INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) (2 page)

Aiden drapes his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go have dinner. You can throw me out after that.” He pulls his shirt on and leads me down the hall to the kitchen. Aiden was always a great cook, way better than I could ever hope to be. I gained ten pounds last time we were together.

When Aiden is here with me he’s the perfect boyfriend, the perfect everything. He’s sweet, attentive, and gentle. There’s a part of him that I see that no one else does. It feels like we were meant to be together; we just fit. That’s why it’s always so easy for him to come back, easy for us to pick up where we left off. It’s even harder now because I don’t have Eli as a shield this time, because he’s gone too.

He’s already set the table with my mother’s dishes and silver, the two candles in the center the only light. Dinner smells amazing. All I can do is shake my head. I should throw him out now, why don’t I, why haven’t I ever? I flip on the overhead light.

Aiden looks over his shoulder from the stove. “That’s not very romantic.”

“Neither is abandonment, Aiden.” It comes out flat even though I meant it to bite. Judging from the look on his face, it bit anyway. I fold my arms across my chest, refusing to sit down, like I’m three.

“Just sit down and have some wine,” Aiden pleads as he fills our glasses with my favorite Merlot.

“I’ll have water,” I say. I have to get him out of here, make him leave. Maybe if I’m enough of bitch he’ll just give up. He slings the dish towel over his shoulder as he picks up the frying pan. “It looks like you haven’t been eating again, at least not regularly.” He fills our plates and sits down.

“What are you, my mother? I’m eating just fine.” What the hell does he care? It’s obvious he doesn’t. This is good; my anger is building. 
Hold on to the anger, Shay.

Aiden smiles sweetly as he says, “I worry about you. I know you don’t take care of yourself.” He pulls my chair out and motions for me to sit down like he’s some kind of gentleman. “Madame, your seat.”

I plop down; I’ve moved on from three-year-old to ‘angst-ridden teenager.’ I play with my potatoes. “So you’re back now, just like that?”

“I came back just for your birthday. I didn’t want to miss it this year.” He pauses thoughtfully and smiles sincerely. “And I missed you.” Aiden searches my eyes.

“Why should this year be any different than any other?” My eyes narrow in on him. “As a matter of fact, I think in all the years I’ve wasted on you, this may be the only birthday you’ve actually been here 
on
 my birthday.” I drop my fork on my plate and continue, “Every other year it’s always been some sort of sorry-as-shit apology for everything you missed: A ‘make-up’ birthday, a ‘make-up’ anniversary.”

My anger bubbles over. “Well, guess what, Aiden, I was here. My birthdays always still happened 
without you
 just like every day of my life 
without you
 and just like it will tomorrow,” I pause for effect, “
Without you.
” I feel like a rag doll, tired. An incredible sadness comes over me as I come to a realization and look him square in the eye: “You’ve lost me, Aiden.” I get up from the table to scrape my plate clean when I notice another bouquet of flowers, discarded. I pull them out of the trash, shaking debris from the cellophane. “What is this?” I say, turning to him, confused.

Aiden shrugs. “I thought it was trash. It was outside.”

I pull out the card:

Shay,

I hope you had a day full of beauty and joy. I wish I could have shared it with you. Happy Birthday!

If you change your mind, call me I’ll be there for you. Remember your Mom is always with you in spirit.

Love, Eli”

“These were outside?” I ask, examining the bouquet of lavender, baby’s breath, and light purple roses.

“Yeah, I saw the lavender and knew right away they were from someone who didn’t know you.” He wipes the corners of his mouth, pushing his chair back from the table.

“You know damned well these are from Eli.” I shake the sickeningly fragrant bouquet at him like an accusing finger. “You can’t just break into my house and then pick and choose what gifts I get.” I’m so infuriated. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I throw the flowers at Aiden and storm off into my room, closing the door behind me.

Aiden follows me down the hall. I feel him press against the door. “Shay, look. I know you two split a while back. Since you hadn’t spent tonight with him, I assumed he was just stalking you. I know how he can be.” He sounds sincere, yet exasperated.

“You are so full of shit, Aiden.” My voice bites with anger. It doesn’t matter that we broke up. How many times have Aiden I split? How would he know anyway? “Should I add spying on me to the list of offenses you’ve committed?” All I can do is shake my head in disbelief at his gall. There is no strength in me—as though this life, this day have all broken me to bits. The anger and sadness grip me, pulling me down under their powerful wave. Tears cloud my vision and I don’t care anymore. I just let them fall and crash on the sobs in my chest.

The door connecting my bathroom to the bedroom opens. I should have locked it—he always has an end run. Aiden’s face is riddled with sadness and shame. He sits on the floor in front of me and pulls me close into him.

His warmth can’t shatter the wall of sadness his absence has built. I breathe in his familiar scent, my body begins to remember him, and it feels like home. I curl into him, sobbing harder. The dam has burst and now I sit fully enveloped in the arms of one of the greatest and deepest sources of pain in my life, with him as my only comfort.

Aiden strokes my hair as I lay shaking in his arms. “I’m so sorry.” Those solitary words grumble deep in his chest. He lifts me off the floor and carries me to the bed.

“No,” I whisper through the sobs now causing me to shake.

“Shh.” Aiden holds me tighter and kisses the top of my head. “I never mean to hurt you.” His words are heavy with sorrow and regret, making it harder to be angry. My tears don’t subside until sleep has won me over. Here I am again, the lesser, weaker Shay falling asleep in Aiden’s arms, and nothing is right with the world.

Thick liquid from her wounds pools in her ears and slithers down her body, fills her mouth with the metallic taste of… 
Blood; I taste blood,
 she thinks, letting out a weak moan. Swimming in a dream-like silence sinks her further into confusion.

Alice’s aged and feeble body dangles by her ankles. Her bound wrists cause her arms to hang unnaturally behind her back. It’s hardly necessary; her sixty-five years and poor habits have robbed her of her ability to escape. Her body is broken.

She blinks her eyes in an effort to focus. Salt and blood sting as much as the light glaring from the incandescent bulb. Alice struggles to comprehend what’s happening, still feeling only numbness. 
What do I see?
 Her panic grows.

Holy Jesus, that’s Gary.
 Fear overcomes her as she tries to speak her husband’s name. Nothing but muffled cries emerge from the rag in her mouth. The smell of gasoline, motor oil, and cut grass hang in the air. She recognizes her garage. The floor is slick with blood, strange symbols smeared on the walls. The kaleidoscope stills. All is silent, but for her heart beating slower with each passing thump.

A hateful voice sneers in her mind, “
This room is filled with the sweet scent of fear. Do struggle for me, love.
”

Frantically she scans the garage, looking for the source of the voice. She zeros in on Gary, supine, wide open pits where his eyes once were. 
Why, why is this 
happening?

The voice in mocking tone replies, 
“Right place, right time.”

No, please, please don’t do this,
 she pleads with the voice, as though begging could change their fate.

“
It is already done.”
 Anger rises in the voice
. “There is but one task left to complete: I want you look deeply in your true love's eyes when you release your final breath.”
 There is a brief pause, and the anger subsides. 
“Consider it a gift.”

Her eyes close tight with the last of her strength as she feels a cold blade slide along her neck, piercing deep into her flesh. The thrumming in her chest diminishes more. Alice opens her lids one last time, to see two freshly extracted eyes looking straight into hers.

Darkness.

***

Shay, Dreaming

A heavy fog blankets the scenery. The full moon struggles to break through. I walk forward cautiously, unable to recognize where I am. The night air is cold on my skin and the heavy dew seeps into my unlaced boots. I wrap my arms around myself in hopes of generating some warmth. As if driven by instinct, I walk in the direction I was facing when I opened my eyes here. The sound of gravel crunches under my feet. It’s loud against the stillness of the night.

My body quivers with the anticipation of seeing him. We’ve been meeting in my dreams for over a year now. He’s my inspiration. Since the dreams started I’ve been honing my confidence and my strength. It’s like a crutch that nobody can see. My survival, through everything that has happened, has been made possible by him. It could be worse; I could’ve developed multiple personalities.

He first came to me after Elise died. It felt like I’d known him my whole life. And that makes sense—I am, after all, the one who created him. So wouldn’t that mean that he knows me?

“Is that you?” A voice pierces the fog.

My pace quickens toward the familiar sound. It’s comforting, like a warm sweater. A smile spreads across my face as I say, full of anticipation, “Gabriel!”

The fog moves around Gabriel, bending to his will as he appears in front of me. His perfection stuns me; shaggy golden hair hanging across his forehead. Pulling me into an embrace, he makes me feel completely safe in this crazy world I’ve created. My feet rise up to my toes to plant a coy kiss on his cheek. He bows down to meet my lips with his instead, bombarding me with hungry kisses. His hands are pressing into the small of my back, pulling me in closer. Pausing to catch a breath and leaning into my ear, he whispers, “I’ve been waiting for you, where have you been?”

His question causes me to stop, completely perplexed. “I don’t know.” I really hate this part, feeling so disconnected whenever we are together. I don’t let it bother me for long.

“It’s okay—we have work to do. It’s happening again.” He releases me, takes my hand and begins to walk forward. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready. I’m here and with you.” I pause for a moment with a silly smile on my face. “Don’t forget, you are the steamy, tortured hero of my dreams.”

Gabriel stops short, taking my shoulders in his hands and turning me to face him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” His demeanor has changed, his eyebrows knit into a V. “I want more time with you, and if we could do a little less ‘tortured’ I surely would appreciate it. I miss you so much my heart aches when we’re apart.” His stormy eyes burn with the seriousness of his words.

I’m completely taken aback by his tone. To calm him I glide my fingers gently across the stubble on his cheek. “Gabriel, we’ve talked about this before. You understand this is how it has to be.” I flash him a sly grin, tugging at his hand as I walk away.

Gabriel doesn’t crack a smile, leaving only a dejected look upon his face. Remorse fills me, and I turn to face him while still walking backwards. “Forgive me?”

His expression softens and his eyes drift to the ground. “Of course I forgive you. You know I would do anything for you, and I could never stay mad at you.” Gabriel puts his hands on my arms, turning me away from him. He whispers in my ear forebodingly, “I hope you will forgive me.”

Fear seizes my body, my tone heightening with alarm. “That’s my house, why are we at my house?”

“Close, but this isn’t your house, my love.” He pulls me up the driveway to the garage door. The air is heavy with the smell of blood. I nod apprehensively, afraid of what I will see, as always. I try to brace myself for the scene inside, knowing how this gruesome Specter works.

Gabriel opens the door to the detached garage and motions me towards the ghastly scene that waits. When I come to these places it always takes a while for my vision to adjust to the dream state that I’m in. Each deep breath brings the room more into focus. There are tools above the workbench, gardening stuff, and a mower in the back corner.

Movement below captures my attention, dark liquid in a slow-motion tide being drawn to me. I take a quick step back. My vision gains a surreal focus on the walls and the symbols clearly drawn in blood. They are familiar to me—I don’t know what they mean, but I have seen them before. A body materializes on the floor, a dark figure hovering over it, working gleefully. Squeezing Gabriel’s hand, I whisper, “Are you sure he can’t see us?”

“This is just an echo, a memory. I still don’t think you should get too close.” Gabriel’s haunting gray eyes plead with me to take heed.

I smile and nod, moving in closer. “I won’t, but I need to get a better look.”

The dark figure has cut open his victim’s abdomen and is removing the organs with surgical precision. He lays them out meticulously on a sheet of soft, worn leather stained by the blood of previous victims. I have to close my eyes for a moment as a wave of nausea threatens.