Grave Burden

by P. Anastasia

  Restless Ink was originally his, but when he renamed it for my art, it became a joint effort and he encouraged me to offer his flash sheets, too, to continue sharpening my skills on tribals.

  I started on the dragon’s wings, carefully tracing smooth strokes to the sides to flesh out the shapes of the wings, and then moving down to outline the main torso, back legs, and then tail. My canvas was remarkably quiet, though I couldn’t complain; I was more efficient when my head was down and they didn’t want to talk. I wasn’t good at small talk anymore.

  I changed out the needles and began filling in the design, beginning with the head. The buzzing of the machine drowned out my thoughts, white noise to my refined vampire hearing. A type of meditation, even, the repetitive sounds soothing the restless creature hidden beneath a human façade.

  The sound of footsteps across the waiting room drew my face up. A silhouette of a tall figure blurred past the threshold of my studio, a glimpse of red and black colors.

  “Kieran?” I raised my voice so he could hear me.

  “Yeah, boss?” He rolled his chair into view. “What’s up?”

  “Who’s that?” I nodded toward the lobby.

  Kieran narrowed his eyes. “Uh. What?” He looked toward the waiting room and then back at me. “Who’s who?”

  I swear I…

  “Give me just a minute, please,” I spoke to my canvas, and then stood and crept toward the doorway.

  There was no one else in the waiting room.

  “I was only on my phone for, like, a minute,” Kieran said anxiously. “I don’t think I missed anyone.”

  A brief sniff of the air confirmed no one else had entered.

  “It’s fine,” I replied. “I must have been imagining things.”

  “Okay.” Kieran shrugged.

  I returned to my studio and took a seat.

  “I apologize for that. I thought I saw someone.”

  My canvas just grinned in acknowledgment.

  I lifted the tattoo machine and dipped the needles into fresh black ink. Slowly, I colored the curve of the wings, careful to keep the pressure even and strokes smooth so that it would heal cleanly.

  Nearly finished, I swiveled around to dip my needles once more.

  As I turned and lowered the machine toward the cup of black ink, a drop of bright crimson hit the tabletop.

  “What?” I drew back the machine and lifted my hand away, looking around quickly to see from where the ink had spilled. I didn’t leave open bottles sitting out.

  There were no other colors in sight.

  “Something wrong?” my canvas asked, leaning forward in his chair.

  “No. Sorry.” I shook my head and reached for a paper towel so I could wipe up the splash. If any had gotten into the black, it could have been contaminated.

  I tossed the cup of black into the trash bin. Then I sprayed disinfectant on the area and wiped it down again, for good measure.

  “Just a minute. Sorry for the delay. I need to get more ink for this last part. I… must have miscalculated.”

  He nodded in understanding.

  I poured a new cup of black and reached for the tattoo machine.

  That’s when another drop of red hit the table. I pulled back and gritted my teeth.

  Where was it coming from?

  My hand twinged and I turned to set the tattoo machine down.

  A bright red line dashed across the inside of my wrist and I jolted, releasing the machine so it hit the table with a thud. My client let out a grunt of pain as I inadvertently slammed my chair into his leg when I pushed back.

  “I’m sorry!” I slid my chair away from him, hitting the wall behind me next.

  My skin felt damp. I turned both wrists over—matching deep gashes split the skin and lines of red drizzled down my arms.

  The overhead lights began to flicker and then the room went black.

  A flash of amber color drew my attention to the far corner of the ceiling. There was no mistaking Ve’tani’s vivid eyes aglow with supernatural light. I bolted out of my chair just as the room lights flashed on again and she pounced, slamming me against the wall, shattering drywall. Her thin, but strong, fingers seized my arms and her nails pierced my flesh.

  “This is your fault!” she rumbled, then lifted me off my toes and flung me against the studio floor, making the tiles crack beneath my weight.

  As I scrambled to get up, she charged again. Her weight smashed into me, sending a crack up my spine, which paralyzed me on the cold floor. Claws tore across my wrists, deepening the wounds and lacerating tendons, until bone shimmered through pooling crimson.

  “Why?” I opened my mouth to speak, but the word came out only as a whisper.

  “Kathera!?” Derek’s voice sounded from the lobby.

  Derek! His name wouldn’t form on my lips, but I tried.

  He approached the threshold of the studio and stood in the archway, looking more human than ever.

  Horror twisted his expression and his eyes went wide. “What the hell—”

  Ve’tani roared and turned to face him, her thick velvet robe dragging through my blood.

  Get out of here, Derek!

  I bore down and used every shred of will to bring myself to my knees, slipping on the blood as I tried to come to my feet.

  “Derek!” I screamed at him and reached out, my wrists limp. “Get away!”

  Ve’tani, standing now, bolted toward him, wrapping her hands around his throat and lifting him up from the floor as if he were a doll. She tossed him across the room and a thunderous crash resonated through the walls.

  His weak voice called for help.

  Sirens blared outside. An ambulance horn sounded in the streets.

  “Kathera!” An unintelligible voice spoke.

  I looked around the room, but saw nothing but red.

  So much blood.

  “Kathera!”

  The voice, again.

  Then the sirens drew closer.

  I dragged myself toward the lobby.

  There was a young, dark-haired man standing there. He reached toward me and my mind raced, trying to put a name to the face.

  I knew him. He smelled and looked familiar.

  “K-Kieran?”

  He came into focus and the room shifted shades, the red fading.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, panicky. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called 911.”

  “You… what?” I gazed up at him. The shop lights had stopped flickering and the blood stains had disappeared.

  Loud brakes hissed outside the shop. A large vehicle—an ambulance, or a fire truck. I couldn’t tell.

  The weakness dissipated and successfully I came to my feet. Everything in the waiting room and studio looked clean and there was no evidence of a violent confrontation.

  My poor client stood in the corner of the room, terrified.

  I looked at my wrists. Both gashes had vanished, too.

  I shook my head with frustration. “But… Derek? Did you see him?” I glared at Kieran, who shook his head adamantly.

  The shop door opened and two paramedics barged inside.

  “No. No paramedics! What have you done?” I snarled at Kieran and he yelped and backed away.

  “I’m sorry!” I shouted at him, struggling to repress the vampire rage building inside me.

  The paramedics approached and asked how I was feeling.

  “I’m fine. Please, leave me alone.”

  “Are you sure?” one of them asked. “You don’t look well.”

  “She’s always been really pale,” Kieran chimed in, his voice shaking.

  The frightened patter of his heartbeat reverberated in my brain.

  “Please go. It was a false alarm,” I said. “It was… just a panic attack. I’m fine. I just need rest.”

  The second paramedic looked over at Kieran and then back at me. “All right,” he said. “I’ll just need you to fill
out this form, please, before we leave.”

  He pulled a clipboard out of his neon-yellow pack and handed it to me. “Just name and phone number will be enough.”

  I lifted a hand to take the pen from him, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Kieran stepped up and took the pen. “I’m her receptionist.”

  “As long as someone fills it out,” the paramedic replied flippantly.

  I made my way over to a couch in the lobby and slowly lowered my weight onto it.

  The flashing lights just outside the storefront made lines of red and white across the walls. I closed my eyes and lowered my head to try to calm down.

  I heard Kieran thank the paramedics for coming so quickly, and then the front door opened and closed twice. His heartbeat was finally returning to normal.

  I’d completely forgotten about the client I’d been working on, until I overheard Kieran asking him to reschedule. There was a little back and forth about costs and other specifics and then they stopped talking.

  The door opened and closed again. Then I heard it lock.

  Quiet footsteps grew near and the cushion flexed as weight sunk in beside me.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” Kieran said softly. “I didn’t know what to do. You were freaking out in the studio and talking about blood. I-I—”

  “Thank you for worrying about me.” I opened my eyes and glanced over at him. There was genuine concern on his face and fear in his enlarged pupils.

  “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?”

  I thought on it for a moment.

  “Yes.”

  He perked up.

  “Would you mind cleaning up for me tonight so I can head home early?”

  “Sure. No problem at all. I just turned our sign off and I was gonna suggest you maybe go home and rest anyway. Do you need me to call your husband for you?”

  “I’ll be fine, but thanks.”

  I stood up from the couch and Kieran stood with me.

  He wasted no time at all and immediately went into my studio to start cleaning up my table.

  I wanted to go home, but I also didn’t need Matthaya asking me why I was so on edge.

  What the hell were all of those horrible visions? Why did I see Ve’tani trying to kill me again? That blood spilling out of my wrists… it felt so real.

  And I saw Derek get attacked by her. Just like before. Only I’m sure I heard him calling for help, but I was stuck there on the floor, bleeding out.

  Damn it. I didn’t need this.

  Matthaya was right. The decisions I made were right at the time. I couldn’t let guilt destroy me.

  I shouldn’t let Derek destroy me…

  I needed to purge myself of his presence.

  Looking over at the framed images of his flash designs around the room, I contemplated tearing them down. But those designs were my lifeblood, too, and they made me who I am today. His designs shaped my career. It wasn’t right of me to destroy such artwork. It wasn’t the art’s fault that I had burdens to bear.

  But there was one thing I could let go of.

  One thing I should have let go of long ago.

  I walked into my studio and Kieran kept on like I wasn’t even there; he had a pair of ear buds in with rock music booming through them. He acknowledged me as I approached my workbench and stepped out of the way.

  I withdrew a key from my pocket and used it to open the lock on the top drawer. It slid open and I reached inside for a small black box.

  Then I closed the drawer and tapped Kieran on the shoulder. He looked at me and I mouthed the words, “I’m leaving now.”

  He smiled and nodded, and then I left the shop.

  I passed the velvet jewelry box between my hands as I walked, deliberating if it was the right thing to do—the right way to let it go.

  It was the only way.

  I scaled the cemetery gate and landed with a thud on the other side. The sun had set and hazy moonlight illuminated my surroundings. I followed a long stone walkway, pausing to acknowledge my mother’s grave before turning down a pathway to an area of the cemetery I had rarely ventured into.

  There were fresh flowers at the memorial stone—likely from his mother—and a strange sensation came over me as I read the carved writing.

  “Derek Michael Ashcroft. An Artist is Never Forgotten.”

  Reading it out loud was uncanny, because, in truth, no body lay below that stone.

  There had been so much blood at the scene of the attack, that he had eventually been pronounced dead, his body never recovered.

  I crouched down and swept away dead leaves that had gathered at the headstone. Maybe it wasn’t an empty grave after all. There laid a man I had admired and cared about, a man who taught me all I knew about the craft I practiced today.

  There laid a man who loved me, even when I couldn’t return the sentiment.

  I reached into my pocket and withdrew the black velvet box. I stared at it for a moment, judging whether to open it or leave it closed, settling on the latter.

  “A ‘yes’ would have been a lie,” I whispered, as I yanked a small patch of grass up and buried my nails into the ground to pull out a large handful of dirt. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Derek.” The box disappeared into the hole and I used both hands to cover it with fresh earth and resituate the tuft of grass on top with gentle pressure.

  I had finally lain to rest some of my past, and that was the first step in coming to terms with it.

  The wind blew, kicking up leaves around me and making bare trees waver and creak. I came to standing and brushed my hair back as it snaked wildly around my face.

  As I turned to leave, the ground rumbled beneath my feet and I looked down. An explosion of dirt blinded me and I stumbled forward, nearly losing my balance.

  I took another step, trying to shake the debris from my eyes, but I couldn’t move; something tangled around my ankle. Through blurred vision, I saw what appeared to be a hand protruding from the grave, clutching me with frigid, bony fingers.

  Dirt spilled onto the grass as a hideous, blue-white arm emerged. Then a head breeched the surface of the earth, followed by shoulders and its other arm.

  “You did this to me,” it gurgled, straining to pull itself from the ground. The face tilted toward me, but I couldn’t recognize it with its discolored bruising and blotchy, sagging skin.

  I blinked several times and my vision cleared, just as the entity grasped my leg even harder, using me as leverage. Shredded skin dangled on the bones, but there was just enough left on its bare upper arm for me to recognize fragments of a distinct tattoo.

  The corpse—Derek—glared up at me with dead eyes, his torso finally emerged. His chest had been torn open and his ribs exposed. Patches of flesh and fabric clung to his body and some vertebrae peeked out from behind the ribcage.

  I took a step, but he grabbed my other ankle and I fell.

  “I didn’t do this to you!” My fingers pushed into damp earth as I scrambled backward, my heels wedging into the mud. “Ve’tani did this to you! She’s the monster!”

  The rotting corpse of what was left of Derek growled. “There’s only one monster here.” His skeletal fingers let go and he launched toward me. I screamed and covered my face, closing my eyes unintentionally.

  A loud crack rang out and a tremor shook the earth. I opened my eyes and looked around. The corpse was gone, but as my gaze drifted up, I saw a deep fracture marring Derek’s granite headstone.

  I heard footsteps nearby.

  “You can fix this, you know,” Derek spoke, approaching slowly while offering an open hand to me. He was real and intact, aside from being a vampire. The decomposing body must have been a hallucination.

  “Please, stop,” I said, refusing to look at him.

  “You used to feel safe with me,” he said, bending down to take my hand and pull me to my feet. “Right?”

  S
aying no to him now was a lie, but after everything he’d done to me, I couldn’t feel safe around him anymore. I bit my tongue and tried to hide my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry I scared you earlier, but I needed to remind you of what happened—why we’re here now.”

  He stroked his fingers across my forearm and grasped my left hand. “All I needed from you was one little word. That’s all it would have taken to make me happy. To make us happy.” I felt pressure on my finger and glanced down to see a shimmering diamond solitaire ring covering my tattoo.

  “Why would you throw away something so precious?” he continued. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Then stop this!” I tried to jerk away from him again but couldn’t. “You’re not making me happy doing any of this. You’re making my life hell. This is torture, and you know it. Please, stop punishing me for something I didn’t do on purpose.”

  “Oh, but you did.” He caressed my wrist. “You brought Matthaya and Ve’tani straight to my doorstep.”

  “I’m sorry she attacked you, but I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You can make this right. I’ll forgive you, if you make the correct choice this time.”

  He squeezed my hand. The diamond glittered beneath the moonlight.

  “Well?”

  How can I escape this?

  “It’s just one word,” he whispered.

  One word? He wanted me to say yes to his proposal—to accept it against my will even though I had already married another man. It didn’t make sense to me, but somehow it made sense to him, and I was trapped in his twisted reality.

  Maybe if Derek heard what he wanted, he’d stop tormenting me long enough to listen. Long enough to understand the truth about how I had felt about Matthaya from the beginning and how our fates were intertwined.

  I had to do it, I thought.

  I had to say…

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment of complete quiet. The entire universe came to a standstill and the utter silence was unnerving.

  I waited for Derek to speak again.

  His hand came up and covered my eyes, making the cemetery go black.