INK: Blue (INK Trilogy Book 3) (11 page)

Edsel put a hand to his left arm, tracing the lines of his veins with a blue finger, tiny swirls following his fingerprint, as it did on each of his digits. The skin was hard, as solid as the scars that criss-crossed his body, a raised line that was about two millimeters high but may as well have been a mountain ridge. The blue was so clear, so prominent and crisp it held none of the old colors of his tattoos — this was pure and almost glowed with an inner white light.

Edsel could swear he could see energy flowing through this strange Ink, something he had never heard of or encountered before, the so-called 'gift' of Michael — a man he was going to kill if it was the last act he ever performed.

Perversely, Edsel felt pleased with himself. He knew that he had tasted madness, was lost to himself for a while, a gibbering wreck of a man after yet another ordeal, but he had come through, not unscathed by any means, and he knew he would never be quite the same again, but at least he still had his sanity.

I do, don't I? Now, what's next?

He got up carefully from the sofa, unsure just how delicate the new Ink was, or how long it had been since the work had been completed, and padded over to the window. His feet felt sore even on the deep pile of the expensive cream carpet. He sighed; it was all so goddamn familiar. He stared out to the sea, looked down to the streets below, felt a gentle breeze tickle his bald head — a strange sensation after having hair for so long.

Everything was quiet; no people; no movement, just birds drifting in the sky, lazy and sedate on the warm afternoon. Litter blew gently across empty streets.

Putting a hand to the window sill for balance, he lifted a foot to inspect the sole, not in the least surprised to see tiny blue lines as fine as cotton decorating his toes. There was some kind of picture of a stylized face, a bulbous head with razor sharp teeth staring back at him in miniature. The other one was the same.

Weird. No, fucking mental.

"Where are they?" Edsel screamed at the top of his lungs. "Where are you Michael? What have you done with them?" His voice echoed through the streets, disturbing the birds that cried back to him in annoyance, looking forward to a day when they never had such interruptions again.

Edsel felt the surge of adrenaline and the quickening of his heart make the decorative Ink erupt to new levels of pain, the extra blood acting as a catalyst for the white hot mist that flowed through the blue veins that weren't veins.

What the hell is this? What's it for?

Everything felt displaced, as if he was there but not there, calm yet angry, neither happy or sad. The lull of the still sea and the cloudless blue sky enveloped him in a silent embrace that took something away from him, offering nothing in return.

Edsel padded back to the sofa, half catatonic, hardly aware of himself, and sat down just before he fell asleep.

He'd been doing the same thing for days, he just didn't remember.

He was a man lost to himself, lost to time; lost to the world once more.

SAND

It had been days, weeks or months — Edsel had no idea. He didn't care, he was empty of feelings, hardly even remembering he once had emotions.

Edsel lay on the sand of the small beach that ran the length of the marina before disappearing around a narrow headland that jutted out like a skin tag, staring at the flawless sky. He watched the seagulls as they fought and called to each other, tracing their movements as they came and went from his line of vision, never moving his head, just laying there spread-eagled as the waves lapped gently at his feet, his body burning under the strong summer sun, neither caring or feeling as his skin burned and peeled from the damage. All apart from his new Ink, brighter than the sea, seemingly inured to any kind of external influence, as much a part of him as the layers it hid, a marked man once more.

Alone. Again.

Edsel was as one with the air and the water. Blue, always blue. It was all there was. The sky never seemed to have a cloud, the sea never stirred, only the tide rose and fell, in tune with Edsel's breathing. He was as slow as a tortoise, a non-being, part of his environment; just a thing, no longer a man able to think of vengeance.

All was emptiness.

His hand clawed at dry sand. It rose up in front of his face where it slowly opened, letting the grains trickle onto his chest, covering the flesh where short hairs were emerging, the blue raised spirals proud against the fine layer of yellow — particles that contained the history of the planet, lifeforms in their trillions crushed by the passage of time, now something else. Something and nothing.

Blue fingers played with the tiny grains, until soon they too were gone. The hand held nothing; it dropped back to his side.

Edsel's far away mind was as empty as the sky; no thoughts could stay there. He was a creature that abandoned the safety and security of its shell so now there was nothing left but a fleshy lump without its home or previous life. Ice and fire and dizzying patterns he no longer looked at or cared about took over his reality, yet they too faded into dreams. His mind was dulled, a patient with a heavy dose of nothingness to displace the sense of total loss.

Pain was slowly receding, coming in increasing intervals. He could even forget about them for a while, but as soon as he thought about Michael, his Ink, or Lash and Aiden, the pain would rip through his body and he had to close down his mind or risk going completely insane. He knew he was close to the edge and thinking was going to push him over, never to return.

Such bouts were seldom though, most of him simply stayed in emptiness, watching without much curiosity as a part of him awoke to anger and feeling for a while, before joining him in watching from a distance once more.

The sun shone down, day after day, like the endless summers of his youth where only the good days were remembered, the rest discarded as if they never even happened.

Maybe they didn't.

So he lay on the beach, doing nothing, letting the sun heat his body, the water wash his feet, the sand irritate his already abraded skin. Salt crusted his flesh, magnifying the ultra-violet rays, pooling around the contours of his Ink, drying and cracking like Ink of old, crusty until a chance wave washed up over his body before receding, baptizing him, cleaning him of everything. Washing it all away, leaving him alone.

Always alone.

Each day was the same.

He left the penthouse, wandered the streets as if looking for something, but mostly he couldn't recall what it was, sometimes finding it strange that he didn't even care that he couldn't remember. He somehow found himself at the marina, the boat still moored — he remembered the boat, that it was his — and then he lay on the beach until the day cooled. Then he went back to the scene of the crimes inflicted on him, never sure what they were, Ink merging into blood, normally as far as his thoughts went.

He did it all in a daze, a mindless man that became less and less Whole as the days blurred past — neither fast or slow, time without meaning. Maybe he was succumbing to The Lethargy? Or just fading out of existence as there was nothing left for him now — it was all gone. Alone again, nothing more than a body for others to experiment on, test out whatever warped way they had managed to manipulate Ink through knowledge gained by being Awoken to the secrets they had discovered, a twisting of what should be a form of enlightenment to their own deranged beliefs.

Nothing made sense and Edsel didn't care any longer; he was empty; emotions drained from him like a halal kill — all that remained was Ink, nothing more.

Edsel watched through closed eyes as tiny motes danced in his vision, a redness that took away memories and emotions. He opened his eyes, turning his head away from the sun, exposing a burned neck, just like the rest of his body.

Suddenly, the sun was lost behind cloud and Edsel turned lethargically only to find that the shadow was that of a man: Michael.

I know him.

"I must say, I'm somewhat disappointed in you Edsel. I thought you had more spirit than this. Lazing about like you don't have a care in the world. What a waste. Don't you want some answers? To know about the new skin you find yourself wearing? Your family? Me?"

"Go away."

"Oh dear, feeling a little sorry for ourself are we? I don't know why, just look at you, you're beautiful."

Edsel climbed to his feet, blistered skin from the sun ignored, and turned in a circle, showing his body, hidden only by a pair of shorts so generously left for him by Michael. "Look at me. You call this beautiful?"

"Of course," said Michael, frowning at Edsel's inability to see it. "You're unique, much more interesting this way. I've been following your progress for some time you know? I was hoping that we would meet one day."

Edsel's burning body went cold. "What do you mean you've been following my progress? Just who the hell are you?"

I'm back. What have I been doing?

Michael turned and walked up the narrow beach, carrying his shoes in his hands, trousers rolled up like he fancied a quick paddle but had thought better of it. He sat on the wall that separated the sand from the paving and put on his shoes before turning his trousers back down. He stood, looked inland before facing back towards Edsel. "You coming or not? We have a lot to talk about you know?"

Edsel trudged up the beach like a dog on a long leash, which he suspected was exactly what he was now.

~~~

Edsel knew that he had to understand what was happening if he was to ever see Lash and Aiden again. If he killed Michael now then they would be lost to him forever, he was sure of it. So he sat in a metal chair outside an empty restaurant, arms resting on the small circular table that would never see a drink placed down on it again.

Michael talked, and kept on talking and talking as the sun went down and the cool evening air carried with it a promise of another beautiful day to follow.

He's completely insane, no doubt about it. But clever, very clever.

Michael's story was about as warped as anything he'd ever heard, and Edsel knew he was only getting a sliver of it.

He told nothing of his time before The Lethargy, but rather, told what he had been doing since then, a very different set of stories to the ones he had told them in the past. Michael had been wandering the country on foot, exploring, experiencing. He met the few people there were, spoke to them, heard the whispers, the rumors about what was happening in their new strange world. Listened to the conjecture, the downright bizarre reasoning some had for The Lethargy, and followed along closely with the strange stories most were more than happy to share — just so they could talk to another human being. He met them all: the good, the bad, and those with The Lethargy, grateful for company, for assistance before they finally passed into The Void permanently.

An Awakening came to him, just as it did to a few others, most of whom only realized such a potential after a visit to The Commorancy, a place Michael knew he would never be accepted as he was, and he was the first to admit it, not exactly an ideal candidate.

Knowledge was gained, so Michael spent some time exploring his new-found gifts, his skills growing as he practiced more and more. Edsel didn't even want to know what that meant, but was sure there were a lot of rather unfortunate people with less than perfect tattoos that were probably long dead, or still trying to cope with the pain. Michael had learned the secrets of The Eventuals, understood what it was that made The Ink special, making his own version, devouring information about how to become a tattoo artist, practicing and honing his craft. But there was more, much more.

Michael found that he could put something of himself into his Ink, focused energy directed via The Noise right into The Ink he made, using only the best possible ingredients.

The result? Energy flowed through the marks he made, his energy, pulling people up and toward a form of Awakening that he felt would be the salvation of those he chose to be a part of a new form of humanity, one where he had a very important role.

"And what role would that be?" asked Edsel.

"Why, my dear boy, I shall control you all of course."

Absolutely insane.

Michael told that he'd heard of Edsel and what he'd done to those that gave him The Ink, and had tracked him down, always finding him, never letting himself be known, just watching and waiting while he carried on traveling and learning. Then Edsel had disappeared and Michael became occupied with other things. But he found him again, felt his arrival from across the sea and had made his way to the town they now found themselves in, used it as a base for what he knew would be where Edsel would head for when he came to the mainland.

"How did you know I'd come here?"

"I knew," was all he would say on the matter.

All to do with the bloody Noise. I'm probably lit up like a Christmas tree in there if people know what to look for. But this doesn't ring true. He's making up a story, just like the ones he used to tell Aiden.

"But what's the point of any of this? Why are you doing this?"

"New religions are forming, some small, others large. New ways of living, oddities and extravagances you would never believe if I told you, and I want to be sure that what I have to offer is to be accepted."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Family of course. Belonging. You have a part of me under your skin now Edsel, you are mine, and there are others. We are connected to each other, and it will grow year on year until the few people that remain will be connected to me and kept safe, the rest will be gone. I have already taught my secrets to a few, some strange nuns who were less than courteous in the end I must say, but no matter, you can't win them all."

Just the ravings of a madman. But it's like he's trying to sound crazy; is this even Michael?

Edsel made sure to keep his thoughts private, not let them spill into The Noise and be heard by Michael. The man made no sense, but so little did any longer.