Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. I do not know the sexual orientation of any of the celebrities who will be appearing in the story.
WARNING: The character does not have a happy life and will not have very many happy events in his life. If this kind of stuff bothers you, I do not recommend reading. Otherwise, enjoy.
The Shadow created by Street and Smith, Walter B. Gibson. Copyright Advance Magazine Publishing Inc.
Author's email address: authorjames2002@yahoo.com
Chapter 1 In The Beginning
High on the rooftops of New York City a lone figure stands looking out at the skyline. This has been his tromping ground for the past several months, ever since he arrived here from a small town in the Midwest. His tale is not a happy one. It is filled with betrayal and despair and much loneliness. The view before him is serene with the lights in the windows and the slow traffic going to and fro. The stars shine down in a whispering creating a supernatural hush on the world.
The protagonist of this tale is not looking at the beauty and simplicity of the grand scene. Instead, he is thinking of the decision he will be making in a few short hours, a decision that will change not only his life, but the life of two others. He did not come to this decision lightly. He does not react with a whim. Every choice he makes is with care and thoughtfulness, sometimes to the detriment of his own life. Does he consider his life and his happiness of paramount concern? The answer is no. And that is where his tale begins...
A few years ago, as a young teenager, he knew he was different from most of his friends. He was attracted to the other boys in his class, from elementary up through Junior High, which is now referred to as Middle School. He had fooled around with a friend in the neighborhood and believed himself to be falling in love. However, he was too young to actually be in love and his neighborhood friend knew exactly what was going on. It was a convenient way of getting his dick sucked. To him, that is all that it was. But to our protagonist, to the dark figure now standing atop New York City's skyline, it was more. He would have been willing to spend the rest of his life with his friend. His friend, however, moved on to Senior High School and continued his sexual exploits with young women. This hurt our hero, but this wasn't the turning point in his life.
A few years later, he got involved in a church, as many Midwesterners did, and he enjoyed the ideas of an eternal, all-powerful being watching over him. He also liked the fact that this all-powerful being wanted to have a relationship with him. And he sought out that relationship with fervor. With his newfound identity he also discovered how much the church hated people like him, hated homosexuals, faggots, dykes and what-not. This tore him up inside. He wanted to have this relationship with this all-powerful being, but those in the know spoke of this all-powerful being's hatred of men who lay with men "working that which is unseemly." This destroyed the main character of our story. He did all he could do as the people taught one could do to be rid of these "unnatural" desires. But, alas, it did not work. And he left the church disheartened, but this wasn't the turning point in his life.
A short while later, while swimming at a country club pool while babysitting two young boys, someone dived off the diving board without looking and landed on the subject of this story. The impact knocked the youth unconscious and he floated to the surface face-down. Everyone at the pool panicked, including the two young boys, but the lifeguard did not. He jumped in the water and brought our hero out of the water.
"He isn't breathing," the lifeguard proclaimed. "Call 9-1-1!"
Someone rushed to concession stand and from there an ambulance was summoned. The hero was turning blue with lack of oxygen.
"There's no pulse," the lifeguard said to no one in particular. He continued CPR until the ambulance arrived.
When the paramedics arrived, the lifeguard reported what had happened and how long our hero had been unconscious and had not been breathing. The paramedics worked for a short while longer and, finally, the hero was revived.
Everyone cheered at the good fortune and the two young boys cheered as well. The paramedics took the hero to the hospital where he was checked out. It happened to be the same hospital the boys' mother worked and she checked up on him.
The hero had been different from that moment, disconnected, sometimes even unfeeling. It was an important moment in his life, one of two pivotal moments in his life.
One night, as he stayed with a group of friends, the hormones that raged inside, the hormones controlled by his sexual orientation and by his exploits with his friend from years past, awoke and would not be satiated. As his friends slept on the floor, he paced back and forth trying to get control of what he could not control. He desired, no, craved the taste of flesh in his mouth. It was a drug that he had not had in years but the addiction had never left. He fought the battle that raged within and in a moment of not reasoning, of letting his desire rage within, he found someone fast asleep whom he thought was attractive. Pulling back the young man's bikini briefs, he found the only thing that would soothe his craving, and he took it.
After a few moments of enjoying the feel and taste of the long, thickened shaft, his senses came back. His reasoning capabilities returned and he ran up the stairs to the bathroom shaking deep inside. Over and over in his mind he thought, "What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?" The answer came in one horrific word: rape. It played over and over in his mind: rape, rape, rape, rape. Surely the young man sleeping wasn't a willing participant in this sexual act. Yet the subject of this story did what he did to satiate a craving inside, a craving he controlled for years that, in a moment of weakness, caused him to react in an inappropriate way.
Once his nerves calmed a bit, he quietly returned downstairs and crawled under his covers. It seemed the young man he had done this to hadn't stirred. Perhaps he didn't know what happened it will just be a secret the character of our story would have alone, a secret of his crime shared between him and the all-powerful being. This however did not happen.
In the morning, the young victim of the crime was gone. The subject of our story left with his parents and then came back to the scene of the crime that night with his parents. The young boy he did this to was there with his parents, and the owners of the house, the parents of the mutual friend, sat waiting.
Let me address the issue of the age of the victim of this crime. He was actually a year older than the perpetrator of the crime, not younger or pre-adolescent.
When he came in to see those whom he had harmed, his heart sank and his stomach knotted up so he felt as if he were going to throw up. Everyone spoke of what happened and he sat in muted silence unable to defend himself. He was guilty of this crime. He deserved punishment, jail, the same thing done to him. In his mind, he deserved death for what he did. But that didn't seem to be the victim's wishes. The victim, in mid-sob, said, "I don't want this to happen to anyone else."
The perpetrator could not handle this. But he knew he would grant his victim's wish. He would guarantee this would never happen to anyone ever again.
After this incident, a few days past, and the rapist went through life numb to everything going on. His parents knew what had happened and did not know how to react. They never even spoke of this to him, except one time when his mother asked if he liked boys or girls. In a moment of fear of what would happen, he said, "I think girls" and that was the last it was spoken.
His torture of what he had done continued on even after it seemed everyone else forgot about it. He couldn't live with what he had done. He was always such a "good person" and he had failed that image.
One night, while everyone slept, he got up, packed a bag, and left, never to return to his family, his friends, or his hometown again. He did not deserve them. What he believed he deserved was to be alone and pay for his crime. No one else seemed quick enough to punish him, so he would.
After a few hours' bus journey, he arrived in New York City to the hustle and bustle of the busy city. Amazed, he looked upon the towering buildings and felt so small and insignificant. People walked passed him going here and there knowing or seeming to know exactly where they were headed. He, however, had not a clue as to what was going on.
Digging deep in his pockets, he found his small wad of money he had saved up and he headed out looking for a place to stay. Holding the money tight with one hand and his bag with the other, he went off into the city.
"It seems so long ago," the dark figure said looking at the skyline and the people moving about below. "It has been only months, but the change that I have gone through made me a completely different person. I'm much more mature and experienced. That's why I know what I have to do."
A week after the protagonist arrived in New York, he witnessed something that would affect his life almost as dramatically as the incidents back home. As he walked through an alley looking for food, he heard a scuffle come from further back, deeper in the shadows. Quickly and quietly he moved down, curiosity getting the better of him.
As he neared the scene, a great fear planted his feet in the concrete. He crouched down and looked upon the events unfolding before him. Two men were beating up a homeless guy.
"You need to pay us our percentage, Moony. You owe us."
"I...didn't...get anything," the homeless man muttered.
"Right," the second assailant said. "We been watching you. You took advantage of the generosity of the people. And since you worked our streets, you need to pay us what you owe us."
"I told you," the man cried, "I didn't get anything. Please, let me go."
"No chance," the first assailant replied. "Check his pockets."
The homeless man struggled against the second assailant's grabs at his pockets. Moony, as he was called, grabbed the man's hands and kept him at bay. A shot rang out and the scene froze before his eyes. He watched as Moony's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body fell to the cement.
The two men searched Moony.
"I guess he was telling the truth," the second man said. "He doesn't have anything on him. Maybe it was someone else I saw working the street."
The two men shrugged their shoulders and headed out the alley. The young man hunched down so the two wouldn't see him. After they were gone, the young man headed to the body and kneeled by it. A puddle of blood already formed underneath the dead man. The youth grabbed his stomach and ran into another corner where he brought up his previous meal. He wiped his mouth when he was done and ran out of the alley.
In a short amount of time, he arrived at his small room where he slept. His things were hidden in a little alcove in the wall. The youth paced back and forth playing the image over and over in his mind.
"Oh my God," he said. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. He was shot...right in front of me!"
For the rest of the evening, the young man said over and over what he saw. When he became too tired to pace, he sat at the window looking at nothing in particular. The image forever burned in his mind and he sat in a daze for hours thinking of the homeless man telling the truth yet not being believed.
The youth's shock turned into anger.
"I need to do something to stop this," the young man said to no one in particular. "But what can I do? I'm so young. How can I help?"
For several more hours, the young man thought about what happened still not sure how he could help. Then, something came into his mind that gave him understanding and reason enough to do what he was thinking of doing.
The youth walked down the street heading for a place where he knew he could learn to fight. It was popular with many of the homeless people and lower-class people as a YMCA of sorts. Boxing, weightlifting and other activities could be utilized to keep them off the streets. Now, of all times, he understood the necessity.
Since it was late, not many were on the streets in this neighborhood. It wasn't safe. But he was seeking someone who could help him, the man who owned the local gym, the guy everyone knew by name: Jones. Often times he would be called Jonesy, though he only let close friends do that.
As he neared the building, two teens came out and blocked his path.
"We haven't seen you around here before," one said.
"What do you want?" the second asked.
The youth immediately thought of the incident he witnessed a few days ago and believed this would be the end. He had to be brave, however. He couldn't let fear run his life.
"I need to see Jones," the youth answered.
"Why for?"
"I just need to speak to him."
"I said, why for?" the youth in front of him pulled out a knife.
A hand grabbed the boy's shoulder. The boy turned quickly swinging the knife at the unseen interloper. His hand was met with a fist coming down on his wrist. He cried out in pain and dropped the blade.
"Get out of here," the man said in a gruff voice.
The two boys took off leaving the youth and the man gazing at one another.
"You okay?"
The young man took a few deep breaths. "Yeah, thanks. I thought for sure they were going to kill me."
"It's possible. Those two always get in trouble. Who is you and what do you want?"
"I need to speak to Jonesy. I need his help."
The dark-skinned man looked down on the young boy with observing eyes, as if looking past the exterior into the soul.
"What do you want with him?"
"I--I need to learn to fight."
"Come with me."
The man took the boy into the gym and back to a small office. He walked behind a desk and motioned for the boy to sit down.
"I'm Jonesy. Why do you want to fight?"
"I have nothing but myself," the boy said. He didn't want to tell of his crime. It would not due to reveal how evil a being he was.
Jonesy seemed to take what the boy said and consider the request. After a few moments of silence, Jonesy asked, "What's your name?"
The boy did not want to reveal that, either. He felt it safer to keep his real name a secret. If the man named Jonesy would happen to hear of his disappearance, he would be discovered and sent back to the small town from which he came, something he did not want to have happen.
Looking around for some clue, some help in what to call himself, the object on the wall answered.
"Shadow," he answered. "Call me Shadow."
Jonesy rolled his eyes. "Dramatic," he replied. "Fine, great, I'll call you Shadow. What all are you thinking of learning?"
"Everything you know, street-fighting, boxing, anything and everything."
"Okay. When do you want to start?"
"Now would be fine with me."
And so it was started, the relationship between a man training a teenage boy to become something more than what he was.
To Be Continued...