“Why is everything so screwed up?” I say out loud, wrapping my arms around myself to stave off the slight chill in the air. I just want to forget everything, even if only for a moment. The rhythm of the ocean lapping on the sand helps me find calm. It’s like a salve after the deluge of sadness I just endured.
The wind blows over me, offering peace. I try to empty my mind, but Eli and Aiden keep invading my meditation. My love for both of them is so real and intense, I can’t imagine my life without either of them, yet right now there’s barely a connection to life at all. Part of me wants both of them to just fade away. Or maybe I’m the one who should fade away. “Find your calm, Shay,” is on repeat in my head.
An icy chill blows through me, shattering the last bit of hope I have of clearing my mind. The wind carries a whisper past my ear. “Aiden.”
Did I just hear that? I hear the whisper again. I look around the beach for signs of someone else nearby. The beach is deserted.
“Hello, my love.” The voice comes clearly into my head. I look around, but this is the voice from my dreams. This voice I won’t soon forget, hostile yet smooth, like animal fat melting in caramel.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I say out loud. This is not good; I’m conversing with an imaginary enemy. Why can’t I be normal enough to pull off having an imaginary friend?
“I want what you want.” The air around me sours, and it grows colder. I cover my nose and mouth with my sleeve.
“I find it very hard to believe that we want the same thing. I want you to leave me alone and go away. Get out of my head.” My voice hitches and drops an octave as I speak.
“Just like you, I want Aiden and Eli to go away. Worry not, my love, I’ll be taking care of them very soon.”
Aiden, it’s after Aiden. “Leave him alone!” I demand, very brave considering I can’t move. All I want to do is run to him and make sure that he’s safe.
“Tell me, love, do you think Aiden tastes as good on the inside as he does on the outside?”
My fear turns to resolve. I have to get to Aiden. I will my feet backwards out of the water and bump into something solid. I’m losing my balance and my mind. Now it’s fight or die. I wheel around to claw at it.
It struggles to grab my arms but my hands swing and scratch wildly at my attacker. I push hard against its manifest form. My determination to save Aiden is more powerful than this thing. The soft sand proves difficult to run in. My footing is clumsy, causing me to land face down on the beach. It grabs at my ankle, digging into my skin. Everything becomes muted, and I’m enveloped in darkness.
I scream at the top of my lungs and I taste the salt and sand filling my mouth. It’s getting harder to breathe. Images of Aiden in various states of gruesome dismemberment fill my mind’s eye. His body upright in the truck with his intestines spilling out onto his lap, his throat cut… Where are his eyes?
“Oh, love, check the glove box,” the voice mocks.
Doing everything in my power to free myself from it I buck and kick for my life, for Aiden’s life. My arms are restrained by the darkness surrounding me. A heavy weight spreads me out to subdue me. I scream louder, knowing my cries are being carried away by the surf. I hear a voice, a kind voice. “Shay, be still.” I’m barely able to move now. My breathing is shallow. My heartbeat thrums wildly in my ear. I have no choice but to comply and be still.
“Shay, I’m going to take the blanket off now.” It’s Aiden’s voice. The realization spirals me into a fit of vertigo that threatens to swallow me. What the hell just happened?
I become still while he gets off me and pulls the blanket up. “What the hell was that, Shay?” He rubs his neck then strains his eyes to confirm the presence of blood on his hand from where my fingernails dug into him.
“I thought you were...” I trail off. He’s never going to believe what I thought. I try to see him in the darkness. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”
Aiden stands, offering me a hand up. “Let’s get you home.”
The ride home is silent. Aiden doesn’t say a word. I can’t even look at him. I still don’t completely understand what just happened. I have got to get a grip. I may actually be losing my mind.
Chapter Eighteen
Credit Where Credit is Due
Shay
As we arrive at my house I notice the police tape surrounding my garage is gone. I’m relieved, but also reminded of what awaits me inside. I’m too tired to deal with it, but if I plan on going to bed anytime soon I’ll have to at least put my bed back together.
Aiden slings his ‘ho bag’ over his shoulder and brings the rifle inside for good measure. Flipping on the light, I’m shocked to see the living room has been reset, everything in its place. I go to my room and find my bed neatly made, right down to throw pillows carefully arranged with a note propped in front of them. I drop my bag, grab the note and head back out to the living room. A sad smile spreads across my lips while I’m walking down the hallway. “Eli,” I say, fanning myself with the envelope.
“Eli what?” Aiden asks.
“The house was trashed. Eli came and put everything back.”
“Eli didn’t do it. I did, while I was waiting for you two to get here from the police station.” Aiden’s tone isn’t as defensive as something like this would ordinarily make him.
I notice under the light that I put some seriously deep gouges on his face and neck. I put Eli’s note unopened on the counter. “Oh Jesus, Aiden, I’m so sorry.” I place my hand on his cheek. He tenses and shies away from my touch. “Let’s get that cleaned up.”
I wet a paper towel to clean his wounds. He stops me, taking my hand. “I’m fine.”
“No you aren’t. I think you may need stitches. It’s still bleeding.” Continuing to dab at his neck, I notice how distant he is.
“Shay, just stop it.” He grabs my wrists, looking me in the eyes. There is a palpable sadness in him. “I’m fine.” He goes to the couch. “Come talk to me.” He pats the couch next to where he’s sitting; I join him. He turns in his seat and takes both of my hands in his. “Shay, first just know that I love you with everything that I am.”
I pull my hands back from his emotional hot coals. I know what’s coming next. He’s winding up for the big ‘see ya.’ I head him off at the pass. “Aiden, you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to make any excuses; just go.”
“No, I don’t want to go.” Aiden lets out a frustrated groan. “Just stop and listen to me for a minute.”
Inhaling deeply, I take a mental inventory and brace myself. I put my wall up and promise myself I won’t cry, no matter what he says. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“I know I’ve been gone for a while, and there was a reason for that. It had nothing to do with you.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, it did have to do with you, but not how you think.” This was so foreign for Aiden. He was typically the conductor of a finely-tuned orchestra of all the world’s words, phrases, and lies, but for some reason now he was tripping over his own tongue.
“Aiden-”
He cuts me off. “Listen, I’m really worried about you.” He says the words as though they’re shameful. “I really don’t want to complicate things for you, but I want to be here with you. I want to see you through this.”
“I don’t have any expectations. If you want to go you can, I’m going to be fine. Remember, I bounce!” I smile but I can’t hide the sadness in my eyes. I want to give him every out I can.
“I don’t want to leave. I never want to leave, I just can’t...couldn’t stop myself.” Aiden confesses. I’m astounded—I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “That’s why I stayed away for so long this time, because I made a promise to you the last night we were together before I left.”
It is incredibly difficult for me to not be angry with him picking at the scabbed wound of his last betrayal. Just having tried to claw his face off is the only thing that is saving him from some choice words. “The same promise you alway
s make right before you leave.” I turn away from him, facing forward on the couch.
“I made a different promise last time.” He swallows hard. “You were sleeping, you looked so beautiful, and even though I was filled with euphoria and felt like the luckiest man on the planet because you said ‘yes,’ I couldn’t stop myself from bolting.” He was fidgeting with his fingernails. “Shay, that’s when I realized that I have a problem, a problem that I need to solve before we can be together. I can’t come back to you until I’m whole.”
I roll my eyes, dubious at best. “So are you saying you’re whole now?”
“I don’t know, but what I do know is that you need me now. I’m here for you and I’m going to do my best to be here for you however I can.” He puts his hand under my chin, turning me toward him. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m broken, and I know I’ve broken you. I want to fix it.”
“I needed you when you made all of those empty promises. I haven’t needed you for a long time, and I don’t need you now.” Frankly, this new Aiden is so far removed from the one that I know I can’t help but wonder if I’m having some kind of hallucination. “Aiden, do you really think I’m looking for a knight in shining armor, or anyone for that matter, who can ‘fix’ me?”
“I’m not trying to fix you. I want to help you. But I think you need a different kind of help.” He looks down at his hands, lowering his voice. “I think you need professional help.”
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.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sins of the Father
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?
Chapter Twenty
Hurricane Trish
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.
INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) Page 8