days; everyone knew that Shadow and Frescia had been very close in more ways than one. It hurt everyone to know that Shadow wouldn’t be sitting in the living room now with his feet kicked up on the coffee table and reading his favorite book by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Evil Eye and Soho didn’t place chess much anymore, and Spieren was in his room kicking a punching bag more and more now a days. Everyone sat around now like bumps on logs. Finally one day Soho called everyone into the living room, and they all sat in, looking hopeful. Maybe Soho had come up with an idea for Shadow’s return.

Instead he looked grim, his eyes almost sad.

            “I have news from Manhattan Base,” Soho announced and everyone went from quiet a couple of whispers to absolute silence.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, a letter. He unfolded it with shaking fingers and read it through one more time and put it away. Suspense was making their stomachs hurt.

            “1419 says that because of Shadow’s sudden absence, something about Group 87 needs to happen. So this is my solution…” and he reached into his other pocket and pulled out papers.

            “Jade, you’ll be joining Group 547 in the Easter Islands… Rosary, Group 46 wants you to join them in Argentina…”

            “Wait, wait, what?” a spunky girl with jade green eyes jumped out of her seat, and a few light bulbs exploded.

            “What do you mean I’m going to the Easter Islands? I haven’t applied for a different location yet, my time doesn’t end for another four months!”

Soho coughed and said, “I know, because I am moving you all to active groups. Group 87 is officially inactive because it is lacking in the requirements of a permanent leader and a Dark Element. Group 87 is shutting down.

            “But, you’re our leader!” cried the girl named Rosary, her hands shaking unhappily while Soho bit his lip and replied, “I’ve made arrangements to go to Manhattan.”

            “No!” Spieren roared now, and Frescia said, “You can’t leave though; Shadow put you in charge…”

            “Evil Eye is in charge after I leave.” Soho said and he stared at the entire group who looked back at him, their eyes filling up with tears, Frescia’s eyes were already pouring over.

            “Everyone, please, none of you will want to hang around here now, there’s nothing to do except for reading and playing chess, you’ll all feel much better after you leave…” Soho said and put all of the papers on the coffee table, spreading them out. 

            “Just… go, everyone go.” And Soho left the room, his head bowed down in defeat, his teeth grit tightly together. This was the most outrageous thing any of them had seen from Soho Knight. He had always been the one shouting there had to be another way. He was the one who put up the biggest fight, who actually fought to stay in the mansion, who went out at night to sabotage humans who tried to break into the manor. Soho Tevye Knight was not the one who was fighting for the Group. He was giving up; he was finally the one who was saying there was no hope. The worst part about it was he was right.

Rosary walked over and began to comfort Frescia, and Jade sat next to Evil Eye and said, “I don’t care what the Easter Islands wants with me, I’m staying here until Shadow comes back, whether that’s in two weeks or 100 years.”

Evil Eye smiled and patted the girl’s shoulder. “You’ve got spunk, that’s what 1419 liked. He’ll want you to use that to good use. You won’t be able to use that spunk here now that the place is dead. Go somewhere else.”

            “There are memories.”

Frescia didn’t reply, she looked down at the scene she saw now.

A suitcase was sitting on his bed, where most of his clothes were already folded up neatly.

He picked up a photograph of himself and Shadow standing in front of Alcatraz Island. His fingers trembled as he put that in his suitcase to.

            “Where in Manhattan are you going?” Frescia asked as she read one of the newspaper clippings that were plastered to the wall.

            “I’ve been thinking about joining the Broadway Circle. Be an actor for a while, it had always been one of my biggest dreams, ya know?” Soho looked over his shoulder and started to take down more posters, folding them up carefully. Some of the paper was already turning yellow, others were fresh. The oldest was a clipping saying, “Irene Knight sentenced to hang”. Why did he keep that? It seemed to torture him every time he read it.

            “What about you? You have Glade practically on a string for your opinion. He’s not shabby either.” Soho said casually and started to open up a second suitcase, throwing some clothes into it carelessly, others he folded with all the care of a mother.

            “I can’t leave here for some reason; it is my parents’ house after all. If Glade ever wanted to come to call, or have some question, he can come here. Anyway, what if Shadow got out? What if there is some magical happening and someone takes pity on him?”

            “Frescia you’re being silly. We all know that no one would ever take pity on Shadow. Look at what he did! He couldn’t control it, but still, we’re the only ones who knew the truth about Shadow.” Soho said and snapped his suitcase closed. Frescia looked away from Soho and back to the door. There was silence between the friends before Soho said slowly, “I’ll call you when I get to New York…. Good luck.” And pushed past Frescia out the door and out of sight.

That night the house took on a different, less friendly air. The house seemed dead.

 

 

1963

 

Shadow sensed something in the air, he hadn’t known what it was as he sat in his cell, people just walking by, not casting him a glance as they went about feeding the others in confinement. There were nights, or Shadow was sure they were nights, where he could hear them screaming, yelling in distress. That’s what solitary confinement did to a person, right? Drove you mad, no one to talk to but yourself, but you don’t want to talk to yourself because what if people are watching? They’ll call you mad. That’s why they all kept quiet, and then they would wake up the rest of the block with their screams. Shadow sometimes talked himself hoarse from muttering under his breath, it was one of the only things he could do to himself to stop him from ending up like the rest. Some days when he thought he heard a pair of footsteps walking down the isle, he would mutter, “Water, please?” and the footsteps would continue, as if Shadow had never been heard. Sometimes a person would do him a favor, and a bottle of water would skid through the slit at the bottom of the door. Sometimes it would be an empty water bottle.

Welcome to Alcatraz Island, Shadow thought to himself as people around him stirred. Home of celebrities of every shape of reputation. Al Capone slept in this bed, yes he did and he enjoyed the place so much that he vacationed here while he ran his business all the away in Chicago! Talk about connections there eh? Then we of course have the Birdman, yup crazy old Birdman. Still talks to his pigeons and the seagulls sometimes. Wait for it, the golden plate though? Jason Rowan Parker! Leader of infamous Group 87!

            “Shut up in there Parker.” A gruff voice barked from outside, and Shadow sat there for a minute thinking, did I say all that out loud?

 

The operation was going smoothly; it had been gradual at first, the liquidation of the prison. It was going to close down, and the prisoners could sense it. After the slip last year, what were the odds it could happen again? Warden Jenkins took no chances, so the inmates started moving, transferring to different prisons all over the country.

            “Are all of the inmates in confinement out?” Jenkins asked, watching boats and ferries sail for Fisherman’s Wharf, which was lined with vans and cop cars of all colors with shiny license plates from everywhere from Maine to California.

            “Yes sir, but there’s one question we have,”

            “What is it? This place has to close we don’t have time!”

            “We didn’t make an arrangement for Shadow.” The guard’s voice dropped several levels, and the way he spoke made Jenkins think that Shadow was listening to their very words. He didn’t see why, by he whispered back, “I thought about this, and I have a conclusion, we’ll put him in the vaults under the island. Just leave him there.”

            “But sir…!”

            “We can tell them that Shadow is dead, something. We’ll put him in a restricted area, we’ll tell the landlord that the place down there is too dangerous for renovations, it’ll make the whole island crash, and no one will ever know about Shadow! It’s as easy as that!”

The guard’s eyes widened as the Warden’s enthusiasm in this mounted. He looked like he was out of his mind. Then the man ceased and looked at the guard as if awaiting some sign of approval.

            “Yes sir, very smart indeed…”

            “Then get on with it!”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

2000

 

The house was just what Denise Parker had hoped it was. Average, average lawn, average garage, average rooms, average ceiling on an average street. Cicero would have wanted to be there to see the house, but he wasn’t there. He was gone, hiding from things he wouldn’t say. She could only trust him, he asked her if she wanted to explore for a while, because he didn’t know if he would come back. She told him she was always going to stay true. She kept that promise, but she didn’t know if he did. There were sometimes at night when Denise sat in bed and wondered if he was playing mattress leap frog, then she told herself, “Denise, Cicero loves you!” and she would hug her pillow. She told herself she couldn’t do that last night, she woke up that day and thought out loud, “Okay, Jessica has her fieldtrip today. Right, gotta get up.” Denise pulled herself together and from under the covers. The sun was just starting to rise, and the eggs were already on the stove as Denise walked over to her daughter’s room, which was probably hoarding illegal immigrants under the mess.

            “Jessica, are you awake?” Denise’s voice might have been muffled inside the room that stood before her, so she knocked loudly for good measure. There were subtle signs of life on the other side of the door, so Denise persisted.

Jessica took after her dad, she could have slept through a World War two bombing had she been alive then. She also didn’t like to wake up from her slumber for anything, especially if it was a school day. Then again, who did?

Today was a special school day though; it was a fieldtrip to Alcatraz Island. When Denise finally dared to open the door, she saw Jessica Eve Parker standing center stage of a shockingly pristine bedroom. She was fully dressed, but her eyes were drooping. She looked like she was fighting off a hangover. The hangover was winning. Dark circles like wet teabags sagged down under her eyes and her mouth dripped like a basset hound.

            “Still sleepy?” Denise teased and wiped yellow nuggets from the corners of Jessica’s stunning jaded eyes. According to Cicero they belonged to Jessica’s grandfather, or his brother.

Jessica’s reply was a groggy nod, her wheat colored hair moving with her head’s motions.

            “I had the dream again Mom,” Jessica announced and Denise gave a heavy mental sigh.

Ever since they moved to San Francisco from tiny no-name Clement Falls, Jessica was having dreams of walking down hallways and staircases. At the end of the dreams, according to Jessica, she found a man behind a locked door.

            “This time the dream seemed more life like, and the man said something, but I couldn’t hear very well.” Jessica only paused in her story to eat the served breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast.

Denise watched as her daughter’s face contorted in hard concentration. It looked like the dream was draining from her memory.

            “I think he was asking me for help. He sounded creepy, crazy. Like he had been down there for a long time.” Jessica tried to recall any memory, no matter how wispy it was. The dream was gone though, and it distraught Denise that she couldn’t help her daughter. She had to go and find a counselor for Jessica.

 

The Night Before

 

Manhattan was sweaty and humid, that was the best way it could be described in words. It reminded Christopher Fig of a great big spider web, calling you closer and closer in with all its charm and promise of nightlife and ecstasy. Especially Thursday nights it seemed, to him anyway. Where was he that night? He was inside of the elevator and singing to himself softly as he sorted through his mail. The man’s graying black hair was still slicked back from the wig; it was starting to show signs of the natural curls and cowlicks. The five o’clock shadow made the man continue to scratch his cheekbones.

            “Some enchanted evening…” he was saying as the doormen Anderson said, “Mr. Fig, your floor.”

            “Thank you Anderson.” Mr. Fig replied, continuing with, “Once you have found her never let her go…” and searching for a key in one of his many pockets.

Inside of the apartment was all mixed and matched furniture and décor. It was the hole in the wall apartment he had managed to turn into a home. It had only taken him forty years. Sitting down on an eaten couch from a yard sale, the man continued looking through the mail.

Bill, bill, audition callback, bill, phone bill, water bill, rent bill, bill, bill, bill, same old, same old. Everything was made to Christopher Fig, except for one thing, at the absolute bottom.

It was a small envelope, labeled to the apartment at 458 Washington Street, apartment 2B, Manhattan New York City. The receiver was not for Christopher Fig though, but for someone who stirred up from old memories like dust. It was for a Soho Tevye Knight.

The man blinked long and hard, reading the name several more times. No, this was a just a joke, a bad hoax. But who could it be? No one but a few people knew where Soho really was. What bothered him most was the handwriting, it was short, bold, and the curve of the ‘S’, ‘T’, and ‘K’. He had only known one person to write like that, but that person was dead. How was it possible?

            “You’re forgetting something, Chris,” he heard himself saying. “In the Gifted side of life, possibility and probability are vast.” Those words made him open the envelope. Out fell a letter, a short letter in Jason Parker’s handwriting.

 

Soho, (May 30)

 

I can’t say much, I don’t know what do say. Mr. Whelay just came down here to tell me the good news. It felt nice to hear someone’s voice other than mine. He told me he wasn’t allowed to explain in detail, but help is on the way! He said in a few days, because I know what days are down here, I was going to escape. He only brought enough paper for me to write one person, so I chose you. Please pass this onto Frescia and everyone else. I’ll be home soon, whenever soon it. I’m not dead!

 

-Shadow

 

By the time the man had finished the letter, Christopher was gone, dead, and the gray hairs had turned lush hazel, the face handsome, the nose long and curved. The Abyssinian eyes were staring around at the apartment, the 40 years of memories and cast parties. It was time for Christopher Fig to disappear, and Soho Knight to come back.

But he had worked so hard to make this apartment something special, filled with memories, posters, beer, and fan mail. How could he leave all of this behind? Leave behind famous Christopher Fig and become infamous Soho Knight again? Like this; a phone call to the phone company to cancel cell phone and land line, and close the apartment door. It was as easy as that. On his way out he told the doorman to sell everything in the space, and before he could explain, the man was gone. In three hours later, Christopher withdrew money from Citibank, closed all accounts, paid for a one way ticket to San Francisco in cash. He got into the city seven o’clock that morning. The city had changed a lot in 40 years.

 

            “Here if you like you can look up all of the inmates. They are alphabetized from their last names. Their numbers and their convictions are there also, some have pictures and mini-bios.” The tour guide said and everyone crowded for the computers.

Jessica stood for a minute looking for a computer that was open. It had a view of the cloudy San Francisco city, fog settling all over the island especially. The screen had options, search inmates, inmate list, search employee, employee list, search all. Jessica looked around; people were browsing through the list of inmates, not focused on her.

‘Parker’ she typed slowly, watching the letters magically appear on the screen. The arrow hovered over the search button and she looked around again.

The search was almost instant, and only one Parker came up, a man named Jason Rowan Parker. Jessica’s heart jumped and she hit the name. She hadn’t even been expecting a name to pop up.

Name: Jason Rowan ‘Shadow’ Parker

Age of Check-in: 59

Number: 101816

Conviction: Murder and robbery

Bio: “Shadow” Parker was the leader of a gang called ‘Group 87’ and was one of America’s most wanted men. People believed Shadow had a supernatural that killed upon eye contact. During his stay, he was kept under constant surveillance, and solitary confinement. Shadow Parker died before liquidation of the prison.’ The bio said and Jessica stared at the picture, her jaw stiff, adrenaline and shock making her break out into cold sweat. The man she saw in the picture was the same man she sometimes saw when she looked in the photo album dad had left behind. In this picture, his eyes were smokey and dark, just like the rest of the black and white photos. He didn’t smile, he looked like he had been crying.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Jessica saw movement and she stared. There was a man with chocolaty brown hair and a large wind breaker that moved in the wind approaching a wall where, according to the tour guide, were the names of inmates who had died in the prison. Was Shadow’s name up there? Jessica wondered as she looked on.

Wasn’t the prison closed today so that the kids had the place to themselves?

She was about to call the tour guide over, but something about the man made her keep watching. He approached the wall, but he passed that and stood before a large onyx black grave and placed a few lilies at the stone and stood in silence, and the more Jessica watched, the more she realized he looked like a statue of the finest marble and chiseled out by Michael Angelo. Finally the man moved, at least his shoulders did. Jessica stood frozen as the man shouldered the wind breaker off. What had been moving the jacket wasn’t wind… no, that was impossible, impossible. A man couldn’t have.

Wings.

But he did, they were the size of a semi truck, they burst from the jacket and pulled the man up in the air. Jessica turned her head back and forth, trying to see if anyone else was seeing this. No one was watching, just here, it was like the man was invisible to everyone else.

            “Okay kids, let’s keep moving you still have a lot to see,” the tour guide said and everyone followed.

Not Jessica though, she continued to stare at the winged man, who was becoming a speck in the distance, just before a cloud swallowed him, she saw the head turn and he. He waved at her.

 

Author's Note

Some of the parts you may have already read, but this is the new beginning into how Jessica finds Shadow. It continues now from here. :) Enjoy.