Henry Stein died in a car crash yesterday.
Of course it was on the street that I call my neighborhood.
I never heard the car accident; it happened late at night. I don't know if it was before or after design work for pipes and projects.
However, ever since people at the workshop found out another person was responsible for the crash, everyone looked at me. It didn't help that I am not very popular here either.
I don't understand how it happened, all I know is that another car, possibly a truck, rammed into Henry's car from the side last night.
I could hear the whispers of my so called friends as they walked by with their silly doodles in hand. I wasn't in the mood to talk, but it hurt my feelings that my close friends here didn't even greet me.
It is awful they all look to me when there is such a big possibility that it was a drunk. Sometimes in this place of creators and big imaginations, I feel like the only one thinking clearly.
Sheesh, and it is only Monday.
The police still have yet to uncover who is really to blame but right now, when I look at someone, all I can see is horror...
Sometimes I wonder what things would be like if good old Thomas Connor got this job instead of me.
Would things be different then they are now?
I got pulled out of thought when I noticed Wally Franks coming my way. He did not look like he was in a good mood, but why would he be. Most people just don't talk to him because he is always complaining about how the pipes, that I designed, always burst, or how he is going to leave this place.
I look at him as he begins to talk.
"Rebecca, there is a leak on the Basement Floor."
That was all he said before walking past me.
I was slightly surprised, he hadn't nagged me on more about the pipes. It was a surprise, however everyone was treating me differently.
I clear my head and head to the basement floor, to get to work.
It wasn't hard to find the leak when I got down there. The floor was already soaked in the black goo. I step my worn black shoes in the ink, not caring if there is a single stain, and get right to work.
The sooner I can get this done, the sooner I can get back to work on my design work.
I pull out my wrench and eye protection and try and find the exact place where the pipe was spilling it's ink.
When I found it, it seemed to be a simple easy fix. I moves down the pipe a little and tightened a bolt next to the leak, and the ink seemed to slow down.
Then I tightened the bolt on the other side, and the leaking almost seemed to stop.
I tightened the bolt where the leak was coming from and the leak stopped.
I took off the eye protection and put my wrench away before looking at the mess.
There was ink all over the floors and walls.
I felt sorry for Wally, but at the same time, I was glad I wasn't him.
I headed back upstairs to my workspace to work on better and stronger pipe designs, but on my way up the stairs, I was stopped by Joey Drew himself.
"Joey! How are you, sir?" I said in a saddened tone. Henry and Joey were two close friends. Inseparable.
"I am doing alright since Henry's death... "
We both were silent for a moment to respect Henry, before Joey spoke again.
"Rebecca, do you think you can work on something for me?"
"Of course sir, what is it?"
Joey looked around checking if anyone was around.
"I need you to work on a secret project me and Henry were working on. I have the design here, I just need you to build it."
He pulled out a blueprint for a machine.
An Ink Machine.
YOU ARE READING
Bolted Black
FanfictionRebecca Stevens, a 57-year-old Gent. engineer at Joey Drew Studios, embarks on a relentless quest to clear her name from a fabricated murder accusation while simultaneously finding an escape route from the labyrinthine factory itself.