Free Shadowshift by Peter Giglio Page B

reached for the reflection, then an extended finger etched a message in the misty glass.
    NO MORE TURNING AWAY
    The glass shattered, replaced by a deep black void. Pain ebbed as the darkness consumed him. Was he dying? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.
    Then a distant voice echoed through his mind. It belonged to Tina.
    * * *
    It was a little after two thirty when Tina dashed into the apartment. Time had slipped away from her at Starbucks and she needed to meet Hannah at the bus stop in twenty minutes. Bathed in sweat, she dropped her laptop on the couch and started pulling off her shirt. Only a couple minutes in the shower, she promised herself. It wouldn’t pay to smell foul in the company of other parents. While she was sure people gossiped everywhere, they were particularly cruel in Savannah.
    Unfastening her belt, Tina rushed into the bedroom. Her shorts dropped to the floor as she turned. And that’s when she found Chet, his body draped across a wide chest of drawers. Slicked with sweat, he moaned. His extremities trembled. His pupils darted wildly.
    “Oh my God,” she shouted.
    Then a tidal wave of anger consumed her. The bastard would make her late for Hannah.
    She slapped him across the face. No response. Slapped him harder. Still nothing. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. He was burning up. And that’s when the weight of the moment hit her.
    Her husband was dying.
    Instinct took over. Tina kicked her shorts aside and raced for the bathroom. She ran cold water in the tub, then snatched a plastic trash can from beside the vanity. After emptying the contents of the can on the floor, she filled it from the faucet, then scurried back into the bedroom and poured water over Chet’s head.
    His groaning intensified, but the effort did nothing to pull him from his spastic fugue.
    Using the trash can, one load at a time, Tina dumped what little ice her modest freezer contained into the bathtub. The faucet continued to run, and soon, the water level rose high. Testing the temperature, she dipped her hand in the water. It didn’t seem cold enough. Chet was going to die. Tears streamed down Tina’s cheeks. But it wasn’t only sadness that consumed her. There was also hope.
    And then, kneeling in front of the tub, she felt a hand clutch her shoulder, and she realized her luck wouldn’t hold out. Chet was behind her.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.
    She gazed up at him and started to stand, but he pushed her back to the floor.
    “I was trying to save you, you bastard,” she cried. “You looked like you were going to…going to…”
    “Die?” he said.
    She nodded.
    “You would just love that, wouldn’t you?”
    “No, Chet, no. I was…I was trying to save you. What the hell happened anyway? Why were you on top of the dresser?”
    His grip loosened, allowing Tina to rise. She stood slowly, never taking her eyes from Chet, and he seemed to choose his next lie carefully. Hand on his chin, he staggered into the bedroom. As he sat down on the bed, he cringed and clutched his head with both hands. He was hurt. Maybe, Tina hoped, he would still die. However, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. This was, after all, the father of her little girl.
    Memories of Chet during Hannah’s infancy flashed through Tina’s mind. He had been nice then—changing the baby’s diapers, working three jobs to make ends meet. Smiles had been sincere, and his lovemaking had been tender. He’d taken care of his family.
    She sat next to him on the bed and rubbed his back. His shirt clung to his sticky flesh. “You’re burning up,” she said, starting to peel his Circle K polo upward. “I think it’s still best we get you in the tub.”
    “ It’s still best ,” he mimicked. Then, with speed and strength she didn’t anticipate, he grabbed her arms. “It’s still best when a woman tells her husband the truth.” He dragged his hands down to her wrists, and his grip tightened. “Don’t you