INK: Sketches (Book 0 - parts 1 & 2)

by Bella Roccaforte

  My eyes close while I dramatically reach in for the mail. The first thing I see in the stack is a pizza coupon. There are greeting card sized envelopes, the electric bill, and there it is. The return address reads 'Dynamo Comics.' Holy shit, this is it. I'm instantly covered in chill bumps and my face feels flush. I run up the driveway and do a cartwheel on the front lawn and the rest of the mail goes flying out of my hand. I land on my bottom, because gymnastics isn't exactly my calling. All I can do sit and stare at the envelope I have a death grip on.

  Eli stands in the front door to the house, smiling. He opens the screen door and comes out cautiously. He stops in front of me then folds himself down on the grass. "What's up?"

  Turning the letter around, a squeal of excitement escapes me. I shake it in front of him until he stills my hand to read it. His expression lights with the same excitement coursing through me. I push it in his hands. "You open it."

  "Why me? It's your victory. You should savor it." He smiles with pride in me as he puts the envelope in my hands.

  "I'm going to have to have my attorney review it anyway, so I think he should be the one to open it." I wink at him, pushing it back to him.

  He takes it and raises his eyebrows. "You know there's a difference in contract law. I'm criminal."

  I'm so caught up in the happiness of the moment I let the sadness of the day fall off my shoulders and throw my arms around his neck. "You bet your ass you're criminal. I know it has to be illegal to be this hot."

  He sets me back on the grass to get back to the matter at hand, that letter to be exact. "Well, attorneys shouldn't represent family."

  I roll my eyes. "We're not technically family."

  "Not yet." Eli winks while carefully tearing across the top of the envelope. He removes the contents and hands it to me.

  I refuse to take it. "I can't, you have to!"

  Eli acquiesces, unfolding the paper. The look of excitement on his face fades rapidly as he takes a breath to start reading but stops to look me in the eye with the same pitiful, consoling look everyone gave me today. "I'm so sorry, Shay."

  I'm completely shocked; I snatch the letter from Eli to read it for myself.

  Dear Miss Baynes:

  We appreciate your submission to Dynamo Comics. Unfortunately we do not feel as though your art style is a good fit for the current direction Dynamo is moving.

  Sincerely,

  Kuanyin Yim

  The letter drops from my hand in the grass and I go in the house drained of all will to breathe or even be.

  ***

  The pity party ensues as soon as my ass hits the couch. This I may actually cry over. What does that say about me? My sister is being buried tomorrow and I don't think I can go and deal with the internment.

  Mom already hates me, so I seriously doubt she wants me there. I just wanna sit here and cry. But not about her, not about Elise. About that damn letter. It's nothing but another example why Dad wanted me to get anything but a liberal arts degree. He was probably right. At least I would be able to pay that stack of bills menacing me every time I walk by the mail holder on the refrigerator.

  After picking up the mail on the front lawn Eli joins me on the couch, taking up my hand. "Don't worry about it, it's just one rejection letter. You're going to get picked up. Your work is good and you're a chick. That's really hot!"

  "Eli, that's one rejection letter, yes. But it's the only response I've gotten from the gazillion queries I've sent. No one likes my work." I pout, resting my head on his chest. "I'm going to become a pauper and have to start doing portraits at the flea market to pay off my student loans."

  "Oh now you're just being dramatic. You know you're not going to be a pauper, I wouldn't let that happen. Besides, didn't you just get commissioned to do some work for Oliver?" He wraps his arms around my shoulder, squeezing me into him.

  "Yeah, but I can't decide if it's because he likes my work or if he feels guilty about Aiden bailing again. Besides, Oliver loves me like a dad, and it's not like getting real work. I haven't accepted it yet, I may not." Oliver Roth, Aiden's dad. He's always treated us all like family. Hell, he even offered to pay for my college, but I said no. I wanted to do it on my own. Look where that got me, a degree I can't use and enough late notices to wallpaper my bathroom.

  "Don't think like that, Oliver isn't the pity work sort. Besides, if he offered you work, it's because he believes in what you can do. It's good honest work." Eli pleaded Oliver's case.

  "Eli." I look at him sarcastically. "This from the man that turned down a six-figure salary and instant partnership in one of the biggest law firms in the county for a civil service job?"

  "I want to earn my partnership when I make the switch to the private practice, and besides, I want to go after the bad guys. Like your dad." A prideful smile spreads across his lips.

  "That's how I feel, I want to make my own way." He can't argue with that.

  "It's a little different with law, but I get where you’re coming from." He tries to argue anyway. But Eli is pretty damned good about knowing when to let something drop. "Are you hungry?"

  "Not really." I feel restless, but not hungry. "I think I'm going to go and work in the studio on some stuff I have rattling around in my brain." I get up from the couch and stretch.

  "Okay, I'm going to see what you've got in the fridge and work some magic in the kitchen." He pumps his eyebrows.

  "Best of luck, I'm afraid Old Mother Hubbard and I have a lot in common." I give a look of warning. We've been staying in Eli's apartment since we got the news about Elise.

  "Will you be okay if I run up to the store and pick something up?" he asks.

  I give him the 'oh please' look and he rolls his eyes. He stands and leans down to hold me. "I know, you 'can take care of yourself,' but that doesn't mean I don't like the idea of taking care of you when I can."

  "That goes both ways." I poke him playfully on the chest.

  He puts his hands to his heart like I just shot him. "Ah, ya got me."

  "You are such a goof!" I smile and laugh a little.

  "But I'm your goof." He grins from ear to ear.

  Chapter Three

  Fury of Ink

  My detached garage has been converted into an art studio. It isn't much, but it's more than I used to have. When my uncle gave me the house, Aiden just showed up two days later out of the blue with a Home Depot delivery truck behind him filled with drywall, electrical supplies and other building materials. That's how he made his grand re-entrance into my life last time.

  I remember him walking up the driveway with that smug swagger of his, looking fucking amazing. He was wearing a black wife beater and black button-fly jeans, ready for a hard day's work. He looked like something out of a 'Hot Bodies of Construction' calendar showing a new beefcake for each month. I'd only want it if they could all look like Aiden and Eli. I get flushed thinking about his strong, bronzed arms, solidly built by the crazy adventures he takes part in. Repelling, hang gliding, rock climbing, everything you could ever imagine you'd want to cross off of your thrill-seekers bucket list. Aiden does it all whenever the fuck Aiden wants.

  I spiral back into that memory just nine months ago right before Aiden came back. I surprised Eli by coming home from Atlanta early. Okay, so I dropped out of SCAD and moved home to finish the last semester of my associates degree at UCF. Eli blames himself, saying he should have stayed up there with me. But I wasn't going to let him give up a great job here at the DA's office.

  Eli and I got into another huge fight about his drinking. I'd like to blame his brother, but I know better, the blame lies with Eli and nobody else.

  Aiden swooped right in. Eli and I hadn't even had time to talk about the fight or make amends. I had stormed out the night before.

  Aiden just showed up hot as hell and on fire for me. I couldn't resist him. He stopped in front of me with an expectant look and took me in by the waist. I couldn't say a word, I was stunned. The beeping of the construction truck backin
g up was mesmerizing as his golden honey eyes bored into me. "Hey beautiful, I'm back." He leaned me back and crashed his lips over mine right there in the driveway. It felt like he had only been gone for an hour, running an errand to the store. I couldn't stop myself from kissing him back and wrapping my arms around his neck. He brought me upright and tugged me by the waist hard to make sure I was paying attention.

  "I came by yesterday to see you, but you weren't home. When I poked into the garage I saw you had your drafting table in there and I knew it just wouldn't do." He let me go and opened the overhead door. "Okay boys, unload it here."

  I was completely speechless, his moisture still on my lips. His heat was still radiating through me. Just like always, he rolled over me like an avalanche and I didn't have time to run for cover. As he was instructing the guys where to put the stuff I let out a "Hi" that I'm sure Aiden didn't hear.

  We spent the next few days re-bonding and putting up real walls, with really nice inset lighting so it was bright but not harsh. A smile rises to my lips remembering how we broke in the carpet. I glance down to the place on the floor where Aiden made love to me the first time in here. Then I look around the room at all the other places he had me. I think the drafting table itself may be the only place we didn't do 'it' in here.

  When the studio was finally finished and we moved the few pieces of furniture I had, a devilish grin played on his lips. "I have something for you."

  "Oh, do you?" I slid my arms around his neck and tugged him in for a kiss. I like that he's close to my height, I never have to crane my neck upward to kiss him.

  We kissed for a moment; he was playfully biting my lip then stopped to say, "I do, that wasn't it, but I'll take more of that any day. I'll be right back."

  Aiden walked out the side door to the garage since the bay door no longer opened from our finishing job. He came back in holding an old wooden box. It was very ornately carved and topped with a big red bow. He looked down at it and then handed it to me. "When I saw these I thought of you and had to have them." He paused for a moment, waiting for me to open the box. I wasn't worried about it being a ring, the box was way too big."Congratulations, babe. You deserve it."

  I opened the box slowly to reveal a gorgeous antique art and writing pen set. The pens were gilded with intricate filigree that was infinite in its beauty. The patina told the story of their age. There were 12 in all, ranging in size from very fine to thick and bold. "They're beautiful," was all I could say. Aiden has brought me many gifts from his travels around the world, but never something so thoughtful. Most of the other crap sits in boxes in my new attic, where it will stay. These I may actually use.

  "I'm glad you like them." His gaze was sincere. He went and reached into one of the cubby holes we built into the wall to hold art supplies and pulled out a brown paper bag. "Here, you'll need these for the pens."

  I opened the bag and pulled out bottles of thick ink in multiple colors. "Wow, oh Aiden they are amazing. Just like you."

  The reality of the present calls me back. "Yeah, just like you, Aiden. Wherever the fuck you are."

  The wooden box of pens still sits in the cubby hole; I pick them up and start setting up to sketch. Seeing half the set now gone courtesy of Elise and her drug habit sends a ribbon of anger through me. I push it aside.

  The sketches I did the night Elise died are hung on the wire hangers. The dream I had the night before she died still haunts me. I came out here to sketch it to try to get it out of me so I would stop seeing it. The only problem is, now here I am seeing it again.

  Panel one: Elise breaking into my house through the window. There's someone with her, but it's just a shadow of a person. I can't make out any of his features. I'm not even really sure if it's a man, but I assume that it is.

  Panel two: the shadow man opening the drawer where I kept my gun and pointing to it. She's frightened and unsure. She was shaking her head in the dream. I pull the panel down. I think I can add more movement to it; you can't really see that she's protesting, but she was in the dream. I lay this panel on the drafting table and look at the next one.

  Panel three: Elise walking out my front door, leaving it open, with the gun in her hand. The shadow isn't present, it's just Elise.

  Panel four: Elise in a strange place, what looks like a hotel bathtub, dirty and dingy. The shadow against the wall is back and remains a mystery; there’s no clue as to who he is. His face was never revealed in the dream, only his shadow.

  Panel five: Elise shaking her head again in protest holding the gun and crying. I couldn't hear what she was saying in the dream. I tried to read her lips, but couldn't.

  Panel six: the tile walls of the bathroom with Elise and the man casting shadows. I couldn't see either of them, only what they were doing. The shadow was holding the gun in Elise's hand for her, putting it in her mouth.

  Panel seven: Elise dead in the tub with a huge crimson stain on the wall in the shape of the shadow man. The shadow was gone. It was just Elise's dead body and brain matter on the wall.

  This is the first time I've been in my studio since hearing about Elise. In all of the turmoil and everything that was happening with Mom and the rites, I forgot about this. I was so tired when these were done. The lines are lazy and hard to make out totally, but the memory of the images is newly vivid.

  My vision begins to cloud and a hard lump forms in my throat. Could it be that finally during the last moments of Elise's life we actually were able to connect to one another? This can't be possible. I look at the seventh panel again, studying every line and detail I put into her face, my face.

  The emotional dam finally bursts and I can't hold it in anymore. But I'm not feeling the sadness of it. I'm angry. I'm so fucking mad I just want to break everything. I start screaming and tearing the sheets of Bristol off the walls, shredding every piece of paper into confetti of anger and sadness. My fury and pain are being lashed out on the wall with my screams. I've pulled every last panel down. My breath is heavy with despair, tears are pouring down my face and my body is shaking uncontrollably.

  Every last sketch with her face on it is eradicated from my studio. Destroyed, just like she destroyed Mom and Dad, like she ripped apart the weak balance in my world. With her gone I feel like life has blown a hole through me. I don't understand it; I don't know why I feel so empty and barren with her gone.

  In defeat I lean my head down on my arm across the drafting table. My chest is still heaving with sobs. While getting a tissue I notice panel two still on the table. Without thinking I take one of the pens from the box and start stabbing it into her face on the paper.

  "How could you fucking do this? You are a selfish fucking bitch, only thinking of yourself and your own pain. You never once considered Mom or Dad or even me, you stupid bitch. Your drugs and your pain have always been more important. I hate you, I fucking hate you more than I have ever hated you before, you worthless piece of shit."

  Eli busts into my studio and draws my shoulders into his chest. "Shhh," is all he can say. He's holding me tight and the sobs and utterances of emotion crash against him.

  After a few moments of him holding me, my shaking subsides. He picks me up. "Let's get you in the house."

  Chapter Four

  Dream a Little Dream

  Staring at the ceiling for the fifth night in a row feels so damn futile. I've long since unfurled myself from Eli's embrace. My tossing and turning have to be keeping him awake. I have to stop looking at the clock; I can't let it dictate my level of stress. It's not helping me fall asleep any faster.

  Eli rolls over and says in smooth caramel voice, "Still can't sleep?"

  "Yeah," I breathe out quietly.

  "Turn over, let me rub your back. Maybe that will help," Eli offers. He's so sweet. I don't want to argue, and a back rub might not be so bad right now. My muscles are aching from crying; I feel like I've just done a hundred crunches my abs hurt so bad.

  "I guess," I say, rolling onto my back. "But I don't want you to
lose too much sleep."

  "I won't, my plan is to put you in a sleeper hold until you choke out." I can hear the smile in his voice.

  "A sleeper hold, ey?" I laugh. "I don't think I would protest."

  "You know, that's not really a bad idea," Eli says thoughtfully.

  I shoot him a puzzling look over my shoulder. "Come again?"

  "Well, not the sleeper hold." He continues rubbing my back. "If you get some exercise it might help you sleep. As an added bonus it might be nice to spend some time at the dojo, you can work on finding your inner peace again."

  "So you are saying you want me to give you another ass kicking?" I challenge.

  "I was thinking more along the lines of Wing Chun. You game, Si-Mui?" He continues rubbing my back, and it's a good thing, since he just called me 'little sister.'

  "That's Si-Je to you, Si-Dai." I put him in his place. I've been doing Wing Chun for at least three years longer, making him 'little brother.'

  "Point taken. Do you want to?"

  "I guess, but don't forget we have to go to the internment. Dad said he really wants me to be there." I seriously do not want to go. Thoughts of going there make me want to trade places with Elise.

  Eli assures me that he'll get me there for my mom and dad. He keeps talking to me softly while rubbing my back gently and lovingly. I finally fall asleep to the sound of his soothing voice.

  ***

  The sound of many small children playing on the playground is nearly as warming as the sun on my skin. I take in my surroundings and realize that I don't recognize where I am. Alarm cycles through me until I see a mermaid and a unicorn hanging out and talking on the next bench over from me. It occurs to me that I'm dreaming. It’s strange that I’m dreaming of a place I’ve never been before. It feels foreign.

  After sitting on the bench for slightly longer than I prefer to be still, I get up to move around. There's my Jack Russel Terrier Sparks from when I was six. Weird, I haven't even thought about Sparks in years. He used to shit on Elise's pillow; she hated him. She really didn't like animals at all. He runs up to me and jumps up into my arms and starts licking my face.