Turpentine & Vetiver

4. Rage -strange how we decorate pain-Margaret Atwood

Thorn woke up, feeling slightly hungover and out-of-sorts. He knew that he'd drank far too many gin and tonics last night, and now there was a price to pay. Normally, alcohol didn't effect him like this, he'd grown accustomed to the turpentine-flavored concoction in the last year- since his 21st birthday. He vaguely remembered the first time he'd ever been hungover- a year ago, when he'd been to an event for art school, and had seen another vision of the Red Void later that evening. Thorn had made a painting using his own blood, and had proceeded to drink the rest of the night away. Unhealthy coping mechanisms... However, today felt infinitely worse.
He made the mistake of accidentally noticing his reflection in a hallway mirror; eyes slightly bloodshot, dark circles, face paler than usual and black hair a disheveled mess. Well, you look like several shades of terrible, he thought, unamused. Possibly some strong coffee would remedy this, but it seemed doubtful. Usually when Thorn drank, he tried to only have a bit- as the drunken loss of control was too much, too complicated- and only led to blackouts, worsened his sleep paralysis, and made him feel like -this- the next day. He stumbled awkwardly down the hallway and into the main room of the dark building he lived in.
There were paint tubes scattered all over the tile floor, red oil paint splashed like thick, coagulated blood on several surfaces. Thorn noticed in dismay that several of the white and burgundy orchids he collected looked to be on their way out, a floral deathbed. Fuck- I keep forgetting to water the damn things, he thought in mild irritation. He had been distracted recently- he'd had paperwork for classes, started a new job at the Gallery, and had been working in the photography darkroom under the glow of the red lights. Thorn had also been trying to make artwork for his own show at the Gallery, but the haunting images he'd seen of the Red Void were there every time he closed his eyes. He had decided that the strange girl he'd seen when he was younger had been a figment of his imagination- however, he had seen her in a vision last night.
She was now in high school, around age 17, and he'd seen the terrifying abomination that resided in the back of her closet, could feel her fear. She had accidentally opened the portal to the Red Void- but it had manifested in the dark building where Thorn lived. At first he'd assumed it was a drunken hallucination, but the horrors within could not be denied, reduced to that. The void had opened with a terrible finality, as if it planned to end existence. Why is it here for me and not you? You are the one who created the abomination- and then he realized that they were parallels- she was creation, and he was destruction. Something was trying to keep them apart, but in a strange way, they were connected.
Last night, when the Red Void had made its presence known, Thorn had used a scalpel to cut himself, a blood sacrifice to the abomination. He didn't want to hurt himself- but the abomination required an offering, and there was- nothing else around. He'd watched as the bright red droplets came to the surface of his skin, a parallel slash down his left forearm, from wrist to elbow. Though he hadn't cut very deep, it still bled obscenely, and Thorn watched the blood drip- upwards, defying gravity- into the Red Void. Afterwards, he'd watched as the girl fearfully looked into the back of her closet; though she seemed to be braver than her two friends, who'd started to panic, and she had reached her hand into the dark unknown. The void had connected them, and Thorn almost wanted to reach through it and touch her hand, try to reassure her that he'd already given the abomination what it needed.
Instead, he watched as she recoiled in horror, her hands covered in blood- his blood. Her friends reacted as predicted- the blonde girl screaming, the boy trying not to panic but failing miserably. Part of Thorn wanted to kill them all- he shouldn't have been the one to give the blood in offering- and this made him feel unreasonably angry. The Red Void then faded away, his surroundings returning to normal. After he'd bandaged the cut on his arm, Thorn proceeded to get excessively drunk- the blood that spilled out onto the tile floor repurposed in his painting.
I never want to do that again- I wanted to save you from that terrible creation of yours- but I also want to destroy you so I never have to do that to myself again, he thought, cursing the girl who hadn't been his imaginary friend after all. At the end, there was nothing he could do about the situation, so Thorn chose to drink- drink and forget. Pretend he was -normal- just for a few hours. He shook his head, coming back to reality. The black coffee hadn't helped the hangover much- but he needed to go to the Gallery and work on a few things.
   After his photography class, Thorn walked down the street to the local florist's shop -Blumenhaus- to take pictures of the orchids. He snapped a few photos of some of the stranger-looking varieties, lost in thought, hangover finally receding. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned around- hating to be interrupted. There was a young woman- around his age, watching as he photographed the flowers. She wore a simple white dress, a dove-grey peacoat, and had long auburn-red hair that reminded Thorn of autumn leaves. Her hazel eyes stared shyly up at him, unable to see the darkness hidden within.
   "Which one is your favorite?" she asked him in a musical, confident voice, pointing to indicate the orchids. Thorn didn't know what to say -he wasn't used to being approached- since he'd always been -so unapproachable. "Uh- I like these ones- they remind me of bloodstains," he said quickly, gesturing at the white orchids with the burgundy splotches behind him. Fuck. Idiot. Why did you say that -it sounds so- creepy. Now she's going to think you're a weirdo for sure.
   The woman laughed softly. "You're not wrong. I always find the weird plants to be the most interesting. I'm Isobel- I don't think I've seen you around here before." Thorn smiled slightly, trying not to stare. He always had a tendency to unnerve people with the intense look in his dark eyes, and she was actually talking to him -Isobel- and he didn't want to scare her away. Interaction with other people was always awkward, he never knew what to say- and usually there was nobody who wanted to talk to him anyway. "I'm Thorn- I'm doing research for my photography class over at the art school," he explained, staring down at the concrete floor.
   "I like photography- maybe you could show me some of your pictures sometime," Isobel said, the shy expression returning to her features. Is she- trying to ask me out? he wondered, wishing he weren't so clueless about social situations. I don't think you'd like all my pictures, Thorn thought, recalling some of his darker subject matter- he'd taken photos at the old slaughterhouse he used to work at, of the bloody dead animals- however, his favorites were of dead birds- there was always something beautiful about them, even in stages of decay. He had also taken pictures of random people, capturing their expressions- feelings that he did not share. The human condition. Thorn felt slightly voyeuristic taking these photos- however, he didn't really care either way. It wasn't for any ill intent- he was merely curious.
   "Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?" Isobel asked, distracting him from his contemplation. Okay- so she IS asking me out- doesn't she know what I am? he thought, wondering why anyone would choose to spend any time with him voluntarily. Thorn paused, finding himself awkwardly staring at her. She was pretty- with her rust-colored hair, pale skin, light hazel eyes like mossy amber- but he didn't imagine that she would enjoy spending time with him, and all of the demons he unwillingly associated with.
   Isobel stared back at first, seeming nervous. Then she looked away, as if staring too long had somehow shown her his true nature. I am a psychopath, and I won't deny it. I might hate myself- but I hate everyone else more. Thorn wanted to leave, this was ridiculous and they were only wasting each other's time. "I don't really think that's a good idea," he found himself saying. Isobel looked disappointed, maybe even slightly frustrated. "Why not? Do you not like coffee? Or- do you have a girlfriend?" she asked him, seeming confused. Thorn almost laughed at the absurdity of her question. Because I might hurt you, he replied in his head. "Well," she continued, "it doesn't have to be a date. I just want to look at your photography."
   Oddly enough, Thorn found himself agreeing with her. It wasn't a date -just coffee- and it would be in a public place, so if he did have the impulse to do something violent- there would be plenty of witnesses to deter him, his mind rationalized. Not that he wanted to hurt her -she seemed nice, had actually taken an interest in him- at least on the surface. How far into the dark will you go before you turn away and run... "What about this weekend?" Isobel asked him, and Thorn realized that it was Friday already. "Tomorrow?" he asked in confusion- which she interpreted as a yes. "That- that would be great! I'm looking forward to seeing your photography. It was really nice meeting you, Thorn." Then, she turned to leave, but hastily scribbled her name and number on a piece of scrap paper. "What about 3:00? Does that work for you?" Isobel asked, handing him the paper with her information. Thorn nodded, awkwardly waving farewell as she exited the florist's.
   Nobody's ever said it was nice to meet me. I don't know what to do, he thought, mind conflicted. The look in her eyes- maybe she actually did want to spend time with him- obviously she didn't see through his carefully constructed facade of normalcy. It's the psychopath charisma, he thought disgustedly. Thorn didn't think that someone like her should even be alone in the same room as him- if they valued their life. However- she had seemed to show a genuine interest in getting to know him, and maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing for him to- socialize.
   At home, Thorn picked through the black cardboard box in which he kept his photography prints. He selected the least offensive ones, leaving the rest behind, carefully hidden away in the closet on a top shelf that only he could reach. Tomorrow he would go out and have coffee with Isobel- only coffee, he told himself. A strange, unfamiliar loneliness crept through his mind like fog- he was used to complete isolation, after all- but it would be nice to have some company once in a while, as antisocial as he was. Maybe this time will be different- maybe I won't even wear all black... Thorn smiled to himself, perhaps he was almost even- looking forward to tomorrow.
   It had been two weeks since Thorn had met up with Isobel for coffee, which had gone surprisingly well- he'd shown her the photos- flowers from Blumenhaus, the endless dark ocean, a few candid portraits of his classmates and people he'd observed. He'd even forgotten to remove one of the dead bird photographs- a tiny sparrow on the sidewalk of the Gallery, its feathers damp from the rain- looking almost asleep rather than having left the mortal coil. Isobel had stared intently at the photos, including the dead bird, and had complimented his work. He'd remained carefully guarded around her, not wishing to let the darkness show itself. Now they were in the dark building Thorn lived in, and he was showing her some of his artwork. "Is that- real blood?" Isobel asked, tentatively touching the canvas of one of his dark paintings. Please don't touch that- it's MY blood, he thought, hoping she'd change the subject.
   "I used to work at the slaughterhouse in high school," Thorn explained. "That's really interesting...you're really interesting," she said quietly, staring at the splashes of blood on the white canvas, mixed with black oil paint. You think- I'm interesting? he thought, staring at her darkly, eyes hidden behind his black hair. "I have an art show in a few days- if you'd like to go with me," he replied, feeling strangely flattered. "Of course," Isobel said, smiling at him, hazel eyes staring up at him with the shy expression she usually had when they made eye contact. She was always the first one to look away, and he wished that for once, somebody would be able to stare back without averting their eyes.
   In the weeks he'd been spending time with her, the Red Void had shown itself on multiple occasions, and instead of cutting himself like the last two times- he'd caught two rats and a few pigeons- instead sacrificing their blood to the abomination within. Luckily the void only opened when he was alone, otherwise how would he explain the unknown phenomena?
   The day of Thorn's art show, he packed his paintings into a large portfolio, and called Cayson-from-the-Gallery to drive him into the town. Normally he'd take his bicycle, or the bus- but with all of his artwork, he felt better transporting it more securely. Once he arrived at the Gallery, he set the paintings up on the walls, and one of the girls who set up the Artist's Nights, Miranda, introduced herself; an extroverted girl with curly hair the color of copper, and too much eyeliner. She said she was more into performance art, but had been interested in Thorn's paintings. "Maybe we can set up a show at Tapestry sometime," Miranda commented. Why is everyone taking a sudden interest in my work? Thorn wondered, looking around the room for Isobel.
   Then, he heard a familiar voice -no- two familiar voices, talking out in the hallway. Why does she sound so familiar? Thorn looked around the corner, and saw Isobel talking to Melanie. That goddamn Melanie Richards from high school, he thought, completely caught off guard. He overheard Isobel saying that she wanted to introduce them- Oh no, he thought. "You mean- Thorn Keir? Tall, creepy, black hair?" Melanie said quietly, but loud enough for him to overhear. "He isn't creepy, Mel- he's actually really polite. We've been hanging out for two weeks and he hasn't tried to do anything weird," Isobel explained. Melanie scoffed. "Not yet, anyway- he tried to ask me out in high school- and he just gave me the creeps." Isobel laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, right- he's a little quiet, but I think you're wrong. In fact, I don't think he's creepy at all. Just- very distant, and maybe a bit socially awkward..."
   Great. Distant and socially awkward. Polite and quiet. Well, better than thinking I'm a creep, I suppose, he thought, internal dialogue growing increasingly more agitated by the minute. From behind him, he could hear Cayson and the others in the Gallery growing impatient, so he turned away, leaving the pair in the hallway to discuss him. So far his show was going well, the patrons of the Gallery actually seemed to like his dark, disturbing artwork. They asked him a few questions about the blood -animal- he lied, and where he got his ideas. The Red Void...I can't even begin to explain that terrible place. Suddenly, the air in the room grew colder, a static crackling began nearby, and then- Thorn thought that he wouldn't have to explain it after all, because the void was showing itself now- right in the middle of his art show. What in the literal hell...
   A gaping expanse of red opened slowly, like the mouth of some bloody, terrible beast. Inside, hideous creatures ran rampant- chewing on bones, the crunching noises terrible, a horrifying, aberrant sight to behold. Thorn stood in the center of the room, the chaos surrounding him. He observed that the people on the periphery of the Red Void hadn't been effected, and were standing still, frozen and unaware. The abomination floated silently up from the gory abyss, red strings of gristle, sinew, and vein protruding from its mouth. A wretched, lipless creature with seemingly hundreds of eyes flopped on the ground below, its ineffectual movements appalling to watch, and Thorn closed his eyes, trying to block it out.
   Destroy them all, before it's too late, he thought, not sure if he meant the ghastly entities or the people surrounding him. He heard screams in the distance, and turned around to look. A mousy blonde girl from his photography class, Lauren- had stabbed Melanie multiple times in the abdomen with what appeared to be a broken-off piece of sculpture, and blood was everywhere. Thorn heard the abomination laugh, and the blood filtered upwards into the Red Void, which was slowly closing again, fading into the distance like a bad memory. I- didn't have to hurt myself  this time, he thought, the revelation shocking to him- After all this time- it's finally someone else's turn...
   Police sirens sounded in the distance; Lauren had run away into the night, overtaken by insanity, after having just accidentally stabbed her classmate to death with a piece of broken ceramic. There was blood on the floor, a large crimson lake, and the coroners took Melanie's body away, the witnesses saying that Lauren had snapped for no reason, and had begun to stab Melanie. The Red Void had driven her to insanity, merely by her being in its presence. The abomination obviously fed off of fear, death, insanity- and blood.
   Three years later, and the night of Thorn's art show was a distant memory. Nobody saw the Red Void besides him and lived to tell about it- except presumably Lauren, who'd been found wandering on the street a week later, rambling about demons, monsters, and blood. She'd been institutionalized, and never heard from or mentioned again- at least not that he was aware. Thorn hadn't seen Isobel since the night of the show, either- he'd assumed that she didn't want to see him anymore, after all. It was the night of his 25th birthday now, and he sat alone at the bar- Tapestry was usually quiet during the late nights, and Thorn didn't mind being alone. This was why he was somewhat surprised when a familiar person walked through the door of Tapestry, her hazel eyes meeting his from across the bar. It was Isobel.
   She sat down next to him, ordered a drink- some dark red concoction with too many maraschino cherries. "I thought you didn't want to see me anymore," Thorn said flatly, staring into the melting ice of his gin and tonic. Isobel laughed, but it was a sad sound. "I don't know what happened that night, Thorn. I went to see your show- that bitch Melanie was- talking about you, and then I went to see you, and everything was covered in blood. I don't know- I quit my job, moved out of town for a bit. I didn't want you to- get hurt, but I didn't know what to tell you. Besides, it didn't really seem that -you- were that interested in me."  The Red Void- you aren't aware of its existence, he thought, taking a drink.
   "You could have called, I guess. I don't know. It doesn't really matter. It's been three years, and I guess that I just wanted an explanation," he said quietly. "I didn't think you even liked me- you know, after the show- you could have called me- the phone works two ways, asshole." Now Isobel seemed irritated, her hand gripping her drink glass, knuckles showing white. Thorn sighed. "I'm- not good at social interactions, I guess. I'm sorry," he said defeatedly, only partially lying. In the past few years, he'd learned to fake emotions in a much more convincing way- of course he wasn't sorry- maybe sorry that once again, he'd been led on, abandoned.
   "So- what are you doing here tonight- besides drinking by yourself?" she asked him, the familiar shy expression returning to her face. "It's my birthday," he answered, voice devoid of emotion. How depressing- I'm 25 years old, drinking alone on my birthday. No wonder everybody thinks I'm weird... "Well- happy birthday then. Do you want to get out of here?" Isobel looked at him, a strange expression on her face. "Where do you want to go?" Thorn asked darkly, still not trusting her. "We- could go back to your place. You know- I didn't really get a chance to know you three years ago. You're different from anyone else I've met, I don't know. I really like your photography and art- like I said before, it's interesting."
   Thorn finally agreed, and drove the rental car back to the dark building on the top of the hill. Now that he was old enough to rent a car, the rickety bicycle was a thing of the past, and he decided to leave it locked up on the side of the building. Never know if I'll need the piece of junk again, he thought. He showed Isobel some more of his dark artwork, the pieces had become even more disturbing since they'd last met. "I like the colors in this one- it's like a bad dream- but in a good way," she commented. So far so good, he thought, then showed her the photographs of the slaughterhouse carnage that he'd hidden earlier. Isobel didn't seem to be disgusted, but made a comment on how livestock was treated inhumanely. "I'm a vegetarian, please don't laugh," she said, smiling at him, then covering her face with her hands. "I promise not to laugh," Thorn said in a serious voice.
   Finally, he showed her a few of the poems he'd written in the black Moleskine journal. "You're a really good writer- it's pretty dark, but I- can feel what you're saying here," Isobel said, handing him back the notebook. So- you don't think that my art is disturbing? Thorn smiled, feeling like maybe, for once in his life- somebody else understood at least a fraction of the darkness he kept hidden in his mind. Maybe I don't have to be alone anymore...
   Several hours later, and one thing had led to another, and Thorn found himself staring up into the dark, Isobel next to him on the bed, asleep and tangled in the black sheets. Well- I guess she did think I was- interesting, he thought, feeling strangely less cold and emotionless than usual. It was a foreign feeling- that somebody hadn't been afraid of him, had actually wanted to be with him. It was also quite odd not to be alone at night, and he didn't exactly know how to react to the whole situation. He couldn't sleep, though it was well past 3:00 in the morning, the insomnia had taken hold, and part of him didn't want to go to sleep for fear that this had all been a dream- something his mind made up to torture him further.
   Thorn had been careful not to scare Isobel away- suppressing the darkness in his mind, trying not to stare too much- she seemed to accept the darkness in his artwork, but what would she think about what was truly in his mind? He didn't think that he could ever show a living soul his true nature. However- she had been the one to talk to him in the first place, to convince him she wanted to get to know him, and she had wanted to spend the night here with him... He closed his eyes, trying to will himself into unconsciousness. Maybe tomorrow he would see if she wanted to go back to the town with him; get coffee, see the flowers again. Do I- actually enjoy not being alone? Thorn thought, Am I making plans with someone that don't involve murder? He held Isobel's hand in his, an unfamiliar calmness settling over his mind.
   "What the FUCK is this shit, Thorn?" he heard her say angrily, waking him up from his rare, relaxed state. Thorn turned over, eyes half-open, confused as hell as to why Isobel was upset with him, especially this early in the morning. She was still holding his hand, but looking at him, an accusatory glare in her hazel eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, still half-asleep and desperately lacking coffee. "This," she repeated, and pointed to the parallel scars- some old, some fresh- on the inside of his forearm. Oh shit- I forgot- last night the room was dark, and she hadn't seen the markings of my- self-mutilation, Thorn thought in panic, pulling his arm away. "Uh, it's nothing," he lied, hoping that she hadn't seen too much. "Well, it doesn't look like 'nothing' to me. I'm serious- what the fuck is WRONG with you? My mother committed suicide that way- while I was on vacation. It's extremely upsetting to see that, it's- disgusting."
   I AM disgusting, he thought. That's not even the most disgusting thing I've done... "I'm sorry," he said quietly, more to himself for what he'd had to do in the name of the Red Void. "I can't fucking believe it- I can't fucking believe I actually- slept with you. I'm such an idiot, I thought that you were- hell, I don't even know what the fuck I ever saw in you, Thorn. You're sick in the head, and you should really get some help- because I can't help you." Thorn sat there, trying to process her angry diatribe. Well, I guess I'm not so -interesting- now, am I? He felt the familiar rage filling his mind, like an old friend that had decided to visit.
   "I thought you liked me because of my artwork," he said unconvincingly, feeling betrayed. I should have known better than to let anyone get this close to me- what is wrong with me? he wondered, wishing that she'd never seen his scars, never spent the night, never even talked to him in the first place. Hell- he was the psychopath- but he felt used, lied to- and worst of all, ashamed. It's not true, because I don't feel, Thorn reminded himself. "Fuck you," Isobel replied. "You and your artwork can go to hell." Thorn laughed humorlessly, the terrible, mindless anger rising to the surface. I'm already in hell, don't remind me. Isobel stood up, pushing off the black sheets, hastily gathering her clothes that had been discarded on the floor. Thorn could plainly see that she was in a hurry to get away from him, and he stared at her dejectedly.
   "Fuck me? Looks like you already did that," he said matter-of-factly, and Isobel turned around and slapped him hard across the face. "I don't ever want to fucking see you again! You're a bastard- and probably a goddamn psychopath," she accused. She left the room with her pile of rumpled clothes, and he heard the bathroom door close. Great- now she has the audacity to lock a door in MY place, he thought, quickly getting halfway-dressed, waiting for her in the hallway. In his enraged state, all he could hear in his head was Isobel's angry voice, calling him a psychopath. I'll show you what a psychopath looks like, he thought, I've always been a psychopath- the wrong people just tend to bring it out more.
   Thorn walked away from the door, going into the main room where his artwork stared back at him from the walls. His blood, accusing him of so many things. He took a scalpel from his collection of various sharp objects- it was less awkward than the butcher knife- and as an afterthought, put on his black boots in case he had to chase her outside. How is she even going to get out of here- I'm the one who drove us here after all, he thought, glad that he wouldn't have to dispose of a vehicle as well. He heard Isobel close the door, marching angrily down the hall in her hurry to leave.
   You're not going anywhere, he thought, wanting to see the look in her eyes as she realized what was about to happen to her. She stopped in the room, staring at the paintings one last time. "You lied to me, that's not animal blood at all, is it? That's- your blood, Thorn." She shook her head, "You are a sick fucking weirdo- they were all right about you after all." Thorn stared down at her, a cold look in his black eyes. "No- that's not all my blood- I mean, most of it is- and soon enough, your blood will be there, too." Isobel's eyes widened in fear, and she backed away several paces. "What. The. Fuck," she whispered, digging in her purse presumably for pepper spray or a weapon of some kind. "That's right- you were right, I am fucked up. I am a bastard. I should never have allowed you to come here- I was doing just FINE until you showed up again," Thorn said, staring at her with murderous intent.
   See, you can't hurt me- you tried. I have control again. You tried to hurt me, when all I wanted was to show you myself- I put my trust in you, and now- I'm going to hurt YOU. Before Isobel could attack him or try to run away, he slashed out with the sharp scalpel blade, and at first, he thought that he might have missed because the blood wasn't immediate. Then Thorn saw all the blood; rushing out of her slit throat, down the front of her shirt, on the charcoal wall, ironically- the orchids, and on the tile floor. So much blood wasted, he mused darkly, wondering if he'd have any left for one of his paintings.
   She stared at him in shocked confusion, holding both hands over the injury, shaking her head in denial. Oh, yes. Thorn watched coldly as her blood ran out, the light in her hazel eyes dimming, her autumn-leaf colored hair sticky with her own blood. He remembered her harsh words to him, feeling disgusted. I can't believe I slept with YOU. What a goddamn waste of my time, happy fucking birthday to me I guess. Then, she fell to the tile floor, a pool of bright, shiny red blood surrounding her lifeless body. Thorn looked down at Isobel's body- now feeling nothing whatsoever. The rage was gone, emptiness replacing it. At this point, he truly knew that he was dead inside. The Red Void can have her now, he thought in disgust.
   After he'd made the painting with her blood, he took Isobel's lifeless body down to the beach, careful not to leave any more evidence. The saltwater will wash everything away, Thorn reminded himself. The abomination can take care of what's left... He felt the presence of the Red Void growing stronger and closer each day, and now he realized- he would never have to hurt himself if there were -others- that could bleed in his place. I've traded one hell for another...
   The police never found Isobel's body, as the sea had washed it too far out, and the void had presumably done the rest. Thorn only had to kill one more person the next year, a lone transient who tried breaking into his rental car. He didn't realize- soon everything would change.