Turpentine & Vetiver

9. Watching You -create silence-Albert Camus

For a while, Thorn waited for Inky to calm down, or fall asleep- whichever happened first. She'd taken refuge in a small driftwood fort, abandoned by the vacationing children over the past summer. Thorn remembered how scared she'd been in the Artist's Loft- how she appeared to be in a dissociative trance, similar to his own sleep paralysis episodes. Thorn didn't think that Inky knew of the Red Void's true existence, though it had been a part of both their lives for so long now. Inky, he thought. I can help you- if only you'd let me. You don't have to go through this hell alone anymore...
Thorn noticed that now she was unaware of his silent presence; her eyes closed, keys in her hand as a makeshift self-defense weapon. Her clothes were covered in gritty sand particles, and he stood in front of her, staring down at her sleeping figure. Inky was shaking, from nightmares or the cold- he couldn't tell, but assumed either was possible. He remembered just a few hours ago; how he'd carefully held her wrist, which felt cold, fragile- easily breakable. He knew that the only time she'd seen him before was on the stage at Tapestry- holding a bloody knife, as a part of his performance art piece that was a dark representation of the blood sacrifice for the Red Void.
A part of Thorn's mind had been perversely excited that he finally got to touch her, even just holding her wrist while in her semi-conscious state. He'd felt her erratic pulse, and wondered how he was going to explain the Red Void to her properly- without scaring her away again. Thorn noticed that her hands were still stained with black ink remnants, and she had small cuts on her fingertips from the rusty fire escape ladder. He knew that if he tried to wake her up again, she would more than likely attack him or run.
I know what the Red Void does to people- yet you seem stronger than that. You're not the only one who's seen this place. He took a small white piece of cardstock out of his pocket, carefully writing down coordinates to his location in sepia pen, his script neat and methodical. Sighing restlessly, he set the card next to Inky on the sand, staring at her in contemplation. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a shadow on his face as he turned away from her, then walked silently back up the beach, leaving her in the sanctuary of the driftwood fortress. He drove back to the dark building that he called home, hoping that Inky would figure out the vague message- something in the back of his mind told him not to give up on trying to help her, and he wondered what he'd even say to her now. Sorry I had to chase you- I didn't want you getting hurt.
His phone buzzed annoyingly, and he checked the small screen. He'd let his voicemail get full on purpose- as he didn't wish to converse with those who wanted to reach him. There was a text from Miranda, which simply read: After last night's events, I will be cutting ties with your art projects. You'll have to find a new 'test subject' -best of luck. Or not. - Miranda. Thorn deleted the message, not surprised in the least. Part of him didn't blame her- he'd indeed cut her pretty badly, and nobody else had volunteered for the job. Restlessly, he paced around the room, staring absently at the grey walls that surrounded him. He watered the orchids, organized a stack of unopened letters on the round glass coffee table, and decided to go into work today to discuss one of Cayson's ideas for the Gallery.
   Mr. George Cayson was a pretentious bastard, who looked like a gaunt blonde skeleton with a terrible fashion sense, but he did pay Thorn quite well for his efforts. Thorn hadn't wanted to stay at the Gallery after finishing art school, but his paychecks were quite substantial, and Cayson had somehow convinced him to stay- promoting all of his art shows with a strangely dedicated fervor. Thorn guessed it was because perhaps Cayson found him intimidating -as most others did- but he had no reason to complain. He drove the rental car down to the Gallery, parking in an inconspicuous spot near the West entrance. After he'd met up with Cayson to discuss plans, Thorn made his way upstairs to his office, going to work on some papers that badly needed editing attention.
   The day was rather uneventful; and Thorn didn't get bored easily- but hell, was he ever bored today. Usually he kept his mind occupied, the dark thoughts always present. Since he'd seen Inky, it was as if something had been switched on in his brain- a different kind of darkness- obsessive and all-consuming. After he'd chased her on the beach, leaving his calling card with the vague coordinates- why had he done that, it only served to further alienate her and creep her out. She'd obviously hidden from him in the driftwood fort, the calm of her saltwater sanctuary interrupted by his mere presence. Thorn was sure she'd figure out that the coordinates led to his dwelling space- after all, Inky seemed quite intelligent- she worked as an art restoration assistant at the Gallery- not a beginner's job.
   He drank his stale black coffee, alone in the silence of his office, hoping that he would possibly see her today- after last night on the rooftop with the Red Void- Thorn was certain that they must officially meet. However, she'd looked so afraid, in denial that the void really existed, and he'd watched as she ran away from him in fear after he'd accidentally called her name. This had almost hurt- he wanted to talk to her, explain that he knew how to help her- even if his methods were dark and a bit unorthodox. At least I did get to touch her this time, he thought, a small, perverse smile on his otherwise expressionless features. Thorn recalled how his fingers curled around her wrist, her skin was cold but soft, and he wanted to keep her safe from the Red Void, the wretched entities within.
   Never in his entire 27 years of existence had he felt this way- oddly protective of her, despite his best judgment. He wanted more than to just briefly hold her wrist- he wanted her to reciprocate the dark feelings he had for her, but he imagined that last night was probably the closest he'd get to her, and anything else was merely impossible. After all, he always destroyed everything. I want you, Inky. I want you to want me- and I ruined everything. I'd never force you into any kind of interaction, I only wish that you'd at least talk to me. Thorn absently wondered if Inky was as terribly lonely inside as he was- though hated to admit.
   She didn't seem to have many friends, and the ones she had weren't really close- or didn't appear to understand her. In the time he'd been watching her, he'd found out more about her than any of them had ever bothered to. I could be there for you to talk to, I would help you feel less alone, if you'd let me. Please just give me a chance to explain myself- I didn't want us to meet this way- with you running from me, fear and panic in your pretty grey eyes. Thorn wanted to see her, go to her apartment and knock on the door- what would her reaction be if she saw him standing there, waiting for her? Would Inky slam the door in his face, call the police? Thorn prayed that this wouldn't be the case- he wanted to imagine that she'd open the door, he'd explain everything, then they'd discuss artwork, have an actual conversation over a cup of tea- Inky was always drinking tea, it seemed.
   By this time, the darker of his thoughts had faded away into static, and Thorn could actually picture her being accepting of him, once she had a chance to see how he actually felt about her. Thorn stared down at the Moleskine journal on his desk, and started writing again, this time about his most recent experience with Inky.

INVISIBLE   -YOU FIND YOURSELF
UNTIL YOU'D BEEN
DISCOVERED

WHEN YOU FIRST SAW ME
-YOU DIDN'T WANT TO
BELIEVE IT
AND YOU DENIED
                       EVERYTHING

-SO WHEN I CALLED
YOUR NAME,
YOU TRIED TO RUN
-I FOLLOWED YOU

THROUGH THE DARKNESS
AND SILENT SAND
THE SEA'S CAREFULLY
GUARDED SECRETS

BECAUSE YOU WERE NOT AWARE
THAT YOU WERE MY
                              DOWNFALL

-I LEFT MY CALLING CARD
BECAUSE I FORGIVE YOU.

   Reading the words in silence, Thorn knew them to be the truth.