INK: Vanishing Point
BY
Bella Roccaforte
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
eISBN: 9781630683214
Copyright © 2014 by Bella Roccaforte
Ebook formatting by Dead River Books
Chapter 1
Obsession
Bailey
Walking into my room with my brown paper bag as though it’s some kind of contraband sends excitement rolling through me like a kid at Christmas. Jesus Christ, I hate Christmas. This is better than some well-hung God’s son we’re told to worship. This is the shit.
Droplets of sweat splash on the bag, spreading slowly staining all it touches with darker hues of brown. I unroll the top and pull the heavy glass bottle of ink out. This shit is actually hard to find. Holding the bottles up to the light and swirling the contents shows thick liquid dancing against the sides. It kisses and clings to the glass, leaving traces of color. I got black and red just like her and I got a deep indigo to have my signature on it.
To keep the pen safe it’s rolled up in a free comic from the con. My palms leave a snail trail of sweat on my khakis when I try to dry them off. Looking at the pen makes sense now after talking to the guy in the store. It has a weird wheel on the metal part of the prongs. He showed me how to dip the pen to get a bead of ink to draw with.
My computer is still on. It’s set up for me to watch the video of her convention interview again. The first time I saw her in real life was in San Diego last year. God, she’s so amazing. She’s so pretty in a sweet and shy sort of way. I think she blushed a hundred times. She couldn’t control it, like me. Every time someone talked to her the red would light up her cheeks. She’s quiet and cute. So cute.
I click play and I’m instantly mesmerized by her voice. At the signing in Tampa, she didn’t make me leave the table, so she definitely liked me. This is so cool; I bet she’ll even remember me. Maybe she’ll like me if I can draw like her.
After the video ends I pick up “Sanguine Specter” to read it again. It’s…she’s fucking amazing. This comic is so awesome. The thing is the blood looks so real. I just want to somehow show her how I feel. How I feel about her. I want to draw something for her, draw it and send it to her.
Pushing the monitor back on the desk to make way for the sketch pad, I set up the inks just like I saw her do in the panel when I was at New York Comic Con. The tip goes in the ink just like the guy said and I pull out a perfect bead. Drawing with it is going to take some practice.
This isn’t going to be easy but that’s okay. I’m going to do my best and I’ll only send her my best. I press the pen onto the paper gently and start moving it downward.
The pen makes a scratching sound against the paper and the ink flows perfectly from the tip like I’ve been doing this since I could first write. It feels so amazing and the lines are taking a shape, not the shape I intended. It’s her face, her beautiful face.
The pen guides my hand down the paper then back to the top. My fingers start to feel warm; the sensation is growing and moving up my arm. I try to stop drawing but I can’t put the pen down, as if it’s part of me. When I finally come to a rest I’m shocked at what I was able to draw. It’s her face with my favorite crooked smile, the one that says she’s happy to see me. The same smile from my dreams. I hold the paper back more to study it, see my handiwork. My gaze shifts from the pen to the drawing: this is amazing!
The warmth in my arm buzzes to life again and the pen feels heavy, forcing me to bring the tip to a fresh piece of paper. The pen starts to move my hand again; this is really freaking me out. I don’t understand what’s happening. I swallow hard, watching the scene being drawn. My other reaches over to stop it but can’t, and then I hear it.
“Calm down. This is what you want.” The voice has a strange accent to it that I can’t quite place. Maybe not an accent, but a certain stiffness to it; this certainly isn’t the first voice I’ve heard in my head so my concern is minimal. The doctor said I shouldn’t hear them anymore, which almost sounds pathetic to me.
“Who are you?” Asking that question is the most logical thing to do. It’s important to know if I have an intruder, a ghost or a psychotic break.
“I’m your friend.” The voice is drippy and smooth, like he’s trying to sell me a handful of beans.
“Are you a good friend or a bad friend?”
“I’m your best friend; I’m going to get you what you want.” The voice pauses before asking hesitantly, “You do want me to help you?”
“I need all the help I can get.” Truthfully I do, and if this thing can help me draw like this I might be able to do comics like I want. Then I can be with her. I bet I can even get signed on at Blood-borne or maybe somewhere better.
Right in front of me the air begins condensing into a darker hue, slowly forming the shape of a man. The shadow moves inside the borders of its own form and appears to be a combination of smoke, liquid and solid. There’s something familiar about it. I search my memory until it hits me like a slap in the face. “You’re the Specter!”
Astonishment speeds through me. I can feel my heartbeat thrum in my ear with excitement. I pick up the comic and hold it up to compare the being standing in front of me with the cover of her comic. “You look different, sort of like that douchebag at the signing with Shay.”
“Yes, yes, I will be back to my truer form soon enough.” He hisses, sounding offended.
“Is this your true form?” I point to the cover of the comic.
“Is that yours?” He asks me as though I’ve insulted him.
“Well…well yeah it is.” I’m unsure of what he’s asking.
“I don’t think it is, Bailey, and I think we are going to do some exploration of your true form. You see, I want to bring out the real you.” He takes two small steps, closing in on me. I’m not really scared, just uneasy and maybe a little freaked out.
“Will it help me with her?” I motion to the face frozen on the computer monitor.
“Oh yes, Bailey, you will become closer to her than anyone. You will become one with her.” He assures me. “You are already creating the blueprints for my art, just like her.” It’s a little weird how his hand feels like velvet moving down my arm then putting his hand flat on the paper smearing some of the ink.
“Hey, cut the shit.” I snap at him, looking at the smudged ink on the paper. This was awesome.
“Tonight you help me with this.” With a smooth motion he props his hand up by one finger, pointing at the drawing. The drawing is crazy, just like one of hers. I recognize the face on the page. It’s this kid Lobster; we both graduated last year. He was at the signing. Studying the page even I’m a little unnerved. This is totally twisted.
“I don’t know. I mean, what do you mean help you?” This has to be the worst I’ve ever schized out. I need to start taking my meds again. My mom’s going to be pissed.
“Just relax, Bailey.” He puts his hand on my head and before I can move or scream, his shadow melts into my body and I feel like I cease to be. Me.
Chapter 2
Sensory Deception
Shay
A hazy fog swirls in fantastic tendrils that direct me toward something: but what? I walk slowly toward a beckoning light, soft and glowing through a thicket of bare branches. The air is a grey film layered with a midnight blue backdrop cradling me in an unsettling chill
that seeps right through my entire being. My white gossamer gown whips around my legs as though there is a breeze, but the air is stagnant and still.
The soft glow grows larger as I move through the twisted forest. Each tree weeps silently as I pass. I pause to study one, my crying tree. It’s out of place. There’s no ocean or river. Aiden is nowhere to be found as I scan the landscape of darkness.
It’s an impossibility that it’s here. I run my fingers along the bark to find the deep grooves of the heart surrounding Aiden’s proclamation of us being one: “Shayden.” I pull my hand back and look at the stain left on my fingers; it’s oily and warm. I bring my hand to my nose to try to identify the smell of the liquid. I recognize it but I can’t quite place it.
“It is exactly what you think it is, my love.” The voice invades the forest like the fog. It’s everywhere.
Frantically I search to find the source of the voice; it’s familiar and terrifying, “Where are you?” I call out halfheartedly.
“I’m here” A quick whisper brushes up against my ear. I turn to see the Specter standing behind me, unmoving. He holds no expression. His form is undulating darkness completely devoid of light but for the nothingness of white clouded holes in lieu of eyes. He’s bold, crisp and absent.
Stepping back, I demand, “What do you want?”
The churning darkness forms an expression of surprise, “How could you ask such a thing?”
Evil oozes from him staining my gown with a dark residue. It’s sticky and smells like the breakdown lane in the blazing summer sun. “Because I don’t know why you are doing this. I don’t understand.”
“Everything I do is for you, my love.” He takes a step closer to me I move back, bumping into the heavy trunk of the tree.
“That’s not true. I don’t want people to die.” I speak through my revulsion of his appearance, an ever-increasing horror.
“Shayleigh, I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you. I’ve never since felt exhilaration like the first kill I made in your honor." He moves in closer to me. I have nowhere to go so I press my back flat against the bark of the tree. For a moment I wish I could disappear, or walk through solid objects to escape.
“I don’t want this.” Edging sideways to get away from him, my steps are unsure and clumsy with fear. “I want you to go away forever. I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”
He disappears, only to reappear behind me and wraps his arms around me. Terror fills me and my vision is flooded with the bloodied faces of victims and crimes scenes. Some I’ve drawn, some I’ve never seen. “I will never leave you, my love. Watch my tribute to you. Each face, each moment of fear and desperation was felt just for you.”
“I want to go home.” I bleat like a child.
“You are home.” He says it as though it should be obvious.
This place is unfamiliar to me. The only familiarity is the tree. What is this? “Am I dead?” My voice hitches in my throat. I’m afraid of the answer.
He bellows a laugh that echoes throughout the woods “No, you are not dead. I would never let that happen.”
“This isn’t my home. I want to go to my home. I want to go back to Aiden. Where is he?” I ask, worried that I could incite the Specter but I need to know. I need to try to figure out how to get out of this, wherever or whatever it is.
He laughs again, but quickly returns to his serious demeanor “Oh love, where do you think Aiden is?”
“I want to know where he is!” My bravery is short-lived. I shrink back as soon as I hear the Specter’s voice.
“You are home and he’s…nowhere.”
Recoiling, I move around a tangle of branches, toward where the dock would be if this were the park. He eyes me with a curious stare, tilting his head as if questioning my actions. I look around frantically trying to see something familiar. I call out Aiden’s name over and over again until my voice becomes hoarse.
“Oh dear.” He tsks, flashing a consoling smile. “You really have no idea?”
“No, where is he?” I scream, running for the Specter with my fists thrashing in the air as he dissipates in a puff of smoke. I’m bewildered. I think for a moment. My first goal is to get out of this dismal place. I run toward the glowing light, praying it won’t be something dreadful.
The branches and underbrush tug at my gown, ripping and tearing it to shreds, but I have to keep going. My bare feet feel as though they are running on glass. The branches grow thicker and I have to slow to keep from gouging my eyes out. Aiden’s soft laughter wisps by my ear.
I push myself further until I feel like I’m going to vomit. The light isn’t getting any closer and now I’m not even sure if I heard Aiden at all. I stop, bracing my hands on my thighs for support. I need to breathe. I need to get my bearings. While I’m looking around it’s clear that I’m still standing in the same place. It’s as though I haven’t moved. I inspect the thicket of branches closely and discover it’s not just branches. It’s a gruesome tangle of bodies creating a mosaic of horror. First I see Alice, then Jorge. I spin around and there is Taffy devoid of eyes and breasts dangling from a tree.
The faces multiply and go on endlessly. I recognize one of the boys from the signing and approach his dangling body. His eyes are closed and he looks peaceful. I wrack my brain, trying to remember his name. “Lobster.” It rides out on a distant memory.
His eyelids spring open to reveal hollow shafts and his arms begin to flail. In my effort to get away from him I trip over a root, and then get up to try to run again, but my efforts are still fruitless.
My vision blurs and nausea overcomes me until I have no choice but to vomit at the collective carnage surrounding me. I drop down to my knees. The smell of mud, algae and blood fill my senses and threaten another volley of sickness.
Darkness consumes me. Now my panic drags me down under the mud, into the hopelessness that is my life until all that’s left is suffocation and absence of light. The Specter whispers softly in my ear, “I’m here for you love. I’ve got you.” His tone is laced with caring and triumph coupled to create a mixture of misery. I succumb.
Chapter 3
Mourning Gently Tiptoes
Shay
Hushed voices that are too distant for me to make out the words waft by on the wind. There’s something beeping, probably my alarm clock. Open your eyes, Shay. My lids will not comply. Everything has an echo to it, like I’m in a tunnel or some kind of metal box.
I feel myself being jostled about, but not by my own power. Coldness surrounds me, and a shiver runs through my thoughts but doesn’t reach my body that is completely disconnected from my will. It simply will not obey any of my commands.
A deep humming followed by the sensation of movement coaxes me further to open my eyes. Voices drift through again, muffled and unintelligible. There’s someone there, but who? Beep. Beep. Beep.
I perceive a muted light on the other side of my lids. What is that? What’s happening? Why can’t I wake up? I’m trapped somewhere, in something, someplace, but where?
It feels like a quasi-nightmare where I can’t open my eyes while I’m driving or trying to take a test in school. My lids refuse my demands to lift.
My body feels warm again, the sensation of moving has stopped. Someone is touching my feet, I think. Now my legs, there’s pressure I can feel it. I can’t move or open my eyes. I’m totally at the mercy of whoever is touching me. This, I do NOT like. Beep. Beep. Beep…
Fear grows and spreads through my mind, it plays at my vulnerability. Anger pierces the haziness of wherever it is that I am. Open your eyes. I wait for my lids to get the message but they don’t. Beep Beep Beep.
What the hell is that incessant beeping, I need to turn off the alarm clock. Hit snooze.
Exhaustion overcomes me and I sink deeper into the unknown, losing my grasp.
Someone touches my hand, holding it, shaking it a little. I feel moisture, my hand is wet. Why is my hand wet? My neck feels warm and I hear the voice again, it’s muf
fled but I hear it.
“Shay, please I love you. Please don’t do this.” The voice low and pleading.
“Don’t do this.” I said those words; why did I say those words? When did I say those words? What did I mean?
The memory of something distant comes into focus. The thunderstorm; Aiden and me on the porch. A warming sensation comes over me when I think of it. That’s good, a sensation I initiated. I imagine Aiden’s hands on my back and the heat rushes over me again. I travel forward through the memory, invoking X-rated visions.
My mind stops, my body goes cold, remembering Aiden’s grasp on my wrist; it was too tight, his voice beyond harsh. The memory plays on like a movie in my head. I see the Specter, then the gun in Aiden’s hand. Please don’t do this.
“Aiden!” I shout, jolting forward. My eyes are wide open, my breathing labored. I still don’t know where I am. Nothing will come into focus but I hit my head on something and it hurts. Dizziness overcomes me, forcing me to lay back. Everything is blurry; my eyes refuse to focus. “Aiden?”
I hear yelling, I think. My lids become heavy and try to close. No. I won’t let them. “No, no, no.” It comes out hoarse, my throat swollen and raw like I’ve been screaming for days. I know I just yelled that, but I barely made a noise.
Somebody’s here, holding me. “Aiden?” I try to reach my arms up to return the embrace, hoping he can help me stay awake.
“No sweetie, it’s me.” A man’s choked voice whispers in my ear. “I’m here, I’m here.” His arms tighten around me.
Another voice, a female voice with authority says, “Excuse me, sir.”
My body is no longer wrapped in warmth but feels lonely and cold. My vision won’t focus. “No,” I rasp, reaching out for the warmth to come back.
Oh bright light. That’s awful; it hurts. An unrecognizable noise comes from me and I squirm. My legs are moving, I’m slightly relieved, but there is so much pain.
“Miss Baynes, I need you to hold still.” The woman’s voice is soothing.
INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2) Page 1
