INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2) (12 page)

I wish I could understand it. I’ve
spent enough time with her to know that I treat her much better than
he does. Although this last time around I could have done better. I
kick at the dirt, walking around the trunk of the tree. I thought
that taking the tough-guy road would be effective with her; it works
for Aiden. I was hoping it would snap her out of whatever it was she
was dealing with. She shut me out completely. It was worse than when
Aiden was around; at least then I knew she wasn’t alone trying
to cope with something so much bigger than her. I needed to be near
her, but she felt miles away sitting in the same room. The light had
disappeared from her eyes and she was so distant.

I should have made her go talk to
someone, I should have insisted. Would that have worked? Would we
have been together when Aiden came back this time? It seems he always
ends up showing up right as Shay and I hit a rough spot.

She gets so uptight when I drink, so I
just don’t talk about it. It’s not a big deal; I can have
a beer if I want one. How can it bother her if she doesn’t
know? But it's like she’s got this fucking radar; she always
knows when I’ve been drinking. Having a beer or two at dinner
or lunch is fine. She should lighten up. I know I drink a little more
when Aiden comes home. I'm used to being his first stop when he comes
back into town and we all hit the Cold Keg; that’s the first
bar we all went to when Shay finally turned 21. I love that place.

I look up at the oak tree and marvel at
how much it looks just like the one that sprouts up in the middle of
outdoor area of the bar. Huh, does that make the one at the Cold Keg
my crying tree? Seems I spend half my time laughing and half my time
crying there.

“Aiden.” I say his name out
loud. I just don’t get it; what does she see in him? I lean
against the bark of the tree. He’s okay looking. Girls seem to
think so; he’d never have trouble picking up a new girl every
night. But he’s short and arrogant. So what if he cooks? So do
I. Sure he’s got family money, but Shay doesn’t care
about that. I have money now and it doesn’t seem to matter.

I bought a four bedroom house in the
best school district so that we could raise our kids there one day.
Shay and I are meant to be together. Of course I won’t die
without her. I’m adult and would move on at some point, but the
love that we share is so strong and real. It’s all I’ve
ever known and all I ever care to know. The touch of her soft skin,
her silky hair and the way she smells feels like home. She just feels
like home.

We’ve shared so much together; she
and I we’ve always had a special bond. We’ve had so many
firsts together growing up. Our first kiss, making love, saying “I
love you,” they were all firsts for both of us and we were
together. It has been so amazing and special growing with her over
the years. She was worth the wait; she told me the same thing. Her
voice echoes through my thoughts, telling me how much she loves me.

I was the first one to ask her to marry
me. So what if we were fourteen and I used an old coke tab for the
ring? It was sweet, she loved it. So much that she kept it and she
said, “Yes.” That’s one of the reasons I know she
loves me. Guilt rides up on me thinking back to the burned-out house
when I tried to find some clothes for her. I couldn’t help
myself from opening the jewelry box. There it was the engagement ring
I gave her tied together with a blue ribbon to the coke tab. I
studied it for a moment too long.

When I opened the lid to put them back
in, it was the wrong side of the box. It held five or six rings; I’m
sure they were from Aiden. All of the diamonds huge and flashy with
gaudy embellishments; that’s not her style. Shay’s
perfect ring would be elegant and understated so it wouldn’t
take away from the beauty of her delicate hands. These rings were all
the pure personification of that fucking asshole, Aiden. He couldn’t
even really think of her when he bought her a ring with his daddy’s
money. It had to be the biggest. He doesn’t fucking know her or
what she wants or needs. That’s why I threw the damn box
halfway across the room, I was just pissed off.

This Aiden problem will pass. I hope the
motherfucker never comes back. Part of me secretly hopes she did kill
him so he won’t be a problem anymore. If he were out of our
lives, I know we could move on. Together.

“
Take her now, while he’s
gone. He will return and he will steal her from you
.”
A nagging voice that feels disconnected from my own sounds in my head
bringing my rage to a boiling point. I know Aiden will be back and
walk in like he’s some kind of hero. Sweep her off her feet
away from me. Fuck! I can’t let this happen. My mind replays
every triumphant return of his. Right when Shay and I are at our
weakest. How is his timing so fucking perfect?

Rage overcomes me. Like an idiot I turn,
punching hard and lean my head against the tree. My hand is
throbbing. There are strange grooves pushing against my head, deeper
than the texture of the bark. Lighting up my cell phone I see it
staring me back in the face. “Shayden.”

My fists pound on the tree over and over
again until I’m exhausted. I push my back against it and slide
down the bark sitting at the trunk. My head is in my hands and
despair has replaced the anger living in me.

The back of my head pounds against the
tree twice and I hold it there. The bleak feeling that had overcome
me is subsiding. My mood lightens and I can feel peace humming
through me. “Huh; the crying tree. Maybe there’s
something to this place."

Something drips onto my forehead.
Figures, right when I start warming up to this place some pissed off
owl shits on my head. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and
another drip falls on me. Looking up, there’s no way to see. I
move from where I was standing to avoid being a target. Still looking
up, it’s too dark to see. My cell phone flashlight illuminates
the thicket of branches to get a better look.

My throat goes dry and I can’t
choke back the lump forming. “Holy shit, that’s a hand!”
I try to scramble up the tree but the dress shoes make it tough.
Shit, if Shay can climb this fucking thing so can I.

Hopping up, grabbing onto a branch, I
swing my legs onto another to get a better look at who’s up
there.
Please God, don’t
let it be Shay
. Fear is
pumping through my body like a freight train out of control. The
thrumming in my ears is deafening as I reach a branch high enough to
see a body laying in the crux of the tree’s branches.

My hand rests on my chest as I blow out
a relieved breath followed by tears of relief that it’s not
Shay. The hair is all the wrong color and it’s a man. His chest
isn’t moving. The only assumption is that he’s dead. I
hop down out of the tree and dial 9-1-1.

“9-1-1 what is your emergency?”

“This is AD.A. Elijah Walker;
please send a bus, CSI and Homicide to Ryker’s Park in
Melbourne Beach.” My head is still swimming in emotion; this
isn’t exactly a high crime area.

“I have dispatched an ambulance
and the police to your location. Is there anything else I can help
you with, AD.A. Walker?” The voice is curt but professional.

“Yeah, tell them to bring a
ladder.” With that I hang up the phone.

I move a safe distance from the tree,
hoping not to further disturb the crime scene anymore than I already
have. Dear God please don’t let this have a connection to Shay.

Shay

My dreams are still so restless I awake
feeling more exhausted than when sleep finally found me. They are
filled with images that are just out of reach, brief flashes of
memories. Maybe. It feels like Gabriel is pulling at me, his pain
churning in the pit of my soul. Aching for him, I keep reaching out
but can barely make out his features, never mind actually touch him.
This pull he has on me is so strange, I don’t understand it.
It’s disturbing, like some kind of addiction that slumbers in
the recesses of my mind. Something that is always just barely there
when I’m awake, yet undeniable when I’m dreaming.

My latest drawings are disturbing to say
the least. I don’t know whether to take them all down and burn
them or leave it to remind me of what happened. There’s still
something that doesn’t feel right about the imagery. Of course
I don’t want to believe that I could have actually stabbed
Aiden in the chest. That would take a lot of force to punch through
someone’s rib cage.

My entire being shudders at the thought,
compelling me to stand to get a closer look. To study the drawings, I
turn the lights up higher. Following each of the lines carefully,
looking for some kind of indication that it isn’t real in hopes
that these pictures will spark a memory of the actual events.

This
feels
like the first drawing I did of the scene with Taffy, where it looked
accurate, but felt wrong. It was wrong. Gabriel was missing. But the
second shot I took at it felt completely right even though the
Specter was in the drawings, but never visible in the dream.

To clear the confusion, I push my palms
into my eyes and a frustrated groan passes through me. There’s
a pen on the table.
That’s
weird; I put them in the sink to get cleaned, didn’t I?

How could this be?
I pick it up to get a closer look. This is one of the pens from the
set Aiden gave me. There’s a drawing on the table. A familiar
tree, my crying tree and there’s a hand hanging out of the
cradle of branches. Instinctively I pick up the sheet to study it.
These aren’t my lines or my style; this is different. The words
escape out loud: “I didn’t draw this.”

“No, I did.” I drop the
picture and my heart jumps up into my throat pounding the whole way.
My eyes scour the room to find the source of the voice.

My body is frozen in fear as he emerges
from the alcove by the sink. He’s young and a little
overweight, with dark hair and darker eyes. I recognize him, but I
don’t know where from.

“Who are you?” The words
sputter from my mouth.

Without realizing it, he’s
positioned himself between me and the door. He doesn’t seem
threatening, but the simple fact that he’s in here with me
alone is enough to scare the shit out of me. I stumble over my
sleeping bag and see the corner of my phone poking out from under it.

“Shay, you don’t remember
me?” He moves closer to me; I know him from somewhere, but
where?

“I’m sorry,” I say
nervously as I run out of floor and I’m pressed up against the
wall, “You look really familiar, but I can’t place you.”

“I’m hurt.” He’s
within arm's reach of me now. I’m quaking with fear as his eyes
darken with each step he takes.

Touching the bandage on my head, “I
was hurt and I don’t remember.” The words come from me
weak and trembling.

He puts his hand to my head and touches
the prickly ends where my head was shaved. “Bailey, it’s
me, Bailey.”

My feet won’t move, I want to knee
him in the balls and run for the door but I can’t fucking move.
“Bailey, yeah from the signing." My eyes squeeze shut and
tears heavy with fear drop from my lashes.

He moves his hand down to my cheek,
catching one of my tears on his finger, and then cups my jaw. “Who
did this to you?”

Trying not to offend him, I ask in a
careful tone, “I’m feeling a little closed in; can you
give me some space?”

“Of course Shay, I don’t
want you to be uncomfortable.” He takes two steps back, never
releasing my gaze.

“How did you get in here?” I
ask moving along the wall slowly toward the door.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out
a key. “With my key of course.” He slides it back in
quickly.

The words flutter through my mind,
remind me to change the locks,
again.

My eyes snap open. I’ve had this
conversation before. What the fuck is happening here? The room is
starting to spin I have to get out of here, fast. “Bailey, I
have to go, okay?”

“Mmmm, that’s not going to
work for me. I want you draw with me.” He says with a consoling
smile.

“But I have to. You understand.”
I’m trying to sound calm but my voice keeps cracking, betraying
my fear. I inch closer to the door. I don’t know what his plans
are for me, but I have no interest in finding out. Where the fuck is
Carl? Shouldn’t he have followed me? There were no dreams to
speak of so I thought he was here.

“Don’t be like that, Shay. I
don’t want you to be alone.” He lifts his hand to my face
again. I clench my fists at my sides and close my eyes, turning my
head toward the floor to avoid to his touch however I can. Bracing
myself for his clammy hands again, I wait. But it doesn’t come.

“Okay man, you’re done
here.” Carl’s voice fills the room with a loud bang of
the door hitting the wall.

I open my eyes to see Carl leading
Bailey out by the scruff of his collar.

“But I just wanted to talk to her,
that’s all.” Bailey cries out. His speech is awkward and
shaky again, like he was at the signing. Not the lower register that
he was using when we were alone.

After putting Bailey outside, Carl comes
back in, giving me a disapproving look, “You’re done in
here too. It’s time to go back to Eli’s.”

“Carl, what was all that and why
did it take you so long to get in here?” I’m still
shaking and my mouth feels like sandpaper.

“I’m not sure what happened;
the only reason I came in is because I couldn’t feel you
anymore. It was like you were gone. I thought you had given me the
slip.” He raises his eyebrows, but notices I’m quivering
and on the verge of completely breaking down. He cautiously steps
toward me and pulls me into him, “Come here; it’s okay.
He's just some harmless kid. I remember him from the signing. He’s
just a crazy fan.”