Shadow Prey

at first thought it might be Shadow Love, but the man was too big . . . .
    “Leo,” Aaron called in delight. A smile lit the old man’s face and he dropped the pistol to his side. “Sam, it’s Leo. Leo’s home.”

CHAPTER
23
    “You’re sleeping with that New York cop. Lily.” Jennifer looked at him over the breakfast bar. Lucas was holding a glass of orange juice and looked down at it, as if hoping it held an answer. The newspaper sat next to his hand. The headline read: CROWS KILL COP .
    He wasn’t a cop, Lucas thought. After a moment he glanced away from the table and then back at the newspaper and nodded. “Yes,” he said.
    “Are you going to again?” Her face was pale, tired, her voice low and whispery.
    “I can’t help it,” he said. He wouldn’t look at her. He turned the glass in his hand, swirling the juice.
    “Is this . . . a long-term thing?” Jennifer asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Look at me,” she said.
    “No.” He kept his eyes down.
    “You can come back and see the baby, but call first. Once a week for now. I won’t continue our sexual relationship and I don’t want to see you. You can see the baby on Saturday nights, when I have a sitter. After Lily goes back to New York, we’ll talk. We’ll make some kind of arrangement so you can visit the baby on a regular basis.”
    Now he looked up. “I love you,” he said.
    Tears started in her eyes. “We’ve been through this before. You know what I feel like? I feel pathetic. I don’t like feeling pathetic. I won’t put up with it.”
    “You’re not pathetic. When I look at you . . .”
    “I don’t care what you see. Or anybody else. I’m pathetic in my own mind. So fuck you, Davenport.”
     
    When Jennifer left, Lucas wandered around the house for a few moments, then drifted into the bedroom, undressed, and stood under a scalding shower. Daniel wanted every man on the street, but after Lucas had toweled off, he stood in front of an open closet, looking at the array of slacks and shirts, and then crawled back into bed and lapsed into unconsciousness. The Crows, Lily, Jennifer, the baby and game monsters from Drorg all crawled through his head. Every once in a while he felt the pull of the street scene outside Hood’s apartment: he’d see the bricks, the negotiating cop, a slice of Lily’s face, her .45 coming up. Each time he fought it down and stepped into a new dream fragment.
    At one o’clock, Lily called. He didn’t answer the phone, but listened as her voice came in through his answering machine.
    “This is Lily,” she said. “I was hoping we could get some lunch, but you haven’t called and I don’t know where you are and I’m starving so I’m going out now. If you get in, give me a call and we can go out to dinner. See you.”
    He thought about picking up the phone, but didn’t, and went back to the bed. The phone rang again a half-hour later. This time it was Elle: “This is Elle, just calling to see how you are. You can call me at the residence.”
    Lucas picked up the receiver. “Elle, I’m here,” he croaked.
    “Hello. How are you?”
    “A down day,” he said.
    “Still the shotgun dream?”
    “It’s still there. And sometimes during the day. The sensation of the steel.”
    “It’s a classic flashback. We see it all the time with burn victims and shooting victims and people who’ve gone through other trauma. It’ll go away, believe me. Hold on.”
    “I’m holding on, but it’s scary. Nothing’s ever gotten to me like this.”
    “Are you going to play Thursday night?” Elle asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Why don’t you come a half-hour early? We can talk.”
    “I’ll try to make it.”
    The bed was like a drug. He didn’t want it, but he fell back on the sheets and in a minute was gone again. At two o’clock, suddenly touched with fear, he sat up, sweating, staring at the clock.
    What? Nothing. Then the cold ring of the shotgun muzzle rapped him behind the ear. Lucas clapped a hand over the spot and let his head fall forward on his chest.
    “Stop,” he said to himself. He could feel the sweat literally pop out on his forehead. “Stop this shit.”
     
    Lily called again at five o’clock and he let it go. At seven, the phone rang a fourth time. “This is Anderson,” a voice said to the answering machine. “I’ve got something . . . .”
    Lucas picked up the phone. “I’m here,” he said. “What is it?”
    “Okay. Lucas. God damn.” There was