And wasn’t that a hell of a lot better than what he’d been doing last year, wrapping duct tape around his sneakers so his feet wouldn’t get wet, trudging through the gray snow?
It was worth it. This was worth it.
That’s what he concentrated on as Red flowed down the man’s throat, as Remy’s head echoed with awful sounds. As the wife woke up and started screaming. Think of having a home. Think of Mom going to the kind of rehabs that celebrities hung out at. Think of a future. Think of Adeline, who wanted to be his sister.
Don’t think about Red.
Ever since his grandfather had discovered how useful Remy could be, he’d wanted him to use his shadow. And his grandfather started collecting books on gloamists, spouting off about how Remy was doing it wrong. How Remy needed to understand that Red was just an extension of him, like a hand, something he had total control over.
That acting like Red could make his own decisions was dangerous.
But Remy didn’t want to kill anyone. It was bad enough he had to be a participant in it. He couldn’t imagine being wholly aware of what he was doing, pushing himself down the man’s throat, watching his eyes bulge and his tongue loll. Listening to the frantic howls of the wife close enough that his ears would feel like they were bleeding.
When it was done, Remy wiped tears from the sides of his eyes.
He hated knowing the man was dying, and he hated the dying man too. If only he’d just gone along with Remy’s grandfather’s business stuff, then they’d all be less miserable.
It didn’t take long for Red to return, sliding across the cobblestones toward him. But his shadow stopped before returning to his dormant place. Instead Red stood black against the brick wall, as upright as Remy was, in defiance of the streetlights and any natural law.
“You’re unhappy,” Red said, although the words could only be heard in Remy’s mind.
Adeline had explained to him that Red was the part of Edmund that Edmund didn’t know about. Like his subconscious.
But Red didn’t feel like his subconscious. He felt like an attic. A place to shove things Remy didn’t want to deal with. At the new fancy private school that his grandfather insisted he attend, they didn’t like people getting into fights. So Remy didn’t get into them anymore, even though at his old school he had to get up in people’s faces if he wanted to be respected. But that anger had to go somewhere.
And when Remy felt sad at times like this or when he was missing his mother, he put that sadness into Red too. His pity for the people his grandfather wanted dead. Which wasn’t fair, because Red shouldn’t have to kill people and feel sorry for them.
But Red wasn’t real. He was Remy’s subconscious. Or an attic.
He used to be a friend.
“So what? It’s over,” Remy said, thrusting all the sadness away from him. He wondered if Red would complain, but it was energy, right? Like the blood that fed him.
“Next time cut me free,” Red said. “And when the thing is done, I will return.”
Remy hated it when his shadow said stuff that didn’t seem to come from his thoughts at all, things that surprised him. He’d used to like it, back when it was moves in a game, or sprinting ahead in a race.
“We need to go,” he muttered, and set off, stalking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. The police would be coming soon, and an ambulance.
Let his shadow follow. That’s what shadows were supposed to do.
He felt better once he turned the first corner. There was nothing to tie him to the murder.
And the more he thought about it, what Red wanted was what he wanted too, wasn’t it? Even if it was impossible. So it shouldn’t have been that surprising, what Red had suggested. Remy was just being weird about things, on account of what his grandfather had told him.
“I promise I’ll come back,” Red whispered. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.”
“You don’t have a heart,” Remy thought at him. “Or an eye.”
“On my life then. I promise on my life.”
“You’re just me,” Remy said.
“I’m just you,” Red echoed, but Remy wasn’t sure what it meant now that the words were coming from his shadow.
When they were younger, he always knew what Red meant.
“I’ll think about it,” Remy said.
But he already knew he’d do anything if it meant he didn’t have to have a night like this one again.
22
THE SCHOLAR AND THE SHADOW
Once they hit the highway, the elderly chauffeur cleared his throat. “There’s something in the back seat for you, Ms. Hall.”