The Man Who Lost His Shadow, page 1
The Man Who Lost His Shadow
By
Marwan Razzak
Copyright (c) 2020 Marwan Razzak
All Rights Reserved
To my friends who listened to my fifth Harry Potter story, and my family who made it possible for me to continue writing
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter One
“Iqbal? Iqbal? Has anyone seen Iqbal?”
Mohammed Iqbal was the kind of elementary teacher who made even adults act like star-struck children.
Sabina Iqbal couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought, formed over six years ago when her husband had first won Best Elementary Teacher in the school district. Today they were celebrating his fourth. And his fans were already clamoring for him.
“Where is he?” Ashraf asked. Sometimes she had to remind herself he was her brother rather than Iqbal’s number one fan. “The whole point of the party is to celebrate the Maash! Where did he disappear off to?”
She gave a cursory look over the backyard, though she was pretty sure he wasn’t hiding in the garden or behind the treehouse. Because he was probably picking up the kids from school. And because she’d chased him out the last time he’d mistakenly wandered onto her precious vegetable patch.
Ashraf’s wife joined them at the barbeque grill, and she already knew the answer. “Your hubby went to pick up the little ones from madrassa, eh?” She chuckled, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “All that time in school around the tiny brats, and he still wants to go on pick up duty!”
There were already 12 people in the backyard, and over the course of the next 30 minutes, that number doubled. Families streamed in, most of them tethered to children who were cut loose once they were inside the house. The women headed straight for the grill and exchanged hugs with Sabina. The men waved to her, asked where the award-winning teacher was, and then joined the ever-growing circle of fellow office goers dressed in jeans and t-shirts.
The sounds of children milling about the house, women chatting as they placed cutlery and condiments on the tables and men guffawing as they pulled each others’ legs combined to comfort Sabina. She was grateful for the life she’d walked into here in America, a life she’d dreaded when she agreed to marry the thin, mildly good-looking academic fellow her parents had transparently hyped up. Iqbal was supposed to be a safe, boring bet at a better life. She was almost moved to tears thinking how he’d become the love of her life.
The tears didn’t have time to well up though. Sabina spotted her 6-year-old son Ahmed darting around the house. His 4-year-old sister trailed him, looking forlorn.
Something wasn’t right.
Ahmed and Zainab only behaved that way when they’d been accompanied to the door by the kindly bus conductor.
“Ahmed!” She called out, stepping into the house through the sliding door. “Where’s your uppa?”
Her wonderfully innocent little boy stared back at her with wide, bewildered eyes. “He’s your husband no, umma? How should I know? I was at school?”
For almost a minute, Sabina simply stared at her son. Not out of anger, or even surprise. Her eyes had glazed over, and the little fellow lost interest and went over to his friends from the neighborhood.
Sabina couldn’t figure out where her husband might be. He had no reason to not be at home. It was a Sunday, and he normally only worked till noon. It was 3 p.m. now. Where could he be?
She returned to the backyard and was about to ask Julie if she knew anything. Julie worked in the same school, and though it wasn’t likely, maybe she knew about some meeting her husband had to attend?
But Julie turned away just then. In fact, most of the adults in the backyard turned towards the commotion. Someone was announcing something as they stared at their phone. Others were instinctively pulling out their own phones, as though to confirm what they’d just heard.
“What happened?”
“There’s breaking news…”
“What’s that? Did the idiot tweet something?”
“Is it nuclear war?” Someone joked.
Sabina moved to the corner, as far away from the crowd as was possible, before she called her husband. Normally she’d be filled with indignant curiosity about what the idiot had tweeted, but right now she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Most people would laugh at the thought of a wife wondering where her husband was after not hearing from him for three hours. But that’s because none of them were married to Mohammed Iqbal. In the eight years they were together, Sabina couldn’t think of a single day when she’d not known his whereabouts. He always let her know where he was and what he was doing. Some would roll their eyes and consider it clingy. She believed it was simply loving. Her husband made it a point to keep her in the loop. Always.
And now his phone was switched off.
“Sabina, did you hear this? Oh my God, this is terrible! Sabina!”
“Just a minute!” Sabina called out, quickly walking back into the living room. A strange thought had just gripped her. She hadn’t seen her husband leave in the morning. Sure, she sometimes missed him because she slept in a little late on Sunday. But…
His car keys were missing. Maybe missing isn’t the right word. They’re…being used?
“Sabina! What are you doing?”
It was Julie, touching her arm lightly, inspecting her face and wondering why she looked slightly ashen. For a moment it looked like she was about to ask something. And then her face softened. “Oh, you heard? It’s terrible, right? I mean, in our own city? You never think it’s going to happen here!”
Before Sabina had a chance to ask what she meant, Julie hugged her. She was a very emotional being, and right now it wasn’t helping.
“Er…what happened?”
“Oh, I thought you knew already!”
Sabina stepped into the backyard, her eyes drawn to the group of men and women who’d now formed a giant cluster around a few phones, faces filled with shock.
“They’re saying the body count is over 100!” One of them called out, and the group gasped loudly.
“They haven’t caught the shooters yet. In fact – ah damn, the city is on lockdown! We might as well stay here now. Won’t be able to get home anytime soon…”
“Shooting?” Sabina asked, edging towards the barbeque grill that’d been abandoned.
“The worst mass shooting in American history!”
“Oh, shut up, Mathew! Stop saying it like that. It – it sounds like you’re proud of it!”
“Hey, I’m not proud. Just saying, this was bound to happen, you know?”
“Where?” Sabina asked, feeling sweat break out on her forehead even though it was February, and everyone was wearing a jacket.
“Here! Downtown. What, four miles from this house? At the Bremmer Hotel!”
Before she could say anything, the air was pierced by the high pitch sound of a hyper-excited 7-year-old girl. “Umma! The police are here!”
For some reason, Ashraf’s face tightened, even as everyone else looked bewildered. And he exchanged a look with his younger sister. And the two of them gravitated towards the front door, without even knowing that they feared something that couldn’t be verbalized.
As they approached the four police officers standing by the door, Ashraf gently held his sister’s arm. At that point, she couldn’t have explained why that comforted her. Why she felt she needed comforting.
“Mrs. Iqbal?” The only female officer amongst them asked, stepping forward with a grim expression.
“Yes?” She managed to reply.
“We’re here about Mr. Iqbal –”
And just like that Sabina’s world crumbled. As though she’d always feared this day, though she’d never pictured it ever happening. She thought of the mass shootings she’d witnessed on television, of all the countless lives torn apart. And she knew she was right to panic about her husband. Her husband who’d been caught in the crossfires of this gun-crazed country.
Ashraf supported his sister and decided to take charge of the situation. “Officer, is my brother okay? Was he – was he injured in the shooting?”
The officer looked slightly taken aback, but the grim expression quickly returned.
“Sir, we’re here to arrest Mr. Iqbal. We believe he’s the principal suspect in this shooting.”
Chapter Two
Detective Greg Merson stamped his foot on the sidewalk as he wore an angry scowl. His partner of almost twenty-five years couldn’t help but laugh as he knocked on the metal side door of the bar. “Greg, you really should see a doctor or something. It’s not that cold!”
Merson rubbed his hands and huffed on them. “Trust me, if Jimmy T jumps out of that door in the next twenty seconds, there’s gonna be six more weeks of winter!”
The two men stood still as the seconds passed by. Detective Edwin Sterner was about to knock again when the door burst open and Jimmy T rushed out. He was obviously expecting someone else, and the moment he registered the two detectives, the small-time thief tried to turn around and head back in. Sterner quickly shut the door as his partner angrily grabbed Jimmy T.
“Dammit!” Merson exclaimed, and Sterner burst out laughing as he calmly grabbed the struggling thief by the arm. “Relax man, we’ll turn on the heat full blast. We’ll be back in the Precinct in no time.”
They quickly pushed Jimmy T into the back of their police sedan and shut the door before he could protest any further.
“You hear that?” Merson asked as he got into the passenger side. A few sirens were wailing in the distance, getting louder as they neared.
“Yeah, something’s up,” Sterner muttered, pulling on his seatbelt before he turned on the radio.
“Hey, guys, what the hell. I didn’t do it, alright!” Jimmy T complained, digging his fingers into the grill that separated him from them. “You can’t just walk up to my place and pick me up whenever you want!”
Sterner shushed him as Merson shook his head. “Why you always come back to that shithole is beyond us, Jimmy. It’s like you want us to pick you up.”
Jimmy T was about to argue but the radio turned on, and all three of them fell silent as the car filled with the sound of rapid-fire chatter. It took them a moment to understand any of it.
“…Be advised, the suspect is a 34-year-old Asian male, driving a white Toyota Prius with plates….”
“…vehicle was last seen heading towards 34th and 6th Avenue…units required by the Frontier bridge and tunnel…Be advised the suspect is armed and extremely dangerous…. proceed with caution…”
“It sounds bad,” Sterner muttered as he started the engine. “Find out what happened,” he said as the car shot forward.
“Dispatch, this is Unit 47, what’s the status, over?”
Even Jimmy T was paying close attention as the radio crackled. The three of them listened as Dispatch filled them in on what happened. A mass shooting had been reported at Bremmer Plaza Hotel twenty minutes ago. A manhunt had begun for the shooter, and units were being posted to the airport, highway and bus depot at the moment. The radio communication ended with a grim addition.
The death toll was over 100.
“Jesus Christ!” Jimmy T whispered, and for a moment all three of them shared a sense of horror at what’d taken place in their city. There’d never been a mass shooting within the city limits before, and though it was statistically just a matter of time before it happened, it still felt surreal to experience.
But then Sterner noticed Merson’s silence and glanced over to see his partner calling someone. He looked nervous.
“You okay, buddy?”
They merged onto the main road and Sterner switched on the siren as they zoomed past the traffic.
Merson didn’t reply; he was staring at his phone with the loudspeaker switched on. The screen showed a contact photo of his daughter. Sterner sensed what was wrong and gripped the steering wheel, eager to get back to the Precinct as quickly as possible.
Almost a minute passed by and Merson swore under his breath. Jimmy T didn’t dare speak. And then suddenly the sound of the Detective’s 16-year-old daughter filled up the car’s interior, breaking the tension.
“Hey sweetie, where are you?” Merson asked, and the color returned to his face as his daughter grumbled about having a headache. “That’s alright sweetie. Stay home, okay? Just…take care of yourself, I’ll see you soon. Bye.”
Sterner gently placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder and patted him a couple of times. Merson relaxed and shook his head. “She was supposed to go shopping and then lunch at Bremmer Plaza…. thank god for that headache…”
They were now less than five miles away from the 102nd Precinct, but even the siren wasn’t much help anymore. Cars were slowing to crawl and filling up the streets. The detectives expected this; roadblocks must’ve been set up all over the place.
Finally, Merson snapped, and his partner got the angry rant he’d been expecting.
“How many more times, right? How many more fucking times is this going to keep happening?”
Jimmy T glanced between the two Detectives like a silent spectator. Sterner simply shrugged, knowing better than to interrupt with an answer.
“I mean, how many months has it been since Seattle? Four? Five? And now this? Hundred people! Jesus Christ, that’s got to be some kind of fucked up record. Right?”
Sterner nodded as he honked for some of the cars to move over. “Last one was 50 I think.”
“And what the hell are we going to do about it?” Merson railed angrily. “Nothing. Not a fucking thing. Trust me, the guy who did this, he’s probably some psycho who’s been writing death threats and beating up his wife his whole life, and we would’ve all missed it. And then he walks into a gun store and buys enough guns to arm a squadron. Nobody fucking bats an eye! How is that even possible today? Nobody gives a shit?”
“It’s way too easy to get an assault rifle on the street,” Jimmy T chimed in, caught up in the fervor of the discussion. “I mean, I know I ain’t a model citizen or anything, but some of the stuff I see people selling, makes me think, ‘God damn, that’s crazy!’ You know what I mean?”
The two detectives grunted. They’d known Jimmy T for almost a decade now. They were practically colleagues.
Sterner honked again, a little angrier this time, for a truck was blocking the street and taking too long to turn around.
“But hey, you know what the NRA says,” he chuckled a moment later. “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.”
“Fuck the NRA!” Merson cried, thinking about his daughter again. “Those assholes will say anything to keep their guns. Nothing’s going to change their minds, and it’s about time they stopped telling the rest of us what to think.”
They were inching forward slowly now, and Jimmy T stared out the window. Something had caught his attention.
“Guys, check this out,” he said softly, sliding over to the window.
“The 2nd Amendment is too strong an emotion in this country, Greg,” Sterner said with regret. “I don’t think we’ll ever reach a position where we’ll get rid of it.”
“Holy shit!” the small-time crook gasped.
“Trust me, if enough people turn up to the voting booth, it could all change in six months’ time,” Merson argued. “If we wait around for the NRA to change their position on assault rifles, we’ll keep having these massacres every year. Nothing’s going to change those gun nuts minds.”
“You’ve got to see this. Guys, seriously, this is unbelievable…”
Sterner jabbed the center of the steering wheel, angrily communicating for the truck to move. He was about to say something when Jimmy T banged on the wire mesh separating them.
“Hey, watch it!” Merson growled, but the small-time thief was tapping at the window in excitement.
The two detectives turned to their left to see what all the fuss was about. They were idling in front of an electronics store, and the glass windows were filled with giant LED television screens, all of which were tuned to the same channel.
And the large block letters at the bottom of the screen were unmissable. It took them a moment to fully understand what they were reading, and Merson was the first to react. “No fucking way!” he gasped.
For replicated across each of the two dozen screens in the store display, were the words: Shooting at NRA Convention, Over 140 Members Killed.
Chapter Three
The 102nd Precinct was the one closest to the Bremmer Plaza Hotel, as well as the biggest in the city. It was run by a giant man with a prominent belly who had a fearsome reputation among the men in blue. Presently, Captain Roger Wilson was prowling through the Precinct’s Command Centre, breathing down the necks of anxious dispatchers who were coordinating the biggest manhunt the city had ever seen.
The Captain barked orders, and accordingly squad cars zigzagged across the city, racing to set up roadblocks and conduct sweeping searches. The main bus terminal was shut down as police officers fanned out, checking their handheld devices, trying to spot anyone who looked like Mohammed Iqbal.
The handheld devices, which were truthfully modified tablets, were a gift from the Federal Government, who’d already announced plans to equip police forces around the country with state-of-the-art equipment in order to combat ‘rising crime’. A senior police officer in the department echoed everyone’s thoughts when he asked if it wasn’t better to just give them all a pay rise.
