INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2)

by Roccaforte, Bella

  My eyes feel heavy. I rest my head on the wall and drift off.

  Chapter 18

  I Want My Ruby Slippers

  Shay

  The tendrils of fingers intertwined in mine curl up my wrist to my arm. There is so much darkness; it’s like being in a haunted house with moist, black gossamer hanging from above.

  My stomach lurches, making me feel weak and dizzy. It could just be the darkness, or the heavy humid air that carries the stench of death. What have I done? Where am I? I can actually feel my pupils growing wider and then adjusting in an attempt to conquer the darkness.

  Two pinpoints of light hang in front of me. My vision swims in confusion. There’s no way for me to tell whether they are far away and huge or very close to me and small. The hand that’s holding me tightens as the feeling of sickness winds up to my throat. My arms shake violently to throw the hand off me.

  “My love, you willingly came to me. You came to me here. This means so much to me.” The familiar voice is in my ear. I can almost feel its breath on my neck. My entire body stiffens with revulsion.

  “Where am I?” My tone is stern.

  “You are in my realm, where the possibilities are endless.” The voice sounds so hopeful it sickens me.

  “I can’t see anything. I want to leave.” I’m trying so hard not to sound weak and afraid, but I am.

  “Oh my love, I can easily remedy your problem.” Midway through his sentence a dull blue hue illuminates the landscape, revealing the tattered world from a dream I once had.

  The trees are twisted unnaturally and are blacker than coal. The ground is soft and muddy like a swamp, and the sound of flowing water rises to my ears.

  “How do I get out of here?” I demand, but seeing where I am doesn’t make it any better; as a matter of fact I think it may have made it worse.

  “Why would you want to leave so soon? There is so much here for you,” he says, running one finger down my cheek. I’m taken by surprise that he feels soft like velvet. A feeling of nausea runs through me in the wake of his touch.

  “Because I don’t know this place. I want to go home.” My weakness bleeds through.

  “Your pain, it’s gone?” he asks, tilting his head quizzically.

  I rest my hand on my chest, realizing the pain in my soul has subsided, but I’m not convinced it hasn’t just been replaced by fear.

  “I want to go back,” I insist, as though this thing can be reasoned with.

  “You may not, and you would do well to be as gracious a guest as I am a host.” He turns his shadowy back to me.

  “But I don’t want to be here.” My mind finally kicks in. This must be one of my dreams, and I can control it. If only I can find the trigger to get out it’ll be fine, and my eyes will open at Eli’s.

  “You are an ungrateful little wench. How dare you rebuke my hospitality?” His voice booms through the forest. “You’ve given me life. In return, I’ve given you everything. We are meant to be together, whole.” He looks over his shoulder at me, awaiting an answer.

  “You have given me nothing.” My anger is brewing fast in my gut. “You have taken everything important to me. I didn’t know then, but I do now.” I take two bold steps toward him. “It was never my intention to do anything with you other than draw you. You were never real; you were only ever a nightmare.” I move two more steps toward him, not sure what I’m going to do when I reach him. I don’t exactly have a weapon or anything really.

  He stands unmoving without turning or speaking. My hands ball into fists at my sides. I stomp the rest of the way to where he’s standing and wheel him around. A scream spills from my lips. I see that the shadow I’ve been talking to is not the Specter, but Kevin hanging from a tree. I don’t know when my eyes were deceived, but I’m instantly filled with sickness and despair. His eyes are intact, which puzzles me, but there is a hole in his chest where his heart should be.

  To control the nausea, I look away. Slowly I back away from Kevin, looking around to find an escape. There’s nothing for me to see that would give the slightest hint of an exit. The doors to this place wouldn’t be marked in big red neon signs. My thoughts wax mundane as though this line of thought will help me deduce a way out of here.

  The only logical thing I can do is walk – carefully.

  Chapter 19

  Stained

  Harry

  The entire way over here I’ve been trying to come up with a way to ask Eli what I need to know. He’ll appreciate it if I’m direct with him. There’s also too much on this video for me to be dancing around what I saw.

  When the knob doesn’t turn, I ring the bell two times quickly, and Eli takes his time getting to the door. He greets me sleepily; he’s a damn mess, but at least he doesn’t smell like booze.

  “Hey Harry, come on in.” Eli leads me through the foyer.

  “How’s Shayleigh?”

  “She’s asleep.” He sits down hard on the couch, letting his head fall backward. “In the guest room.”

  “Thanks for that, Eli; she’s having a hard time keeping things straight, so this will help complicate things less.” Honestly I’m relieved, and I’m hoping she’ll come home with me tonight.

  “I know she is. I could hear her screaming earlier. I’ve never heard her so upset like that. It was bad,” he says, and his voice is heavy with something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “Where is Carl?” I notice his absence.

  “He took off running down the street. Something about needing to get away from her pain.” His tone is sarcastic as he waves his hand in the air dismissively.

  “That’s good,” I answer, heading into Eli’s office. “We’ve got some videos to watch.”

  Eli looks at me curiously. “What did you find?”

  “You know I found some video that clears Shayleigh of the Ringgold murder.” I put the thumb drive marked “traffic cam” on Eli’s desk.

  “Right and that’s a good thing; what else do you have there?” He’s intrigued by the other drive I’m holding in my hand.

  “This is the hotel lobby the night of the murder.” I’m watching him closely for his reaction.

  “I thought we’ve seen it, that she wasn’t accounted for during the target times.” He scratches his head while waiting for the computer to boot up.

  “It’s not her on the video.” I really don’t want to plant any suggestions in his head; he needs to draw his own conclusion when he sees this.

  He raises one eyebrow, takes the drive from me and slides it into the computer. It boots up, and I reference the time stamps of interest I have written down on my folder. “Okay, go to eighteen forty.”

  Eli clicks the mouse to find the spot. “Freeze it or let it run?”

  “Let it run, then go to nineteen fifty-five.”

  We watch the tape closely; I really hope that I’m going to see something different this time, but I know I’m not. Aiden crosses the lobby from the elevators and out the front door of the hotel.

  “That’s Aiden; he said he didn’t leave the room. That he wanted to be there in case she came back.” Eli looks up at me from his chair, his brows knit together in confusion.

  “Yes, I know that’s what he said, but that’s not what he did.” My lips pull into a thin line; and there is regret building in me at the implications.

  “But this doesn’t prove anything. It just proves Aiden lied about staying in the room,” Eli questions.

  “Forward to nineteen fifty-five.”

  Eli grabs the arrow with his mouse and lets the video run again. “There’s Aiden again coming back. He was gone for an hour and ten minutes, so what’s the big deal?”

  “Pull the frame from him walking out the door.” I pause while he does it. “Now look at the frame when he’s getting on the elevator.”

  Eli studies them side by side for a long moment. When he sees it, he sucks in a sharp breath. “Holy shit, Harry, what did he do with the backpack?”

  “That’s one of the question
s I’d like to have answered about the videos. Why Aiden left the hotel with a backpack, lied about leaving and then came back without the backpack.”

  “It doesn’t make sense; maybe he put it in the truck.” Eli doesn’t want to believe it either. As much as I don’t like Aiden, I never pegged him as a killer.

  “No, I checked the cameras in the parking garage. He never went to the truck during the time frame.”

  “Jesus Christ, what are you thinking? Are you thinking Aiden disposed of evidence?” Eli’s tone is full of doubt.

  “Yes, I do think that’s what happened. Leaving only the possibility that he killed Gary and Alice.”

  Eli’s eyes round out in horror, “No, Harry. Why would he do that? He had no reason to.”

  “This isn’t the kind of murder scene you can associate with ‘reason’ or even ‘motive.’” That’s the truth. This wasn’t a crime of passion; this was an exploration of power.

  “There has to be another explanation.” Eli can’t wrap his brain around it.

  His reaction is putting me somewhat at ease, considering the next part of the images I uncovered. He appears to be really horrified by all of this, but not in the way a sociopath would react to someone stealing their kill.

  “There’s more, Eli. Go to one fifteen the next day.” Eli complies and ends up at the point in the video where he entered the hotel.

  “Yeah, that’s when I got there because Aiden had lost her,” he says, pointing at himself on the screen.

  “Pull the image and blow it up.”

  He does, and there’s a wide angle image of him on the computer; it’s pixilated, but I can still see what I need him to see.

  “Okay, that’s me.” He shrugs.

  I lean in closer to the screen to point out multiple dark spots on his dress shirt. “What is that on your shirt?”

  Eli squints, studying the image. “Its blood. Aiden and I got into a fight at the hotel room, remember?”

  “Eli, this was you arriving at the hotel, not leaving. You hadn’t had the fight with Aiden yet. So answer me, what is that on your shirt?” My tone hardens with the desire for him to have a reasonable explanation.

  Eli nervously runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “Harry, I don’t know, I have no idea. Maybe I spilled something on my shirt? This is in black and white, so I can’t even tell what color it is.”

  “Where is the shirt?” I ask, trying not to make it sound like a demand.

  “I threw it away. It was ripped and had blood on it.” He doesn’t mean it to sound defensive. A look of panic falls across his features.

  “Eli, what was on your shirt?” I ask him in an even tone.

  “Harry, I don’t know what it is.” He looks up at me from his desk.

  “Go through your day; you know how to do this,” I coax him.

  “We had the meeting, I had to go into the office, and I went to Shay’s.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting around trying to capture the memory. “Came home, got into it with Jerry and Taffy. Threw them both out...” He releases a heavy sigh. “I dropped Taffy off after the argument. And when I couldn’t get Aiden or Shay back on the phone, I drove out to Tampa.”

  “You had a fight with Taffy?” I don’t like where this is going.

  “Yes, she begged me to let her stay; she said that she was going to be homeless.” He rests his head in his hands. “Harry, I feel responsible for her death. If I had let her stay, she might still be alive.”

  Chapter 20

  Father or Son

  Shay

  Time lives in the anonymous darkness, neither seeming to move forward or stand still. After attempting to will myself home, or awake, I feel around the trees for some secret panel in hopes of opening a curtain or door to get out. After walking for what feels like days, hopelessness sets in. Even though I’m trapped in the Specter’s demented playground, I’ve grown used to being here. I don’t know how. The fear in me has found a quiet calm, as though it knows how useless it is. I’m not sure if it’s the eerie stillness, or exhaustion. My eyes are tired from straining in the dark. It smells like mold, sulfur and rotting death. My feet hurt from walking over the stumps and tree roots with no shoes. I’d almost forgotten the fact that I had no shoes. Almost.

  I have to sit, my lids feel heavy and I can’t take one more step. My thoughts fill with the visions of the beach and Ryker’s Park, and I realize my eyes are open. It’s twisted, dirty and dark, but that’s the dock. My first inclination is to rush to it, but I decide a slow careful approach would be more prudent given my current circumstances. Each step is cautious, waiting for the boards below me to fall away dropping me into the quagmire that looks like flowing crude oil instead of water. My fists ball up tight in the tattered tails of my shirt. Eli’s shirt.

  The shape of someone sitting at the end of the dock comes into focus. I start to walk partially sideways, for some reason thinking this will make me more stealthy or safe. There’s a man sitting there looking out onto the black waters. With each step, the man’s form becomes more solid. From just a few steps away I study him; he doesn’t turn toward me so I can only assume he doesn’t hear me. He is old and definitely not healthy.

  To get a better look at him I crane my neck around. His face comes into view and I stumble back a step at what I’m seeing. “Oliver?”

  He turns quickly at the sound of my voice. “Shay? What are you doing here?”

  He has aged even from when I saw him at his funeral; but how is that possible? He pushes himself up off the dock to stand and meet me. “Oliver, the question is what are you doing here? How long have you been here?” To comfort him I wrap my arms around him.

  When I pull him in tight, he sighs into my ear. “Shay.”

  The feeling is a little strange; this is not the sort of intimacy I shared with Oliver. Pulling back from him, I see a sad smile on his face.

  “Well if you’re here, then that means I’ve failed.” His head dips in defeat.

  “Oliver, I don’t understand. What do you mean?” My confusion is starting to cloud my thoughts.

  “Shay baby, it’s me Aiden.” He rests his hands on my hips and tilts his head, searching my eyes for recognition.

  My knees buckle beneath me and he catches me from falling. “Aiden? What happened?” Panic is spreading under my skin like a disease, making me question my own existence.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to get you out of here.” He pulls me in tight.

  Tears free fall down my cheeks; I’m so confused by everything. Aiden looks so old and decrepit. The urge to collapse tugs at my resolve with greedy hands. “Aiden, I–I–” I’m at a loss for words even though I’m full of so many questions.

  He pulls my head into his chest and quietly shushes me while stroking my hair. “It’s okay; we’re going to make it okay.”

  Chapter 21

  Thin Air

  Eli

  Harry continues to grill me about my shirt. For all I know I had barbecue on the way over to Tampa. My eyes keep drifting toward the bedroom; it’s been too long. She hasn’t made a sound or come out to use the restroom.

  “Eli?” Harry’s tone is irritated.

  “Sorry Harry, I’m just–” He cuts me off.

  “Go check on her. Just peek in. I’m worried about her too.”

  I take a moment too long contemplating whether I should check, and Harry nods at me. “Go.”

  There’s no noise coming from the room, not that I would be able to hear her breathing, but at least she’s not crying. Pushing open the door slowly, I find an empty bed. “Harry!”

  Harry appears at my side instantly. “What is it?”

  “She’s gone.” I’m standing at the door; I don’t want to disturb anything.

  Harry immediately starts calling for her. “Shayleigh?” He searches the other rooms, and all I can do is stand at the doorway staring in.

  What the hell happened in here? As much as I hate to admit it, calling McFruitcake is the best
option.

  “You’ve got McNab, what’s got you?” I’m too worried about Shay to be irritated by him right now.

  “It’s Eli; something happened, Shay’s gone.”

  “What do you mean ‘Shay’s gone?’” he barks into the phone.

  “There’s more than just that. There’s something…strange.” I’m having a tough time trying to figure out how to explain what I’m seeing.

  “Where’s Carl?”

  “He left. He said he had to get away from her.” I could kick myself for leaving her alone for so long.

  “God damn it!” McFruitcake huffs into the phone. “Okay, tell me what you see.”

  It takes a moment for me to take in the whole scene and figure out what I’m looking at. “There’s a huge black…smudge on the floor. The walls look as though there was a fire in the room, but nothing’s burnt.”

  “I’m on my way. Don’t-touch-anything.” He emphasizes each word.

  “What if I already have?” I’m rubbing the oily residue from the floor between my fingers.

  “Wash your hands immediately, Eli. Do you hear me? Wash your hands immediately.” His voice raises an octave.

  “It smells very strong, like–” It’s familiar, but I have to place it first. “Like the river in the summer when it smells very bad, and burning swamp.”

  “Have you washed your hands, Eli?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Eli, wash your hands. What kind of oils do you have?” He’s insistent.

  “I don’t know, vegetable oil?” What kind of question is that?

  “Do you have any essential oils?”

  “What’s an essential oil?” I’m totally confused.

  “Massage oils?” His tone is condescending at best, as if everyone knows what essential oils are.

  “No I don’t have massage oils. What are you going to do? Massage the mess out of the carpet?” He’s really obsessed with the oil.