INK: Blue (INK Trilogy Book 3) (10 page)

Strapped down again; more ruin on my body. We should never have come. But this is Michael, old fashioned Gent, obsessed with his suntan, supplier of coffee and tall tales. How could he have changed so much? Turned into such a monster?

Edsel bucked hard, trying to break his bonds — a series of leather belts strapped across his body, sticking him to the narrow dining table like glue.

Lash and Aiden, where are they? What has Michael done to them? I can't lose them, not after we've finally come to understand each other so well.

"Where... where are my family?" The taste in Edsel's mouth was as foul as his vomit, a metallic tang that caught in his throat, making it hard to speak. All that emerged was a croaky whisper.

"Never you mind about that for now, all in good time my dear boy. First we have some more work to get done. Now hold still, you wouldn't want me to make a mistake would you? No? Good."

The buzzing began again and as the strange new Ink hit his skin he lost consciousness once more, unable to fight whatever was combined with the blue Ink that acted like a general anesthetic.

It didn't stop the nightmare though.

~~~

Edsel zoned in and out of consciousness sporadically, fighting to stay unconscious, never wanting to surface again, preferring not to know what desecration was being performed on his skin.

It was impossible to know just how long it took, but each time he awoke it was to find new horrors writhing across his skin — bright blue Ink meandering around his body, twirling and swirling in impossibly complex patterns that somehow seemed to mean something, yet at the same time meant nothing at all.

He was sure he was drugged while The Ink was administered. Each time he came to consciousness against his will, his mind trying its best to block out the horror, he saw Michael fiddle with his contraption then soon enough he would be back to blissful ignorance. Only the buzzing of the machine penetrating his dreamless sleep — a constant once more that was all there was, stronger than the drugs, overriding all else, even the numbness and the emptiness, filling the void of sanity with a constant background noise that would never leave him. His only companion now.

He awoke, he slept, on and on, The Ink spreading like a river branching off into countless tributaries, meandering this way and that, skirting the contours of his body, flowing under his skin, carrying insanity with it.

The day was bright then dark, then bright then dark again.

Sometimes when he awoke there was no Michael, no tanned face smiling down on him benevolently, waiting for him to say thank you for the gift bestowed on him. Yet still the tattoo machine buzzed in his head, like it would always be there; his forever.

Light and dark, Ink and insanity. Loss and grief, tears and screams.

That's all I have left now. There is nothing else.

Finally it was done.

BLUE

I'm the blue man. The red, black and blue man.

Edsel stared in horror at his naked body in the mirror — all the old insecurities and downright anger re-surfaced with a vengeance.

Michael was standing next to him, smiling, proud of his work. Edsel could do nothing but stare. When he'd woken up he was confronted with an impossible vision of his own hairless body staring back at him through dark sunken eyes, unable to look away despite the crazy vision reflected back at him. He was an alien creature, out of place in the spacious pristine bathroom with it's shiny tiles, the crisp lines of the shower stall and the huge mirror. A creature that didn't belong anywhere but in nightmares.

He was strapped with the belts, there wasn't a chance of him being able to do anything but trace the new lines on his body, memories of previous Ink confronting him as permanent reminders of the ordeals he had managed to get through with his sanity somehow intact.

I can't do this again. I'm not strong enough. There's a limit and I've passed it.

Edsel knew his mind was becoming fractured. Torture after torture over years, always claiming him again when he had come to terms with his body, dragging him down ever deeper, never quite able to find his way back to become the man he had once been. This was it, this was as far as he could go. He'd never be himself again, how could he? And his family? If Michael could do this to him then what would he have done to Lash and Aiden?

He didn't know where the will to fight came from, but he strained at the straps, willing his body to break his bonds, let him free to wreak foul and bloody revenge on Michael. He'd take his time, peel the flesh off him slowly, make him watch, suffer, then suffer some more.

Finally he gave up, exhausted, no fight left, just dumb acceptance of the last nail in the coffin containing his sanity.

Edsel was held fast by the straps and found himself hitched up onto hooks on the back of the bathroom door like a ragged bathrobe that had been put in the washer with the coloreds.

He was a fish on a hook, a tropical fish out of water, unique and impossible to miss among the single color of the rest of his species.

It's not possible, it simply isn't possible.

Edsel just stared, he couldn't help it. His body was both repulsive and fascinating, and as whatever drugs he'd been given began to wear off, and his head began to clear, the pain danced across his body swirling and writhing, following the patterns of his veins.

My head, he's done my head too. Finally they got it all, nothing's left now.

Edsel fought with inner demons as they clawed at his skin, savaged his sanity.

Lash. Aiden. Where are they?

The thing confronting Edsel in the mirror was impossible to ignore. His lower body was the pure red of The Ink, his upper body from the waist up to the collar bone the warped camouflage of red and black after the unsuccessful attempt at covering up The Ink and the subsequent tattooing over of the glorious ebony black he knew was his salvation.

Now it was all overlaid, and it hadn't stopped at the original Ink. It was head to toe, intricate beyond belief. Mesmerizing, fascinating and abhorrent.

Edsel kept staring, unable to look away even though his mind told him that he did so at his peril. There were limits, and this time he'd gone past what he could cope with. This wasn't him, this was somebody else. Something else, like a man emerging from the primeval soup, covered in mud and stained with red clay, washed over with the veiny strata of memories of rivers wandering over the world. A map of the planet, a lesson in geology, all bumps and hollows, stains and rivers, no longer a human being but a creature that God hadn't quite made up his mind about what to do with just yet, leaving the evolution up to fate, letting his Ink fight for dominance amongst itself.

No doubt about it — he was beaten. He could see it in the sunken eyes staring back at him from deep hollows — only a fragment of the man he had been remained, the rest was lost to the horror. He couldn't look away from the thing that was reflected across the room, everyday objects mocking him, the soap in the dish on the sink laughing at him, telling him that it would never scrub away the madness. Only the worms and the decay of ages could ever destroy what had been done to him now, and he would welcome such a release. The Void was the only place he would ever find peace again.

He was still, thoughts of revenge and escape forgotten. It was no use, he was dried up, nothing more than parchment for people to take turns making their marks on. A plaything for the evil in the world.

Across his chest was a large circular design that curved and twisted, highlighting the contours of his slender body, branching off to wrap around his shoulders and arms. His thighs were similar, spiraling designs that brought into stark relief the muscles of his quadriceps. It was ingenious, imaginative work that almost jumped off his body and created a three dimensional effect that went beyond mere illusion.

The skin was textured, every pattern and every tracing of the veins that pumped blood around his body was a raised welt — hard to the touch and as stark as his old scars.

His face and neck was the most intricate of all. Swirls around his nose and cheeks swept down to his chin, then writhed across his neck to meet with the patterns across his shoulders. He was bald again, shaved all over as he had been before, and over his scalp was a dome of concentric circles that leapt and danced, raised lines that shone in the crisp light of the day pouring in through the open window.

He could hear the gulls outside, laughing at him, mocking his belief that he was beyond more suffering, more Ink.

The blue, it was as bright as the clear sky, as clear and crisp as lapis lazuli, his veins highlighted permanently, brought to life, a walking anatomy lesson gone horribly wrong. The bottom half of Edsel looked like he'd been dipped in blood, the top half stained over with his failed black brand, his head lightly tanned, and all of him covered with the bright blue Ink that moved as his features squirmed at the sight.

I'm the ancient man, the wild creature; fearsome and terrible, now battered, bruised and broken.

"My gift to you," beamed Michael. "I do hope you appreciate quite how long this took to accomplish? How unique you are? How special this is? My finest work I do believe, certainly the most difficult with all that other Ink fighting for dominance. I did very well under the circumstances you know?" lectured Michael, as if it was all Edsel's fault he didn't have blemish free skin to work with.

"What have you done? Let me down. Where are Lash and Aiden?" Edsel watched the patterns around his lips dance wildly as he spoke, extending his features, distorting them as if the mirror was melting from fire.

"All in good time dear chap, all in good time. No need to be rude; it could have been a lot worse you know? You have been blessed, blessed with something entirely unique in the world, my secrets known to almost nobody else."

Edsel felt his mind violated, could feel Michael trying to push in, to occupy his head, take over, fade him away into the background.

He's Awoken. That's why we didn't sense him on the roof, not even Aiden. He hid himself from us.

"Of course I am dear boy, and not just a partial Awakening like you. I see so much, know so much. And this is my gift, what was given to me and what I give to you. Do you like it?"

Like it, do I like it? Haha. Here it comes, the final madness.

He laughed, the cries of a hyena, hysterical and uncontrollable, mind a mess of impossible confusion, nothing making sense, least of all the thing in the mirror.

Edsel's anger boiled over into a mindless babble that wouldn't let up. A broken damn, the vitriol pouring from his mouth in an endless stream of swearing and accusations, of promises of revenge and torture. On and on, spittle flying from his mouth, glistening as it caught on the raised welts that were his new tattoos, his bald head shining in the light, sweat beading, running down his face to mingle with the tears that flowed freely.

Michael stood there impassively, immune to the threats, the humiliation Edsel felt and the promise that he would see Michael dead if it was the last thing he ever did in the world. "When you have quite finished just let me know." Michael left, leaving Edsel to his shouting, hanging on the back of the door, unable to get free. Edsel kicked and screamed, continued his rant, watching himself in the mirror, a wriggling anatomy chart in multi-colored mockery of what it was to be a man.

In the end he was simply too exhausted to fight it any longer. Pain was building, flowing along the lines of his veins, swirling on his chest, pounding in his head like a jackhammer, each heartbeat sending a pulse of blue-hot fire across his body in waves, flowing along the veins, diverging into the patterns, building and building until it made The Fire, that addition to The Ink of The Eventuals, feel like nothing more than a slight irritation.

Lash. Aiden. Where are they? How long has this all taken?

Finally he was still, hanging limp, eyes getting heavy, body too exhausted to care, all adrenaline reserves spent and his immune system entirely overloaded.

Edsel sank into oblivion, his chest rising and falling with the beat of his heart, his pulse dangerously weak, his central nervous system totally fried. Heaviness claiming his limbs — dead weights that were nothing but useless appendages. He was just a lump of meat hanging from the butcher's hook, branded yet with no provenance, a creature that had been claimed by too many owners now, identity lost to helplessness.

~~~

Edsel struggled reluctantly to consciousness as a strange pain as cold as ice, like antifreeze running through his veins, pulled him back from oblivion. His blood was liquid nitrogen, cold yet unbearably hot. Strange feelings fought for dominance as they pulled him up to an unwanted awareness. He could feel the shape of the pain, the brands on his skin radiating cool energy that was at the same time as hot as the forge itself.

He was on a large leather sofa, his restraints gone, his body still naked, the large windows allowing light to pour into the penthouse where he had drunk coffee with...

Where is he? Where is my goddamn family?

Edsel jumped to his feet with a start, recent events flooding back like the bright light of the day.

The room was empty of people; it was just him. Quiet, orderly, everything in its place, tastefully decorated and blue with light reflecting off the water.

Blue, just like him.

Stay calm, don't go off on one again. This can't be real, just a bad dream. Michael was a nice man, our friend, our host.

One look down at his body, combined with the pain he was feeling, told him this was anything but a dream. This was the stuff of nightmares come real — ripping apart the happiness he had been cocooned in for years now. After so much, he'd finally been happy, the past put behind him. Now it was back, worse than ever, and he didn't know what to do. Or why it had been done to him.