Turpentine & Vetiver

27. Into the Void -you are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love -Kafka

   Several days went by; stagnant and uneventful- Thorn sat in his office, writing up the necessary paperwork for Inky's art show. She was the only person he'd met in his 27 years of life that had made him feel anything besides apathy and disgust, and Thorn wanted her to know how important she really was to him. He remembered the look on her face when he'd showed her the photographs- not disgusted; but a strange mix of understanding, appreciation, and desire. Most of the time he felt dead inside, and it was as if she'd lit a secret fire, a conflagration inside both of them. With his past trauma he rarely felt in control -not really- nobody else saw the pain he concealed in his mind. Inky was the only one who'd ever given a damn, and when he met her, he wanted to hide it at first. Then- seeing the look in her sad grey eyes- when he'd told her the truth about everything- she didn't leave him, and he knew they would always be connected.
   Their reality was now a constant battle- one of blood, insanity, and violence- the abomination constantly trying to force them apart. The only time it didn't feel like a specially created hell was when they were together- and Thorn had always been so, so terribly alone. At first he'd tried to deny it, convincing himself he preferred the isolation- because what psychopath would willingly admit to enjoying the company of another person? Most people only existed to agitate him, and he would end up destroying them- taking from them what he wanted; leaving an empty shell. Then he'd met Inky, and everything changed. She'd forced him to feel something that he never imagined possible.
We are stronger together- we can fight the Red Void. We are creation and destruction; you've created emotion in me, and I've destroyed the self-doubt in you. One day we won't have to fight the demons, and we can be together without the fear, the paranoia looming like a monstrous beast. Thorn wondered if being around her would suppress the constant urges to kill- after the abomination had been defeated. Honestly- I don't know the answer. My mind is broken, and sometimes I wonder how you can even stand to be with me. What would you do if I killed someone again, after I told you I wouldn't? I can't make any promises I can actually keep- because unlike you, I'm morally void. At least now I can feel real emotions. He didn't know if this last part was better or worse- there was a strange, unpleasant feeling in his mind- like he ought to feel guilt that wasn't really there.
   Thorn wasn't exactly sure why Inky had chosen to stay, knowing the odds- although he would protect her from anything or anyone who meant her harm. He opened the file cabinet, taking out the black Moleskine to write another poem.

SOMETIMES I WONDER
WHY I HAVE TO
FORCE MYSELF
TO FEEL NOTHING OR
ANYTHING AT ALL
- MY MIND IS A BLANK SLATE
PAST TRAUMA
THAT CANNOT BE ERADICATED

METHODICALLY I WANDER
DOWN THESE DARK CORRIDORS
OF
MY
OWN
MIND

TELL ME, IF I HOLD YOUR HAND
WILL YOU STILL BE
SCARED OF THE DARK?

He heard a noise outside his office- a strange rustling and then quiet voices discussing something amongst themselves. One of the voices- no, both voices- sounded unfortunately familiar. It was Detective Morris- accompanied by that smug bastard, Cayson. Thorn quickly pocketed the black Moleskine notebook, pretending to type an essay on his computer. Detective Morris asked Cayson if he knew anything about the murders- especially the most recent- Miranda. Thorn stopped typing to eavesdrop on their conversation- and of course, Cayson was predictably, and rather unnecessarily- telling Morris the details of the performance art show, in all its bloody glory.
"Miranda didn't really like him much- I always had the feeling she only chose to work with him to promote her own art. There was always- too much blood for her taste. The last time- he accidentally cut her too deep- at least he claimed it was an accident, although I'm not too sure. Thorn is- well, how should I put this? He's a good artist, but he's... a bit- off. I'm not sure how, exactly- but he's always just given me an uneasy feeling."
Morris scribbled something in the yellow legal pad he always carried, then asked Cayson to elaborate. God dammit- what the hell am I supposed to say if they come in here- I should have planned this out. Thorn cursed himself for overlooking such a small, insignificant detail such as an alibi- a detail that could cause the abrupt downfall of his entire plan involving the Red Void. He listened as Cayson continued to explain how Thorn had quit the Gallery job, and then quietly muttered something about seeing them in the alleyway. Thorn hated the fact Cayson had been watching him with Inky- it truly disgusted him to no end, thinking about that creepy bastard leering at them from the shadows.
Thankfully, Cayson and Detective Morris did not intrude the space of his office, and Thorn heard them walking down the hallway, discussing others in the local art scene.He figured they were trying to narrow down possible suspects- and Thorn was irritated he'd even been on their radar at all. A photo he'd taken of Inky fell out of his desk drawer as he opened it, and he stared at her image in black and white. Inky. I- think I fucked up. I'm not sure if- you'll have to lie to the police to protect us. To protect me, he thought shamefully. He took the Moleskine, and the museum paperwork in a manila folder, locking his office door. I really need to finish this paperwork- I guess I'll have to wait. I need to warn Inky about them.
   The next day, Thorn wrote a letter to Inky on a thin piece of old parchment paper; then cautiously made his way to her office in the Gallery- using the copy of the keys he'd made to unlock the door. He taped the letter, along with the photograph, to her desk, where she'd see it when she arrived at work. Thorn opened the sliding desk drawer; leaving a set of keys to his office at the museum, as well as the spare key for the dark building he lived in. I might need to disappear for a while. I promise, I'll come back. First, there are a few things I need to take care of... He planned on going out of town for a few days, working on the details of Inky's art show, and he was planning a surprise for her as well.
   At the top of the hill, the old church loomed imposingly, weathered from decades of slow decay. Thorn parked the shiny black rental car at the iron gate, slowly walking up the gravel path. He had not even been near a church since his sister's funeral, so many years ago. The reason for this visit was not a particularly religious one- although Thorn did not have any ill intentions. From his research, he had learned that this specific church had been under renovation- and from the images he'd seen online, he knew that it contained something he needed- something for his gift to Inky.
   The piece of stained glass was large- nearly the size of the car door- a multicolored depiction of flowers, celestial imagery, and religious symbols. Technically- I'm stealing from a church- no, liberating it- that sounds better. Besides- I'm going to hell anyway for everything I've done, if there even is a god. I don't think so anymore- not with everything I've witnessed or been subjected to- or subjected others to. Thorn didn't believe in God- not anymore- and he carefully carried the glass panel back down the hill, discreetly slipping past the iron fence and stashing the glass in the back of the car.
   He drove away, not feeling an ounce of guilt for what he'd done. After all- this was a gift for Inky, and nothing else mattered more to him. If a god does exist, I'm sure they'd want her to have this- if not, then I will destroy them as well. Thorn smiled to himself, thinking that although he might be beyond redemption in any other way, there was still something Inky saw that made her stay, even though he didn't see it himself. If she still loves me, I can't be a completely terrible person, right? I didn't choose to be this way, I never -asked- for this existence. It might not be convenient for everyone, but I did not choose trauma, or pain, or even- violence. Not at first, anyway. I refuse to apologize for my existence. I'm tired of having to pretend I'm like the rest of the world. One day, they will witness the glorious destruction, and even the abomination will fear me. Inky and I- we will stop the Red Void, prevent it from harming anyone else.
   The colorful flowers he'd collected from Blumenhaus lined the trunk of the rental car. Thorn had gone to the florist's and asked if they had anything that had grown in excess, flowers they couldn't use for arrangements. He planned on doing something else with them, anyway- and didn't care if they were deemed imperfect or defective. The gardeners had returned with a few large compost bags of clipped flowers- roses, chrysanthemums, vibrantly-colored dahlias; anything that had grown out of season. They gave him a strange, curious look when he dumped the flowers into the trunk of the car; and he supposed it was odd, though at least it wasn't a dead body this time. No, nothing like that for Inky, he thought.
   It seemed like he'd been driving forever, though Thorn wasn't really that far away from town. Through a shaded path of forest, the abandoned ruins of an old warehouse stood hidden- almost camouflaged by the dense canopy of trees and moss. He'd found this place on accident, and had visited it several times over the years- it never seemed to be occupied by anything living. Thorn walked into the old, abandoned warehouse building. It was dark, completely pitch-black inside, but he didn't need a flashlight or any other sources of light- he could see in the dark. Although he had been cursed with antisocial and violent tendencies, he'd always had excellent night vision. His eyes were the same color as the darkness that surrounded him, and he slowly descended into the lower levels of the sub-basement; broken glass on the stairs crunching loudly underfoot.
   Thorn knew that the Red Void was drawing closer again, and wasn't sure how much time he had left before it would reappear- and this time, it felt ominous; final. He had a vague idea that he might have to leave- but he didn't want Inky to worry about him. I'm doing this for you, after all... It was as if his strong sense of self-preservation had switched to focus only on Inky- if he had to, Thorn knew that he'd rather die than see anything happen to her. His thoughts wandered to the last time they'd been together- the red lights of the darkroom, the two of them on the glass table, and how she was curious rather than appalled when he showed her the photos- a part of his life he'd kept hidden due to his previous negative experiences.
   Inky had told him that her whole life, she'd felt invisible- and he finally saw her; didn't judge her for being quiet and socially awkward. Thorn felt like a weird voyeur when he showed her the photos he'd taken outside her window- yet Inky just stared back at him; a small smile on her face and a strange look in her eyes. He remembered the first day she met him in the dark building- when he'd showed her the scars from the blood sacrifices, Inky had not reacted in disgust- nor did she seem to pity him- he didn't know which would have been worse. Instead, she seemed to understand him- nobody had ever been understanding; taken the time to see past the facade.
   This is why I love you, Inky- and I would never let anything hurt you. I'd rather die, myself. Please don't blame yourself for opening the Red Void- you had no way of knowing, and unlike me, you'd never harm anyone on purpose. Thorn knew he probably didn't deserve to live in the first place, because of all that he'd done- however, being with Inky erased a fragment of the constant dark anger and depravity in his mind. He finally reached the dark sub-basement level, walking down a familiar corridor, and flipped on the lightswitch along the wall- surprised the old building still had a functional electrical source. The room was about the size of Inky's studio, perhaps smaller; concrete walls and floor, a slight water leak from the cracked plaster ceiling.
   On his previous visitations here, Thorn had assembled a vast array of candles- red, black, and white tapers with congealed wax dripping down the sides. There were maybe several hundred of them, he'd lost count. It had taken a while, although he didn't mind. Leaving the light on, he walked back up the stairs and returned to the car, making several trips to disperse the flowers. These he covered in candle wax as a means to preserve them, and they littered the concrete floor, eventually surrounding the panel of stained glass, which he had set up in the center of the room.
   Thorn took a step back, scrutinizing his work, and rearranged some of the candles until the display in the room was satisfactory. He planned on taking Inky here before her art exhibit, to this strangely calming and illuminated space beneath the ground. This- is art. I actually made something that isn't disgusting, violent, or unnerving. For once in my life- and it's all for you, Inky. He knew she would appreciate this place- a sanctuary of light- underground and away from the rest of the world. Something in his mind convinced him that down here, they would be safe from the abomination. Thorn absently brushed some dust off of the stained glass, admiring the way the candlelight made it appear to glow; seeming almost alive.
   He stood in silence for a few minutes before extinguishing the candles, turning out the lights, and leaving the room; the pure, quiet darkness of the building around him- an endless, peaceful abyss. Eigengrau, he thought, remembering the German term for the color of the absolute darkness. Thorn didn't mind the dark; although he wasn't sure how Inky was going to react when he brought her here.
   The following day, Thorn knew with a sense of finality that he was going to have to kill again. There was a peculiar, disturbing presence around the dark building, and every so often, he could see a haze of red light fading in and out; smell the metallic ozone of the void. The Red Void- this time I know something awful is going to happen, and soon. I'm sorry, Inky- I'm going to have to kill again. I will do anything to keep you safe from the abomination. ANYTHING. Thorn realized without a shadow of doubt- the next to be killed and sacrificed to the void would be Cayson. He was tired of the lecherous bastard anyhow- the fact he'd watched their activities in the alleyway didn't help his case, and Thorn hated him for how he treated Inky. The last time he'd seen her, she had complained to him about how Cayson was acting, and Thorn had to conceal his rage yet again.
   I'll do worse than simply kill him if he ever touches her- he'll wish for a quick death, although he will be denied that particular luxury. No, I'll kill him slowly, make sure he feels -everything- before his blood runs out on the floor... He gathered what he would need to put an end to Cayson's miserable life- this time bringing the scalpel, switchblade, and an axe for good measure. Thorn would wait in the Gallery until closing, hidden in the dark stairwell, and then do what needed to be done. It would be the most convenient to kill him in his office; and Thorn would need to temporarily disable any surveillance cameras in the vicinity, and a disguise would most likely be a good idea. Perhaps he could lure the void to open in the Gallery again, instead of where he lived.
   Thorn noticed he'd received several missed calls from Inky- feeling slightly guilty for not calling her back. He knew he'd have to wait until after Cayson's death; Inky would probably be able to tell something was wrong- he couldn't risk her trying to stop him, and getting herself hurt in the process. The Red Void required blood, and Cayson was less than innocent. That evening, Thorn headed to the Gallery in his rental car, smiling darkly at the thought of enacting his plan. The dark stairwell of the Gallery was the perfect location to lie in wait until closing, and Thorn had already taken the liberty to disable the cameras, making it seem like a minor yet common technical malfunction. There were no night security guards like they had at the museum, which Thorn was eternally grateful for- Cayson and Elder were too cheap to employ security- so they made do with several videocameras, which were only located on the lower level.
   Cayson's office was on the second floor; down a narrow hallway lined with hideous, colorful paintings- Cayson's sorry excuse for abstract art. Thorn walked slowly past a violently magenta and yellow monstrosity, inspecting it with a sneer of disgust. It infuriated him how Cayson would deny Inky a simple Artist's Night- when this was his definition of art. Inky's artwork was beautiful, meaningful- whereas Cayson's was uninspiring, boring, and derivative. Another overrated, overhyped poser in the vast world of art.
   Thorn wore his standard all-black disguise, although this time, instead of the blank white mask- he'd painted one to look vaguely demonic- red; with a shiny gloss finish on the featureless face. He stood outside the door to Cayson's office, the axe dragging across the ugly beige carpeting. With one gloved hand, he slowly turned the doorknob, silently stepping into the room. Cayson sat at his desk, unaware of Thorn's ominous presence. He appeared to be looking at indecent pictures online- the computer screen glowing, displaying various pornographic images. Of course- after all, he's more of a pervert than I am, Thorn thought disgustedly. Slowly, cautiously, he crept up behind Cayson's desk chair until he could see the details of the graphic photos. Thorn decided then and there that he'd actually be doing the world a favor, staring at Cayson and the screen in front of him before he finally spoke.
   "Boo." Thorn tapped Cayson on the shoulder, and he jolted halfway out of the chair, fear and confusion etched across his features. "What's going on?" Cayson asked, eyes drifting from Thorn's shiny red mask to the axe in his hand. "Sit back down, you perverted fuck," he replied coldly, pushing Cayson back with his free hand. Cayson looked up at him, attempting to put a face to the voice he clearly recognized. "Do I know you?" he asked, and Thorn shook his head. "Not well enough, apparently. It seems you've forgotten me rather quickly, and it also appears you've neglected to lock your door. You know- anyone could just walk in here... anyone at all." Thorn was amused at Cayson's ignorance, although he didn't want to reveal his identity quite yet. There would be time for that, soon enough. First, he wanted Cayson to be scared.
   "See anything you like?" he asked, gesturing to Cayson's computer, the screen still displaying vulgarities. "I don't know what you're getting at," Cayson said in confusion, then powered off the computer. "Oh- I think you do. I think you know all too well. You see, Cayson- a few of the women at the Gallery have complained about you being a pervert- getting drunk and touchy at parties, unwanted advances, inappropriate comments... I'm sure you're aware that constitutes as sexual harassment, although it seems you don't really care." Thorn rested the axe nonchalantly against the file cabinet, peering down at Cayson through the mask.
   He didn't make an attempt to deny Thorn's accusations, instead- a sick smile spread across his gaunt face, as though he were proud of what he'd done. "So what. Nobody's done anything about it yet, and now they're too focused on the dead bodies that keep washing up." At this admission, he glanced nervously at the axe, his face turning white with the sudden revelation. "Oh- shit. It's you. You're the killer, aren't you?" Cayson sat frozen in the desk chair, seeming defeated already. Thorn shrugged, "good guess. Maybe you're smarter than you look, however somehow I doubt it." He pulled the switchblade out of his pocket, and Cayson looked positively horrified.
   "You're- you're just as sick as me- no, you're worse. I don't kill them- I only-" he abruptly ceased his pathetic explanation, staring down at his hand in shock. The switchblade had stabbed all the way through- between the bones, into the wooden desk. Blood stained the desk blotter, and dripped onto the floor. "You only -what- ruin people's lives, traumatize them forever? Fuck you. You deserve to die, and I'm going to enjoy killing you." Thorn stared at Cayson, murderous intent in his mind. His repulsive words only served to fuel Thorn's anger, and he remembered the way Cayson had leered at Inky on the day he'd quit his job. I'm doing this for Inky- this sick fuck won't hurt anyone else. Once I'm through, they're going to be carrying out his body parts separately. Thorn enjoyed seeing the fear slowly creep into Cayson's eyes- the same revolting, predatory eyes that had spied on him and Inky.
   "Who the hell are you?" Cayson asked again, attempting to pull his bloodied hand free from the desk. "You still don't recognize me? Think really hard- who are your enemies, Cayson? How many others want to kill you? If I'm not the first- someone else would do the job eventually. I just don't want to prolong it." Thorn picked up the axe again; it felt solid and deadly in his hand. "Don't-" Cayson pleaded fearfully, recoiling instinctively at the sight of the weapon. Thorn looked at him, as if considering his words, then set the axe down- instead; twisting the blade of the knife still embedded in Cayson's hand. He emitted a terrible sound, face going ashen and eyes now bloodshot.
   "You're insane," Cayson accused, voice laced with pain. Thorn laughed, "I'm not insane at all- however, I've been told that I'm a psychopath on several occasions." He spoke casually, calmly twisting the knife in the opposite direction. There was quite a bit more blood now; he'd probably severed a vein or an artery. Cayson stared into the expressionless mask in slow realization. "It's you. I should have known- I knew I recognized your voice, Thorn." Removing the red mask, Thorn regarded him coldly. "You really shouldn't have spied on Inky and I- in fact, you never should have looked at Inky that way to begin with." Cayson laughed mockingly at this; a hideous sound.
   "So- you're here to protect your little girlfriend? You'd really kill me over this? Come on, Thorn- you can't be serious." Thorn thought Cayson sounded awfully condescending for someone who was scheduled to die. "Absolutely. I've already killed the others who disrespected Inky- in fact, that's why I killed Dani and Miranda," he confessed. Cayson looked down at his bloody, useless hand, making a sound somewhere between a cough and a snort. "You really mean it, don't you?" Thorn nodded, this time revealing the shiny blade of the scalpel he now held up to Cayson's loathsome face. Eyes widened in terror, Cayson began to laugh uncontrollably, attempting to wrench his hand free from the desk again.
   "What's so goddamn funny?" Thorn asked out of morbid curiosity. What gave this bastard a right to laugh about any of this? "Ha- a psychopath in love- what a concept!" He began to laugh again, and Thorn sliced across his face with the scalpel, cutting a line from cheek to ear. Blood ran down in scarlet trails from Cayson's face, staining the collar of his salmon-colored shirt. Thorn thought the contrast of the two colors was satisfying to look at, and smiled darkly, slashing at him several more times. Before, when he had killed, he didn't remember -enjoying it- this much.
   Hurting Cayson seemed justified; the bastard deserved to be tortured. Thorn had discovered that indeed, Cayson had drugged the drinks of several women at the art show openings, doing unspeakable things while they were unconscious. Two of them had pressed charges years ago, but apparently Cayson had a good lawyer and suffered no legal repercussions. One of the women had ended up killing herself a year later, hanging herself from a tree in her yard. As long as Cayson was alive, Inky would always be in danger- and Thorn would not tolerate it any longer. He stared at Cayson- whose face was a bloody mess, with crisscrossing lines sliced in multiple directions- no apparent pattern; so different from the methodical, precise way Thorn was used to.
   Perhaps I am enjoying this a bit too much- or maybe Cayson should have learned the meaning of consent. He won't be around to violate anyone else for much longer, and when I'm done, the void can have its way with the remains. Thorn pulled the switchblade out of Cayson's hand, hearing a wet snap- probably a tendon or something had been cut, and Cayson seemed to be going into shock. He at least had to be experiencing rather excruciating pain- especially considering all the blood that flowed freely out of his hand and down his wretched, mutilated face. It was quite grotesque how the layers of tissue were sliced apart, the skin split open to expose muscle and cartilage- the blood partially coagulated and somehow still running out of the ruined flesh; one blue eye sliced and oozing.
   Thorn picked up the axe for the last time, and in a bizarre state of dissociation, watched himself as if he were looking from the outside. The axe connected solidly with bone, and Thorn stared as Cayson dropped to the office floor, with a combination of profuse swearing and unintelligible noises. Thorn was surprised he was still conscious, it seemed to be taking far too long for the bastard to die. He ignored Cayson's useless protests, swinging the axe again. The sound in the room seemed to fade to a static hum, and Thorn felt blood splatter onto his face; Cayson's blood- and he was instantly disgusted. He stared down at the miserable bastard- leg halfway severed, a deep, brutal gash in the torso- the body twisted at a broken, unsettling angle. Cayson was no longer moving, and although Thorn assumed he was dead or soon to be- he slit his throat with the switchblade for good measure; or overkill.
   This was the most violent, personal way he had ever killed someone- it was almost as though it had been perpetrated by somebody else entirely. He got what he deserved, Thorn rationalized. He didn't feel a shred of remorse- not even for torturing Cayson- the only thing Thorn could think of now was how Inky would react if she'd witnessed his depraved actions. Would she run away? Securing the mask over his blood-splattered face, Thorn left the gruesome scene of the crime, taking his weapons and leaving behind the gory mess that used to be George Cayson.
   He drove back to the dark building, the silence in the car almost deafening. The blood took longer than usual to clean up, and Thorn stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink as he washed the blood off of his face. He didn't particularly think he looked like a monster- but looks were deceiving. His expression was blank; neutral- no traces of his hidden psychopathic tendencies. However- there was something in the depths of his cold, black eyes- a terrible thing devoid of emotion and capable of horrific destruction. He felt as if he were drowning again, a pull from beneath the surface of his subconscious. Thorn remembered his favorite quote from Nietzsche; about fighting monsters and gazing into the abyss. He felt as if he'd failed- he'd become the monster he feared, and the abyss was reflected back in his dark eyes. I know I've lost a part of myself, something I can never get back. How much further will I go before I am completely lost in the dark?
   Inky's phone rang several times and then went to voicemail, and Thorn left a brief message- explaining he was busy working, setting up her art show- but was looking forward to seeing her soon. He was tired; all he wanted to do was sleep, and forget what atrocities he'd been responsible for. Unfortunately, sleep evaded him, and Thorn stared at the charcoal walls, listening to static crackle in the room around him. He wanted to be with Inky, although he definitely didn't want her to see him like this- see the abyss looking back from inside his tormented mind. The room was unnaturally cold, and Thorn saw a red seam begin to unravel in reality. The Red Void was opening again, although he'd left it an offering of total carnage, it always seemed to require more and more.
   The void spilled open around him; the air thick and heavy with the scent of decay and rust, the intense pressure in the atmosphere like a lead blanket. Red and black clouds seeped out, full of noxious smoke- the odor reminiscent of burnt feathers. There was an awful cracking noise, like the breaking of bone, and then the blood began to fall like rain throughout the room. No- this is all wrong- there's never been so much blood... Thorn searched for a knife of some sort, hearing a dry, rattling laugh behind him. The abomination- and suddenly he was terrified- he'd never felt fear like this in his life.
   A flailing appendage covered in unblinking eyes writhed through the air, smacking wetly against the tile floor as it pulled him down. Thorn slipped in the blood, grabbing the axe again in panic, hacking at the repulsive tentacle. It let out a loud shriek- although it did not appear to possess a mouth. Ghastly entities of all kinds escaped from the Red Void and into the dark building; lurching and crawling and slithering along the floor. A horrible creature with long, scythe-like claws sliced at him through the air, and although Thorn tried to fend it off, it succeeded in its efforts, slashing wildly; excited further by the sight of his blood. It didn't seem like the monsters wanted to kill him- they only wanted blood. Thorn looked at his black shirt, at the blood and the slash marks. Perhaps he should make it easier for them- he held the knife to his own skin, quickly making an incision. His blood flowed freely out, and the abomination floated through the red haze towards him, clicking its fingers in an insectoid manner. He refused to look as the abomination- that horrible thing- held out its hands to collect the blood.
   The Red Void faded in and out, each time it did not fully close- and Thorn had to cut himself numerous times to appease the beings within. He had to fight off several more of the awful creatures- their claws slicing into his skin and completely ruining his black dress shirt. There was so much blood that Thorn couldn't tell where it all came from- the void or him- perhaps they were the same, after all. The abomination watched eyelessly- the ruler of this perverse domain. He wanted this to all be over- he'd given it blood- so much blood- what else did it want?
   I can't get the void to close this time, he thought in defeated resignation. Thorn dragged the bloody axe across the tile floor, feeling completely alone- until he heard someone calling his name. "Inky? Is that really you?" Thorn hoped it wasn't his mind playing tricks on him- although he was beyond terrified something would happen to her. He dropped the axe on the tile, the metallic clang echoing throughout the building. I do want to see you, one last time- although you shouldn't have to see me this way. I don't want you to get hurt. Inky stepped into the dark corridor, stopping in shock and dismay at the sight of him- thoroughly covered in blood and haunted by his own existential despair.
   He looked at her- she was crying now, and he'd do anything to prevent her from feeling this way. It was too late for him now; he was cursed, damned- resigned to an eternity of mindless torture. "I'm so sorry, Thorn," Inky's voice broke through his thoughts, and he shook his head sadly. "There's nothing you could have done this time, Inky. You only would have gotten hurt -killed- and I didn't want to be responsible for that. I already regret my life..." he trailed off, staring down at the axe on the floor. His mind was chaotic, disorganized- so unlike himself that he thought perhaps, he wasn't himself anymore.
   "What happened, Thorn?" Inky's voice again, quiet and scared. "I had to kill Cayson. The abomination needed a sacrifice- and he was suspicious of us. He wasn't a good person, Inky- he took advantage of people; hurt them. Now he won't be able to anymore." Inky stared back at him, though she wasn't angry at his admission. "Then I came here after work- your art show is almost set up, by the way- and the Red Void had opened again- and this time it won't close. It fades in and out, almost like it's become a living entity in itself- breathing in death and despair, exhaling trauma and insanity. I don't know if I can stop it this time, Inky. I'm actually terrified- and I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you. I fucked up- I was mistaken."
   Thorn sat down in the pool of blood, running a hand across the sharp axe blade. Inky sat down behind him- disregarding the bloodsoaked floor; her arms around him and her face pressed against his back. Thorn could tell she was still crying- her warm tears soaked into his bloody shirt, and he hated seeing her in so much pain. This is all my fault- once again, I've hurt you- it wasn't my intention for you to come here and see me this way. He felt her shaking, and wanted to tell her everything would be fine- but this would be a lie. "Let me help you- please," Inky whispered. "No matter what you've done- what you've had to do- I love you, and I always will. You told me- we are the parallels of creation and destruction- please don't give up like this. I don't think I could live with myself if anything happened to you, Thorn. I don't want either of us to be alone anymore." He felt her arms tighten around him, as though she were trying to prevent him from falling apart. It was too late for that- Thorn knew the damage couldn't be repaired this time, and he couldn't lie to her.
   "You should just run, Inky. Escape now while you still can. I know it's going to hurt, for both of us, but I finally figured out what it is I have to do." Thorn hoped she would forgive him for what he was about to do, because no matter the outcome- as long as she was safe, he didn't care what happened to him anymore. "Take this axe and destroy the sculpture of the abomination in your studio- it serves as its totem- and once I do my part- you should be free from the Red Void." Thorn stood up, pulling away from Inky's grip. I never wanted it to end this way. She followed him out of the dark hallway, the axe hanging at her side. The void was still open, the disturbing red light glaring off the charcoal walls.
   Several of the creatures temporarily ceased their horrendous cacophony- staring out at them with glowing eyes. The worst ones, however, were the ones without eyes- somehow they still seemed to peer obscenely into the soul. Thorn walked resolutely to the mouth of the void, staring into the gruesome depths. He took the scalpel from his pocket, slowly slicing a vertical line through the ruined shirtsleeve, parallel to the old scars. At this point, he no longer felt the pain. The blood droplets slowly rose upwards into the Red Void- the convoluted gravity reversed from normalcy. Thorn watched as the abomination smiled its horrible, lipless smile as the void peeled open like an incision. Reality had no meaning here, nothing had a reason.
   There was a loud crackling sound, and more of the red light poured into the room, consuming even the shadows. Thorn stared at the abomination, refusing to avert his eyes- forcing himself to confront the wretched thing. He sliced across his arm again, deeper this time- the bright red blood welling up from the precise cut, upward into the void, like a vacuum of space. The abomination reached out its hand, signaling for him to come closer. Thorn no longer feared the evil creature, and he took a step towards the opening in the Red Void.
   "I'm not afraid anymore," he said unconvincingly, his voice quiet. He wasn't though, not really. Not anymore, because everything would be over soon, and Inky would be safe. Thorn cut a third line into his arm, intersecting the first two. The blood dripped down his hand, and he hesitantly reached his arm into the Red Void. The abomination smiled wider, its hideous mouth dripping viscous black liquid like tar; its multitude of teeth chattering and clicking like broken mechanical parts, old clockwork toys. There was a peculiar hissing sound when his blood made contact with the atmosphere of the Red Void, and he halfway expected it to hurt- instead, he felt nothing. The aberrant figures drew closer, attracted by the blood.
   I'm so sorry, Inky. This is the only thing I can do to keep you safe- I wish there was another option. There was an intense pressure in the air, like a shockwave, and Thorn turned around to see Inky on the floor in the blood- she'd been trying to pull him away from the void- and the abomination was stronger. He stared back at her, the broken look of desperation and sorrow on her face worse than any of the physical pain he'd endured. Thorn understood her sadness, but it was too late. "Goodbye, Inky- this was all for you. Always for you," he told her softly, black hair covering his eyes as he looked down regretfully. He turned away from her, the pain he saw in her eyes was unbearable to witness. The Red Void parted around him as he stepped through it, and he felt the molecules shift and rearrange; a warp between dimensions.
   He stared back one last time to be certain Inky was safe from harm. The pressure the void emitted seemed to freeze her in place; although she tried to move and stop him, it held her there. The red haze surrounded Thorn, slowly fading as he realized the finality of his decision. One last blood sacrifice. He turned to face the abomination once again. "There- you have what you need- I am the parallel, the destroyer. You can have me, just leave Inky alone- let her be at peace." Thorn wasn't sure if he could reason with the entity, although the red light was dimming on the other side; the void was sealing shut.
   Blood ran down his arm and onto the ground, and Thorn watched as the abomination moved closer, accompanied by its evil companions. He stared at Inky sadly, knowing he'd probably never see her again. Her expression was one of utter loss and heartbreak, and the last thing he saw before the Red Void closed was the fear and pain in her grey eyes as she stared back helplessly. Thorn wasn't sure what he'd be subjected to in the void- a terrible fate for anyone- although maybe it was fair, and besides- nothing would torment him more than being apart from Inky. I am destruction- yet I have willingly sacrificed myself for you, and the void will never have you. I love you, Inky. Goodbye.