INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) (11 page)

Whoa, what? He’s the last person I need mental hygiene tips from. “Are you saying you want me to see a shrink?”

“Yes, I do.” He nearly breaks under the sadness.

“So you think I’m crazy?” My lips pull to the side in disbelief.

“Shay, you haven’t been acting like yourself. And now with all of this, I’m afraid you’re losing it.” He slides off the couch to kneel in front of me. “You are acting irrationally, attacking people, and there’s that comic, and just…”

He can’t find the words to complete his thought and I have no interest in giving him the time to do so. “I definitely have some weird shit that’s going on, but I also have things going on that you wouldn’t understand.” Which sounds bad in this context, but with all of the resolve I have left I make the words burn on my lips hard and slow. “Maybe if you had been around for the last year and a half you would realize that this is who I am. I don’t need you, I don’t need Eli. I’ve been doing just fine on my own without either of you.” My stare penetrates him with an anger that could melt wax.

His gaze drops to the floor; I think he says something but I can only hear a soft jumble of words.

“I can’t hear you,” I snap.

“
I
 need 
you
. I’ve always needed you.” His chest expands with a deep breath. “And now that you don’t need me I’m scared.”

Am I supposed to feel bad for him? Because I really don’t, and I don’t feel guilty for being who I am, that’s bullshit. I think of how many nights, weeks, and months I’ve pined away for him, wondering what was wrong with me. Why wasn’t I ever good enough for him? It feels that’s become my life’s mantra.

No, I don’t feel one bit bad for him. He’s the one who shit in this bed and has left me to lie in it every time. Now he can cuddle up with the big steaming pile. “Aiden, look at me.”

Aiden lifts his eyes without speaking.

“Take a long hard look, what do you see?” I give him plenty of time to study me.

The rims of his eyes redden and threaten to spill over. He labors to say the words, “Cold. Empty.”

“Exactly.”

Harry

I have to take an extra minute leaning on the cab before I can stagger into the house. I throw my keys on the credenza. Like a ritual since Katherine died I regard the pictures in the hallway as I pass. They are covered with enough dust to warrant a visit from Ghostbusters or Merry Maids, maybe both. A sad smile spreads across my face. “Well Katherine, Shayleigh’s really gone off the deep end this time. She picked up where Elise left off.”

I sit in my cracked old recliner covered by an afghan in the worst colors of fall 1975, perusing the first issue of 
Sanguine Specter
. Thumbing through the pages, I’m still shocked at what she drew and the horror of the scenes created by my little girl. Dismay twists my features as a memory locked away in the deep recesses of my mind rattles free. “That’s not possible.”

Some of these other comics she’s working on have a familiarity to them. I’ve seen this before. Dreading confirmation of my suspicions, I slowly approach the closet door in my office.

Stashed behind various decades of old clothes and shoe boxes marked ‘Elise Art,’ on the top shelf, there are boxes of case files sent to me while I was consulting on unsolved homicides for extra cash. I took a lot of odd jobs to help pay for the girls’ braces, Shayleigh’s college, Elise’s rehab, and Katherine’s chemo. This one happened to be the oddest, but the one I enjoyed the most. Putting the pieces together, tracking down the scumbags that were just sick and needed to be exterminated.

I breathe deeply as I take the top off the first box, marked ‘Vancouver Slasher.’ I dig out the files and open the first folder of photos, laying them out on the desk, turning the pages of the each of the four issues of Shay’s comic and comparing the photos to the pages.

Some of these really line up. It’s like she was there; she’s drawing this as clearly as she would any landscape she’s studied. I can’t imagine how she could be connected to this. I rack my brain trying to think if she could have seen these, but I don’t think she’s been to the house other than after the funerals. When she and Elise were kids I kept these files locked up.

I sit for a minute and exhale, lamenting that she won’t come to the house at all. Maybe it’s too painful for her. Moving on to the next file box, I repeat the process, laying the photos out on the desk then looking through another issue, partly relieved to find no resemblance to the scene. I flip through issue four and rip pages from the comic, laying them side by side with crime scene photos. I continue in a frenzy of tearing and comparing into the night and toward the dawn.

Gruesome photos and comic panels overflow off the desk, the two chairs, and nearly cover the floor. I look at the whole thing, feeling the photos closing in on me, squeezing my lungs. So much of her art is a dead ringer for these other scenes. The sound of the pages passing through my fingers is deafening as I go through, ripping out page after page. I have to stop. The madness of it all is taking over, creating tunnel vision. Sucking in a ragged breath and closing my eyes I gasp, “My God, what have I done?”

Greif and shame pull me asunder. Could this have made Shayleigh go off the deep end? Is she a killer?

Shay

Coming to the end of the hallway I see Aiden lying on the couch, lamenting his inability to get any sleep. Between our little heart-to-heart and the commotion from the press in front of my house, rest has completely escaped him. He’s probably still upset about having to sleep on the couch. I was strong—no way was he getting into my bed. I continue to stumble into the kitchen, heading directly for the coffee pot. Sweet nectar of the gods, oh how I love you!

Aiden steps into the kitchen, careful not to make eye contact. “Good morning. Do you want me to make some breakfast?”

“No thanks. I don’t think we have time. I’ve got to be at Eli’s at nine for the attorney meeting.” I’d like to feel bad, but I can’t swing it. I’m actually feeling really good about getting that off my chest. I’ve never talked to Aiden like that before, always afraid my words or tone would send him packing.

“Okay, but you should–” Aiden is interrupted by a frantic knock on the door.

“Seriously? It’s like ass o’clock.” I head for the door.

He looks at me with a flash of panic. “No, Shay let me get it.” Aiden rummages through his ho-bag for his handgun on the way to the door. He opens the door a crack to see who’s there. Aiden peeks through and closes the door quickly as though he has just seen a pack of zombies trying to claw their way in.

The banging persists but is now accompanied by an assault of a different kind. “Let me in, asshole.”

“Trish.” I roll my eyes; I’m not ready for her this early. I take in a deep breath, preparing myself for the storm. “Let her in, Aiden.” I’m a little exasperated. The longer she stands outside the more caustic she’ll be when she gets in.

He opens the door. Trish brushes by Aiden, glaring at him until she passes him and zeros in on me. “Where the hell have you been? Raphael is losing his shit. You won’t answer your phone. What the fuck?” Yup, caustic. I swear she should come equipped with a warning label. My eyes are burning from looking at her platinum-blonde pixie-cut this early in the morning. I know there is more to what she’s saying and she’s still actually talking, but that’s all I can process this early without coffee.

While her voice is droning on Aiden motions with his eyes to the gun in his hand, then to Trish, raising his eyebrows as though asking for permission. Of course Aiden would never hurt Trish, but that doesn’t mean the thought doesn’t cross our minds. She notices the exchange between Aiden and me. “Fuck you, Aiden.” She turns to me. “And why the fuck is he here?” Setting her bright green eyes directly back to Aiden, she demands, “Why are you here? Last I heard you were still riding the douche bag express.”

She breezes past me. The clickety-clack of her six-inch stilettos on the tile floor sounds like someone is driving roofing nails through my skull. I muse that even in the heels she’s still a good four inches shorter than I am. I spot the extra coffee on the cup holder she’s carrying. “Did you bring me coffee?” I’m actually feeling a little excitement at the prospect.

“Yes, but I don’t think you deserve it. Why would you let this fuck into your house? You said you were done with him.” She stares daggers into Aiden.

“I’m here to protect her from syphilis-infested crotch pheasants. Oh look, first one of the day.” Aiden motions for her to leave.

“Oh my God, would you two stop.” My head is pounding; the last thing I need is these two going at it. I take one of the lattes from Trish. “I’ve been a little occupied; you know, murder and shit.”

Aiden picks up a magazine off the coffee table, heading for the restroom. “I’ll be in the oval office. I have to take a ‘Trish.’ Back in ten.”

“Shut the fuck up, Aiden.” She turns to me, pleading. “Shay, seriously?”

I shrug and let the coffee do its work. It’s only good because it’s right here, now. I drink it down even though it’s some non-fat triple soy vegan latte that would do more good in the form of an enema. “What are you doing here so early?”

Trish blows out an exasperated breath. “Because it was easier for me drive the four minutes from my house then it was for me to try to send you another text you won’t answer.”

I hang my head in shame. “Trish, I’m really sorry. It just really has been a total cluster-fuck.”

Trish pushes a halfhearted smile into her cheek. “I know honey.” Then, without taking a breath, she continues, “You have to come into the office or Raphael is going to have an aneurism. The cops came in yesterday and cleared all of the original art pages out of your office. Raphael shit his jumpsuit.” Trish was emphatic. “He told me that if I didn’t show up with you today not to show up at all, so let’s get all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And put some makeup on, for fuck’s sake. You look like shit and there are reporters everywhere.”

“I have to go to Eli’s for a meeting with my ‘legal team.’” I say it sarcastically.

“Eli? Don’t you think you’d be better off with someone sober?” She takes a sip of her coffee. I wish it would burn her tongue. “Why do you keep fucking around with these two assholes, Shay? You could do better by accident.”

“Not now, Trish.” I don’t need relationship advice from Trish. She’s twenty-one years old, has already been married four times, and is working her way backwards chronologically through all the guys she dated in high school. She says it ‘keeps her numbers down.’ She’s the last one I need trying to improve my decision tree.

“Don’t deny they weren’t both here on your birthday. I saw their cars. What was all that bullshit about just wanting to be alone?” She points at me with her coffee stirrer like it’s the sword of truth.

“It’s not what you think, and it’s a longer story than I want to get into,” I say, knowing she isn’t going to leave this alone.

“Was that your little birthday present to yourself, being in the middle of an Eli-Aiden sandwich?” Her mouth pulls to the side in anticipation. “Uh-huh, the birthday girl took a little ride on the 
tricycle.
” She nods her head knowingly.

“Trish.” I toss a throw pillow in her direction. “That’s disgusting.”

“Right,” she deadpans.

“Why don’t you just head into the office? I’ll be there after my meeting.”

Aiden emerges from the restroom. “Oh Jesus, Trish, you’d better hurry. I just flushed your twin down the toilet.”

Trish rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ve had enough of needle-dick anyway.” She gets up and clickety-clacks to the door. “Promise me you’ll come in! Don’t forget you have Tampa tomorrow.”

“I promise.” I put my hand up in the Boy Scout honor sign—or at least I think that’s what it is. Aiden just gives her the finger.

“I’ll see you at the office—and oh, Aiden.” She pauses, waiting for him to acknowledge her. When he doesn’t, she continues, “I hope your nuts get caught in a blender.”

“I’m not fucking your mom anymore, so I should be fine.” He walks into the kitchen, dismissing her.

Trish shakes her head at me. “I really don’t get what you see in him.” She swings the door closed as she leaves. I think my house just breathed a sigh of relief.

“Aiden, can’t you make an effort to get along with her?” I’m frustrated; they have never gotten along. It’s always been like that between them. They both have issues with how the other treats me. It’s like they’re fighting over whose bitch I am. My friendship with Trish is usually one-sided, all about Trish. Aiden has seen me upset about her as many times she’s seen me upset about him. Come to think of it, if they were ever nice to each other I think I would worry what was wrong.

“I did, just then.” Aiden comes around the corner, chewing on a piece of toast.

“You call that getting along?”

“Yeah, I didn’t shoot her.” Aiden smiles and shrugs like I should be proud.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I’m taking a shower.” I head for the bathroom, hoping the smell has dissipated.

Shay

We arrive at Eli’s house, late. I know he’ll be irritated. Dad’s here and there are three other cars in the driveway, one of which likely cost more than my house. Aiden knocks once before letting himself in. There is already a high-powered powwow happening in Eli’s living room. I recognize everyone. I’ve known Jason since I was a kid, and I’ve seen Bob at barbecues and one of two engagement parties—my engagement parties. I don’t see Eli.