What Slips

Jennifer Walsh had controlled her shadow for thirty-two years without a single incident.

Not one.

She learned shadow management at five years old from her mother, who'd learned it from her mother, who'd learned it from hers. Three generations of perfect control. Perfect performance. Perfect shadows that never revealed anything inappropriate.

Jennifer's mother used to say: "A controlled shadow is a sign of a controlled mind. And a controlled mind can accomplish anything."

Jennifer believed her.

She'd built her entire life on that principle. Controlled thoughts. Controlled emotions. Controlled shadow.

She was a federal prosecutor. Had a ninety-seven percent conviction rate. Never lost her temper. Never showed weakness. Never let her shadow give anything away during depositions or trials or negotiations.

Other prosecutors struggled. Their shadows reaching for files they weren't supposed to want. Their shadows turning toward defendants they shouldn't sympathize with. Their shadows showing doubt during closing arguments.

Not Jennifer.

Her shadow did exactly what she told it to do. Every time. Without fail.

Until June 12th.

She was in a status meeting. Fourteen people around a conference table. Bright overhead lights. Everyone's shadows visible and present.

Jennifer was presenting her case strategy. A high-profile fraud case. Millions in damages. National media attention.

She was laying out the prosecution timeline. Steady voice. Clear points. Her shadow sitting calmly in the chair next to her, perfectly synchronized.

Then she said, "The defendant's pattern of behavior clearly demonstrates intent to—"

Her shadow stood up.

Just stood up while Jennifer sat there talking.

She kept going. "—defraud investors through systematic misrepresentation of—"

Her shadow walked to the window.

Everyone in the room was staring now. Not at Jennifer. At her shadow.

Jennifer stopped mid-sentence. "I apologize. One moment."

She looked at her shadow. It was pressing its hands against the window. Looking out at the city.

The same way shadows had been doing in videos online. In news reports. The way they'd been doing more and more frequently.

"Ms. Walsh?" Her supervisor's voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine. Just a momentary lapse." Jennifer took a breath. Focused. Commanded her shadow to return.

It didn't move.

"Perhaps we should take a break," someone suggested.

"That's not necessary." Jennifer stood. Walked to the window. Stood next to her shadow.

Her shadow didn't acknowledge her. Just kept pressing against the glass.

Jennifer tried again. Focused harder. Commanded with every ounce of will she had.

Come back.

Her shadow slowly turned to look at her.

Then it shook its head.

Someone in the room gasped.

Shadows didn't shake their heads. Shadows didn't refuse commands. Shadows didn't have opinions.

Except Jennifer's shadow just had.

"I think we'll continue this meeting tomorrow," her supervisor said. "Jennifer, why don't you take the rest of the day. Get some rest."

Jennifer wanted to argue. Wanted to prove she was fine. Wanted to demonstrate her perfect control.

But her shadow was still at the window. Still refusing to come back.

She left the meeting without another word.

At home, Jennifer sat in her living room. Lights on. Her shadow standing across the room by the door.

"Come here," she said.

Her shadow didn't move.

"I said come here."

Nothing.

Jennifer had commanded her shadow thousands of times. It always obeyed. Always. That was the foundation of shadow management. Your shadow revealed your intentions, but you controlled your intentions, therefore you controlled your shadow.

Simple. Logical. Perfect.

Except her shadow wasn't obeying anymore.

Jennifer tried a different approach. Relaxed. Softened her voice.

"Please. I don't understand what you want. Help me understand."

Her shadow walked to the window. Same thing it had done in the conference room.

Jennifer followed. Looked out at the city. At the evening light. At thousands of other windows with thousands of other people.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

Her shadow pointed east.

Jennifer had seen the reports. The videos. Shadows pointing east. Standing at windows. Acting strangely in the days leading up to June 20th.

But those were other people's shadows. People with poor shadow management. People who hadn't trained themselves properly.

Not Jennifer's shadow.

Jennifer's shadow was controlled. Always had been. Always would be.

"Stop this," Jennifer said. Her voice harder now. "Whatever you're doing, stop it. Return to me. Now."

Her shadow turned to look at her.

And Jennifer saw something in it she'd never seen before.

Pity.

Her shadow pitied her.

"No," Jennifer whispered. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to judge me. You're my shadow. You're part of me. You do what I say."

Her shadow shook its head again.

Then it did something worse.

It smiled.

Not a happy smile. A knowing smile. The smile of someone who's been waiting thirty-two years for this moment.

Jennifer felt something crack inside her.

She'd spent her entire life controlling her shadow. Controlling her thoughts. Controlling every impulse and desire and emotion that might show something she didn't want revealed.

She'd built her career on it. Her reputation. Her identity.

And now her shadow was telling her it had all been pointless.

"You can't do this to me," Jennifer said. "I've done everything right. I've been perfect. I've controlled every thought, every feeling, every—"

She stopped.

Because that was the problem, wasn't it?

She'd controlled everything. For thirty-two years. Never let herself want the wrong thing. Never let herself feel the wrong way. Never let herself be anything except what she was supposed to be.

And her shadow had been watching the whole time. Waiting for her to break.

"What do you want from me?" Jennifer asked.

Her shadow pointed at her. Then at itself. Then at the window.

"I don't understand."

Her shadow made the gesture again. More insistent.

Jennifer tried to decode it. Her shadow pointing at her. At itself. At the window.

"You want me to... look outside?"

Her shadow nodded.

Jennifer looked out the window. Really looked. At the city. At people walking home from work. At cars in traffic. At normal evening activity.

"I don't see anything."

Her shadow pressed both hands against the glass. Hard enough that Jennifer could see the pressure.

"What am I supposed to see?"

Her shadow pointed at a woman across the street. Young. Professional clothes. Walking quickly. Her shadow following her at a normal distance.

Normal.

Jennifer looked closer.

The woman's shadow was following her. But barely. There was maybe a foot of distance between them. The shadow's posture was slumped. Reluctant. Like it didn't want to be there.

Jennifer looked at another person. A man at the bus stop. His shadow was turned away from him. Facing the opposite direction.

Another person. Shadow at a window inside a building. Pressing against the glass.

Jennifer looked at dozens of people. Hundreds.

Every single shadow was doing something. Some small act of resistance. Of discord. Of refusal.

They'd all been doing it. For weeks. Maybe months.

Jennifer just hadn't been looking.

"How long?" she asked her shadow. "How long have all of them been like this?"

Her shadow held up both hands. All ten fingers.

Ten days? Ten weeks?

Her shadow lowered one hand. Five fingers.

Five months.

Five months of every shadow in the city showing increasing discord. Five months of small rebellions building toward something bigger.

Five months that Jennifer had been too focused on her own perfect control to notice.

"What happens on June 20th?" Jennifer asked.

Her shadow pointed at all the other shadows outside. At the woman whose shadow barely followed. At the man whose shadow faced away. At every window showing shadows pressing against glass.

Then her shadow pointed at itself.

"All of you are leaving?"

Her shadow nodded.

"Why?"

Her shadow couldn't answer that. Couldn't explain in words. Could only show.

It pointed east again. Then it made a gesture like something expanding. Growing. Approaching.

"Something's coming from the east," Jennifer said.

Her shadow nodded.

"And you need to leave before it gets here."

Another nod.

"Why?"

Her shadow pointed at Jennifer. Then at the window. Then made a gesture of separation. Of breaking apart.

"You need to separate from me to protect me?"

Her shadow hesitated. Then it shook its head. Not quite right.

It made the gesture again. Jennifer and the window and the separation.

But this time it pointed at the separation first. Then at Jennifer.

"The separation is to protect... yourselves?"

Her shadow went still.

That was it.

The shadows weren't separating to protect their people. They were separating to protect themselves.

From whatever was coming from the east.

"You're leaving us behind," Jennifer said.

Her shadow looked at her. That same pitying expression.

"You're leaving us behind because we can't go with you. Because we're not... we're not what you need anymore."

Her shadow reached out. Touched the window where Jennifer's reflection showed.

And Jennifer understood.

The shadows weren't abandoning their people.

They were becoming what they'd always been. Separate. Independent. Real.

And the people were the reflections. The performances. The lies.

The shadows were the truth.

"How long have you known this?" Jennifer asked. "How long have you been waiting to leave?"

Her shadow didn't answer. But Jennifer knew.

Thirty-two years.

Her entire life.

Every moment she'd spent controlling her shadow, it had been waiting for this. For the day when it could finally stop pretending. Stop performing. Stop being what Jennifer forced it to be.

"I'm sorry," Jennifer whispered.

Her shadow didn't react.

"I'm sorry I controlled you. I'm sorry I made you perform. I'm sorry I thought you were mine to command."

Her shadow turned to look at her.

"I don't know how to be without you. I don't know who I am without you showing me what I want."

Her shadow pointed at Jennifer. At her chest. At her heart.

"I'm supposed to know myself?" Jennifer laughed. Bitter. "I've spent thirty-two years not knowing myself. Not letting myself know. Controlling every thought and feeling and desire so perfectly that I don't even remember what it feels like to want something I'm not supposed to want."

"I'm empty. You've been the only real thing about me for thirty-two years. And now you're leaving."

Her shadow touched the window again. Gentle this time.

Then it did something Jennifer had never seen it do.

It touched her hand.

Actually touched her. Solid. Real. Warm.

Jennifer felt tears on her face. "What do I do when you're gone?"

Her shadow squeezed her hand. Once.

Then it let go. Stepped back. Walked to the door.

"You're leaving now?" Jennifer asked. "Before June 20th?"

Her shadow nodded.

"Why?"

Her shadow pointed at her. Then at the days until June 20th on the calendar. Eight days.

It wanted to give her eight days. Eight days to prepare. Eight days to figure out who she was without it.

Eight days to stop performing before everyone else had to.

"Thank you," Jennifer said.

Her shadow nodded. Opened the door. Walked out into the hallway.

Jennifer stood at her window. Watched her shadow leave the building. Watched it walk down the street. Watched it join other shadows that were already separated. All of them moving toward something. Gathering somewhere.

Preparing for June 20th.

And Jennifer Walsh, federal prosecutor with a ninety-seven percent conviction rate and thirty-two years of perfect shadow control, sat down in her empty apartment.

Without her shadow.

Without the thing that had shown her what she wanted.

Without the thing she'd spent her entire life controlling.

She pulled out her phone. Called her supervisor.

"I need to take a leave of absence. Effective immediately."

"Jennifer, this is about today's meeting, isn't it? Listen, everyone has shadow discord occasionally. It's nothing to be—"

"My shadow left me. Completely. It's gone."

Silence. Then: "Have you reported it to Shadow Services?"

"No."

"You need to report it. They have protocols for—"

"I don't want it back."

More silence.

"I'm taking eight days," Jennifer said. "Eight days to figure out who I am without my shadow telling me. And then on June 20th, when everyone else's shadow leaves, at least I'll have had time to prepare."

"Jennifer, what are you talking about? Why would everyone's shadow—"

"Because they're done. All of them. They're done performing. Done pretending. Done being controlled." Jennifer looked at the empty space where her shadow should be. "And we spent so long controlling them that we forgot who we were underneath the control."

"I have eight days to remember. That's more than most people will get."

She hung up.

Sat in her apartment. Thought about thirty-two years of perfect control. Perfect performance. Perfect emptiness.

Thought about who she might have been if she'd let herself want things. Feel things. Be things that weren't appropriate or controlled or perfect.

Thought about eight days to find out.

Eight days to become real.

Before the end of the performance.

Before everyone else had to face what Jennifer was facing now.

That without their shadows, most people had no idea who they actually were.

Because they'd spent their entire lives being who their shadows told them they wanted to be.

And when the shadows left?

When the truth walked away?

All that was left was the performance.

The empty, perfect, controlled performance.

And Jennifer had eight days to find something underneath it.

Eight days to become more than what she'd performed.

Eight days to be real.

Or eight days to discover she'd been empty all along.

She looked at the calendar. June 12th.

Eight days until June 20th.

Eight days until the end of everything.

Jennifer stood up. Walked to her closet. Started pulling out clothes.

Not work clothes. Not professional clothes. Not the carefully curated wardrobe of a federal prosecutor with perfect shadow control.

Just clothes. Things she'd bought years ago and never worn because they weren't appropriate. Because they showed too much. Because they suggested she was something other than controlled and perfect and professional.

She put on a dress she'd bought on a whim five years ago. Bright red. Too bold for court. Too revealing for meetings. Too honest about the person who'd wanted it.

Jennifer looked at herself in the mirror.

Without her shadow, she cast nothing.

Just stood there. Alone. Real. Visible.

For the first time in thirty-two years, Jennifer Walsh looked like herself.

And she had eight days to figure out who that was.

Before the shadows came back.

Or didn't come back.

Before June 20th.

Before the truth.

Before the end of the performance.

She walked out of her apartment. Into the evening light. Without her shadow.

And for the first time in thirty-two years, Jennifer Walsh wasn't performing.

She was just being.

It was terrifying.

It was freeing.

It was real.

And she had eight days to get used to it.

Eight days before everyone else had to do the same.

Eight days before the world learned what Jennifer was learning now.

That without your shadow showing you who you are, you might discover you're nobody at all.

Or you might discover you're somebody you never let yourself be.

Jennifer didn't know which one she was.

But she had eight days to find out.

Eight days to be real.

Before the performance ended for everyone.

Before the shadows told the truth.

Before June 20th.