Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

20. An Endless Bloodlust

            “Talk to me!”

            Her hand slammed on the counter for the second time in the past few minutes, frustrated and unsure. What brought her back, why she was putting forth all this effort now, was beyond me. But sure enough she stood, pacing, creeping closer until she locked her fists on the front of my shirt. I locked my hands to her wrists by reflex, but I wasn’t the least bit scared.

            “Do you hear yourself? Talking of ending lives like it was some sort of game, weighing people’s worth based on simple flaws or talents? You disappear for a few weeks and return an entirely different, and slightly unstable person. Edward, what’s become of you?”

            I smiled weakly, pulling myself from Irish’s grasp, realizing too late that I had gotten her upset for no reason. She’d been nothing but kind to me and I hadn’t been entirely logical in my conversation with her. She genuinely seemed concerned, and I had to respect that on some level. I motioned to the chair so that she’d return to her seat, conceding to speak more directly to her.

            “I’m sorry Irish, sometimes life just gets the better of me. I didn’t mean to sound callous, you know I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” I paused, hoping to sound sincere. “I came to terms with a lot of elements of my life upstate, so it’s time I implemented them here is all.”

            She sighed, obviously feeling defeated. “There’s something wrong. The kids inform me of your newfound interest in the shop, which pleases me, but your quiet and peculiar tactics, the cops coming and going, it’s a bit hard to grasp.”

            I shook my head confidently. “That shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Irish, I’m fine, I’m free, and I love it.”

            She took a sip from her cup, pondering her counter.

            “Those cops that kept after you…nobody has seen them in awhile. You wouldn’t know anything about that either, would you?”

            I shrugged, pretending to be bored of her conversation. I wasn’t pretending - I was bored. I wished that she could understand what I was getting at, the souls I would be saving along the way. But she just sat there, visually upset and trying in vain to get some sort of answers from me. I didn’t want anyone to know the particulars of my actions, to save them should an investigation ever come underway.

            “Edward…what have you done?”

            I raised an eyebrow curiously, trying to follow her accusations. “Excuse me?”

            “I’m not a fool. A girl upstate dies, you’re the only suspect and the cops behind it suspiciously vanish. All other possible leads go dry. And you return here, right as rain, without a single explanation for your journey or discoveries along the way? You’ve not made any art in months, and now I never see you at the bar, but I hear you constantly planning, murmuring to yourself the few times I do see you.”

            I was surprised by her details; by the amount of information she’d amassed on her own. Perhaps there was more to Irish than met the eye. Was she a potential risk to my operation? Would her questioning lead to further interference? Then again, she was one of my few supporters, faithful and true – losing her could be catastrophic for me. Was I willing to take that chance, risk that leap? No. I wasn’t. Irish had been too good to me over the years, always eager to keep me heading in the right direction. Just like now. She just wanted facts that I wouldn’t provide to her.

            “Irish…I appreciate all you’ve done for me, and again, I apologize for upsetting you. I’m better now, and what’s done is done. I’d prefer not to harp on the past and instead focus on all the potential of my future.”