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

by Bella Roccaforte

  "I'm so sorry," is all he keeps saying. It's unnerving.

  "Eli, what happened? I don't know what you're talking about."

  He leads me to the couch, which makes me already very concerned about what bad news I'm about to get. He takes both of my hands in his and tries to compose himself. "It's your mom."

  My whole world instantly lives on one pinpoint of my vision. I shake my head vehemently. "No, no, no."

  Eli's sobs have kicked back into high gear. "I'm so sorry, Shay. She died last night, in the hospital."

  An intense grief blankets me in the kind of hopelessness you can only feel when you lose something as precious as a mother. My sobs fall silent even though they crash against my body like violent waves pounding the Cliffs of Dover. Right now, I wish I were there so I could jump off them. I don't know that I'll ever feel okay again.

  "Your dad is okay. He asked me to come and get you." He's holding me as tightly as he can to quell my pain, but it's not working. "He needs you, Shay, he really needs you."

  "Eli, I don't think I can do it. I don't think I can be what he needs. I can't shove one more tragedy down. I can't, I just can't." I'm becoming hysterical and nearly incoherent.

  "It's okay, you don't have to. I'm here with you." He slides the ring back on my finger. "In every way."

  ***

  Numbness permeates into my very being. Having Eli here by my side won't make this pain stop, but hopefully I'll be more help to Dad if I can stay strong. We arrive at his house and I'm already a mess again just by seeing Mom's car in the driveway. Pollen has already collected on the windows, since she has been unable to drive for a while now, but seeing it drives the point home.

  Dad is sitting in his recliner sobbing while holding a picture of Mom and smoking a cigarette. I run to him and drop down on my knees in front him. I lay my head on his lap and cry so hard that I can't stop shaking. Eli sits on the couch and lets us have our time. Dad strokes my hair. "Her pain is gone." His sobs become more profound and I can feel them ripping his soul to shreds. "And now our pain begins."

  Truer words have never been spoken. I've never seen Dad so broken, not even when Elise died. I wish I had the words that could be a salve to quell the burning hurt that's tearing us both to pieces. "It's just us, Daddy, it's just us."

  Eli kneels down on the floor beside me and takes us both into his arms. "No, it's us."

  Eli's words, while comforting, still create a bigger tear in my heart. Only because now I know how much I need him, and now I know that one day I will lose him too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bring Rope?

  Time is passing like the rolling ripples on a lake. Sometimes very calm and placid, other times it’s a hard chop that feels like it's going to capsize my being. I'm hanging by a thread right now. Eli has been as solid as a rock, and McNab has been incredibly helpful too. Probably because he's so removed from all of this. We've spent many late nights on the phone talking about the Specter and the possibility that this is some sort of "transference." I don't know what that means, but it's a very nice distraction.

  My alarm sounds, alerting me it's time to get up. I'm off to the airport, going to some city. Which one, I'm not really sure, just some sort of paranormal or comic convention. Since I hooked up with McNab, Shelly and Stephie at Blood-borne have been pushing me hard to the paranormal community.

  Eli protests as I'm getting out of the bed. "Do you have to go? It's three in the morning."

  "I'm sorry babe, I have a flight to catch." I rest my head on his chest and it feels so good I just want to stay here forever.

  "Do you want me to take you to the airport?" he asks sleepily.

  "No, you’ve got court at eight." Having his secretary and Stephie putting our schedules online has been infinitely helpful. Eli came up with the idea; he says it's hard for him when he doesn't even know what city I'm in. I can see that.

  He makes a groaning noise. "I've missed you so much."

  "I've missed you too." I make little circles with my fingers on his chest. "But I'll be back on Monday."

  "Yeah, right when my week starts." The displeasure in his voice cuts a little.

  "I'm sorry, this is my time right now. I know it's hard, I wish I didn't have to leave you and Dad right now, but I can't throw this opportunity away." My cell phone rings.

  "Who the fuck is calling at three AM?" Eli grumbles as I answer the phone.

  "McNab?"

  "Yeah, I wanted to be sure you were up and at em'," He says it as though he knows I'm already lagging behind.

  "I don't need a keeper, you know." My irritation is obvious. I get off the bed and walk into the kitchen.

  "Yes, kid, you do need a keeper, you are a danger to yourself and others," he says in his urgent tone.

  "You know I don't really like when you say that." I really don't. "It makes me feel like a menace to society."

  "You are," he deadpans.

  "Funny." I let out a sarcastic laugh. "So are we set for tonight?" I ask him excitedly. I'm really stoked that he's taking me on one of his "investigations."

  "You bet."

  "Do I need to bring anything special for this?"

  "No, I've got everything. I'll be bringing the rope." He doesn't laugh when he says it, which makes me a little nervous.

  "Rope? You're bringing rope? Sounds kinky," I quip while pouring a cup of coffee.

  "You would think that. It's like you're all in heat." He really does sound disgusted.

  I happen to enjoy making him squirm a little. "I know there's a naughty boy—" I turn around to see Eli leaning up against the refrigerator with a very disapproving look on his face. "Hey, McNab? I'll see you at the airport this afternoon." I hang up the phone and wrap my arms around Eli. "You should still be in bed; you don't have to get up for another three hours."

  "I just wanted to make sure you said goodbye to me, unlike last week." He reluctantly returns my hug.

  "Eli, I told you, I didn't want to wake you."

  "Always wake me up. I always want to see you off." His voice is laced with hurt.

  "I'm sorry, I will from now on," I concede. This is easy.

  "You know, I'd love to go with you some time. Maybe I could fly in on Sunday to see you. I'm sure Preston won't mind me taking Sunday off." He moves his hands down to my ass.

  I look at the clock on the stove and determine I don't have time for where this is going, regardless of how much I would love to be with Eli right now. "It would suck. I think it would better when you could come in on a Friday night after work."

  "You know I don't have that kind of time on the weekends," he says, then adds, "You know, you don't have to go to all of these things. You can say no to some of them."

  "Yeah, just like you can say no to court." I cock one eyebrow at him.

  "It's a little different." He offers a patronizing smile. "I have a responsibility to make sure these cases are all tried competently."

  "Yeah, I know it's different than my little hobby." I pull away from him; I don't have time to get into this argument again. "I've got to get ready."

  "That's not what I said." Eli follows me into the bathroom.

  "It's okay. babe.” I step into the shower, close the curtain and roll my eyes. This is not the perfect start to the day.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  El Oscuro

  Six weeks and six Mondays where my flight has been delayed has left me with nearly no sleep. This time, I had to come straight from the airport. I'm wearing my black cargo pants from yesterday.

  I walk into the office praying that I don't look as bad as I feel. Trish stands behind the reception desk wearing a disapproving expression. "You're late."

  "No shit, Sherlock. I've had a rough couple of days." I'd give her the finger, but my hands are full.

  "Needle-dick sent you flowers. What did he do this time?" She puts her hand on her hip accusingly.

  "He's not a needle-dick and you know that, and he didn't do anything. Nothing at all." I'm
sure she hears the sarcasm in my voice. We'll talk later about it I'm sure. I need someone to bitch to about it.

  "The guy from X Magazine is waiting for you in the conference room. Did you bring some makeup?" She motions to the camera equipment set up behind me in front of the Blood-borne logo on the wall.

  "Fuck, I didn't know they were going to be taking photos." I slapped on some foundation before coming to work, but that was about it.

  "I've got you." She reaches into her bag behind the desk and hands me her makeup.

  "Thanks Trish." I head into my office to try to make quick work of the bags under my eyes.

  The flowers are beautiful, except for the fucking lavender. I yell out so Trish can hear me. "How many times do I have to tell all you motherfuckers that I hate lavender?"

  "Wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the coffin," she quips.

  “Yeah, well that would have required that I actually slept last night, which I didn't.” I pull the card out of the bouquet:

  Sweetybird,

  I miss you like crazy, but I have to cancel tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow.

  Yours Always,

  Eli

  Yeah right,we'll see.

  I stare down at Trish's makeup. There's no way I'm going back down to my car for my makeup. I swear to God she wears makeup like a fucking stripper. There's no way all of my dabbing at the bags under my eyes is going to actually help.

  Screams and loud popping fills the air in the office along with confusion and panic. People start running. Trish gets up from her desk screaming, "Holy fuck. Shay, run!" She trips trying to run on those stupid-ass heels.

  "Trish!" I run out into the lobby and help her up. The sound of gunfire continues with it's ominous terror. I'm trying to count the shots like my dad told me.

  Was that twelve? I get Trish down to the break room and realize my phone is on my desk. The terrified screams are filling my ears, making it hard to keep track of anything. With a shove Trish goes into the broom closet and I close the door. "Shay, what the fuck are you doing, get in here."

  "I've got to get my phone, call 9-1-1." I'm out the door of the break room and in the hallway before I finish the sentence. I get to my office, hunker down behind my desk and dig through my backpack for my phone. I've lost count of the shots, which means I'm either in shock or he has an assault rifle with a big ass clip. I stopped counting at twenty-five. With shaky hands my fingers find the numbers 9-1-1. I peek over the desk when the front doors of Blood-borne open. From around Trish's desk I see Jorge. He raises the weapon, pointing it to the right. There's a scream and three rounds of fire. Silence.

  "Oh God, Jorge." My mind will not process what's happening.

  "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

  "There's a shooter," is all that comes out.

  "What's your location?" The operator's tone is even, but it does nothing to calm me.

  "I don't know." My brain will not function. "I'm at work."

  "Where do you work?"

  "Blood-borne."

  The screaming continues along with the fire. Every time there is a span of quiet, I know what that means. An assault rifle rips through a person; it's not pretty and is usually deadly at point blank range.

  Fear shakes my entire body.

  Jorge goes past my door down toward the break room where Trish is. Fuck. I drop my phone on the desk. I know the operator is still on the line, I can hear her trying to talk to me. While peeking out my door I see Jorge enter the break room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can hear Trish whimpering from here, so I'm sure Jorge can hear her too.

  I get to the door of the break room and see him about to open the broom closet. "Jorge." I say it quiet so as not to startle him.

  He turns around and smiles at me. "Shay, I was looking for you."

  My entire being sinks to my feet and through the floor. This is it. This is how I'm going to die. Don't cry, Shay, or beg. Just try to be calm and focus. "Jorge, why don't you come to my office?" I need to do whatever it takes to get him away from Trish. "I have a new art piece I've been wanting to show you. It's for Juanita."

  "Oh that would be great." He lowers the rifle and walks in my direction. There's no certainty in this moment that I could disarm him, but I know that it would probably be more dangerous to try and fail than to try to talk him off the ledge.

  We get to my office and I can see a body lying dead in the lobby. My gaze lingers a moment too long, and I see his lids are wide open as though he's surprised to be dead. The look on his face and his empty eyes will haunt me, forever.

  Jorge stands in my doorway while I go to my portfolio. I'm not even sure what I have in here and I'm panicking wondering if I have anything he hasn't seen. I'm sifting through and keep looking up at him and smiling while he waits patiently. If I can keep him here long enough, help might come.

  The 9-1-1 operator is still on the line. I can hear her trying to get my attention. In an attempt to communicate with her I try to keep Jorge distracted. "Jorge, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to find it in here. You know what a scatterbrain I am."

  "Shay?" His voice is peaceful.

  "Yes?" I glance up at him and do a double take when I see the tears streaming down his face. "What is it?"

  "I've done something awful, haven't I?" He's looking at me somewhat disoriented.

  I have no words for him, but I have to come up with something fast. "Well, you know what? We're going to work through this. It's okay." I'm laying on Dad's police negotiator tone.

  "No, I don't think it is okay," he says, raising the gun and pointing it at me.

  "Hey, you know what? It's going to be alright. Just listen to me." I take three cautious steps toward him. It's hard not letting my eyes go to the SWAT guys that are filing into the lobby behind him. I shake my head trying to tell them no. I've got this, they can't shoot him. Strategically I position myself to where they won't take the shot. My hands are reaching out to Jorge as I continue toward him.

  "Jorge, please. It's going to be fine. We are going to work it out. It's going to be okay." I consider talking about his family and think better of it.

  "He wanted me to do terrible things. I wouldn't do them. He was inside me, he became part of me. The symbols, the symbols were everywhere." He's rambling on and on. "Shay, you are the source. You are why he wants me to do this, so I have to stop him by stopping you."

  "Who? Who wanted you to do terrible things?" I take the last step that brings me within reach of him. The barrel of the rifle is nearly touching my chest. My arms are still outstretched so everyone involved can see them.

  "The El Oscuro, it was him. And he's done this through me. But it's so much better than what he wanted." He looks down and away, then straight up at me.

  "Jorge." I call to him to get his attention.

  "Tell Rosa it wasn't me. Tell Rosa I love her." The tears continue down his cheeks.

  "Jorge, you should tell—"

  "Shay, I'm sorry." He braces himself to pull the trigger and I can't stop myself from squeezing my eyes shut getting ready for my end. The shot is so loud that there is only silence, then ringing. There's no pain, just moisture on my face and arms. Cautiously I open my eyes and Jorge isn't there. Three of the SWAT team members move in my direction pointing their guns downward. I follow their gun barrels to where Jorge lies on the floor with the back of his head blown out.

  "Jorge, no." I collapse to my knees and try to pull him onto my lap.

  "Ma'am, we need you to step back," one of the cops directs.

  My head shakes vehemently. "No, get the fuck away from him." I scream it at the top of my lungs. I'm not sure if it's because I still can't hear well or if I just needed to yell it out.

  "Ma'am." Another cop steps over Jorge and tries to take my arm.

  "Get the fuck off me, get away from him. Leave him alone." I've reached a new level of hysteria. There's a myriad of different sounds, radios going nuts announcing Jorge's death and that the scene is “all clear.” This scene is anything
but clear. I'm holding onto Jorge and look down into his dead eyes. This is a man who loved to sing to his children, loved his wife with an amazing romance of a lifetime, and was kind to everyone. He's gone and I just can't let him go.

  "Ma'am, we really need to get you checked out." The cop reaches for me again.

  "I said get off me." I snatch my arms away from him and wrap them around Jorge with as much strength as I can summon. All I can think is that I should embrace this death, fall into it with him. He thought I should die; I was the one who was supposed to die. Not all of these people, not Jorge.

  A small speck of relief fills me when I hear Trish's voice. "Honey, I need you to come with me. I want to get you cleaned up, okay?"

  I just shake my head. "No, I can't leave him."

  "Shay, you have to come with me." She's calm and adamant. I'm not sure I've ever heard her voice so even before.

  "This was meant for me." My limbs go weak.

  "Let me through, I'm her fiancé." Eli pushes through.

  "Sir, we can't—"

  "I'm an ADA, let me through." When Eli reaches me, his eyes are red and serious. He steps over Jorge, blocking my doorway. Without saying a word he picks me up, and I'll never forget how it felt when Jorge's body slipped off my lap, slipped away from me forever. I failed him; I couldn't save him or anyone else here.

  Eli scoops me up into his arms and goes through the lobby and out to the hallway where bodies still lie strewn about. He kicks the door open to the stairs and carries me down the eight flights. Trish kicks her heels off and hobbles behind him trying to keep up. "Slow down, Eli."

  "No, she's in shock. I need to get to the ambulance. She's covered in blood; we don't know she wasn't shot." His voice sounds like it's in a tunnel. Everything looks like it's hazy, fading away just like I want to do right now. Fade away and never come back like a puff of smoke that is forgotten before it ever happens.

  ***

  Everything feels black, not dark, but black. I can hear voices and there are sirens screeching through the echo of the courtyard of the Gateway Concorde Center. My eyes spring open when I hear Dad's voice.