Saltwater & Ink

26. Artists *nil desperandum*

They slowly walked back to Inky's apartment, still unaware of the unwanted presence that had been watching them. The interior of her studio was a mess- untended art supplies scattered all over the floor; half-open paint tubes leaking their contents onto the paint-smeared drop-canvas, a myriad of paintbrushes bristling from assorted glass jars of ink-infused water, scrap metal and various debris piled in one corner, and the sculpture of the abomination hidden in the back like the ruler of some dark domain.
   "Sorry about the mess," she told him, slightly embarrassed. She hadn't had time to clean up after her last painting, a large canvas layered in thick red paint, black candle wax, feathers, and ruined cassette tape reel. She had purchased a few canvases that were deemed defective due to damage from a box-cutter while shipping, the knife slash in the canvas adding an ominous element to her artwork.
   Inky had installed red lights behind the canvas, which glowed with an eerie crimson haze from the back of the painting. Thorn shook his head, walking around the art supply debris to inspect her painting. "It's part of the process," he said nonchalantly. "Besides- I'm sure that my place was worse- what with- you know." He looked away uncomfortably. "These are amazing," he continued, looking closely at the detail in another piece, an abstract splash of red paint, black ink, and what appeared to be blood on a smaller white canvas. "I could get you an art show at the museum- it would take a week or so to set it up, but I think that the world needs to see your work," he told her, absently picking up a paint-encrusted brush, inspecting it, and setting it back in the jar of water.
   "I don't know," Inky replied self-consciously. She had been working on new pieces for a few weeks now, but to her they never felt complete. It had been harder than usual for her to focus on her artwork, especially with the ominous presence of the abomination in the back of her studio space. "What are you afraid of?"  Thorn asked her. Inky sighed, not wanting to admit her fear of failure. After all, she'd been trying to get an Artist's Night at the Gallery for some time now to no avail. Now she'd been given an opportunity to showcase her art, but was still unsure if she even wanted to show anyone her dark mind. "It's complicated," she answered vaguely. "Most things are," he replied. "Nobody's going to be judging you- I work there now, and the museum is definitely a better place to show your work." She nodded in agreement, trying to push the thoughts of failure out of her mind.
   "Okay. I'll get some artwork together- just let me know, I guess." Inky looked away again awkwardly, the small apartment feeling hot and claustrophobic. She didn't want to admit that every time she created a new piece, the Red Void felt closer than before. "What's wrong?" Thorn asked, staring intently into her face. "The paintings- I feel like the abomination is getting closer every time I paint something, and I don't know how to stop it. I don't want you to have to- you know," Inky replied, meeting his eyes. "It's like I opened up some fucked-up Pandora's Box and I can't put it back."
   Thorn shook his head. "Don't stop creating things, Inky. I won't let the Red Void hurt you- no matter what it takes. I'll figure out a way to stop it." He looked across the room at the shrouded form of the sculpture Inky dared not reveal. This was the catalyst in opening the Red Void, and she'd been unable to destroy it, and refused to even look at her despised creation. Inky dejectedly sipped at a half-empty cup of cold jasmine tea. The reality of everything that had taken place over the last few days was sinking in, and she desperately prayed that the detectives hadn't gotten any further in their investigation.
   Miranda's body had yet to be discovered, perhaps Thorn had taken the proper forensic countermeasures this time. She couldn't risk losing him now, even after all the horrible things he'd done in the name of the Red Void. "Are you sure that they're not going to find any evidence of- you know," she asked him. Thorn gave her a serious look, black eyes filled with an unfamiliar expression. "Of course not- that first time was an accident- I didn't think that the Red Void would open where it did. Besides- the sea erases everything- and I was more careful this time." Inky shivered, this methodical, cold side of him she was still trying to get used to. The dead bodies- sliced apart and now baptized in saltwater. Inky wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that Thorn hadn't taken that kind of interest in her.
   She felt her face turning red again, the image of what had transpired only a few hours ago making her heart race. It had been in such a public place- not in the field or the forest or her apartment like the last few times... Inky noticed that Thorn was staring at her again, a hint of amusement on his face. She turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment. He could always tell what she was thinking about, it seemed. "Did that make you uncomfortable- what we did today?" he asked her, giving her a knowing smirk. Inky bit her lip, shaking her head. "No- I just- I've never done anything like that before," she answered, trying to keep the nervous edge out of her voice. Thorn laughed, "neither have I," he answered truthfully.
   Inky wasn't sure whether she was more shocked or relieved at his admission; part of her was surprised because he seemed to plan things out so carefully except when they were together, another part of her realized that despite appearances, he seemed to be just as awkward as she was, albeit better at concealing it. She had to admit that even though their latest encounter had made her self-conscious, she'd never felt so alive. Perhaps because of the Red Void- or in spite of it- Thorn seemed to enjoy pushing certain boundaries- though she was coming to understand this, and it didn't bother her. She'd always looked for experiences that put her outside her own mind, usually art being her only outlet. There was always the constant fear of being trapped inside her own thoughts, and whenever they were together, she felt as if she could escape.
   The next day, Thorn told Inky he had to go to Tapestry and pick up some of his belongings. "It's all backstage stuff- if you just want to wait for me outside- in case one of them is there," he explained. Inky definitely didn't want to run into anyone she knew there, especially with what had taken place last time. She parked her car across the street from Tapestry as to seem inconspicuous, and waited with the engine running. After some time, Thorn reappeared with a crate full of his art supplies and several large black portfolios. Inky helped him stack them in a haphazard pile in the back of her car.
   "There's nobody we know in there right now, if you want to come in for a drink," he said. Inky still felt somewhat apprehensive, but agreed. They walked into the bar through a side door, sat down in the back and waited for the bartender to bring their drinks. They noticed that one of the detectives from the murder investigation was sitting at the mostly-empty bar, a glass of Scotch in front of him. Inky found herself nervously eavesdropping on the conversation he was drunkenly having with the barkeep. "Never in my 30 years of homicide investigation- I've never seen anything quite this- fucked up," he said, slightly slurring the words.
   She slouched down in the leather booth and hoped that he wouldn't notice them. The bar's air had an atmosphere of anxiety, and Inky wished that their drinks weren't taking so long to arrive. As if by an unanswered prayer, the other bartender brought out Thorn's gin and tonic and a glass of red wine for her. The detective's drunken and one-sided conversation resumed, explaining how they'd found the second body- how it was "like a scene from a horror movie."
   Apparently Miranda's body had washed up under the pier about half a mile from where Dani's body had been found, mutilated in a similar fashion, the main volume of blood having been drained out or washed away by the ocean's harsh saltwater. Inky tried not to choke on her wine at the description of the corpse. Thorn looked at her from across the table, raising an eyebrow. "Are you having second thoughts?" he asked softly, dark eyes inquisitive. She shook her head, trying to hide her face under her tangled black hair. "What are you thinking about, then?" he continued, taking a drink.
   Oh, nothing- Inky thought. Just that my boyfriend is a serial killer- the words sounded dissonant in her mind. She took another sip of her wine, hoping that Thorn would change the subject. No such luck, as he deliberately kept eye contact with her, finishing his drink and leaning across the table. "Do you want to get out of here? I have something in mind..." Inky just stared in shock, this time awkwardly spilling red wine on herself. She felt extremely embarrassed but unwilling to draw attention to their table, this uncomfortable predicament. Thorn watched her reaction with mild amusement, setting his empty drink glass down on the table between them. Inky blotted at the spilled wine with her sleeve, glad to be wearing all black as she usually did. She managed to finish her wine while Thorn signaled the bartender to bring their check.
   Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, Inky noticed that the lone detective was now speaking to Cayson, who'd entered the room unnoticed. Great- this is all we need now- another goddamn audience, she thought. Fortunately Cayson didn't seem to see them leaving the bar, as he was too busy telling the detective some long-winded story about the Gallery. Wait- oh no, Inky thought, hearing the words "both of them leaving now," and then later, "I saw what they were up to in the alleyway."
   Apparently she was not mistaken, and Thorn had overheard the conversation as well, eyes filling with a dark anger. "What business is it of theirs- what we do?" he angrily muttered, opening the back door of Tapestry and leaving quietly. Inky shook her head, wondering if they'd been followed after Thorn had quit his job at the Gallery. At least we're not suspects yet, she mused, feeling agitated. "Let's just go- I don't think either of them noticed us," she said, feeling defeated. "Maybe we should just give them a show- if they're going to be watching us anyway," he answered.
   Inky couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Her face turned red, and she tried to distract herself by looking for her car keys in her bag. This entire situation was absurd, made even more so when Thorn leaned down and whispered, "If you want me to, I can kill him for you." She laughed nervously, unsure if he was actually serious or not. Knowing him- probably. "It's fine, Thorn. Really. I don't want to attract any more attention to us," she said quietly. "Attract attention to us? Like this?" he asked, stepping closer to her so that they were pressed up against her car door. Inky couldn't tell if she was excited or terrified- maybe a little bit of both.
   "Thorn- stop it, you're being ridiculous. We should just go back to my apartment," she protested. He just smiled darkly at her, the look in his eyes telling another story. "Are you afraid of being seen with me? Or is it yourself that you're really afraid of- how you feel?" he asked softly, staring into her eyes with that unnerving dark gaze. "Besides- there's nobody else out here- just us. Is that really so wrong?" he questioned, speaking so quietly only she could hear. Inky shook her head, feeling the cold glass and metal of her ancient car pressing against her back. It seemed neither of them had any impulse control around each other, and the only thing she was afraid of- besides the two of them getting caught in yet another compromising situation, was the way she felt about him, even after everything.
   "If this really makes you feel so uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else," Thorn offered, the look of dark intent in his eyes not fading. He abruptly opened the unlocked car door Inky was leaning against, and she practically fell into the driver's seat. "Let's go to the museum," he insisted, going around to the passenger's side of the car. She agreed, closing the door and closing out the outside world.
   They drove to the art museum where Thorn worked, Inky driving distractedly the entire way. It was hard to focus on traffic with the intense way he stared at her, catching glimpses of their reflections in the rear mirror and glass windows. He slid one hand up her leg under the black dress she wore, absently unraveling a loose thread from the white gauze bandage she still wore to cover the wound from the letter opener. "You're going to make me crash the car," she whispered, voice shaky. Thorn just looked at her in amusement, fingers warm against her skin. "I won't let anything happen to you," he replied.
   She finally made it to the parking lot of the museum, helping Thorn carry the heavy black portfolios inside the building to his office. A few of the other staff members gave her strange looks as they walked past, their expressions curious yet unreadable. One of the security guards muttered some off-hand comment about them, and Thorn shot him a murderous look. "We should go to my office- it's a bit more -secluded," he told her. Inky lowered her eyes, face growing hot at the implication. Distractedly, she almost ran into a staircase, tripping and nearly dropping the portfolio.
   A thin trail of blood ran down from under the gauze- she must have re-opened the wound somehow. "Shit- are you all right?" Thorn asked in a concerned tone, taking the other heavy portfolio from her and setting it down in the hallway beside the stairs. "I might need to get stitches again," Inky admitted guiltily. Once they reached his office, he set the portfolios and artwork down on a large glass-top drafting desk and locked the door behind them. Now that the office was safely closed, she was less worried about any kind of interruption. Inky sat down in a metal folding chair by the window, awkwardly adjusting the hem of her black dress to inspect the damage on her leg.
   The white gauze was nearly soaked through with her blood, the stark red contrasted against her pale skin. With a morbid fascination, she peeled away the bloodied gauze, Thorn watching with a strange, dark expression on his face. "I'm going to get blood all over your office now, too," she said more to herself. Absently Inky wondered how much blood he'd already had to clean up from this location. "I don't mind- I've seen much worse," he replied nonchalantly, confirming her suspicions. He turned his back to her, rifling through a small supply cabinet on the wall next to his desk. "I think there's some first-aid supplies in here somewhere," he told her. Inky did not want to get stitches again, as she was slightly phobic of needles, but it didn't seem like the stab on her thigh was healing on its own.
   She'd hoped that the injury wasn't as bad as it appeared, and vaguely wondered if she'd agitated it the day in the alleyway. Thorn seemed to have come to this conclusion as well, staring down at the floor. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Inky," he said apologetically, not quite meeting her eyes. "It was an accident," she answered quietly, noticing the blood was slowly pooling on the metal desk chair. She was feeling slightly faint at the sight of all the lost blood- especially since it was hers.
   Inky tried to stand up, the vertigo taking precedence, the walls of the office spinning around her. "Inky?" she heard him calling to her above the loud drone of blood rushing through her head, before everything faded to black. She woke up sometime later, the cold glass surface of the drafting desk against her skin. Thorn's artwork and the black portfolios were strewn haphazardly across the floor, along with various medical supplies.
   "You blacked out again," he told her matter-of-factly, and she vaguely recalled all the red blood spilling out of the stab wound on her leg. The glass slab she was lying on felt like the table in a morgue- where the other unfortunate victims of the Red Void ultimately turned up. "You didn't hit your head this time- no concussion. You did seem pretty unresponsive- so I stitched up your leg while you were out," he explained. Inky looked down at the neat row of precise black stitches on her leg, feeling grateful to not be aware of that particular experience again. "I have had some basic medical training, you know. I think you'll be okay as long as the stitches don't rip open again," Thorn told her, dark eyes looking at her in concern.
   He was pacing nervously around the office, collecting the art materials and medical supplies that were strewn carelessly around the room. The cold glass of the table had a calming effect against her skin, and Inky lay back down, staring at the ceiling. "So- I guess our previous plans are out?" she asked, sounding slightly disappointed even to herself. Thorn stopped in the middle of the mess of portfolios, giving her a shocked look. "Are you serious? I mean- you were completely unconscious just an hour ago..." he looked away, seeming almost embarrassed. Inky gave him a wry smile, finding it almost humorous that she had this effect on him.
   Usually it was the other way around, and she was the one who was extremely unsettled. She turned to face him, cheek resting against the cold glass table. "I mean, unless you don't want to anymore," she teased, eyes shining deviously. Perhaps their separate personalities were becoming fused with each other- he definitely seemed more awkward than usual, whereas she'd been the instigator this time. That, or she did actually get a concussion...either way, she knew that they were connected and there was nothing anyone could do to change this fact. Inky watched him, seemingly frozen in the middle of the room. "What if your stitches get ripped again?" he asked, glancing at her nervously, black hair covering his eyes.
   "You said that you had medical training," she replied almost sarcastically. "Besides- aren't you going to finish what you started?" She stared at him from the top of the glass table, eyes meeting his from across the room. Inky could tell that he wasn't used to her being this assertive, given the questioning look on his face. "What are you afraid of, Thorn? You told me already that you weren't going to hurt me- isn't this what you wanted?" she asked again, unsure where this unfamiliar confidence was coming from. Thorn didn't answer her, instead slowly walking to his office door as if in a trance, double-checking to make sure that it was locked. Inky found this to be slightly amusing, given that their prior- indiscretions- were mostly in semi-public spaces. He turned off the main overhead fluorescent lighting, switching it for a dim red bulb that was reminiscent of a photography darkroom.
   The red wash of light glowed throughout the small office, though it wasn't threatening like the Red Void. Instead, Inky felt calm, in control even. "I didn't know you did photography," she said, glancing around the dimly-lit room. The lights shone like the inside of an artery, or a chamber of the heart. "There's still a lot that you don't know about me," he answered, a dark edge to his voice. "You know that you can tell me anything, Thorn. I know enough that I'm not going to leave," Inky replied. She absently ran her hand along the thin glass edge of the table, staring at him with a strange desperation in her eyes. "It's nothing- you'll just think I'm a creep again," Thorn answered, staring back at her darkly. "It's from before we met- I guess I was stalking you or- something like that." He disappeared into a side door of the office, returning with a black cardboard box closed with a length of thin red ribbon.
   Inky waited patiently as he arranged the photos around her on the table- all black and white photography. Her face stared back in film grain, hundreds of Inkys reflected back. It appeared that he'd been following her- watching her- for some time before they'd actually met. She knew that she should be disturbed by this fact- the odd candid shots of her at work, out for coffee, making art, smoking a cigarette outside her studio- but she wasn't upset in the least. Yes- it might have been somewhat of a violation of her privacy- but she felt as if he'd bothered to see her- when nobody else truly did.
   "I suppose you probably don't trust me now," Thorn said, averting his eyes shamefully. Inky shook her head. "That's not it at all- you- noticed me, when nobody else really gave a fuck," she said truthfully. "It was always only you, Inky," he replied, sitting next to her on the edge of the table. He arranged the photographs back into the cardboard box and set it aside. Inky knew in the back of her mind that she should be at least apprehensive, instead of feeling flattered that anyone had paid this kind of attention to her. Throughout her life, she'd always felt somewhat invisible, quietly slipping through rooms like a ghost.
   You see me, she thought, staring at him silently through the red glow of the light. They were both artists in their own dark way, trying to find light in the darkness of the ever-present Red Void. "Everyone else has always just thought I'm some kind of weird pervert," Thorn said quietly, carefully tracing the row of black stitches on Inky's leg. His hand was warm against her skin, contrasting with the cold glass of the table. Inky removed her black dress, casting it aside. "Show me," she replied in a challenging tone, pulling him down on top of her. The glass was even colder against her bare skin, and she almost didn't recognize the assertiveness in her voice. We're not really that different, you and I, she thought, each of them having to hide their internal darkness from the rest of the world.
   Inky stared into his dark eyes, seeing mirrored reflections of herself looking back. Once again she observed that the black ink that stained her hands had transferred onto his skin, ink handprints like a shared secret. The dim red light gleamed overhead, casting shadows around the room, and reflecting off of their pale skin. Thorn gently ran his hand through Inky's messy dark hair, staring back at her with an almost dangerous intensity. The world could end right now, and it would still be just you and I, she thought. The cold glass surface of the drafting table was pressed against her back, but Inky didn't seem to notice or mind. Slowly, deliberately, she traced one of the black ink handprints she'd left on Thorn's face, watching his reaction. She remembered his words to her the night she'd discovered the truth- you are the creator and I am the parallel- creation, destruction. Perhaps they were each a bit of both.
   Afterwards, they lay together on the glass table, staring up at the ceiling of the office in silent contemplation. The spark of insanity was still there barely flickering, but it was as if something had died but still remained in a state of stasis. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would have turned out to be if I hadn't met you," Thorn told her. "It's like I feel everything in the world- and other times I feel nothing at all. It's painful- not in the way a bullet wound is painful but an ache deep in your bones. You've helped me erase some of that feeling- helped me to actually feel something again besides pain and isolation."
   Inky looked over at him, knowing that he wasn't lying to her. Thorn picked up the small piece of red ribbon that had been attached to the box of the photos he'd taken of her, tying it around her left wrist. For once, the nervous energy was no longer pervading the room, and a sense of calm had taken its place. Inky allowed him to take several more photographs of her, lying still on the glass table, black ink handprints on her skin and the thin red ribbon around her wrist that had marked her as his.
   Her favorite of the photos- once they were developed in the darkroom- was a close-up he had taken of her eyes, silently watching him, reflected back by the camera. She realized that she no longer had any reason to be nervous or hesitant when they were together, the apprehension fading away like a bad memory. Thorn might have done things that were illegal, even immoral, but she felt as if none of that made a difference anymore. No matter what happened now, she would follow him into the dark, hesitations cast aside forever.