APARTMENT 1ALUCKYMonday, 3:24 PMItâs said all of Shanghai wept when she died.Itâs said over three hundred thousand marched in a funeral procession four miles long that blustery March day in 1935. Itâs also said that somewhere in the sobbing throng several women committed suicide. Their silent screen Goddess, Ruan Lingyu, ending her life with a fistful of sleeping pills at the too-young age of twenty-four spawning a grief only death could calm.Whether or not myth wrestled with fact to become legend, and some claimed it did, everyone agreed this was a sad full stop to the short sentence of what might have been a glorious career.A week later, in one of the many squalid shacks that still hug the outskirts of Shanghai, an early birth followed this now iconic end, the young motherâs overwrought anguish shocking her into the delivery of a small, sickly daughter. A dangerous unlucky beginning for a dangerously lucky life.Or at least thatâs what little Ruan Liuâs family said.Dec
CHAPTER TWOIn a shining villa in the center of Shanghai, her thighs burning, her back aching, and her knees rubbed so raw they all but whimpered, Lucky kneeled, silent, waiting and more exhausted than any almost twenty-four year old should be.The Revolution had arrived almost a decade ago on the heels of a brief, bloody civil war. The Communist storm which had darkened the horizon for years had finally crept in and swept out the poor, the infirm, the religious. And now, outside the city, in the rural areas, thousands were dying in what was feared would be an historic famine. The old and weak falling first. Small children left to starve in the fields under the watchful eyes of hungry prey. The trees plucked of their leaves and stripped of their bark, the birds silent in their absence.But far from the devastation and desolation, Lucky worked.Her father dead and her mother dying, the family had abandoned Bad Luck Lucky. Closed their hearts, closed their pocket books, and closed th
CHAPTER THREENestled in a pile cluttering the coffee table sat a discarded pouch of Lipton bleeding into the sunken oval of a porcelain saucer.âItâs good, isnât it?â Evangelical said. She lowered the mug into a nearby abyss, the porcelain finding the saucer and a watery pool of its own russet-hued blood with a gentle clank.âIt can fell armies,â Lucky heard herself saying.And raise kings, came the remembered words from Madame Xuoâs red room.The vengeful wraith of the woman with the white face and a slash of scarlet for lips waited opposite Lucky. From a small, low chair that had once sat in a distant past, she was near the window in the here and now, her eyes low, her tongue crawling with secrets and lies and things best left unsaid.âIâm sorry?â Evangelical said.Madame Xuo stared at Lucky, her knees not kneeling as they rested not on the grimy grey of a familiar carpet, but on ancient boards that were cracked, splintered and covered with dust. Nearby, Yin Ying stood too ta
CHAPTER FOURHer teeth were missing, she heard someone silently say, a girl from a distant, remembered conversation.Luckyâs tongue felt thick as it moved. Her teeth were safe and sound.She stood in a hall. A narrow hall. One with many doorways and an end that didnât end, the long space leading to an unavoidable dark.The low table was gone. As was Yin Ying and the brazier. The dragon no longer whipped âround the baseboards and the wiggling of her flesh had quieted.The red remained. A haze that snuck along the floor, and climbed the walls, and ducked into the shadows hugging the ceiling.Lucky blinked, and then blinked again. Fingers flexed and her chest rose in a deep breath. Her mouth tasted of sick. And a sour burn stained her throat, stinging her nose when she swallowed.Sheâd drunk the tea. She remembered. She closed her eyes, the heat of the red room returning.A dragon chased its tail. Two clay pots waited. Madame Xuo sat silent and watching and dead. Then alive, bendi
CHAPTER FIVEBelow her, the waves of Hangzhou Bay slapped the pilings of the dock. Around her, men worked, barefoot, the thick denim of their pants rolled up to the knees. Or stood, smoking strong tobacco rolled in cheap paper.She needed help, but couldnât speak. Thereâd been a hall. A narrow space with a low ceiling and many doors. The light was red. The walls reflected red. The floor more glowing red. Even the shadows waiting at what could be the end of the hallâfor the hall had to have an end, yes?âwere red.Madame Xuo had stood in a mountain of bodies. Arms without fists that flailed and hit. Crude legs that thumped the floor as they tried to crawl, and lift, and stand. Teeth too large for mouths that sliced faces in two. Gashes that still whimpered, still wept, still bled.And Madame had spoken. Thereâd been a warning, and then blood. But the air, it was cool and inviting. Thereâd been silence, then. And knowing what the future held, sheâd stepped into the dark, the shade, th
CHAPTER SIXWeeks passed.She kept to the alleys and dark corners of Central Shanghai. Silent and still, sheâd stand, testing the shadow. Watching its limits, seeing its strength. Encouraging its growth.Sheâd watch it move as she did. Watched it stop when she stopped. Sheâd lift her arms and see it rise. Stretch her arms and watch it widen. Sheâd push her hands in front of her and grin as it stained the ground at her feet.It sighed when she wept. It laughed when she smiled. And fed by her frustration and a lifetime of bitter sadness, it strengthened as their shared anger grew.She learned that, with the move of a hand, she could make the stranger who walked like her father stumble and fall. She learned that, with a simple breath, she could make another stranger, a callous man with cruel eyes like the man from the dock, cough and reach for his throat, his face turning red as he struggled for air.Week after week, she and the shadow grew closer, their bond deepening, the two beco
CHAPTER SEVENWe need to talk,â Evangelical had said, sudden, premature crowâs feet creasing the smooth corners as she narrowed her eyes.On Eidolon below, the crowd had grown. They stood, finding their forms. Heads tilted skyward. Arms hung, the fingers flexing into angry claws. Blood inched from between snarling teeth to spill over lips and drip onto chins.Inside where it was dry and warm, Lucky stared at Father. âYou will call me âLucky.ââ He sat opposite her, dressed in a suit that shone silver in the grey light of this rainy day, dark glasses resting on the bridge of his sharp nose. He ignored her, pursing his lips as he thought, his cheekbones sharpening as he briefly sucked his cheeks in.Far from the past in which heâd lived and ruled, the watch on his wrist was still worth the salaries of ten families in Hong Kong. And the sheen of his still black hair, the oil making it look like a helmet squatting on top of his head, spoke of an American influence as did the American ci
CHAPTER EIGHTIn a warehouse on the outskirts of Hong Kong, Lucky stood, fearless, unapologetic and ready for war.Sheâd risen too fast. One of the first women invited to officially join, sheâd turned them down. âYou work for me,â sheâd famously said. And she was right. Her shadow made her untouchable. She could say no. She could argue with the Father and the Uncles, as the various leaders of this secret society that ruled Hong Kong and much of mainland China were called.She could do what she wanted. Ignore tradition and duty. Sit first, sip tea first, stand to leave first. Walk out the door when she wanted. No one, not even the most vicious, the most powerful, could even think of challenging her.Yet some did.Years ago an example was made. An example of what could happen if you dared strike Lucky or scream at Lucky or treat Lucky like any other worthless woman. An example that, in hindsight, terrified Lucky herself. One so ominous that it sent a chill down her spine that linger
APARTMENT 1EUMBRAThere was something living in the walls.Still wearing her only black dress, a rose taken from the cemetery in one hand, her bright pink backpack in the other, sheâd watched the stain in her new bedroom. Round and raised in the middle, like a bubble, it was different than the others.And it was alive.Sheâd known it the moment sheâd walked in. Had felt it as sheâd turned to put her backpack on the creaky bed. Had expected, when she first saw the stain two weeks ago, to see a face, two eyes, lips, a nose and cheeks and teeth, pushing from the wall.But thereâd only been a wide brown circle. A stain that wasnât a stain. One that wasnât long and dark like the others. One that hadnât dripped from the ceiling to the floor. One that sat alone, removed from the others. Just like her.âWhat kind of name is âUmbra?ââ were the first words Gran had said when the big lady with the onion bagel breath first dropped her off. The State had decided this was where she had to be
APARTMENT 1DANNIVERSARYMonday, 3:24 PMWe are a walking history of our failures,â Marta said as she snapped the napkin open and laid it across her lap. âA stumbling catastrophe of unbelievable screw ups that, as you can plainly see, screwed us up.â She laughed, the tight smile on her gleaming lips held a moment longer than needed. âReally, itâs just been an endless array of aborted endings. Until now, I mean.â Her pudgy hand lifted her champagne glassâher sixth, but who was counting?âin yet another toast to the elegant man seated to her side. âAnd for that, we thank you, Mr. Peabody.ââI promise, this time weâll get it right,â the stranger said with a small nod.Even here, surrounded by the decay that was Eidolon, he seemed to fit. Untouched by the yellowing walls and the splintered baseboard, the brown stains running from the ceiling or the thin windows that rattled when the wind blew and rain pelted the glass, as it did now, this Peabody was neither tall nor short, neither han
APARTMENT 1CCLICKMonday, 3:24 PMTheyâd made love, once, when she was warm. Now she sat at the kitchen table, her silence speaking volumes.âIâm sorry,â he said for the umpteenth time.Nothing.Heâd discovered her an hour ago at the foot of the stairs in the lobby.Hair a soft brown, eyes large and kind, skin pale and freckled. Sheâd sat facing the mailboxes, lost in thought, her lithe body, despite the rainy afternoon, in a sleeveless sundress, her small feet in strappy sandals.Although he saw her many times before, strolling the park or sipping coffee in the cafe, heâd never approached or spoken with her. Thereâd never been the chance.Until now.And she was perfect.Then again, they always were in the beginning.Not wanting to startle her, he approached cautiously.Seeing him, she stood. âOh my goodness.â Her heel caught the hem of her dress. âIâm sorry.â Balancing on one foot, her hand gripping the railing, she fought to wrestle it free. âJust let meâââHere.â He o
APARTMENT 1BBULLETMonday, 3:24 PMFive blue. Seven red. Four yellow.He blinked the sleep from his eyes. Lifted his head from the mattress. Saw the shit hole on Eidolon Avenue he called home. The TV with the cracked screen sitting on the plastic crate. The yellowing walls with the rust colored streaks running from ceiling to floor. The scattered pizza boxes and cheeseburger wrappers. And his friends . . .five blue, seven red, four yellowsitting on the cheap ass coffee table.Thatâs right, he thought. They were all there.Five blue. Seven red. Four yellow.He stretched and turned to the window. Kicked the sheet away from his legs. It was raining. And late.Fuck.Hated that job anyway.And FUCK his foot hurt.He sat up and turned his leg.What the fuck?A new tat. A snake. A small snake. A fuckinâ cartoon-ass fuckinâ garden snake or something. Some punk ass shit a prom queen flyinâ on Molly would get before getting fingered in the back of some quarterbackâs Chevy.And
CHAPTER TWELVEI still remember,â Lucky said before taking a long drag from her Echo, the hungry ghosts swarming Eidolon below. âYou lied because I still remember.âSheâd fled Paris for America. Had given the dark what was promised. Fed its hunger. Had felt nothing, but still had dreams, nightmares, thoughts. Could still see her husband in tenuous shafts of light or the corners of steamy mirrors. Could almost catch his name when she first woke or when exhaustion forced her to stop and think and consider. The guilt was growing. The regret was strong. Had she the chance, the choice, to do it all again, she . . .But no.The thought was banished.A year ago, sheâd settled on Eidolon. Soon thereafter, her shadow grew silent. Its hunger no longer drove her. Her ledger black, she could breathe easy.She glanced at the seething mass of vitriol clogging the street below. It stretched from curb to curb, one end to the other. Their bodies, torn and gashed and trembling, reaching as far as
CHAPTER ELEVENShe couldnât stop crying. The tears trailed down her cheeks and onto her chin, the tissue soaked and useless from wiping her nose.âThere will be other chances, yes?â Samuel said in his heavily accented English. He kneeled in front of her, his hand calmly stroking her thigh as she sat on the edge of the bed. âAnd if no, then, perhaps an adoption could be best, I think, no?âLucky shook her head. No. No children. She would never risk it. The seven children the shadow had stolen over the past four years hadnât been enough. She could feel it. The dark wanted something more. Something rich with experience.Simple death isnât what fed this ravenous dark. It savored surprise and regret. The awareness of the end approaching. The panic growing as the limbs became weak and the vision clouded. The overwhelming stillness of the eternal silence as the world grew quiet. The darkness demanded tears, confusion, dread. The last moments of a life lived.A child who was still safely
CHAPTER TENThis was in Paris.âShe was small,â theyâd say. âChinese or Japanese. Asian, definitely. I think.ââHer hair was sort of dark, maybe,â the other witness would remember, the officer jotting the useless tidbit down.âWas she younger? Older?â heâd say, pen in hand. âWhat age range would you say she was? Any idea?âA shrug.Twenty years after Hong Kong, twenty years after the leaders of The Triad had fallen in one fell swoop, twenty years after Lucky had entered the warehouse a victim and emerged a legend, sheâd become the woman seen, but never remembered.âYes, it was a woman,â one witness after another would say before stopping in confusion. âBut I just canât . . . I donât . . . â and theyâd give up, unable to clearly recall the assassin whoâd stabbed and sliced and slaughtered in broad daylight.Back in Hong Kong, the Triad was in chaos. Uncles on mainland China, in Canada, even in the United States and as far away as Eastern Europe were all angling to be Father now,
CHAPTER NINEIn the warehouse, shamans chanted and priests prayed. Scented smoke filled her lungs and somewhere someone was splashing Holy Water. In the shadows, Father and the Uncles stood.They were trying to take her shadow from her.It was working.She couldnât breathe. She couldnât move. She couldnât think clearly enough or quickly enough to fight. Every word they said lifted the dark. Every prayer they prayed peeled the shadow from her flesh. Every mutter and murmur and sigh stripped the shade from her soul.And it was agony. Her insides clenched. Her skin shrank to the bone. She fell forward, her arms wobbling as they supported her. Her face tensed. As if her eyes were being pulled from their sockets. Her tongue was swelling and her mouth tasted of blood. Her teeth felt like they were being pried from the safety of their homes. Her head was filled with the sound of a great wind, or a great ocean. A keening cry from the earth and the sky as she felt her flesh drawn inward an
CHAPTER EIGHTIn a warehouse on the outskirts of Hong Kong, Lucky stood, fearless, unapologetic and ready for war.Sheâd risen too fast. One of the first women invited to officially join, sheâd turned them down. âYou work for me,â sheâd famously said. And she was right. Her shadow made her untouchable. She could say no. She could argue with the Father and the Uncles, as the various leaders of this secret society that ruled Hong Kong and much of mainland China were called.She could do what she wanted. Ignore tradition and duty. Sit first, sip tea first, stand to leave first. Walk out the door when she wanted. No one, not even the most vicious, the most powerful, could even think of challenging her.Yet some did.Years ago an example was made. An example of what could happen if you dared strike Lucky or scream at Lucky or treat Lucky like any other worthless woman. An example that, in hindsight, terrified Lucky herself. One so ominous that it sent a chill down her spine that linger