“Why, did you want one? I have ton of them at home.” One of the cooler bits of swag from Raphael.
“No, and you should lose it.”
“Lose my backpack?” More helpful fashion tips, great.
“You really don’t want to be walking around with the words ‘Blood-Borne’ all over you. People want to have the wrong idea about you right now, let’s not make it easy for them.” He seems genuine; I guess he really is just trying to do his job.
Eli comes back into the room. “Are you leaving?”
“Yup.” I don’t even look at him. I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Aiden promptly takes it from me.
“Okay.” Eli pauses. “I’ll be over after a meeting later today. I need to talk to you.”
“I won’t be there. Besides, it looks like you might be busy.” I lean down and kiss my Dad on the cheek, then shake hands with Bob and Jason. I purposefully snub Eli. I turn to Aiden. “Let’s get out of here.”
Aiden puts his arm around me, resting his hand on my hip and locking his thumb in my belt loop. Eli sighs, hanging his head.
I’m gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
One-Way Street
Shay
The midday sun is bright as we walk out of Eli’s house. My head is reeling with all of this. The scent of stripper is still hanging in the air. My breakfast churns at the smell, threatening to make a second appearance. My whole life is suspended in a special brand of crazy, courtesy of some serial killer that is as twisted as I am. I can’t leave the state. The boys aren’t going to give me a moment of peace. I’m stuck with Aiden, even if he does think I may have actually killed people.
“Hey, do you mind running by my house to get my stuff?” I feel bad asking Aiden to go back to the madhouse, but I can’t go without my bags.
“I put your bags in the truck while you were in the shower.”
“What?” Why would he do that?
“You didn’t think I was going to let you do this alone, did you? I see how the press is acting and I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself, even though I know you can handle it.” I like how he threw that last bit in.
“Thanks,” is all I can say. When he wants to be sweet he really is awesome.
I climb into Aiden’s truck. I’m not looking forward to going to the office. I don’t want to face Raphael, or Trish for that matter.
Remembering I have to cancel my meeting in L.A., I pull out my cell phone and send a quick text.
L.A. is a no-go. ~S
What’s up? ~M
Tell you later. ~S
KK, Tampa? ~M
Yes, be there tonight. ~S
K see you there. ~M
“Who are you texting?” Aiden asks quietly, not looking over at me.
“Work.” I’m really not in the talking mood. Actually I’m not much in the mood for anything right now. I would love to bathe myself in a world of blank.
“I really think you should cancel this thing in Tampa. You should keep a low profile right now.” Aiden’s tone is so foreign and weak. I can’t help but wonder if this is his idea or if this is what Jason was whispering about.
“I’ve been working on this for too long. You don’t know what it’s like to work this hard on something for so long and to finally have it start to happen. I’m not canceling the signing, and I’m going to the release party. It’s expected,” I snap at him. How could he possibly think I was going to miss this? He doesn’t understand the value of seeing something through. I guess I get it; he dropped out of high school the first chance he got. That was the first time Aiden bailed on me. I felt so alone. Eli was already in college.
“I’m just concerned about keeping you out of the papers.” He shakes his head. “At least talk to Raphael about postponing it, and let the dust settle.”
“Raphael will serve my head on a platter if I cancel. The issue drops tomorrow. I’m lucky I still have a job right now since the cops have taken all of my original Bristols from the office.” I’m not even sure I do have a job. I know he’s pretty pissed at me, and not returning his calls didn’t help.
“No matter what you decide, I’ll be there with you.” He says it as a matter of fact.
“Do you have a suit in your ‘ho-bag’?” I ask sarcastically. Aiden’s always on the go. He never knows where he’ll end up and always carries a couple of changes of clothes and toiletries, but a suit? I doubt it. Aiden doesn’t do suits, or funerals.
“Nope. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.” He glances at me with a smile.
State Road 520 is a lonely stretch of highway. Thankfully, they recently widened it. It was previously a two-lane and the only road connecting Palm Harbor and Orlando. I let a little laugh escape when I think of how many times Aiden and I came back from the club in the middle of the night. He would see eye-shine off to the side and be compelled to pull the truck over. In a matter of seconds he’d be out of the truck, and have the rifle sighted on a deer or wild boar. For some reason that was a huge turn-on, in a caveman, ‘I bring you meat’ sort of way.
I lean my head against the headrest and let the vibration of the tires on the road take me away. I’m definitely tired, but my mind won’t stop racing. I can’t shake the feeling that Aiden thinks I’m going crazy. I guess now is not the time to talk about the dreams that I had about my Mom and Elise before they died. I let out a sigh.
Aiden reaches over, interlacing our fingers. I expect him to say something. He doesn’t; he only turns the music up from the controls on the steering wheel. It’s strange to be like this with him. I have to break the silence. “Aiden?” My voice is quiet and I’m still looking out the window.
“What’s up?” He squeezes my hand.
“What do you think happened?” I can’t straight-out ask him if he thinks I’m capable of this; I want him to volunteer the information.
“I really don’t know. It’s hard to believe what’s happened.” He pulls his mouth to one side with remorse. “I just hope it all stops.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Blood-borne
Shay
Residential and commercial buildings take the place of the desolate canals on either side of the road. The thicket of trees parts to show the buildings that make up downtown Orlando. The city is unnaturally pastel. The dirty streets hide behind a pink-and-blue facade to fool the masses. I know all the back allies that ‘The Mouse’ keeps on the down-low from the tourists.
Aiden drives by the front of the Gateway Concorde Center, where my office is. There are so many reporters and TV crews out front that they obscure the red brick cobblestone in the grand courtyard that serves as an entry. I look at Aiden and try to quell my nerves by biting my lip.
“I’m sure the parking garage won’t be so bad.” The worried look on his face says otherwise.
We approach the guard gate, which is normally unmanned. The window on the guard shack slides open and a kindly old man points to the sign above the gate. “Monthly parking only.”
I lean toward the window and smile at the guard. “Hey Cecil, they have you on parking duty today?”
He squints his yellowed eyes to see me in the truck. “Miss Baynes, this is quite a ruckus you’re causing up in here.”
“You think all this is for little ol’ me?” I would like to believe that it wasn’t, but I know that it is.
“We haven’t seen this much action since Hernandez went off his rocker and shot all those nice people up on the 8th floor. Do you remember that?” He shakes his head as he reaches toward Aiden with a parking pass.
I nod. How could I not remember that? It was one of the most terrifying days of my life.
“At least they aren’t going to close I-4 this time.” Cecil pauses, pulling the pass back and eyeballing the rifle Aiden has hanging in the back window. “You aren’t going to go shooting people up now, are you?”
“No Cecil, I promise I’ll be good.” I hold my hands up, smiling. Aiden shakes his head, slightly amused at the thought of me go
ing in and popping caps.
“All right then, pretty lady, you just try to stay out of trouble.” He waves and closes the window on the guard shack. Aiden drives up the parking garage. It is mostly deserted except for a few folks that belong here. Cecil may seem old and frail, but not much gets by him.
I look around inside the truck for a hat or something so that maybe I wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb. Digging into the bags in the back seat seems to unnerve Aiden. “What are you looking for?”
“A hat or something.” I dig deeper to find one of my other Blood-Borne bags.
He reaches over, grabbing the bag, “There’s nothing in there you can use. We can take the stairs to the second floor and avoid the lobby.”
“Okay.” Jesus, what’s his problem? What does he have in there, an entire collection of clown porn? I pick up my portfolio case and slide down out of the truck. Aiden looks around the garage and pulls me quickly toward the stairwell in the far corner.
He peeks through the doorway before we enter the mezzanine to the elevators. We get in without incident.
The doors open on the 8th floor to absolute chaos. Reporters start screaming my name. Aiden pulls me in close behind him, heading out of the elevator fast toward the office door. Getting through the crowd is a challenge; the flashes on the cameras are blinding, and everyone is yelling and asking me terrible questions. I want to lash out and tell them all to piss off, but I keep quiet.
The madness is surreal. My head is swimming. All of the sound around me has a tunnel-like quality. That’s until one reporter separates Aiden and me. He stands in front of me, shoving a microphone in my face and asking, “Did you kill the Messners in reaction to the Hernandez shootings?”
I freeze in my tracks. I don’t want people connecting me to Gary and Alice’s murder and I certainly don’t want them connecting me to Jorge’s rampage nine months ago.
Aiden tugs at my hand, pushing the reporter aside. We reach the glass doors with “Blood-Borne” splashed across the front. We step inside and take a deep breath. I lean back on the door. “Oh my God, what the hell was that?”
Trish stands up from behind the tall reception desk. “I know it’s a madhouse out there. I’m just glad they’re not in here anymore. I’ll let Raphael know you’re here. He’s totally losing his shit waiting for you.”
“Sorry, I got here as soon as I could.” I momentarily feel bad for Trish. She has to put up with Raphael more than any of us. “Why haven’t you called security about the reporters in the hallway?”
Trish purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “Raphael invited them up here.” She glares at Aiden. “So how does it feel to NOT be the biggest asshole in the building?”
Thankfully Aiden doesn’t respond, but that’s my cue to defuse their customary banter. “We’ll be in my office.” Aiden looks around, admiring the beautiful women in the office. I tug at his hand. “Hey, come on.”
“What’s with all the gorgeous ladies?” he asks, a little bewildered.
“Raphael is a pig, that’s what’s with them all.” I lay my portfolio bag on my desk.
“A brilliant pig.” Aiden smiles, pumping his eyebrows.
I count on my fingers. “Set up an all-female comic publisher, surround yourself with women that wouldn’t give you the time of day in any other situation, and name it Blood-Borne as a crude play on the menstrual cycle.” I pause, rolling my eyes. Wonderful, Aiden finds out his hero is a disgusting misogynist who exploits women and pays them a fraction of what a man would make.
“Yup, a brilliant pig. The only hardhat in the joint, very smart.” Aiden marvels for a moment at the wonder of it all. This is a real departure for him. He typically keeps this sort of banter for when he hangs out with the guys.
“Aiden, is it going to be like this in Tampa?” I ask, sitting down to pull my laptop from its case.
“No way baby, I only have eyes for you.” He smiles and winks.
“I mean the reporters, not you.” Like I care if he looks at other women. Okay, maybe I care a little.
“Oh, sorry.” he pauses thoughtfully. “I hope not, but if it is I’ll be there with you.” He sits across my desk in the guest chair. “What’s up with this Hernandez guy?”
“His name was Jorge. He was a friend.” The words come out angry and defensive. “No one knows what happened or why he did it, but he went nuts one day. He worked over at the design firm across the hall. He showed up with a gun, stalked from office to office shooting people with no rhyme or reason.” I pause, looking up at the black-and-white pencil drawing of mine on the wall. It always reminds me of him, because he liked it a lot. I did a similar one for him when he got a promotion.
“When did this happen?” He’s bewildered and a little disgusted. “Were you here?”
“It was about nine months ago, and yes, I was here.” I really don’t like talking about this, it brings back all of the bad feelings I’ve had over the last year and half.
“Did he come over here?” He leans forward in the chair like he’s trying to figure something out.
“Yes, he did.” The image of that day is vivid in my mind as I speak. I can hear the reflection of the chaos in my head.
“Were you in danger? How did they stop him?” His expression is riddled with concern.
“I don’t think I was in danger. I think he came over here to say goodbye.” My voice hitches on the word goodbye. Aiden rests his hands on the desk with an expectant expression. I just can’t talk about it, it’s all too fresh, the image of Jorge putting the gun to his head, his hopeless gaze, is still boring straight into my soul, like he was begging me to stop him, but I couldn’t.
Aiden stands to comfort me. I meet him, finding myself craving his closeness and comfort.
Raphael makes his grand entrance wearing his typical Dickies jumper unzipped to his belly button. A black and gray chest afro springs out of the opening like a teddy bear that’s been gutted. The gold chains hanging from his neck peek out through tufts of chest hair. He rushes toward me, pushing Aiden aside. Raphael takes my face in his hands, squishing my cheeks together. “I LOVE YOU!”
I try to pull back from the heavy scent of coffee, cigarettes, and garlic, hoping none of his hair grease drips onto me. “What?”
Aiden pulls me by the arm away from Raphael, putting himself between us. “Hands off.” Raphael’s brilliance has lost its charm.
“Who the hell are you?” Raphael looks at Aiden, then back at me. “What’s with the beefcake?” Raphael ticks his thumb toward Aiden. “Who cares? You... You are a genius! Our phones have been non-stop since the news hit. We’ve sold out of issue one and have sold another fifty thousand copies of the special edition cover.” Raphael is beaming with excitement. I’m sure those are dollar signs in his eyes.
“What do you mean, special edition cover?” This I don’t like. I don’t recall a special cover.
“Trish!” Raphael barks. “Bring me the new cover of Sanguine Specter.”
Trish appears in the doorway, her head hung in shame. As she hands the cover to Raphael she mouths, “I’m sorry.”
Raphael holds up the cover to reveal the new text in bold print. “Based on Real Events!”
One look at the cover and I know Eli is going to shit himself. I look at Aiden in horror, praying he has a solution to this problem.
“Raphael, you can’t print that. My attorney will have a freaking coronary, not to mention it implies that I’m guilty.” I am astonished at the level of stupid.
“Look, honey, I don’t care if you did it or not. All I know is that I’m selling comics, a lot of them, and I don’t know how much longer this will hold out, but I’m riding it all the way.” He starts for the door, stopping for a moment, “Wear something slutty to the release party tomorrow. Show some leg for Christ’s sake; it wouldn’t kill you.”
A tall woman with honey-colored skin and sparkling green eyes, wearing six-inch heels and a three-inch skirt, appears in the doorway. Aiden takes on the character
istics of a cartoon wolf. I half expect an “Awoooga!” to come out of his mouth. I wonder if I should help him roll his tongue back in. Raphael grabs her by the waist and shakes her slightly. “Like this. See Shay, it’s not that hard, show a little skin like Vanessa here. You can tell she’s a team player.” He rubs himself against her as he squeezes past her through the doorway.
Vanessa brushes her skirt as if to rub the Raphael off. She catches sight of Aiden and a sultry demeanor takes her over. “Hey there,” she says, undressing him visually.
“Hello Vanessa, I’m Aiden Roth.” He steps over to her and shakes her hand. A small giggle escapes me at the difference in their height. Vanessa has a good six inches on him. I’m sure she’d like his six inches in her.
“Pleasure to meet you.” She smiles, exposing those perfect bitch canines. I know she would love to sink her teeth into him.
I clear my throat. “What can I do for you, Vanessa?” Sorry to break up the kismet. The cock-hound and I have had issues ever since she took it upon herself to molest Eli. It took him a week to recover from the grabbing incident.
She cuts me a look as if I just slapped her. If she’s not careful I just might. “I have your itinerary. You’re staying at the Motel 6 on Nebraska Avenue.” She looks down at me and raises her eyebrows. “Do I need to book another room?”
“That won’t be necessary. Aiden and I will be sharing.” I take the file folder from her.
“Huh.” She runs her finger along Aiden’s jawline on the way to the door. “When you decide you’re done slumming, call me.”
“Yeah, so tell me Vanessa, when you wear a skirt that short how do you tuck your dick back? Duct tape?” I sit down and await her response.
She ignores my jab. “Everything you need is in there. Don’t be late and why don’t you run a comb through that nest growing on your head before the press junket.” Vanessa turns to Aiden. “And we can get you your own room in case psycho girl here decides to get stabby tonight.”
My anger rises in a volcanic stare. “If I decide to get ‘stabby,’ Aiden has nothing to worry about, but you might.”
INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) Page 10
