Saltwater & Ink

13. Burial & Sacrifice *serva me, servabo te*

   As they sat together in the cold, grey room, Thorn explained to Inky that she had inadvertently opened the portal to the Red Void- which is what they referred to it as, since there wasn't exactly a true name for this place, this twisted alternate dimension. Somehow, with her creations, she had opened the door to this place so many years ago. The abomination she'd accidentally given life to fed off of people's insanity within and life forces, and he described darkly that they required a blood sacrifice so the creator or anyone in contact didn't fall victim to a vast insanity.
   He had found out by painting his hellscapes what this world was and how it had been unlocked, and through trial and error, how to stop the entities that lived in the void, or at least prolong their appearance in the real world. Inky listened in morbid fascination as he told her that the red in the madly spiraling vortex painting on the wall wasn't paint after all- he rolled up his sleeves to show her the scars from several long cuts that ran parallel up his arms, white crisscrossing lines that ran from wrist to elbow. "Most of the time it keeps them away- I've become numb to the pain," Thorn said, obviously implying that he'd inflicted the wounds upon himself. He looked away, a hint of shame on his face. "Of course, one person can only contain so much blood..." he admitted darkly.
   "So how do I stop them from coming back without- doing that to myself?" Inky asked, gesturing at his scars. She got enough strange looks daily because of her tendency to be covered in ink stains, she did not want to add voluntary self-mutilation to the list. "Blood keeps them away," Thorn replied. "It really doesn't matter if it's your blood, mine, some animal or whatever- they just need a sacrifice to keep them locked away in their own realm." Disturbed by this revelation, Inky stared past him at all the red in the painting on the wall. Surely this couldn't all be his blood, she thought, feeling light-headed at the image. Her thoughts shifted to the night at Tapestry, the art show, and she wondered if the whole bit with Miranda and the knife and all the blood loss was just another offering to keep the monsters at bay. Maybe somehow Miranda had found out, and this was the reason she no longer wanted to work with Thorn. Inky remembered her mentioning she'd had to get stitches afterwards. Emma's comment about him being a sadist who enjoyed cutting people seemed extremely inaccurate now, as far as Inky could tell, it didn't seem to be something he enjoyed, as much as it was an unfortunate necessity. She also remembered the night so many years ago, finding all that blood on the walls of her closet, the horrible mechanical noises and the sounds of something dying. She'd tried to play it off and lie, but now there was no denying the terrible truth of the matter.
   More than anything, Inky just wanted it to end, to stop being tormented by insomnia and these visions that she had brought into being. In these brief moments of temporary insanity, she had pleaded to any entity that would listen, to make it end. Now, despite the horrifying nature of her situation, she at least had an answer, though it was not what she'd expected, not what she was looking for. If she was the one who had conjured this place into being, was the blame on her for anyone else's pain and suffering, even their own death? Disgusted with herself, Inky realized that somehow, accidentally, she was the one who had brought them here together, she was responsible- why should she blame him for following her, for offering his help. He obviously didn't want to be a part of this, Inky wondered for how many years Thorn had been trying to keep the Red Void from spilling open, releasing unspeakable evils into this world. Late nights of painting these grotesque creations in his own spilled blood, the creatures in the void howling incessantly behind him.
   Inky looked down at the smooth tile floor, the cold metal and glass furniture. It all made sense now- blood. She wondered how much blood had been spilled in this room, an endless sea of red, a sea of desperation to drown out the madness. She felt something wet drip down her face, and realized that tears were falling down unbidden and brought on suddenly by the thoughts and realizations rampaging through her mind. It was almost as if she could feel Thorn's fear and pain at having to hold back these demons that she should be held accountable for, and it sickened her. "I'm so sorry," she said softly through a veil of tears. "I didn't know- I didn't mean to do this..." she stated sorrowfully, staring down in woe at her ink-stained hands. "It's not your fault," Thorn replied somberly, "I know you never would have done this on purpose." He pulled his sleeves down to cover the myriad of scars, then reached his hand out to Inky.
   His dark eyes were serious in his pale face, and Inky knew then that it wasn't a mistake to come here, and blinking back tears, extended her own hand to meet his. "Will you help me destroy them?" she whispered, praying to gods she no longer believed in that this was a possibility. Neither one of them should have to live like this, with the invisible burden of this twisted reality like a stone dragging them down to unfathomable depths. "I'll certainly try," he replied honestly. Inky stared at their clasped hands, contemplating why she even deserved his help with this, after all, it would be far easier to just kill her, make the last blood sacrifice the beings required and close the void forever. A part of her agreed that this would be a viable solution, she even considered him to be capable of this kind of violent act if it meant the preservation of one's own sanity, let alone the lives of countless others she'd inadvertently put in the path of destruction. Yet for her own selfish reasons, she was relieved that he had even chosen to help her at all.
   Inky glanced up at him, sensing that he was watching her yet again. Conflicted, she felt her mind guiltily wander back to the night they'd first met. She recalled him trying to call her back from the edge of the void, misread the intentions in his dark eyes. She suspected that the only reason she'd turned and ran was fear of the unknown, and the realization that her reality was forever changed. This time she would not turn and run like a coward, afraid of her own internal darkness. Inky smiled miserably, reaching out her other hand to place on top of his. The oppressive, dark feeling had been lessened in her mind. "Thorn?" she said quietly, as they sat there together in the dark room. "Thank you." Their eyes met again, dark cold black staring intently into mournful lead-grey.
   The air felt still and calm around them, as if the very darkness was aware of their new alliance. They sat there in silent contemplation, and Inky noticed a small crack of light reaching through the narrow, singular window at the back of the room. She realized it must be the sunrise, they had both stayed awake throughout the night. Another day of shared insomnia, the restless, sleepless feeling clawing at her nerves. Inky knew that she had to be leaving soon, going back to the life she created in the small studio surrounded by dormant monstrosities. Thorn seemed to sense this too, as the emerging sunlight slowly filtered in throughout the room.
   "You're leaving soon," he said matter-of-factly, and she nodded, somehow feeling like she was betraying him by admitting that she had to go. "Promise me you'll let me know if- anything happens," he insisted quietly. "You know where to find me." Inky stood up, knowing that she felt the exact opposite about leaving as she had in coming here. Though she still didn't know him that well, gone was the sense of apprehension she'd felt so strongly before. In its place was a strange and unfamiliar emotion, a feeling of trust, as if the rift in the void was slowly shrinking as the darkness faded from the sky. Her heart was racing, and this time not from the constant anxiety the unknown darkness had brought.
   Thorn walked with her out of the room and into the harsh sunlight. The sky was filled with a hazy blue glow as they descended the stone steps and away from the building. They lingered in the driveway awkwardly, neither wanting to address their inevitable separation. "Goodbye, Thorn," Inky spoke quietly, feeling a peculiar emptiness settle over her mind. He watched as she got into her beat-up black car with a forlorn expression on his face, and Inky could feel her thoughts drifting, as though the anchor on her reality had been pulled up from the depths of her subconscious. He held his hand up as if to wave, then turned and disappeared behind the black door as she drove slowly away.