INK: Fine Lines (Book 1)

by Bella Roccaforte

  The people in line are clutching issue one of Sanguine Specter in their hands. I wonder if this will be the only issue ever released. I’m so conflicted. I should be on a high right now with everyone clamoring for me to sign their books, but I can’t stop thinking this is more about Gary and Alice than it is about me or my work. I look at Aiden with remorseful eyes, wondering if I should have canceled.

  McNab leans down and says quietly in my ear, “They have all been instructed by the event staff that you are not allowed to discuss the murders, and therefore they are not allowed to bring it up.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say, knowing that would be way too good to be true. These people are reveling in the fantasy that I’m the Specter. I knew I should have given Gabriel a girlfriend.

  “Carl is here to protect you from them too, not just the Specter.” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Cool; so he’ll know who is or isn’t going to harass me?”

  McNab nods, I join him in a thankful smile. The first fan is allowed to approach the table. I draw ink into the pen.

  McNab takes a few steps back into guard position behind me, resting with his arms tightly crossing his chest. “Carl, keep an eye on the line.” He regains his composure. “Heads up, kid, this is going to be a rough ride.”

  He’s a sweet-looking guy, about eighteen years old with scruffy blond hair and adorable blue eyes. He’s so cute in a little brother sort of way. I can’t be more than five or six years older than him, but I still feel like he’s just a baby. What I wouldn’t give for that sort of innocence again, when my biggest concern was guarding my virginity with my life and if I should sacrifice going to SCAD for Aiden. I’m rattled away from my mental musings by a polite cough.

  “I’m sorry, who should I make it out to?” My face flushes from getting caught in a random fit of ADD.

  “Did you really do it? Did you really kill people so you would know what to draw?” Excitement fills his face as he awaits my answer. It’s as though if I said no it would crush him. But I do anyway.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” I try not to snap at him. “What’s your name?”

  “Lobster.” He rocks on his heels.

  “Really?” I’m dripping with sarcasm. I look up at him to see if he really looks like a lobster. “Lobster, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s a nickname.” His smile is so sweet I kind of forgive his misstep of murderous accusations.

  His friend is looking at the art pages. He looks at me, then the art and back to me again. “You did this?”

  “Yeah,” I smile, signing Lobster’s comic. I’m going to have to work hard on not being too sarcastic today. I may need a muzzle by the end of the day.

  “You are seriously disturbed, you know that?” He says it as a compliment.

  “Bolle, seriously, don’t be a dick,” Lobster scolds him while he turns three shades of red.

  “What? This shit is seriously fucked up.” He holds up a panel from issue one.

  “You could be nicer,” Stephie chides.

  “Don’t pay attention to him,” Lobster says apologetically.

  “I think he’s paying me a compliment.” I motion for Lobster to look at his friend, who has taken out his debit card to buy the art piece. “Do you want me to sign it before Stephie wraps it?”

  Bolle shakes his head slightly. “No.”

  “Okay, well, thanks Lobster. I hope you enjoy the series.” I smile and wave on the next fan.

  A few more awkward boys come through the line and the minutes creep by. I’m noticing more and more that the other artists don’t have lines at their tables. In fact the poor guy next to me can barely be seen because of my line.

  I look up from the last comic I signed and motion for the next in line to come forward. He has four comics in his hands. I strain my eyes to see what exactly he’s carrying. The glint in his eye is disconcerting to say the least. “Hi. What’s your name?”

  “Houser. But please just sign them; don’t put my name.” He says this with a maniacal grin spread across his bearded face.

  How in the world did this one get by Carl? I would have thought this was the kind of guy he wouldn’t want to reach me. He lays three comics on the table that are now-defunct series I’ve worked on in collaboration with other creators and one publisher. Half-thought-out series that were barely funded through some crowd-funding sites, where nobody actually gets paid but we get to print a limited run of the comic. “Where did you get these?”

  “eBay.” His blues eyes dance with excitement.

  “Really? So I guess you’re quite the fan. I didn’t know I had any. You can’t get any of these anymore.” I say, busying myself with signing and not finishing my statement that you can’t get them because nobody wanted them.

  “Not really. I’m more of a collector for profit.” His expression does not match his words. He’s still bursting at the seams with excitement.

  I look at him, tilting my head trying to figure him out. I finish signing them and hand them all back. “A collector who isn’t a fan?”

  “I collect serial killer memorabilia and resell it. I’m going to hold on to these babies until after you hit death row. Then I’ll eBay them and make a fortune.” His pupils take the shape of dollar signs.

  “What?” He is a horrible little troll.

  McNab steps forward, “Okay, you’ve had your time. Move along.”

  “No sweat, man. Catchya later.” He winks at me like what he said was amusing.

  I’m a little disheartened by Houser. I mean, how many other people are here for the same reason? To make money off of my misery, off the misery of others who have endured great pain? The two hours are creeping, though my hand is cramped from signing so many comics. Carl steps up his game, escorting some people out of the line based on a bad feeling. Most everyone recognizes McNab.

  One guy plops his comic on the table, looking up at McNab standing a few paces behind me. “Hey, you’re that guy from Paranormal Transmissions, right?”

  McNab nods subtly, doesn’t move his eyes from watching the line.

  “Can you sign my comic too?” He’s trying to hide his excitement, but it’s overflowing.

  McNab shakes his head. “No, this is her limelight. I’ll be signing books tomorrow.”

  “Wait a second, are you two—” He pumps his eyebrows. “Ya know…a thing?”

  McNab looks sick at the idea and shakes his head. “No, this is strictly professional.”

  “You guys would totally be a power couple and shit,” he muses. “Is it cool if I ship you on Tumblr anyway?”

  I can no longer suppress a laugh at the thought of McNab and me being together. What would the sex be like? I imagine McNab’s rigid voice behind a ragged breath and stiff movements of his flesh, “Oh Shay, ride me like a stallion.” Another laugh bubbles over.

  Carl turns his entire body stiff as a board; without turning his neck, he looks at me for a moment then turns his attention back to the line. At the same time McNab clears his throat. “I said ‘strictly professional.’ I don’t think ‘shipping’ us on Tumblr would be wise.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask what shipping is—I don’t think he’s talking about UPS. I take the comic from his hands. “Your name?”

  “Make it out to Squid.”

  “Squid it is. Hey, I’m detecting a theme here. I signed a comic for a guy named Lobster earlier.” I smile, noticing that Carl is still looking at me as though he may vomit. Oh shit, can Carl hear my thoughts? He did say that he could read minds under certain conditions.

  Carl rocks a slow, obvious nod. I squeeze my eyes shut, laden with regret at my rampant imagination. Just fuck. Can McNab hear me? Carl shakes his head.

  I release the tattered breath I was holding, somewhat relieved. I finish signing the comic and smile back up at Squid. “There you go.”

  “Yeah, I know Lobster, he’s a friend of mine.” He starts to turn to leave but stops. “Well hey, does that mean you’re single?” His palms are visibly sweaty.


  “I am, in fact, unattached,” I tease, as though this kid just out of puberty has a chance. Hey, maybe I’ll ditch Aiden and Eli and trade them both in for a younger model. But not that young.

  “Whoa, you have to marry me!” His eyes widen at his proclamation.

  “I’m very flattered, Squid, but I’m going to pass.” I break it to him gently. I look over at Aiden and smile. McNab flashes Aiden a knowing look.

  He rolls his eyes, allowing himself to be the butt of the joke. “That’s unoriginal, so yesterday.”

  The next man-boy approaches the table after having purchased a few of the art pages. He looks very uncomfortable. I’m reminded how lucky I am to be past my teenage years. He slides his comic across the table; there’s sweat pouring down his face, which is covered in red patches that make him look like he’s sort of embarrassed.

  “Hey there!” I greet him with a smile, hoping to ease his nerves. “Who do I make it out to?”

  “Bailey, my name is Bailey.” He has an unusually gruff voice; I look at him again to confirm his teenager-hood. He shifts between his feet. “W-Would you sign these too?” He holds up an art piece as well as a comic panel.

  “Sure thing, Bailey.” Poor kid. I want to tell him he’s going to grow out of this awkward stage, but honestly I don’t want to make any promises.

  He blushes at hearing me say his name. When I’m finished he takes them, turning to leave. “Thank you ma’am.”

  “No problem, and hey, Bailey?” I get his attention. “Next time call me Shay.”

  His entire face flushes red. “Yes ma’am, er, um, Shay.”

  I apparently have a new friend in Bailey. He doesn’t want to leave the table. He hangs around at the fringe of the crowd. Carl isn’t happy with it, but there’s no real harm in letting him stay. He’s adorable in that way where you just want to give him a hug and tell him everything will be all right.

  Aiden and McNab never really relax, but they’re finally able to find some amusement in the musings of so many puberty-stricken teenage boys and thirty-five year-old men that surely still live in their mothers’ basements. The crowd has thinned out quite a bit and they’ve let the last group in for signatures.

  The other creators still haven’t spoken to me. I’m not sure what their issue is. I thought they would be friendlier. The guy at the table next to mine stands and yells across the room, “Hey Pat!”

  “What?” I can’t see where the voice is coming from.

  “Who do you have to kill to sell a comic book around here?” He captures my gaze with the same intense hatred that drips from his tone. I can’t help but react, physically taken aback by the force of his loathing.

  Aiden tenses, watching my reaction. His features darken and he zeros in on the source. He takes step toward the big mouth. I take his hand, giving it a squeeze and shaking my head. “It’s okay, let it go.”

  He and I exchange a knowing look that quells both of us. There is real sympathy in his expression. He squeezes my hand back and leans down, whispering in my ear, “I’m proud of you, and jealous as hell of all these guys drooling over you.” He cranes his neck to face me. There’s a feeling of electricity that runs through me from him; it reminds me of when we were together. Mesmerized by his golden brown eyes sparkling into me, I get lost in this moment and drop my gaze to his gorgeous pout. His tongue glides quickly along his bottom lip and I bite into mine to suppress my desire to latch onto him. He leans into me as though he has a delicious secret he as to divulge. I can feel his warm breath on my lips. I invite it and even tug his shirt downward to bring him closer.

  Before our lips can connect Aiden and I are knocked backward by a brutal force. The table is overturned and everything that was on it is scattered on the floor. McNab is scrambling toward us, yelling for Carl. I can’t breathe—I feel like there is a huge weight sitting on me. I’m dizzy and disoriented and can’t see or comprehend what’s happening.

  The world is fuzzy and distant but I can hear Aiden and McNab yelling. There’s a man on top of me with his hands wrapped around my neck, choking me. My face feels hot and my vision is fading out. When it feels like the darkness has completely closed in on me the weight is lifted. I cough and sputter, greedy for air. It burns but in a way that satiates my basic need for oxygen.

  The man is screaming in a frenzy, “She’s evil, don’t you see! She’s a murderer and you all revere her like a false idol.”

  Aiden puts him in an arm bar on the floor. McNab is alternately yelling for security and Carl.

  Seeing that Aiden has the guy under control, McNab comes to me, leaning down beside me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He studies me closely, holding his fingers an inch from my neck like he wants to touch me. “Carl,” he yells again, frantic.

  “I’m fine.” I rub my neck and feel the air flowing freely again in my windpipe. “A little shaken; usually they buy me dinner first.” I’m so uncomfortable in stressful situations that I always revert to bad jokes. My mom used say I was the master of funeral humor.

  McNab breaks his serious gaze with a relieved smile that reaches his eyes. A dry laugh rattles through him. “You’re a strange one, kid.”

  The man is still yelling and spitting out obscenities in my direction. Aiden has his knee on the guy’s back, he’s not going anywhere. McNab looks back at me. “Let’s get you out of here.” He’s scanning the room, looking for an exit, and notices the strobe of camera flashes coming from the hallway.

  “Where the fuck is Carl?” Aiden calls out, while seeming to enjoy bending Crazy Man’s arm back into an unnatural position.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to get her out of here.” He stands, looking at me. “Well let’s go.” He doesn’t offer to help me up.

  Security arrives, taking over for Aiden with the lunatic. Aiden is shaken and looks at me with a lost look that I can’t decipher. “Get out of here. I’ll get your stuff and see you at the hotel.”

  I look at McNab to be sure he’s behind me. There’s no sign of Carl anywhere. “Hey Aiden, find Carl!”

  Aiden nods, watching us filter into the crowd.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Whole World is in Heat

  Shay

  McNab and I make a mad dash for his rental car. Not a reporter to be found in the garage. Thank God! McNab peels out of the parking spot then out onto the street. I’m sure he actually looked before pulling out, but I missed it. “Hey now, there’s nobody following us. You can relax.” I hold on to the ‘oh shit bar’ to steady myself. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ve got to get that nightmare drawn, pronto.” His arms are locked on the steering wheel as though it will make him one with the car.

  “I can’t.” I look at him quizzically.

  “You have to.”

  “No, no I can’t. I don’t have any art supplies and Aiden doesn’t want me to–” He cuts me off.

  “Screw what Aiden says, I need you to draw it. You need to draw it. I’ll take care of the art supplies.” McNab pulls into a strip mall with a megastore as the anchor. “Go get what you need.”

  “I don’t have my backpack or wallet. I don’t have anything with me.” I raise my hands and contemplate turning my non-existent pockets inside out for effect.

  He expels an annoyed breath, getting out of the car. “Come on, let’s go.”

  We move quickly; I’m trying not to be too picky. My supplies are typically hard to find, since most comics are done digitally now. I prefer to work old school. I think it adds charm, motion, and feeling to each panel.

  I settle for a sketch pad and some pens that will make do, but I’m definitely not satisfied with my haul. But hey, it’s a means to an end, so I’m not going to complain. Besides, these drawings will likely never see the light of day.

  McNab foots the bill and we’re back in the car in a matter of minutes. He pulls out onto the road and bangs a hard right into the next parking lot, a seedy hotel on Tampa Avenue. It’s the kind you think only exists in
movies—and right about now I’m wishing they didn’t exist at all.

  “Okay, what are we doing here?” I can’t begin to imagine why McNab pulled in here.

  “I can’t have Aiden busting in on you while you’re working.” He says, putting the car in park. “I’ll be right back.”

  I look at the marquee below the sign. It reads ‘Hourly Rentals.’ Gross. Where is he bringing me? I see him up at the window. This motel has no lobby. He makes his way back to the car at a trot. His hair blowing in the wind, again I notice that he’s handsome, but dismiss it because he’s just too weird. Besides, I’m ‘not his type.’

  McNab gets in the car, holding the key with his fingertips like it’s a dead fish. “Here.” He motions for me to take it like it’s radioactive.

  “Ew, I don’t want it.” I recoil—it just might be radioactive, or be riddled with more diseases than Taffy’s clientele.

  “Get some tissue from the glove box.” He rolls his eyes. “This thing has enough psychic ick on it to render me celibate for a lifetime.” He shakes his head, leaning into me like it’s my fault and grumbles, “People are disgusting.”

  McNab parks in front of room sixty-six. We sit in the car a moment, scanning the area. I’m disgusted with the movement of people outside the rooms. McNab inhales a breath in preparation for opening the motel room door.

  The door opens with a loud creak. I’m hit in the face with an odiferous plethora of funk that would be a wet dream for the makers of air fresheners everywhere. I land my sleeve over my nose. None of this is good: body odor, mold, and something else. I’m sniffing, trying to determine what the third odor is. “What is that smell?”

  “Don’t hurt yourself kid; it’s better if you don’t figure it out.” The look on his face says he smells it too. He may crawl out of his skin, if I don’t beat him to it.

  He empties the bag of hand-picked pens onto the bed after putting down a couple of sheets of the sketch paper. He hands me the pad. “Well, we’ve got this little palace for two hours. Do you think you can make magic happen in that time?”