INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2)

BY

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or
portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

eISBN: 9781630683214

Copyright © 2014 by Bella Roccaforte

Ebook formatting by
Dead River Books

Bailey

Walking into my room with my brown paper
bag as though it’s some kind of contraband sends excitement
rolling through me like a kid at Christmas. Jesus Christ, I hate
Christmas. This is better than some well-hung God’s son we’re
told to worship. This is the shit.

Droplets of sweat splash on the bag,
spreading slowly staining all it touches with darker hues of brown. I
unroll the top and pull the heavy glass bottle of ink out. This shit
is actually hard to find. Holding the bottles up to the light and
swirling the contents shows thick liquid dancing against the sides.
It kisses and clings to the glass, leaving traces of color. I got
black and red just like her and I got a deep indigo to have my
signature on it.

To keep the pen safe it’s rolled
up in a free comic from the con. My palms leave a snail trail of
sweat on my khakis when I try to dry them off. Looking at the pen
makes sense now after talking to the guy in the store. It has a weird
wheel on the metal part of the prongs. He showed me how to dip the
pen to get a bead of ink to draw with.

My computer is still on. It’s set
up for me to watch the video of her convention interview again. The
first time I saw her in real life was in San Diego last year. God,
she’s so amazing. She’s so pretty in a sweet and shy sort
of way. I think she blushed a hundred times. She couldn’t
control it, like me. Every time someone talked to her the red would
light up her cheeks. She’s quiet and cute. So cute.

I click play and I’m instantly
mesmerized by her voice. At the signing in Tampa, she didn’t
make me leave the table, so she definitely liked me. This is so cool;
I bet she’ll even remember me. Maybe she’ll like me if I
can draw like her.

After the video ends I pick up “Sanguine
Specter” to read it again. It’s…she’s
fucking amazing. This comic is so awesome. The thing is the blood
looks so real. I just want to somehow show her how I feel. How I feel
about her. I want to draw something for her, draw it and send it to
her.

Pushing the monitor back on the desk to
make way for the sketch pad, I set up the inks just like I saw her do
in the panel when I was at New York Comic Con. The tip goes in the
ink just like the guy said and I pull out a perfect bead. Drawing
with it is going to take some practice.

This isn’t going to be easy but
that’s okay. I’m going to do my best and I’ll only
send her my best. I press the pen onto the paper gently and start
moving it downward.

The pen makes a scratching sound against
the paper and the ink flows perfectly from the tip like I’ve
been doing this since I could first write. It feels so amazing and
the lines are taking a shape, not the shape I intended. It’s
her face, her beautiful face.

The pen guides my hand down the paper
then back to the top. My fingers start to feel warm; the sensation is
growing and moving up my arm. I try to stop drawing but I can’t
put the pen down, as if it’s part of me. When I finally come to
a rest I’m shocked at what I was able to draw. It’s her
face with my favorite crooked smile, the one that says she’s
happy to see me. The same smile from my dreams. I hold the paper back
more to study it, see my handiwork. My gaze shifts from the pen to
the drawing: this is amazing!

The warmth in my arm buzzes to life
again and the pen feels heavy, forcing me to bring the tip to a fresh
piece of paper. The pen starts to move my hand again; this is really
freaking me out. I don’t understand what’s happening. I
swallow hard, watching the scene being drawn. My other reaches over
to stop it but can’t, and then I hear it.

“Calm down. This is what you
want.” The voice has a strange accent to it that I can’t
quite place. Maybe not an accent, but a certain stiffness to it; this
certainly isn’t the first voice I’ve heard in my head so
my concern is minimal. The doctor said I shouldn’t hear them
anymore, which almost sounds pathetic to me.

“Who are you?” Asking that
question is the most logical thing to do. It’s important to
know if I have an intruder, a ghost or a psychotic break.

“I’m your friend.” The
voice is drippy and smooth, like he’s trying to sell me a
handful of beans.

“Are you a good friend or a bad
friend?”

“I’m your best friend; I’m
going to get you what you want.” The voice pauses before asking
hesitantly, “You do want me to help you?”

“I need all the help I can get.”
Truthfully I do, and if this thing can help me draw like this I might
be able to do comics like I want. Then I can be with her. I bet I can
even get signed on at Blood-borne or maybe somewhere better.

Right in front of me the air begins
condensing into a darker hue, slowly forming the shape of a man. The
shadow moves inside the borders of its own form and appears to be a
combination of smoke, liquid and solid. There’s something
familiar about it. I search my memory until it hits me like a slap in
the face. “You’re the Specter!”

Astonishment speeds through me. I can
feel my heartbeat thrum in my ear with excitement. I pick up the
comic and hold it up to compare the being standing in front of me
with the cover of her comic. “You look different, sort of like
that douchebag at the signing with Shay.”

“Yes, yes, I will be back to my
truer form soon enough.” He hisses, sounding offended.

“Is this your true form?” I
point to the cover of the comic.

“Is that yours?” He asks me
as though I’ve insulted him.

“Well…well yeah it is.”
I’m unsure of what he’s asking.

“I don’t think it is,
Bailey, and I think we are going to do some exploration of your true
form. You see, I want to bring out the real you.” He takes two
small steps, closing in on me. I’m not really scared, just
uneasy and maybe a little freaked out.

“Will it help me with her?”
I motion to the face frozen on the computer monitor.

“Oh yes, Bailey, you will become
closer to her than anyone. You will become one with her.” He
assures me. “You are already creating the blueprints for my
art, just like her.” It’s a little weird how his hand
feels like velvet moving down my arm then putting his hand flat on
the paper smearing some of the ink.

“Hey, cut the shit.” I snap
at him, looking at the smudged ink on the paper. This was awesome.

“Tonight you help me with this.”
With a smooth motion he props his hand up by one finger, pointing at
the drawing. The drawing is crazy, just like one of hers. I recognize
the face on the page. It’s this kid Lobster; we both graduated
last year. He was at the signing. Studying the page even I’m a
little unnerved. This is totally twisted.

“I don’t know. I mean, what
do you mean help you?” This has to be the worst I’ve ever
schized out. I need to start taking my meds again. My mom’s
going to be pissed.

“Just relax, Bailey.” He
puts his hand on my head and before I can move or scream, his shadow
melts into my body and I feel like I cease to be. Me.

Shay

A hazy fog swirls in fantastic tendrils
that direct me toward something: but what? I walk slowly toward a
beckoning light, soft and glowing through a thicket of bare branches.
The air is a grey film layered with a midnight blue backdrop cradling
me in an unsettling chill that seeps right through my entire being.
My white gossamer gown whips around my legs as though there is a
breeze, but the air is stagnant and still.

The soft glow grows larger as I move
through the twisted forest. Each tree weeps silently as I pass. I
pause to study one, my crying tree. It’s out of place. There’s
no ocean or river. Aiden is nowhere to be found as I scan the
landscape of darkness.

It’s an impossibility that it’s
here. I run my fingers along the bark to find the deep grooves of the
heart surrounding Aiden’s proclamation of us being one:
“Shayden.” I pull my hand back and look at the stain left
on my fingers; it’s oily and warm. I bring my hand to my nose
to try to identify the smell of the liquid. I recognize it but I
can’t quite place it.

“It is exactly what you think it
is, my love.” The voice invades the forest like the fog. It’s
everywhere.

Frantically I search to find the source
of the voice; it’s familiar and terrifying, “Where are
you?” I call out halfheartedly.

“I’m here” A quick
whisper brushes up against my ear. I turn to see the Specter standing
behind me, unmoving. He holds no expression. His form is undulating
darkness completely devoid of light but for the nothingness of white
clouded holes in lieu of eyes. He’s bold, crisp and absent.

Stepping back, I demand, “What do
you want?”

The churning darkness forms an
expression of surprise, “How could you ask such a thing?”

Evil oozes from him staining my gown
with a dark residue. It’s sticky and smells like the breakdown
lane in the blazing summer sun. “Because I don’t know why
you are doing this. I don’t understand.”

“Everything I do is for you, my
love.” He takes a step closer to me I move back, bumping into
the heavy trunk of the tree.

“That’s not true. I don’t
want people to die.” I speak through my revulsion of his
appearance, an ever-increasing horror.

“Shayleigh, I’ve loved you
from the moment I first saw you. I’ve never since felt
exhilaration like the first kill I made in your honor." He moves
in closer to me. I have nowhere to go so I press my back flat against
the bark of the tree. For a moment I wish I could disappear, or walk
through solid objects to escape.

“I don’t want this.”
Edging sideways to get away from him, my steps are unsure and clumsy
with fear. “I want you to go away forever. I don’t want
you to hurt anyone.”

He disappears, only to reappear behind
me and wraps his arms around me. Terror fills me and my vision is
flooded with the bloodied faces of victims and crimes scenes. Some
I’ve drawn, some I’ve never seen. “I will never
leave you, my love. Watch my tribute to you. Each face, each moment
of fear and desperation was felt just for you.”

“I want to go home.” I bleat
like a child.

“You are home.” He says it
as though it should be obvious.

This place is unfamiliar to me. The only
familiarity is the tree. What is this? “Am I dead?” My
voice hitches in my throat. I’m afraid of the answer.

He bellows a laugh that echoes
throughout the woods “No, you are not dead. I would never let
that happen.”

“This isn’t my home. I want
to go to my home. I want to go back to Aiden. Where is he?” I
ask, worried that I could incite the Specter but I need to know. I
need to try to figure out how to get out of this, wherever or
whatever it is.

He laughs again, but quickly returns to
his serious demeanor “Oh love, where do you think Aiden is?”

“I want to know where he is!”
My bravery is short-lived. I shrink back as soon as I hear the
Specter’s voice.

“You are home and he’s…nowhere.”

Recoiling, I move around a tangle of
branches, toward where the dock would be if this were the park. He
eyes me with a curious stare, tilting his head as if questioning my
actions. I look around frantically trying to see something familiar.
I call out Aiden’s name over and over again until my voice
becomes hoarse.

“Oh dear.” He tsks, flashing
a consoling smile. “You really have no idea?”

“No, where is he?” I scream,
running for the Specter with my fists thrashing in the air as he
dissipates in a puff of smoke. I’m bewildered. I think for a
moment. My first goal is to get out of this dismal place. I run
toward the glowing light, praying it won’t be something
dreadful.

The branches and underbrush tug at my
gown, ripping and tearing it to shreds, but I have to keep going. My
bare feet feel as though they are running on glass. The branches grow
thicker and I have to slow to keep from gouging my eyes out. Aiden’s
soft laughter wisps by my ear.

I push myself further until I feel like
I’m going to vomit. The light isn’t getting any closer
and now I’m not even sure if I heard Aiden at all. I stop,
bracing my hands on my thighs for support. I need to breathe. I need
to get my bearings. While I’m looking around it’s clear
that I’m still standing in the same place. It’s as though
I haven’t moved. I inspect the thicket of branches closely and
discover it’s not just branches. It’s a gruesome tangle
of bodies creating a mosaic of horror. First I see Alice, then Jorge.
I spin around and there is Taffy devoid of eyes and breasts dangling
from a tree.