The Demon of Shoreditch Place

Part 2

"Piss off, Barry."

Ismael was in a mood.

His friend was still working on his assignment that Barry had finished yesterday, and Barry wanted to go skate in the park before the sun went down. Ismael understood that Barry had needed to be extra-organised while he took care of his mother and things around the house; it didn't make it any less irritating. Barry was supposed to be the one doing everything last minute or late.

"Thanks, dude. Come on, it's not due till Wednesday. You can spare an hour."

The pen hit the table with force and clattered onto the floor. "Barry, it's never an hour. You know how it goes. We have too much fun and end up caught up in something entirely unrelated, and then it's half a day later and mom is mad at me again for getting home late. She never gets mad at you because you're a precious angel child who never does anything wrong."

Barry chortled. "Yes, that's because I'm polite and have good manners. Your mom loves me."

Ismael sighed, deflating.

"Barry, you know how long it takes me to write these assignments. Stupid Mr Thompson wouldn't agree to let me type it up. I can't go with you."

Barry felt a sliver of guilt roll across his mind. Sometimes he forgot about the scarring on Ismael's right arm. Didn't even notice it most days. But he looked as Ismael picked up the pen, watching as his friend's hand trembled a moment, his face tightening as he got it under control and began to write again. Barry remembered the months and months of physical therapy; the months of slings and long sleeves and insistence that everyone was looking at it. It had taken nearly two years of his patient insistence that no one cared, man, who cares what they think anyway, I'm your brother and think you're the best.

"Okay. I'll head off. If you have any questions about part C, give me a call."

Ismael nodded to his paper, scribbling away. Barry sighed, feeling bad. His friend had a point. Even before the Event, as they called it, Ismael had been a bit slow to get the work done. Dyslexia, his mother said. Can't do much about that, poor boy, she'd said. It had suited Barry and his tendencies to leave everything until the last possible moment just fine, because his friend was working on things for as long as he did. Well, for Barry, it was 'working'; several attempts were made, waylaid by a mind that got distracted about every three seconds.

He left Ismael to it, heading out into the sunshine. Felt the presence at his side.

"Don't look at me like that."

Well, the shadow never looked at him. He couldn't even see a face to have a judgmental expression. He was probably sure the shadow wasn't judging him either; it was just his conscience projecting. But the shadow was definitely with him. It never left.

Some days he talked to it, when there was no one around to see him speaking to the air. He'd started wearing headphones everywhere for this reason, even if there was no music playing. Just so that if anyone asked, he was on the phone and not talking to himself or his imaginary friend.

Who was not at all imaginary.

"You know this is probably my last chance to skate for a while. The weather's good. Aunt Grace is taking care of mom for a bit. She doesn't have much time to help out these days." Barry explained his reasoning, feeling very much like the irresponsible one that Ismael's attitude today and his teachers had always told him he was.

It had taken the Event, too soon after his car accident, to make it clear to Barry his shadow wasn't just a trick of the light or something his mind had made up. Barry was never quite sure whether it was an it or a he - the shadow had taken the shape of a man just twice in his life, and he hadn't had the chance to ask for it's name.

Sometimes it answered him back when he spoke to it. Had started doing that just recently. Scared the bejeesus outta him when it happened. Made him feel warmer inside when it kept happening. Felt like a family member he'd always been aware of had finally come home.

"Barry, I get it. Take the chance while you can. YOLO, and all that."

Barry had very recently introduced the shadow to memes. Sometimes his laptop would switch itself on at night. If the light from the screen didn't wake him, in the morning he would sometimes find a fresh meme on the printer tray, or pinned to his cork board. It always made him laugh. Despite internet access, the shadow had terribly old-fashioned tastes, of the kind he might expect his grandpa - if he had one - to find amusing. The memes were also always out of date, picking out ones from months or years ago. Also sometimes a little dark for Barry's tastes, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same.

The shadow didn't say anything more as he picked up his bag and his board on the way out, and remained silent as he detoured to the park. It was like that. Didn't always speak to him, even when he asked it questions. But he could almost feel the emotions it held sometimes, the presence of them. He always knew it was there. Ismael had long grown used to the cloud over Barry. Had accepted it fully since the Event.

Even Mrs Williams - as religious as she was - had come to terms with the fact that while she might have seen Barry as angelic, the thing that kept him safe and whole might not be so angelic after all. It had taken her much longer than her son to see Barry not as cursed by darkness, but as lucky.

Barry thought he was pretty damned lucky too.