INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) (16 page)

I take a few moments before I speak again, “I’m not sure what has you so spooked, but everything is going to be okay.” It seems strange that I’m trying to comfort him.

“I can’t stand the thought of you going to jail, or worse.” He won’t look directly at me. “I feel like maybe it’s partly my fault. I’ve been jerking you around for so many years.” His voice goes distant. “If they make me testify...” He stops and gives it one last try, “Shay, if we get married then they can’t make me testify against you.”

“Why would you testify against me? It’s not like you would have anything to say.” I’m trying to reason with him. I have no idea where this is coming from.

“If they put me on the stand they may ask me questions that I’m afraid would have me say things that could be damaging to you.”

“Aiden, they aren’t going to convict me based on how I acted toward you after you’ve been gone for a year and half.” I pull a water bottle out of the mini-fridge.

“I promise you if you marry me I will take care of you, I will be everything you have always wanted. I won’t run this time and I wanted it to be different, but we don’t have time. Please Shay, I’m begging you to be my wife. Just let me love and protect you.” There is desperation in his voice. He grabs my shoulders and squeezes hard. I’m uncomfortable and try to wriggle free.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but you can drop it. Everything is going to get straightened out.” I squirm out of his grip. “It’s going to be okay, it really is. I trust Eli with this. He’s got my back and he’s not going to let anything happen to me. I know that in my heart.” I really do know that if anyone can fix this, it’s Eli.

“This is about him, isn’t it?” He looks at me accusingly, anger flashing across his face.

“What are you talking about?” I’m totally confused now. Aiden looks wild-eyed and out of control.

“I don’t know what’s going on; you’ve changed so much.” He leans down and grabs water from the fridge. “You’re different, Shay. There’s something about you that I don’t recognize.” His voice grows more agitated. “And I keep telling myself that there is something wrong, that there’s some reason you’re acting so strange.” He slams the bottle hard on the bar. “And if you think I don’t see the way you look at him, the way you used to look at me.”

“Aiden, calm down.” He’s scaring me a little. I’ve never seen him angry like this. “What’s the matter?”

“Eli. You are in love with Eli. I saw the hurt in your eyes over that girl. I’ve never seen hurt in you like that before and I can’t stand it.” His expression is full of anguish.

“Well I guess now you know what Eli sees every time you leave.” I let that hang in the air and turn back toward the bedroom.

Aiden pushes just past a whisper, “That’s not fair, Shay.”

“It sure isn’t,” I reply sharply. 
Fair?
 He can’t be serious.

“Shay, the thing is I think you’re just confused, and that there’s something really wrong. This is all wrong.” Aiden rants. He’s not making any sense at all.

“Aiden, what makes you so sure that I couldn’t be in love with Eli?” I meet his gaze with a cold stare.

“Because you’re in love with me, and always will be. There’s something wrong, something is off. Something made you kill them.” The whole room inhales, suspending us in that moment.

“What?” I ask quietly, my eyes squinting as if it will help me see the insanity rather than just feel it.

“I just want to help you.” His head is hung low.

“You think I killed them?” I am completely dumbfounded.

He’s silent for a long time. “I love you and don’t understand what’s happening. I just want to help you. I want to save you.”

With a hard stare I bore into him with all of the pain I have felt over the years, with every broken promise, every lie, every abandonment of every kind he has ever inflicted upon me—this one possibly being the worst. “Aiden, I will not marry you. Not now, not ever!”

I grab my shoes and backpack on the way out the door.

Shay

My phone rings more times than I can count and enough times for me to hit the off button before I hit the front door of the hotel. Aiden, Eli, and Dad are all very concerned about me and what I might do. What is it they think I’m going to do? I can’t help but wonder if all of them think I’m capable of murder. I mean, if my life were threatened I might be able to hurt someone, but in reality that’s just not who I am.

Everyone is trying to control where I go, what I do, and who I do it with. No more of that for me. From now on I’m going to take control of my own life. Of course sometimes people need help, but I’m not some weak damsel who needs a knight on a white horse to rescue me.

I walk down to the docks on the harbor to find a quiet spot to sit. The sun is setting, casting beautiful hues of orange, yellow, and pink rippling across the water. Inspired by the beauty, I pull my sketchpad and pencil out of my backpack. I watch and sketch as a deep purple swallows the horizon, broken only by the harbor lights invading the water. Drawing helps me to clear my mind, even though I always seem to find myself sketching Elise.

I take inventory of all the changes I need to make. I’m insisting that Dad give me back my gun. I resent that he asked me to let him hold on to it after what happened to Elise. I was hoping the endless comparison of her and me would die with her, but it only got worse. I’ve never been anything like her. Everybody assumed that because we were twins that we were close, but we never were. When we were younger, I wanted to feel close to her and have it be like those stupid TV shows where the twins have their own language and can read each other's minds. We were never like that.

I try to shake the thought of her out of my mind. All I want to do is think of nothing. I don’t want anyone or anything in my mind. There is no place for anyone right now, not even me. The hopelessness is consuming me and I can feel it gnawing at my soul. How did everything go so wrong so fast? One minute I was sitting pretty, getting ready for my first real comic to be published, and now I’m dreading it hitting the shelves. I’m helpless because I’m letting them all disable me. “Based on Real Events,” I quip.

Hours have passed and the midnight-blue sky blankets the harbor in darkness. I list all of the things I don’t want to think about. Eli and Aiden, Blood-Borne and the comic book, Alice and Gary, Jorge’s brain matter on my office wall, none of it. I’ve created an imaginary quasi-lover that I go to in my dreams to meet because he’s the only one I can count on for honesty. I shake my head, resting it back on a pylon. I sigh and say out loud, “This is such bullshit.”

“Honeymoon over?” A man’s voice with a British accent invades my space.

“Huh?” I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me. It takes a moment to recognize him from the hotel. “Oh, elevator guy.”

“Yes, very good, you remember. So is it?”

“Is it what?” I’m really at a loss, what does he mean?

“Is the honeymoon over?” He looks distant, staring out over the water. I wonder if he’s really interested in the answer.

“Oh, yeah.” Aiden and me on our ‘honeymoon’—yeah right. Regardless of his little display in the hotel room, I know I would have to go all Stephen King 
Misery
 on him for us to make it to the altar. “No, I just wanted some quiet time. It’s just been a bit overwhelming lately.”

“I can only imagine what it must be like for the blushing bride.” He motions down beside me on the dock. “Can I join you?”

“Oh sure, pull up a piece of wood, but mind the splinters.” He seems harmless enough.

He snickers, lowering himself on the dock to sit. “Splinters would be quite the predicament.” He takes his hat off, revealing a full head of blond hair. It seems out of place on him. “Where are my manners? I’m Nigel.”

He extends his hand, and I shake it. “Shay. Nice to meet you, Nigel.” I close the cover on my sketch book.

“Hold on, may I?” Nigel motions for the sketch pad. “Or are you shy when it comes to your art?”

I hand the sketchpad over. “Shy? Hardly, but this is just a bunch of doodles.”

He studies the sketches, looking from me to the paper. “I’ve never seen a self-portrait look so sad.” He comments thoughtfully.

“It’s not a self-portrait, it’s my sister.” I say, wrapping my arms around my knees. The harbor breeze is chilly without the sun.

“Why is your sister so sad?” Nigel asks as he turns the pages to see more of my sketches.

“She’s not really, not anymore.” I flash to the peaceful look on her face when they closed the casket after her funeral. I can’t remember how many sketches of Elise are on that pad.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Nigel replies, smiling.

“So what brings you to the Sunshine State?” I ask. It’s nice talking to someone that doesn’t know me, that isn’t trying to see through me, that doesn’t wonder if I’m some kind of blood-drinking baby-eater.

“My wife and I are here on business,” he answers, handing me back my sketchpad.

It’s the first time I think about the fact that he’s not here to hit on me; he’s married. That makes me feel even more comfortable. “Cool; what do you do?”

“We are in the restaurant business. We have a couple of places up in Connecticut, traditional English food: bangers and mash, blood pudding, and all that.” He raises his eyebrows as if it were the most exciting thing in the world to talk about.

“Well that sort of explains the accent; what part of England are you from?” I’ll bet I can place the accent. “Wait, don’t answer, let me guess.”

“Oh, you think you can peg my accent, ey?” He seems intrigued.

“I’ll bet you I can guess within fifty miles…er, um, kilometers.” I turn excitedly toward him, crossing my legs in front of me. I worked at the Pig & Whistle in college and most of the patrons were from the UK. ‘Guess the accent’ was a fun game we played on a slow night.

“Hmm, I’d like to see you do that, though I’m not ordinarily a betting man. What are the stakes?” A smile spreads across his face.

“I don’t know, I was just thinking like a bet with no real payout. A friendly wager of nothing.” I’m not the money-betting type so I’m taken by surprise.

“How about if you're right, I’ll buy you and your husband dinner, if you're wrong you draw me a picture.” He raises his eyebrows, awaiting my approval of the deal.

Dinner with my ‘husband.’ I keep forgetting that Aiden and I are ‘married.’ “Um yeah, sounds like a deal.”

We shake on it. I look at him for a moment, letting his accent roll around in my brain. “Okay, I know where you’re from.”

“Do tell!” He awaits my answer.

“I’m going to say the origin of your accent is somewhere between Manchester and Liverpool.” I answer confidently.

“Well that’s a pretty broad range. That’s more than fifty kilometers.” Nigel raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay, I didn’t want to show off. I would say you are from St. Helens.” I know that’s at least the origin of his accent.

“Nope, I’m afraid not, I’m from Swansea. Pay up.” He smiles.

“Okay, what would you like a picture of?” I know he’s lying, but what’s the harm in drawing him a picture?

“I would like a picture of Elise.” His tone turns serious.

I’m frozen by his words. I’m sure I didn’t mention her name because I almost never say it out loud anymore. Who is this guy? “What did you say?”

“I would like you to draw me a picture of...”

His words are cut off by heavy footsteps on the dock and a grumbling voice, “Move it along douchebag.”

I look to see who it is. I jump up. “McNab!”

McNab tilts his head toward me. “Hello Shay.” He’s always so serious. “You heard me Nigel, move it along.” McNab kicks Nigel’s shoe.

Nigel stands up, putting his hat on his head and smiling. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying, now can you?”

“Trying what?” Who the hell is this guy?

“Yes I can, now make tracks before I kick your ass.” McNab flinches toward Nigel. Nigel starts backing away toward the main dock. “It was truly a pleasure meeting you, Shay. Hopefully our paths will cross again.”

My hand waves goodbye absently, still unsure of who he is or how McNab knows him. Turning to McNab, I pick up my backpack. “How did you know where I was? And how do you know Nigel?”

“Simple, Shay: I’m an investigator. Finding things is what I do. Nigel? I know him from the business. He’s a reporter, a freelancer, a hack. His birth certificate is an apology from the condom factory.” I love the way McNab talks; it’s always so urgent even when he’s saying simple things like ‘pass the salt’ or ‘hand me that pen.’

“You look hungry, kid. Have you eaten? I can tell you haven’t eaten dinner, let’s eat dinner.” McNab rattles off in his own special brand of speech. See what I mean? Urgent.

“Sure, let’s eat dinner,” I answer. It’s usually pretty hard to get a word in edgewise with him, but it’s okay. Walking up the dock, I pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks for stepping in there.”

“Whoa, you know the rules: nobody touches McNab.” He says, moving away from me with his hands raised like it’s a stick-up.

McNab doesn’t like to be touched. He says it disrupts his psychic field and he ‘can’t work with that.’ I have a private chuckle at McNab’s expense.