The Merchant of Shadows

The wind howls in an eerie dark night. A man sees the dark clouds looming and pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He gets ready to go home from the metro station walking down Vincent Street. He pauses for a moment feeling a sudden inexplicable chill crawl up his spine... He looks upon a familiar building which he passed countless times. The sign Vincent's TV Repair Store should be illuminated but tonight it isn't. In the far north, the streetlights flicker and then go out.

Inside a shop, an old man looks up and asks, "Are they cutting the power off again? Shouldn't the cyclone be gone by now?"

A teen boy with black hair and brown eyes standing behind the counter replies, "Old man, the cyclone might not have passed yet. It's moving slower than they predicted."

The old man sighs. "When have they ever gotten a weather forecast right? Boy, you see whether the lights and TVs are on when I start the generator." He walks to the back muttering to himself.

He grabs a candle to light his way and moves through the building. The flame casts long shadows on the walls. He reaches the rear of the shop where the generator room is located. He checks the fuel by inserting a thin wooden rod into the tank. It's full. Satisfied, he sits down and starts the generator.

After a crackling sound, the generator roars to life. The lights come on bathing the room in a dull yellow glow. He gets up closes the generator room and returns to the shop.

The shop's sign lights up reading Vincent's TV Repair.

This old man, Vincent, was once known for illegally importing cheap TVs from other countries and selling them for a profit back in the 70s. He runs a repair shop, a spare parts store and many other electronics-related businesses now. Despite being investigated multiple times, he was never held accountable and made everything look legitimate.

Vincent had even donated money for the road development of this street. The local colony had recommended naming the street after him, although he had protested. He hated the idea of more people knowing his name it could only lead to more trouble.

Vincent reads the newspaper, his mind drifting until he hears the door chime. A middle-aged man walks into the shop drenched to the bone even though he wears a cloak.

Vincent's eyes narrow. There's something about this man. He's seen him before, but where?

The man pulls down his hood and steps further into the shop, his gaze fixed on Vincent with an intensity that makes the hair on the back of Vincent's neck stand up.

"Evening," Vincent says cautiously, trying to mask the unease building inside him.

The man doesn't speak, but the weight of his presence fills the room. After a moment, he turns and leaves, disappearing back into the storm.

Vincent stands still, his mind racing. He knows that man. The feeling is familiar but Vincent can't place him. The chill he feels deepens and the storm outside seems to echo the unease stirring in his chest.

John's life had never been easy but the years had taught him to hold his regrets in silence. He had tried over the years to accept his fate to forgive the world and even himself, for the missed opportunities, for the friends and colleagues who had surpassed him, for the wrongs done to him that had never been righted. But tonight, the storm felt different heavier.

The eerie silence on Vincent Street coupled with the unnaturally still atmosphere made John's heart race. He was not a man prone to fear, but this moment felt like something far worse than the storm.

It was a storm that had been brewing for decades.

As John walked past the now-illuminated Vincent's TV Repair Store, his eyes fell upon the man in the shop. He felt a strange sense of recognition but the connection was not clear. He had seen Vincent somewhere before perhaps in the memories he had carefully buried. But for now the only thing that mattered was the storm and the flash of something in the distance a family of cats darting across the road, their little feet splashing through the water.

John's mind shifted back to the present and the impulse to act overtook him.

He saw one of the cats, a small tabby, hesitating at the edge of the street unsure of the direction its family had gone. Without thinking, John rushed to the street reaching the cat just as a truck barreled toward them. His heart pounded in his chest, a rush of adrenaline surging through him. Without a second thought he lunged toward the cat pushing it out of the way of the speeding truck.

The sound of the truck's horn blared, followed by the sickening thud as John was thrown aside. He felt the impact of the truck strike him sending him hurtling into the cold metal of the fence with a violent jolt.

A searing pain shot through his body as the truck sped off without a second glance. Blood pooled in his mouth, a sharp metallic taste mixing with the rainwater on his face. His legs were pinned beneath him, his back twisted in a grotesque angle against the fence. The cat he had saved lay a few feet away, its tiny body motionless.

John's vision blurred, his limbs feeling like they were no longer his own. The world around him became muffled and the only thing he could focus on was the figure moving toward him from the shadows.

The driver, a young man in a panic, rushed to John's side, his face pale with fear. "I'm sorry... I didn't see... I—" The words tumbled from his lips as he checked John's pulse.

"Ch-check... th-the... ca... ca-at firs..." John managed to whisper through gritted teeth, his vision swimming. "Pl-please... ch-check th... cat."

The driver confused but willing to listen rushed toward the limp cat lying nearby. Vincent, standing in the doorway of the shop recognized the situation immediately. The old man's sharp eyes scanned the scene, his gaze landing on the driver and the fallen man.

He muttered something under his breath and gestured for his teen assistant. "Go. Check on them," he ordered already moving outside, his mind whirring with a thousand thoughts. He'd seen this man perhaps not the exact scenario, but something in the air told him that tonight was a night for unfinished business.

The teen boy sprinted outside grabbing the first aid kit from behind the counter and bolted toward the scene. The storm raged on, but nothing seemed louder than the sound of his heart pounding in his chest as he knelt beside John, who was lying motionless against the fence.

John, his eyes growing heavy tried to speak but his mouth felt like it was filled with gravel. He could barely make out the form of the boy as he approached. He felt a strange sense of gratitude for this stranger but it was fading fast. He fumbled to keep his consciousness intact his body refusing to cooperate.

The teen boy wasted no time. He gently set the first aid kit down and inspected John's injuries. His legs were a mess, bruised and swollen and he could tell that the back injury was severe. The boy didn't hesitate. He wrapped John's torso carefully, trying to immobilize him as best he could.

As he worked, Vincent appeared at his side carrying the injured cat in his arms. He handed it over to the teen who quickly examined the leg, which was clearly broken. With a sharp move, Vincent tore off a section of his own T-shirt, improvising a splint with nearby sticks.

"Take care of him," Vincent said grimly. "The storm's not done with us yet."

The boy nodded, focused on the cat but he could see the man — John — slipping into unconsciousness.

John's blurry eyes wandered and he caught sight of the small tabby cat limping towards him. It was one of the last things he saw before everything around him seemed to spiral into darkness. The cat's fur once bright and soft was matted with rainwater and dirt, but it was alive. It had made it.

"Th-thank... y-you.." John whispered faintly, his voice lost in the wind.

And then the lightning struck.

The strike hit the fence with an explosive crack, sending a surge of electric current through the metal. John's body stiffened as the jolt surged through his veins, his already battered form convulsing with the shock. His vision exploded into a brilliant flash of light.

And then... darkness.

The last thing John heard was Vincent's voice muffled and distant calling for help.