INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2) (23 page)

I stop for a moment and call over my
shoulder. “But me what? You’ve always hated me? That’s
a big fucking surprise.”

I so don’t have time for this
shit. I continue walking toward where ever it was that I think I need
to go. “Aiden, I’m going to need you to try a little
harder. Having her here complicates things a little.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”
The Specter’s oily voice sounds in my mind.

“Oh great, just in time to join in
on the fun. I don’t have time for you either,” I say out
loud.

“What?” Aiden asks.

“Try walking on your own, you’re
too heavy for me.”

“I’m doing the best I can
right now,” Aiden huffs.

“Leave him, I’ll look after
him,” the Specter hisses.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t think
so.”

“Shay, I need to stop.”
Aiden collapses beyond my ability to hold him up.

The sound of water rushing gets louder
and I notice that I’m on the dock again. Elise is standing
statue-still on the bank, watching me.

The water below the dock starts to swirl
and churn angrily. “Aiden, something’s happening.”

The thick murky water rises and laps at
the dock, seeping through the cracks between the planks. I pull at
him to prod him off the dock. As the water continues to rise, he’s
moving slowly. “Aiden, please, we have to get out of here.”

He’s moving so painfully slow. His
face is aging right in front of my eyes.

“Shay, I can’t.” His
head falls down to the wood with a clunk.

“You have to,” tugging on
his arms, trying to drag him off the dock. The water transforms into
hands grabbing up at us. Tears cloud my eyes. I can’t let him
go, but I can’t be pulled in there with him. I scramble toward
the bank as fast as I can, dragging both of us along now, but he’s
too heavy.

He gazes up at me with his bloodshot
eyes swimming with a look of knowing, a look of wisdom that tells me
he knows what he has to do. “Shay, go. I love you.” Aiden
releases his grip. I tighten mine.

“No, I will not let you go.”
I scream it out like it will summon the strength I need to save us
both. The grabbing hands spray mud and water on us, and the wind
whips my hair in my eyes. If I had a knife, I’d cut it all off
so I could see. My hands are slick with an oily residue, making it so
hard to hold on to him. I’m soaking wet now and his arms are
getting slippery. My muscles scream for me to release him, but I
won’t. “Please! Aiden, help me,” I beg, hoping he
hears the pain and love in my voice. Maybe if he knows that I love
him he’ll at least try.

My fingers are slipping. After what
feels like hours of holding onto him and trying to pull him out of
the grasp of the violent waters, Aiden’s eyes betray his
surrender, and it saps what little strength I have left. He’s
slipping, and now I can barely see him for the tears. The feeling of
each inch of his slick skin that slips through my hands cuts my
insides like a fiery knife until he finally slides out of my grasp
completely. “No!” The bodies and roaring water intensify
with my own anguished howls of despair.
I
let him slip away.

My eyes lock onto Aiden’s form as
it is pulled down the river. I run down the bank, following along in
hopes that I can pull him out. It’s so hard to be careful
traversing the tangled roots and muddy river bank. I never lose sight
of him until I trip and everything goes black with the last sound I
hear being Aiden’s voice calling my name.

Eli

The coffee maker finally finishes
brewing a fresh pot, and I pour myself a hot steaming cup. I look at
Carl and hold my cup up to indicate that the coffee is ready. Most
communication in this house has deteriorated into a series of grunts
and nods. Carl nods and heads for the cupboard.

It’s been one week. Seven whole
days since Shay disappeared. There’s no sign of her anywhere
except on McNab’s “spectrum-analysis-ometer,” or
whatever the hell it is. I swear, him and his team start talking, and
it’s like they’re speaking another language. I’ve
been able to see the shape of her in that thing. Sometimes I’ll
sit and watch her movements on the screen. There’s someone
there with her. Someone that she’s been staying very close to.
Lying with them and talking with them tenderly. McNab swears it’s
not Aiden, but who else could it be? I’m actually starting to
believe that she’s in the fourth dimension, or whatever McNab
is calling it. The question is will she ever get out?

Nigel walks into the kitchen, and I give
him my best “fuck you” look. I don’t like this son
of a bitch one bit. “How much longer is this shitbag going to
be here?” I ask Carl.

Carl shrugs. “Ask McNab.”

It would seem that Carl and McNab have
been dealing with some tensions of their own, and they are barely
speaking right now. I have to hand it to both of them. They haven’t
slept much, and they really seem dedicated to getting Shay back,
which is what matters most.

As though McNab were summoned by the
mere mention of his name, he comes in from the hallway, rubbing his
eyes with his palms. “Ask McNab what?”

“How much longer this asshole is
going to be here.” I motion toward Nigel.

“You can’t still be upset
about that thing in Tampa,” Nigel whines.

“I think he can probably be on his
way today.” McNab pours a cup of coffee.

“Hey, it’s not safe out
there,” Nigel pleads, then he turns to me. “If your
friend hadn’t tried to kill me—”

I move on him fast and get in his face.
“First, he’s not my friend. Second, yes I am still angry
about you lying to us so you could throw Shay under the bus.”

“Calm down, man.” Nigel
steps back and straightens his shirt where I had it balled in my
fists. “It wasn’t personal; it was about the story.”

“Well it is personal to me. McNab
says you can go. There’s the door. Get your shit and leave.”
I point toward the door. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket.

“Harry, what did you find out?”
I ask right away. Everyone in the room is very interested in this
conversation.

“I’m assuming since no one
called me there’s no news about Shay.” Harry’s tone
is defeated, which doesn’t bode well for my hopes for his
mission.

“No, nothing new. But how about
you?”

“Not too much, just that Shay is
also a person of interest to the organization now too.” His
voice sounds tired and defeated. He coughs and sputters before he can
continue.

“Are you okay?” My concern
for how he sounds diverts me from asking more about this
“organization.”

“Yeah, I picked up a cold up here.
Let’s just say this place isn’t like a Florida spring.”

“Where are you?”

“Listen, Eli, I need to talk to
McNab. Can you put him on?” Now I’m irritated; whatever
he did find out, he doesn’t want to share it with me.

“Sure, here he is.” I hand
the phone to McNab and go get a refill on my coffee.

“Harry, what’s up?”
McNab asks, walking into the hallway toward the bedroom.

I turn to Nigel and inform him. “You
can go now.”

Nigel looks to Carl as if he’s
going to help him. “Please let me stay just another day. I’ve
got nowhere to go.”

Carl looks to me hoping to find
sympathy, but there is none. “This guy’s a total
douchebag and would cut any of our throats for a good story.”

“Yes, but he’s genuinely
scared, and until we find out what really happened, I think he should
stay. But it’s your house and your choice.” Carl concedes
at the end.

I run my fingers through my hair and sit
on the couch, defeated. I really hate this guy. This is total
bullshit. “Tomorrow, you’re gone, so get your shit
straight and have somewhere else to be.”

Nigel releases a relieved sigh. “Thanks,
mate!”

God even his voice is annoying. Rex runs
to the door, barking, before the bell rings. I pat Rex’s head
on the way to the door.

“Elijah Walker?” The courier
on the other side asks.

“Yes.”

He hands me a manila envelope and leaves
the doorway. I find it odd that he didn’t ask for a signature.
I study the envelope with no return address and only my name on it.
Carl’s eyes widen.

“Eli, let me see that.” He
takes the envelope and hands it back to me quickly. “Nothing
good in there.”

“I’m sure it’s my
walking papers from the D.A.’s office.” It certainly took
Preston long enough to get them to me. It was only a matter of time.
I slide my finger under a top corner and tear it open while walking
to the kitchen counter.

I’m surprised by what I pull out.
I study the anime style drawing of Shay holding a falchion dripping
with blood. “McNab!”

McNab comes in from the hallway,
finishing up his call with Harry, while Carl and Nigel gather around
me to look at the drawings. Each page is more horrific than the last.
This is in Shay’s art style, and it looks like her work.

One of the pictures shows my living room
splattered in blood and random body parts everywhere. There’s
also a picture for each of us in the house at this moment, including
McNab’s crew and a few pictures of people I don’t know in
a location I’m unfamiliar with.

Carl is shown with a surgically precise
cut down the middle of his torso with his entrails hanging out
spelling out “Shay.” In the next panel is McNab nailed to
the wall Jesus-style with the word “Is” carved into his
legs – a letter on each thigh. Pitch is on the kitchen floor
holding his head in his lap with a Post-it note over his mouth that
reads “Mine.” And then there’s the image of me.

My heart is in one hand, my brain is in
the other, and a bottle of whiskey sits between my legs. The word
“Forever” is chiseled across my chest.

McNab is in shock. Judging from the
silence, we are all thinking the same thing. We are wondering if this
is an image of things to come, a threat or both. We all wait for
McNab, and it’s so quiet in the room full of men that you can
hear the whistle of air moving past someone’s nose hair.

Nigel thumbs through the panels until he
finds the one depicting his demise. He’s in the bathroom
completely dismembered with his limbs in the bathtub and his belly
cut open to reveal newspaper stuffed in his body cavity and coming
out of his mouth, as though he were regurgitating it. All color
drains from his face and his breathing becomes labored. He
immediately drops the panel and backs away from the kitchen counter.
He puts his hands up as if to protest. “Bollocks, I’m
out.” He goes to the hallway and quickly reappears with a bag
in hand, clothes hanging out of the edges. The rest of us are still
speechless. McNab seems to have nothing to offer as Nigel walks
across the room to the foyer.

“I’m not sticking around,
and if I were you guys, I’d get the fuck out of this house of
horrors, too. None of McNab’s little voodoo trinkets or
protections can save us from this.” With that, he closes the
door so hard and fast that it doesn’t latch and just swings
back open.

I continue through all the art pieces,
finding images of Pitch and Quag. Even Rex didn’t escape the
butcher.

I see two panels of Shay. In the first
one she’s sitting in a very dark place, cradling her knees to
her chest. She looks so forlorn, covered in what looks like dirt and
blood. Her hair is crusted with dried blood or mud. I study the
elements of the piece, hoping to find a clue how to help her. How to
find where she is. I see her holding someone’s hand, and I look
closer to see Oliver, but something in me stirs and brings me to the
conclusion that this is not Oliver, but Aiden.

The other image of Shay is more
disturbing then the first one. She’s standing in a tangled mess
of vines with a crazed look in her eyes. She’s holding a
falchion sword that’s dripping with blood. Blood is on her
clothes and is certainty in her eyes. This depiction of her leaves no
doubt that this Shay, the one in the picture, is capable of killing.

“McNab, what the hell is this?”
I motion to the panels.

Everyone in the room is visibly spooked
and looking to McNab for some kind of answer. “Pitch.”
McNab’s voice is demanding, but shaky.

Pitch comes from the hallway and stops
short when he breaches the doorway. “What the fuck is happening
in here?”

“I need you to get the
spectrometer; we’ve got some artwork to analyze.” McNab
returns his attention to the panels.

Pitch comes to see what we are looking
at and picks up the image of Nigel. “Whoa, where did these come
from?”

“They were just delivered,”
I answer simply.

“Well, this is some scary shit.”
He starts to drop the panel and snatches it back up again. “Wait
a minute, this one is changing.”

“What?” McNab takes the
picture from Pitch and his eyes widen. “Holy Hell.”

“What is it?” I ask, feeling
fear coursing through me that something could possibly have McNab
even more shaken.

We all gather around the picture, and
McNab turns it around for us to see the image now shows Trish in the
bathroom with the word “Betrayer” written in blood on the
bathtub and shit spewing from her mouth.

“Trish.” Her name comes out
on my breath.

“Very good, bumble-fuck.”
Her voice carries from the foyer. “Sorry to break up the
circle, jerk, but I came to check in to see if you’ve found
Shay.” Her heels click-clack across the tile.

“Jesus Christ.” Pitch looks
at Trish with disbelief.

“No, just me, but close.”
Trish stands in front of Pitch with her hands on her hips.

Pitch quickly turns and heads for the
hallway.

“So have you heard anything?”
She looks at me for the answer.

“Not about Shay, no.”

“You know, you’re fucking
useless. How do you lose a grown woman?” she snaps.

Carl exhales and puts the panel on the
counter and runs his hands over his crew cut, shaking his head.