Poison Ink

by Christopher Golden

  Tomorrow she would drop it in the mail.

  By the time Adam received the letter, all of this would be over, one way or the other.

  Friday morning Sammi came awake with a massive intake of breath, as though she’d forgotten how to breathe during the night. Her eyes went wide and then threatened to close again as the lure of sleep tempted her. But the sun streamed through her windows, which were partly open to allow the breeze to swirl around her bedroom. Sammi blinked against the daylight, reaching up to rub grit from her eyes.

  With the early-morning sunshine, the events of the previous night seemed distant and even more impossible than they had before. But she knew they were possible, after all. More than possible. In all the films she had ever seen and stories she had read, the sunrise was supposed to chase away the shadows and the darkness. But Sammi did not feel safer now. In truth, she felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever.

  Her cell had been charging all night. She disconnected it and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Too early to call Zak. But if she wanted to make the morning bus, she’d have to hurry. Her mother hadn’t bothered to wake her at the usual time, and Sammi tried not to read anything into that. Mom was just preoccupied these days, and understandably so.

  When she had showered and dressed, she took the tire iron out of her backpack and hid it in her closet, underneath stacks of shoe boxes. The gloves went on the top shelf. Then she stuffed her books back into the bag, knowing of at least one homework assignment she hadn’t gotten around to last night, and went downstairs.

  Hurrying to the bus stop, she called Zak. His ringback tone was “Phantom Limb” by the Shins. Sammi rolled her eyes. Their earlier stuff had been much better.

  Zak answered, his voice a rasp. “Better be good, cousin.”

  “‘Good’ is not a word I’d use.”

  She could hear him grunting as he woke himself up more fully. “Sorry, Sammi. Just half asleep. I don’t have a class until noon. How’re you feeling?”

  “Getting better. Wish I didn’t have school today, but that’s life.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  Sammi hesitated. Zak had been inquiring about her healing bones, but now he’d switched gears. The question about her mother wasn’t idle curiosity.

  “You heard?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course. My dad is your father’s big brother, Sam. Word gets around in families, y’know?”

  “I know. It’s not good, actually, if you want to know the truth. I don’t know if it’s ever going to get better. It’s like a bomb went off, and we’re all dealing with the fallout.”

  Zak sighed. “I’m really sorry, Sam. If there’s anything I can do—”

  “You know, there actually is.”

  “Name it,” Zak said. It sounded like he wanted a task, some kind of challenge.

  Sammi wondered if he was eager to do her favors to make up for not being able to help her the night she’d been beaten. She could have told him right then that what had happened to her hadn’t been his fault. But if he felt guilty and that made him willing to help her, then absolving him of his guilt could wait a couple of days.

  “What time does Rachael’s shop stay open until tonight?”

  “I think she closes at nine, why?”

  “Do you guys have plans?”

  “I don’t think so. What’s going on, Sammi?”

  Zak had so much concern in his voice that she almost told him, right there on the phone. He was her cousin, after all. They were family, and she ought to be trying to hang on to the parts of her family that weren’t falling apart. But she resisted the urge.

  “Can you ask her if she’d be willing to meet me there at closing time? I really need help, from both of you.”

  “You’ve got it, Sam. You know that. I’m sure Rachael feels the same way.”

  Yeah, Sammi thought. ’Cause she was there that night, too, and couldn’t stop the girls from kicking the shit out of me. Nobody could have stopped them. But how to explain that?

  “Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Zak asked.

  “Tonight.”

  “Does this have to do with that tattoo those bitches wanted you to get?”

  “Yeah. It does.”

  “You’re not going through with it, are you? After what they did—”

  “Zak,” she interrupted. “Please. Just…I’ll see you tonight, okay? And I’ll explain it all.”

  By then she had arrived at the bus stop. She stood on the corner with Jimmy Paolini and Sara something, both freshmen. Most juniors wouldn’t be caught dead riding the bus, out of sheer embarrassment. Sammi had never cared, but today she wished she had never left the house. Hell, she wished she could stay there forever, hiding in her room with her guitar.

  “All right,” Zak said, unsatisfied. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Thanks. Later.”

  Sammi flipped the phone shut and slipped it into her pocket. Sometimes she socialized with the two freshmen, but this morning she said nothing to them, and they seemed to sense in her mood that she wanted to be left alone. She caught Jimmy staring at her cast a few times, but that was better than the way he usually stared at her breasts.

  All day, Sammi avoided the girls. In class she kept her head down, eyes front, pretending that they didn’t exist. At lunch she sat with Anna and laughed and smiled, as if this were just any other day. A few days earlier Marisol had come up to her in the hall and thanked her for trying to help Cori when Letty and the others were stomping on Las Reinas. If Sammi ever needed help with anything, she only had to tell Marisol and it would happen. A war simmered between the two factions, and so Sammi tried to avoid Las Reinas as well. She didn’t want to light the fuse that would set off an explosion of new violence.

  After school she went home and searched for ways to distract herself. Her teachers had gone easy on her after her release from the hospital, but Sammi still had some work to catch up on, so she busied herself with that. When her eyes hurt and her fingers were cramped from holding a pen, she got up and stretched, then fumbled with her guitar for a little while, still trying to get a clean sound playing with the glass slide on her left index finger. The cast got in the way. She wondered how long after it came off it would take before she got the dexterity back in her fingers—how long before she could make real music again.

  When her mother came home from the bank, they made dinner together, a Parmesan-crusted chicken breast dish with risotto on the side. After dinner she offered to clean up, but her mother smiled tiredly.

  “I’ll take care of it. You can pay me back by taking me shopping tomorrow.”

  Sammi glanced at her in surprise. “Girls’ day?”

  Doubt touched her mother’s eyes. “If you want to.”

  After the harsh words of the night before, her mom was reaching out to her. Sammi felt a bittersweet happiness welling up inside her. She’d been trying to keep it in, but her mother had hurt her deeply last night.

  “I’ll even take you out to lunch.”

  “I’d like that,” her mom said. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  Sammi nodded. “I’m going to go get ice cream with Zak and Rachael.”

  She hated how smoothly the lie came out.

  “Ooh, bring some back for me?”

  “If we don’t go anywhere after, for sure,” Sammi said. “And if we do, I’ll find some Ben & Jerry’s somewhere.”

  “Ah, yes, Ben and Jerry. Friends to lonely women everywhere.”

  The joke had the sting of truth, but mother and daughter both chose to laugh and ignore it. They were done talking about anything serious for a little while.

  Sammi went upstairs. Nervous, she paced back and forth across her bedroom a couple of times, then stopped to stare out the window. It was after seven, and the long afternoon shadows were coalescing into evening.

  Taking a deep breath, she fished her cell phone from her pocket and flipped it open, then dialed a number she knew by heart. None of the girls
had her new cell number, so they wouldn’t have it programmed in. No one would know it was she calling. Sammi tried Katsuko first, but when she got no answer she hung up without leaving a message.

  Next she tried T.Q. and listened to her ringback tone, a metallic sound that simulated the way phones had rung in times gone by.

  “Hello?”

  Sammi couldn’t breathe a word.

  “Hello?” T.Q. said, an edge to her voice, maybe wondering if the call had been dropped, or thinking someone was screwing with her.

  “T.Q. It’s me. Don’t hang up.”

  The soft laugh that came over the phone sent a chill through her. “Sammi. Now, this is interesting. What, you want another ass-kicking?”

  “I’ll pass, thanks. What I want is the tattoo.”

  Silence fell on the phone line, lingering long enough that Sammi wondered if the call had been cut off. Then T.Q. asked her the question she’d been dreading.

  “Why? You wouldn’t do it before. Scared your uptight parents would crush you under the weight of their disappointment. So why now?”

  “I know what I did to you all, how much it must’ve hurt. I turned my back on you. I’m not gonna lie, T.Q. What you all did to me, I’d like a little payback for that. It wasn’t right. But some of it, maybe I had coming. As for my parents, forget them. They’re getting a divorce. My father moved out. Whatever I thought I had here that I wanted to protect, obviously it was an illusion. And besides…”

  Sammi swallowed hard.

  “I miss you guys.”

  God, those words hurt to say. The lies were easy. But the truth broke her heart.

  T.Q. must have heard the pain in her voice.

  “Could be we went too far with you that night,” she said. “But you know how it is. You’re with us, or you’re against us.”

  “I want to be with you again.”

  “You still have the original design?” T.Q. asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “Tonight. I’m going down to Rachael Dubrowski’s shop on Whittier Street. They close at nine, but she said if I came by around nine-thirty she’d do it for me without my parents’ permission.”

  “She goes out with your cousin, right?”

  “Yeah, Zak,” Sammi said. “Rachael did that airbrush one for me. But I told her I want the real thing now.”

  “Why not go to Dante’s?” T.Q. asked.

  “Does it matter? My mother knows I’m going out with Zak and Rachael tonight. She’s been looking over my shoulder constantly since my father moved out. I can’t get away with anything. Besides, isn’t the design what matters? It’s supposed to connect me to you guys, right? As long as I follow Dante’s design exactly—”

  She almost said, The spell will still work, but cut herself off. For long seconds, T.Q. was silent, and Sammi began to worry. She wasn’t some kind of witch or whatever. If Dante needed to paint the tattoo on by himself, her plan wouldn’t work at all.

  “You want us to meet you there?” T.Q. asked.

  Sammi steadied her breathing, feeling her face flush with heat. This would be where things got risky.

  “Just you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s just, I always felt closest to you, T.Q. And when everyone found out I’d done the airbrush thing, you never seemed as totally furious as Letty and Caryn and Katsuko. I would’ve just surprised all four of you, but I need a witness. No secrets this time.

  “Will you do it? Meet me downtown at nine-thirty and be my witness, so when I show the other girls, there isn’t any doubt about the tattoo?”

  “Yeah. I’ll meet you there,” T.Q. said.

  “Excellent.”

  “And Sammi?”

  Sammi paused, thinking of a thousand ways T.Q. could screw up her plans. “Yeah?”

  “Welcome back.”

  15

  R achael’s tattoo shop embodied everything that Dante’s did not. Whittier Street had a frame shop and a dry cleaner’s, a bagel shop and a candle store. There had been a funky little shop that sold the kinds of cloaks and gowns, swords and leathers popular at Renaissance fairs and fantasy conventions, but it had lasted less than a year. A sign in the window advertised a comic book shop opening soon, but for now that storefront stood vacant.

  A light still burned in the bagel shop, but as Sammi walked along Whittier Street, the rest of the windows were dark. Only the restaurants stayed open this late in Covington. Last time she’d glanced at her cell phone, it had been about ten past nine. She picked up the pace as she hurried toward the purple awning in front of Skin Colors. A lantern hung by the door. The drapes had been drawn across the large window in front, but the little sign—Body Art by Rachael—was illuminated by the lantern light.

  The Closed sign had been turned around.

  Sammi rapped softly on the door. As she waited, she reached down and felt the little plastic bottle in the pocket of her leather jacket. Impatient, she glanced around for any sign that T.Q. had already arrived, but the only other person on the street was a young guy in a business suit walking up to the front door of one of the old factory buildings that had been converted into condos. A little Kia drove by, and she raised her hand to knock again.

  Before her knuckles could hit the door, she heard someone fiddling with the lock. The door swung inward and Zak stood on the other side of the threshold. Normally he would have been smiling, but not tonight. Whatever would go down here, he knew there was more to it than Sammi had let on.

  “Hey,” he said, backing up so she could enter.

  “Hey.” She swept past him.

  Zak closed the door behind her, and she heard the lock tumble back into place. “So, you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  Sammi smiled. “Where’s Rachael?”

  The shop couldn’t have been more different from Dante’s. Yes, the equipment was there, but it was all elegance and art, tapestries and candles, almost a Victorian feel. Heavy curtains hung at the rear of the front room, closing off an area for more intimate procedures. That was where Rachael had given Sammi the airbrush tattoo she’d used to try to deceive the girls.

  “Washing up. She’ll be out in a minute.”

  He still wore that expectant look, waiting for her to start talking.

  “I just need to use the bathroom real quick. T.Q.’s going to be here in a minute. Hopefully alone. Please let her in. She’s my witness.”

  Zak flinched. “Sam. You’re really doing this? This girl helped put you in the friggin’ hospital.”

  “Trust me.”

  She went through the curtains and then through the door that led into the storage area at the back of the shop. Rachael glanced up from a shelf of plastic ink containers she’d been rearranging. There were a couple of empty boxes at her feet.

  “Hey!” she said. “Great to see you. Anna said you were doing well. You look amazing.”

  Sammi smiled. Amazing for a girl who got stomped a few weeks ago, she thought. But she didn’t say it. Rachael was being nice.

  “Thanks. Listen, I really appreciate you doing this. You have no idea how much I owe you.”

  Rachael rolled her eyes. “Please. When you really needed help, I couldn’t do anything. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Good. Then I’m going to ask you one more small favor.”

  Something that might have been suspicion but was at least curiosity crossed Rachael’s face. “Name it.”

  “When my friend gets here, I’m going to act like I want you to get started. Instead, I want you to stall. Clean the needle. Pretend it’s jammed. Something. Just for a little while. Twenty minutes, tops. Make conversation, whatever.”

  Rachael crossed her arms. “I can do that, Sammi. But I’d kind of like to know why.”

  “I swear I’ll tell you. Right after that.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Rachael shrugged. “All right.”

  “Great!” Sammi hugged her, the cast only getting in the
way a little. “Hey, do you have anything to drink?”

  Rachael smiled. “You know I keep the fridge stocked. What do you want? Soda, iced tea, lemonade, or water. It’s all there. Help yourself.”

  The last time Sammi had been here, Rachael had served her the greatest iced tea. She’d hoped to find that option again tonight. Iced tea was T.Q.’s favorite. “I’m just going to pee, and then I’ll bring drinks out for everyone.”

  “Ooh, service,” Rachael said. “I could get used to that.”

  Sammi went into the bathroom. She had genuinely needed to go, but now her nerves had driven the urge away. Instead, she waited a minute until she heard the door close, indicating that Rachael had gone back into the front of the shop. Then she flushed the toilet and washed her hands.

  Peeking out of the bathroom, she made sure she was alone. The refrigerator stood near the back door of the storage room, humming softly. From a cabinet she took down four glasses. She filled two with lemonade and one with root beer—which she knew Zak would enjoy—and poured iced tea into the last one.

  The plastic bottle in her jacket pocket held the remainder of the Percocet she’d been prescribed upon her discharge from the hospital.

  On a counter near the fridge, Sammi found a plastic tray for the drinks. She carried them from the back room into the curtained-off privacy area at the rear of Rachael’s studio. She heard T.Q.’s voice out in front and paused to take a deep breath and plaster on a fake smile. Then she stepped out through the parting of the curtains.

  T.Q. had never looked more beautiful. Her red hair glinted gold in the studio lights, and she wore a bone white top over black jeans and shoes. When she smiled at Sammi, it looked almost genuine. She stood between Zak and Rachael, who both looked supremely uncomfortable, and they all glanced up at Sammi as she entered.

  “Hey,” T.Q. said.

  Then she shifted slightly, and Sammi saw that she hadn’t come alone. Behind her, Katsuko stood in shadow, clad all in black, her hair cut into a severe bob that made her look even more petite. When Katsuko looked up, her smile had an edge to it—a predator’s smile.