Beneath the Boardwalk (Alex Turner) COMPLETE

1 {stripped canvas}

There was a certain rush to painting on a clean canvas.

The body was a plain slate, and by just a few strokes of the hand, I was able to create something beautiful where nothing was once before. That's the reason why I loved working at the Boardwalk. Every tattoo I made, I was putting a piece of myself on a stranger, letting a little colour into a spot in skin they'd keep with them forever.

"Close up shop at nine," I yelled before I left the Boardwalk, letting the little bell chime on my way out. I owned the place. And in some sort of way, it owned me. I'd feel incomplete without it.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stay in it twenty-four seven--I had just enrolled in University. I closed up shop after work to go to the night classes I was taking. At the snail's pace of three per semester, I'd be in Uni for a while, but I couldn't stop working. Giving up the Boardwalk wasn't an option.

Campus night air was heavy, filled with the traces of faded perfumes and perspiration, chirping of crickets, the breeze that made the grass and trees sway. The night was so black that it seemed to swallow the ground whole. My hands dug into the pockets of my hoodie. Maybe it was the rush of something new that was making me nervous to go to class. That had to be it.

I heard something behind me and twisted my head. My lips brushed against the hood and left a bright red stain on the fabric. Great. It would be a bitch to get out. I put red lipstick on everyday--it was something about getting to paint on my own canvas that helped start the morning.

I continued forward, but a little too distracted, and tripped on a rock. Wet grass stained my black jeans. Of course I'd fall.

"Alright there, mate?"

My head whipped up. A boy with close cropped blonde hair stared down at me. He had lines that swept underneath his eyes, eyes that looked dulled in the crisp night air. His teeth seethed while he extended his hand. "Er, sorry--I meant lady. Didn't see your face. I'm Matt."

I was tentative but he helped pull me up. "Thanks. Quinn."

Matt smiled. It was warm, friendly sound, and I relaxed my shoulders. His accent was not hard to miss. "Not a problem. You look familiar, though. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Don't think so." The boy was wearing loose fitting jeans and a blue knit sweater, but underneath the collar, I saw a slip of colour. He didn't look the type to have a tattoo but I shrugged. "I own a tattoo parlour a few blocks back. Is that where your got your ink?"

Matt raised a hand to his neck. "Oh, this? Nah, I've had it for a while. But I have one on my arm that says 'mum' on it. Got it from the Boardwalk."

"Ah, sweet! That's the one I own."

"Sick place," he laughed. "You're not working? What classes d'ya got?"

Ten minutes here and I actually found somebody I liked. It took a lot for me to warm up to people, but it felt almost natural in front of him. "Well, two art classes. And one English for extra credits. You?"

"I'm in art too. Hopefully we have a class together. But wait--what professor d'ya have for English?"

I brush my hair behind one ear, and I quickly check the schedule on my phone. "Somebody called... Turner? I think."

"Shit, you have the worst luck. First you're falling to the bloody ground then the next, you're in Turner's course."

I'm a bit alarmed. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Had him last year," Matt whispered. "The guy's a fookin' nutcase. Rambles too much. Rumour's gone round that he's a raging alcoholic. And he disappears after teaching his courses, nobody knows where. He's only twenty eight. Who has a PhD when they're only twenty eight? And he's rude 'bout it. I wish you luck Quinn."

* * *

The art class was great, but I was completely distracted the entire time. Matt's warning served to properly scare me. Surely... the wouldn't assign a professor here without checking his background first? I mean, they were only rumours, but I didn't want my money to be wasted on somebody who gets wasted all the time. And he's only twenty eight? How come he's only three years older than me and has a PhD?

My gut was tied up into knots by the time I made it across campus to English. It was a huge auditorium, with windows near the tall ceilings that let in faint moonlight. I could see the dust hang in the air. The steps were wooden, old and otherworldly, stained ancient spruce that was so hollow I was unsure of where the floor lied underneath them.

There wasn't many people inside. Actually, it was no more than fifteen in the huge space. I had no idea why such a huge room would be wasted on such a small class, but I didn't mind. Auditoriums were nice.

However, this one felt... different. There was no energy in the place. It was like it was an abandoned room, hollowed and carved into something beautiful and left to rot. It was too empty. I tapped my fingers on the desk while waiting for class to start, already feeling tired. It was only the first day. It took almost thirty minutes, and by that time, I was almost about to give up and leave.

But I then I saw him.