A Dead Man and His Shadow: A Creative Writing Piece

Editors Note: This is a piece of creative writing by a Johnny Green Staff member. It is not designed to glorify or justify violence in any setting.

Chapter 1

Seven masked men stormed into the theater, AR15s cocked and moving from one person to the next, daring someone to try playing the part of the hero. Drones, some with spotlights, others with rotating guns, all of which were equipped with wireless cameras, buzzed around above the heads of the shocked students and faculty from a nearby high school. Being held hostage by gang members and/or terrorists clearly hadn’t been a planned portion of the day trip’s agenda.

However, the students and faculty weren’t being held hostage for a ransom. The masked men were holding them hostage for a far more dangerous reason.
One of the men cleared his throat, and he never would have thought about what he said in those first couple of minutes of shocked silence before the call from a blocked number this morning.

“We are looking for someone,” began the masked man, gesturing at his companions. “We are looking for the Dead Man’s Shadow.” He paused, letting people soak this information up.
The Dead Man’s Shadow was a well known vigilante in the ghetto areas surrounding Northville. It was said that almost every time he went after a gang, the gang was found dead with the Shadow’s calling card- an empty noose who cast the shadow of a man in the noose- spray painted to the nearest flat space available at the scene of a gang’s extinction.
“We have reason to believe that one of you knows who the Shadow is,” continued the masked man, presumably their leader. “Or that one of you is the Shadow himself.”

A shocked silence followed this statement. A silence even more imposing than the silence that had greeted the masked men’s arrival. No one they could think of in the group of faculty and students fit the Shadow’s description. Not the generally accepted description anyways.
“For every sixty seconds we have to wait we’ll kill three hostage,” shouted the leader. “Starting now.”

Almost instantly a tall, lean student with midnight-black hair stood up and started trying to navigate the rows of seats. James Lockwood.
People were shocked, of course, but not too shocked. His apparent “family history” was full of hunters of mythical beings, explorers, magicians, and other job capacities beyond the normal standards. It was even rumored that his uncle slayed dragons for a living. Most people wouldn’t admit it, but they generally believed his rumored family history on some level.
James’s best friend, Amelia Hartford, a short and fairly thin blond, caught at James’s arm as he passed her.
“What are you doing!?!? How in the world could you possibly know about the Shadow!?!?” She practically spat her disbelief and worry into his face.
James just gave her a small, sad smile as he walked past her, his leather trenchcoat brushing her fingers. He stopped in the aisle about ten yards away from the nearest of the masked men.

He held his hands up in the air, and with a calm air, said, “I’m the one you’re looking for.”
Some of the men snorted. The leader shook his head.
“Nice try kid, trying to be the hero. Instead, you just volunteered to be the first casualty.”
The leader raised his AR15, aimed it at James’s chest, and pulled the trigger.
James’s smile would have rivaled that of the Devil’s as he looked pointedly at the spot where the fatal bullets struck his chest.
“Imbecile. Surely you didn’t think that mere bullets would kill a Shadow?” Jason inquired, looking at the dumbstruck attackers.
Moving quicker than any normal human being could, James threw off his trenchcoat revealing a bodysuit made of a dark material that appeared to absorb the light surrounding it.
As the attackers moved to shoot James in the head, a helmet made of the same material as the suit with a one-way visor snapped up to cover James’s head, leaving the attackers with no weak spots.