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

by Bella Roccaforte

  He looks so forlorn it would be easy to give in right now. I have to leave now or I might not.

  Chapter Nineteen

  McRib?

  What an awesome day, I'm on a total high. I'm really glad that Raphael insisted that Stephie come with me, she's incredibly helpful. I'm even more thankful that he didn't send Vanessa. God she's a fucking bitch. Stephie comes out of the bathroom in our hotel room looking hot as hell.

  "Wow, what have you got planned tonight?" I ask in my “la de dah” voice.

  "We're going down to the bar and hanging out," she answers, matter of fact.

  "Oh no, I'm not going to the bar. I'd rather just hang out here. Relax, maybe do a few sketches." I sit on the bed as a protest.

  "Sorry, dah-ling. It's on the itinerary." She pulls out the folder and reads the first page. "'Mix and mingle at the meet and greet. Mandatory.'"

  "Fuck, really? I'm so tired and it's actually midnight in my brain." I lie back on the bed like it might help.

  "Oh come on, tell me that you aren't a little excited about going bar hopping in a town you've never been in?" Now she's the one whining.

  "I've been to Seattle before," I flat line.

  "It doesn't matter. Come on, you have to go." She folds her arms across her chest. "Mandatory means you have to do it."

  "Fine, but I'm not staying for more than an hour." I get up off the bed and drag my ass into the bathroom and freshen up my makeup.

  Stephie claps, jumping up and down. This bitch needs Quaaludes. I mental note to self roofie her ass tomorrow.

  ***

  Stephie totally ditches me upon arrival. I swear I've been hit on at least ten times. I get it, it's a comic convention and I'm a chick. Like Eli says, "Comic book chicks are hot." I'm sitting with my back to the bar; as it would happen it's less dangerous this way. I can see them coming and head them off at the pass.

  Here we go, there's one coming up right now with that your-in-my-league look on his face. Honestly, I'm not judging what any of these guys look like, the only league I'm in is Eli's.

  Dude stumbles up and leans on the bar. "Hey, can I buy you a drink?"

  "Yes you can, but I still won't talk to you," I deadpan. I figure honesty is the best policy, and I would love a drink, but I can't justify paying ten dollars for one, mostly because I'm poor.

  "So you'll let me buy you a drink, but you won't talk to me? Why?" he slurs.

  "Because I'd like a drink. But I'm not looking for company," I answer simply.

  "But why won't you talk to me?" He's offended. Wow, I'm turning into Trish because I really don't care.

  "I'm engaged."

  "I don't see a ring on that finger." He raises his eyebrows.

  I rub my ring finger, feeling the absence of the ring. "I don't want to talk to anyone."

  "I'm sure you would enjoy talking to me if you took the time." He's really offended now.

  "No, I'm sure I wouldn't. I don't like people and the fact that you're still here and I don't have a drink tells me that I'm making the right decision by walking away." Fuck this, Stephie knows where our room is and has a key. I'm out. I try to walk away from the bar.

  The guy grabs me by the arm. I try to pull away but he tightens his grip on me. It hurts. Several scenarios run through my mind, all involving me putting a hurting on this dude, but before I can put the moves on him he lets go. My first thought is relief until I turn around and see that some guy with perfect hair has him pinned on the bar.

  "Listen partner, I'm pretty sure I saw the lady say 'no', so I'm not really sure why this is an issue," he says, pushing the man’s hand unnaturally backward, to nearly touch his forearm.

  The dickhead lets out a howl. "Hey man, you're hurting me. Cut the shit."

  "Ah yes, so I'll surmise that you don't enjoy being touched by me?" The blond guy asks him in his face.

  "No, no I don't." The dickhead pleads with him.

  "She feels the same way about you touching her, except it's far more of a skin crawling terror ride to a vat of hand sanitizer. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a vat of hand sanitizer?" The man asks in a weird, serious tone.

  "No, I-I-I've never needed one before," the dickhead cries out with a slight spike in the middle.

  My hero looks him in the eye with a strange intensity. "You will apologize and you will never touch another person without their express permission." Blondie lets the guy go.

  The creeper comes directly to me, careful not to make eye contact. "I'm so very sorry." Before I can respond he scurries off. I'm completely astounded. Of course my main worry now is how I am going to deal with the new guy.

  The hero comes back to the bar. He looks at me for a moment, turns around and leans his back against the bar and stares straight ahead. "McNab."

  Did he just say McRib? I either heard him wrong or I'm hungry. Crap, probably both. "McWhat?"

  He continues leaning back on his elbows. "I'm McNab."

  "Hey McNab, I'm—" He cuts me off.

  "I know who you are. I'm here amongst the citizens of the rectum republic, to see you." He still doesn't look at me and has a really weird way of speaking, like a cross between ridiculous Shatner and Joe Friday.

  "Rectum republic? Well then, I think I feel special." I'm not quite sure how to answer. "So I suppose you'd like to buy me a drink too?"

  "No. I just need to set up an interview with you. I have a show, Paranormal Transmissions. You've heard of it?" He never turns to look at me, which is just odd.

  I'm not sure what the right thing is to do here. Do I lie and tell him I've heard of him or do I tell the truth and figure out some way to be diplomatic? "No I haven't heard of it, but I'm looking forward to checking it out now."

  "Yeah, nice. I'm glad you went with diplomatic rather than lying. You'd be amazed at how many morons go for the lie." He turns slightly to face me.

  "You know, if you want to schedule an interview you'll be better off contacting my office." I really have no idea what my schedule is or holds or who's on first. I'm looking at my calendar on my phone in hopes to make heads or tails of it.

  He turns to face me completely and gives me this weird intense look. "You will schedule an interview with me."

  I squint one eye at him, raising a brow. "Um, no I won't."

  He looks at me like I have a dick sticking out of my forehead. "No, you will schedule an interview with me."

  I turn my head to the side and accidentally make a duck face. "No, I really won't. What, do you think you're some kind of Jedi?"

  He's very hurt, but more bewildered, like this dude never hears the word "no." Well I'm glad I could be there for him and provide him a once in a lifetime experience.

  "What are you?" he says, astounded.

  "I'm a lot of things, and one of them is thirsty." I look at him expectantly.

  He turns around and gets the bartender's attention. "The lady will have a, uh—" He looks at me questioningly.

  "Margarita."

  "Yes, that." He turns back to me. "So why won't you schedule an interview with me? Is it because you’re too much of a big deal?"

  "No," I laugh at his silliness, "I'm not a big deal. It's because I have no idea what my schedule is, but when I started looking I noticed I already have an interview with you, in San Diego." I turn my phone toward him to see.

  He looks at my phone bewildered, then he looks at me as he takes out his own phone. "Huh, well then. When did that show up?"

  "I'm not sure, but my publicist is over there chatting up that guy wearing a Paranormal Transmissions T-shirt. Perhaps that has something to do with it." I shrug one shoulder.

  "Wes," he hisses. He looks at me like he's afraid I'm going to get away. "He's learning."

  "So what is it you do?" I ask, sipping my margarita that has just arrived.

  "I'm a paranormal investigator, which is why I've taken a particular interest in you." He raises a brow.

  I look down at myself, wondering what looks paranormal about me. "What d
o you mean?"

  "I read your blog post about your dreams. I'm interested in learning more about them." He says it at a yell since the noise in the bar has reached a crescendo. "Do you want to go somewhere more quiet to discuss this?"

  "Yeah, I guess. We can go to the lobby if you want," I ask. there's no way I'm going anywhere with this freak, but the lobby seems safe and I can take my drink with me.

  "Sure, kid." He holds his arm out toward the lobby.

  "Kid?" I look at him, like really study him; I don't think it's possible that he's older than me. Maybe the same age, but that's pushing it.

  We reach the lobby and find a quiet place to sit. "Yeah, so I read your blog post about your dream and how you then drew the dream."

  "Wait, hold on. We haven't gotten past the 'kid' bit." I put my hand on my hips, refusing to sit down.

  "It's a thing, don't worry about it." He waves his hand at me. In the light I notice that he's quite handsome, even after the altercation with Rectum Boy he doesn't have a hair out of place. His eyes are a unique piercing green that sometimes feels like he's trying to look into me. It's a little weird. He also has this beard, so perfect that it looks fake. I study his face for a moment too long and he gets uncomfortable. "Um, what are you doing?"

  "I was looking at your beard," I say, making a sour face.

  "Is something wrong with it?" He runs his hand along his beard, checking for crumbs.

  "No, it just doesn't look real," I say flatly.

  He looks offended, mixed with hurt. "I can assure you, young lady, the beard, just like everything else about me, is real."

  A giggle forms from within me. "'Young lady? Okay, seriously, how old are you, like nineteen?"

  He's getting flustered, something that he doesn't appear to be used to. "Look, at no point in any conversation I have with you will age be important, unless I tell you it is." He does the weird eye thing again.

  "'Tell me?' Okay, I'm not sure what the deal is with you, but you should probably know that your eye thing may work on your little fan girls. but not me."

  He looks at me bewildered like he's trying to figure out the mystery of the pyramids. He shakes his head. "I'm not sure what you're referring to with the eye thing—"

  "Look, my dad is a cop. He has two daughters, both of which he is rabidly protective of. He taught us all the tricks and how to spot them a mile away. So, just get down to the brass tacks." I lean forward looking at him expectantly, wondering if he's going to shrink back in his seat or run away with his tail between his legs.

  "I think your father may be remiss or you could have handled that guy in there." He raises an eyebrow.

  "I totally had him, I was just trying to behave my best after being told by my boss, my best friend and my attorney that I needed to do my best not to assault anyone." I size him up and continue. "I could take you."

  He looks dubious. "I seriously doubt that."

  "Try me." I look into his eyes to convey the threat.

  He shakes his head. "Look, I'll tell you right now. I have absolutely no interest in grappling with you in any way, not in a friendly fun way and certainly not in a fight to the death of one of our egos."

  "Good, I'm glad we've gotten that out of the way." I sit in my chair with the tension temporarily relieved between us. "So my blog post."

  He inhales a deep breath as though to cleanse the weirdness from the air. "Yes, I think there is something more to your dreams than you realize. My concern is that you may not know what you're dealing with and things could get...out of hand."

  "What do you mean?" I'm curious because honestly these are some really fucked up dreams followed by equally fucked up coincidences. "Are you saying that my dreams could be some sort of paranormal thing?"

  Now he's doing a different eye thing, but more to drive home a point. "I'm ninety-nine percent positive it is something paranormal. That's one reason I want you on the show. We're also looking for stories for 'Kick Ass Girls Week.' Plus it will be good publicity for Sanguine Specter. Which by the way I'm only a little ashamed to admit that I really loved the comps I received."

  "Okay, first why would you be ashamed to admit that, second what about this is paranormal?"

  "Ashamed because, well, I can't really explain it other than to say you're kind of cocky."

  "Cocky?" Wow, this front I'm putting up is really effective if he thinks I'm cocky.

  "Yes, cocky. You know your work is good, but you could be a little more humble." He gives me a disapproving look.

  For a split second I want to tell him that I'm nothing but a big bundle of nerves and that I'm waiting for failure to catch up with me. That I'm afraid of being discovered as the hack that I think I am. I don't think I'm that good. I have to put a lot of work into convincing myself every day that I'm at least mediocre so I don't just quit and go to work flipping burgers. "That just shows me that your powers of perception leave a great deal to be desired."

  "Yes, well. You are a dichotomy." He studies my features for a moment.

  I'm not really sure what he means by that; I know the definition, just not how it applies to me. Honestly though, I'd like to understand more about my comic getting out of hand. "Tell me more about how my comic could be a paranormal phenomenon."

  "Nice subject change. I like you, kid." He smiles.

  There's the kid thing again. "Come on, spill it."

  "First, I need you to tell me everything you can remember about your dreams. How much of them are in the comic and how much is fill in from you. Then we can go from there."

  Over the course of the next three hours I become very comfortable with McNab. Not "come back to my hotel room" comfortable, but “let's take a walk out in Pike Place at sunrise” comfortable. I spill my guts and tell him everything, and I mean everything. It feels really good saying all of this out loud since I've never done it before.

  "I really think you are going to need my unique brand of services in this matter. Things aren't going to be getting any less strange for you." He drops the urgent tone, replacing it with concern.

  And there we have the part where he's trying to make some green. I feel like such an idiot. I've spent the entire night talking with this dude just so he can lay the sales pitch on me. Well the joke’s on him. "Yeah, well that's the thing. You may have a wonderful menu of anti-paranormal 'services' you'd like to sell me, but I'm not buying. You've kind of wasted your night, considering I can't afford to pay attention, never mind pay someone to help me with a problem that I'm not totally convinced I have."

  He stops walking and turns to me. "Shay, I'm not asking you for one penny. Not now, not ever."

  "So what's in it for you?"

  "Two things. Piece of mind that there isn't yet another evil wreaking havoc on the lives of the innocent," he raises an eyebrow, "and I would like to feature your story on my show."

  "So you don't want any money?" I squint into him to ensure he tells me the truth.

  "No, not one penny. Money has never been a problem for me." He turns and continues walking.

  "Okay then, tell me what we have to do. If what you're saying is true, then of course I want to make the world a safer place." I can't help rolling my eyes at that last bit. I just have a fucked up imagination; everything is fine. But hey, I could get featured on Sci-Net. That couldn't be a bad thing.

  He takes out his phone. "I want to be in close contact with you. Call me whenever you have these dreams. Day or night, twenty-four seven, you call me when they happen. Now get your phone, I want you to program my number in right now."

  Shit, twenty-two missed calls are displayed on the screen. I'm going to file that in the later bin. I clear the screen and open my contacts. "Okay, go ahead."

  We exchange phone numbers and I realize that I have to be ready for the art room in just a few hours and I haven't slept. "I'm going to go back to the hotel and get some rest before the con. It was a pleasure meeting you, McNab." I extend my hand to shake.

  McNab puts his hands up defensively. "N
obody touches McNab."

  "Okay." Freak.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mother

  Jet lag sucks, that is all. I roll over in bed, looking at the clock glaring at me that I'm already an hour late. "Fuck me." Reluctantly I leave the comfort of my bed to get in the shower. First, though, I text Trish to let her know I'm going to be late so she can cover for me. I have to say that getting her that job was a stroke of brilliance on my part.

  Gonna be late. Cover for me.~S

  Already got you, your first appt. isn't until noon.~T

  I love you.~S

  You fucking better.~T

  I love Trish. She may be a pain in the ass, and have all kinds of man issues, but when the chips are really down she's always there for me. It's like her soul makes an appearance every time my life falls to shit.

  I get in the shower, glad to be home. Speaking of falling to shit, I'd be lying to myself if I didn't say that I'm nervous about dinner with Eli. Tonight he has to tell me he's going to go to AA or I'm going to break it off with him. I know it's the right thing to do, but I really worry that I don't have the balls to do it. I can't imagine my life without Eli, I don't want to, but his drinking has been out of hand too many times. He also gets ugly when he drinks, does things that are way out of character, like that one incident where he beat a man so severely he almost died. If Dad wasn't the police commissioner, Eli likely would have done time for that. I know it's the booze, but if he can't give that up, then we don't have a future together.

  I get out of the shower and go straight for the coffee maker. Must…have…coffee. I'm startled when I reach the living room and Eli is sitting on the couch, his eyes red and puffy as though he's been crying. "Eli?"

  As soon as he sees me he stands and brings me up into his arms. "I'm here for you."

  "Eli, what's wrong? What happened?" I haven't seen him this upset since Oliver died.