INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2) (18 page)

Harry appears at my side instantly.
“What is it?”

“She’s gone.” I’m
standing at the door; I don’t want to disturb anything.

Harry immediately starts calling for
her. “Shayleigh?” He searches the other rooms, and all I
can do is stand at the doorway staring in.

What the hell happened in here?
As much as I hate to admit it, calling McFruitcake is the best
option.

“You’ve got McNab, what’s
got you?” I’m too worried about Shay to be irritated by
him right now.

“It’s Eli; something
happened, Shay’s gone.”

“What do you mean ‘Shay’s
gone?’” he barks into the phone.

“There’s more than just
that. There’s something…strange.” I’m having
a tough time trying to figure out how to explain what I’m
seeing.

“Where’s Carl?”

“He left. He said he had to get
away from her.” I could kick myself for leaving her alone for
so long.

“God damn it!” McFruitcake
huffs into the phone. “Okay, tell me what you see.”

It takes a moment for me to take in the
whole scene and figure out what I’m looking at. “There’s
a huge black…
smudge
on the floor. The walls look as though there was a fire in the room,
but nothing’s burnt.”

“I’m on my way.
Don’t-touch-anything.” He emphasizes each word.

“What if I already have?”
I’m rubbing the oily residue from the floor between my fingers.

“Wash your hands immediately, Eli.
Do you hear me? Wash your hands immediately.” His voice raises
an octave.

“It smells very strong, like–”
It’s familiar, but I have to place it first. “Like the
river in the summer when it smells very bad, and burning swamp.”

“Have you washed your hands, Eli?”
he asks.

“No.”

“Eli, wash your hands. What kind
of oils do you have?” He’s insistent.

“I don’t know, vegetable
oil?” What kind of question is that?

“Do you have any essential oils?”

“What’s an essential oil?”
I’m totally confused.

“Massage oils?” His tone is
condescending at best, as if everyone knows what essential oils are.

“No I don’t have massage
oils. What are you going to do? Massage the mess out of the carpet?”
He’s really obsessed with the oil.

“No Eli, I’m trying to help
you get the residue off your hands. If you had not behaved like a
simple primate and needed to touch everything you see, we wouldn’t
be having this conversation. What about olive oil?”

“Now you’re talking. I have
olive oil. But why do I need oil to get it off, soap and water are
working just fine.” I’m washing my hands in the kitchen
sink as we speak.

“The problem is what you can’t
see. There is an abundance of negative psychic energy on you now,
attaching itself to your very molecules. It will penetrate your being
and begin the slow process of devouring every last bit of humanity
and kindness that you have in you. You will be rendered incapable of
loving or feeling love or kindness ever again.”

I’m feverishly pouring olive oil
all over my hands now. This asshole better not be screwing with me.
“Do I just pour it on or do I have to chant or something?”

“Um yes, you should recite this
incantation: ‘Numquam adepto alius erectio.’” He
says it in his serious tone.

“When will you be here?” My
lack of amusement shows in my voice while I now try to wash the oil
off my hands.
What a dick
.
Obviously he doesn’t realize that as an attorney I found it
useful to study Latin in college.
‘Never
get another erection.’

“Pulling over to pick up Carl and
I’ll be there in two minutes. Stay out of that room.” He
hangs up.

I wait for the phone to hang up on his
end, since I’m not touching the Bluetooth with my greasy hands.
Rex is in the kitchen staring up at me whining. “Sorry buddy, I
know it’s been a rough couple of days.” I check his bowl
and fill it with food, but he doesn’t eat. He just lies on the
kitchen floor in front of the dish.

“Harry?” I call out,
realizing I haven’t seen him in a few minutes. I know she’s
nowhere in the house. I can feel it. She’s not here.

The doorbell rings, but it’s not
McFruitcake. “Mr. Walker?” There are two sheriff’s
deputies standing there.

“Yes?” I don’t
recognize either of them.

“Is there a Shayleigh Baynes
here?” The taller one asks, mispronouncing her name.

“No, she’s not here. What do
you need?” I ask.

“We’re here to bring her in
for questioning.”

“She just got back from
questioning. She will not be going back,” I snap.

The bigger cop with the enormous belly
dons a faux hurt expression and faces his partner. “Did he just
get sassy with me?”

“Bear, I think he did get a little
sassy with you.” The cop nods, looking at me with disapproval.

“Boy, let me explain some things
to you. We do things a little different on the county level–”
Bear is cut off by Harry coming through the back door yelling out
Shay’s name. It’s a good thing too. I’m still an
assistant district attorney and they have no business behaving the
way they are.

“Bear, what the hell are you doing
here?” Harry belts out the greeting and immediately offers his
hand to shake Bear’s.

“I’m here looking for a POI,
for Glass down at PHPD.” He squeezes Harry’s hand hard
enough for Harry to wince.

“Well Bear, I hope that your
interest isn’t in my little girl.” Harry’s tone is
laced with warning.

“They‘re looking for Shay,”
I inform him. Harry’s expression falls.

“Well, Bear, I’m not sure
who’s got you going on this wild goose chase. But we can’t
find her either. You are welcome to come in and help us look for her
or be on your way so we can.” Harry’s got some balls.
These were never his guys, and he’s taking a real risk
dismissing them like they were underlings.

Rex starts making a gagging sound from
the kitchen.
Shit!
Did he get in the room and eat some of that stuff that was on the
floor? “Excuse me, I’m going to check on the dog.”

In the kitchen, Rex is dry heaving. I
want to join him when I hear McFruitcake’s voice. “Commissioner
Baynes, have you found her?”

“No, McNab, we haven’t.”
I’m a little irritated by Harry’s relief.

“Well Harry, if she’s not
here, we’re going to head out. I don’t like doing that
asshole’s dirty work anyway; too bad for him that you are out
of his jurisdiction.” Bear lets out a greasy laugh, then stops
abruptly. “Is that smoke?”

“Oh Jesus!” The sound of
Harry’s voice travels across the living room with his motion.

I stand up from Rex prairie-dogging over
the kitchen island and see smoke coming from the hallway. “What
the hell?” Grabbing the fire extinguisher from under the stove
top, I head for the fire. Bear has requested a fire truck but hasn’t
progressed further into the house. “McNab, what’s going
on?”

McNab ignores me. “Carl?” I
yell out, but he doesn’t answer. He also just runs through the
living room toward the smoke. Leave it to this brain trust to run
toward a fire instead of away from it. We’ve already
established that Shay isn’t here. McNab starts yelling
something that I can’t understand with all the other noise.
Sniffing at the air, I smell the same thing from the room, the smell
of the river when the algae blooms, and it goes stagnant.

The cacophony of sounds invades all of
my senses at once, bombarding me with too much input to process.
People screaming for Shay, McFruitcake yelling for Carl, Rex gagging
and whining, and the two sheriffs still in the foyer with their
radios going crazy. For some reason there are other people in my
house. I have no idea who they are or where they came from. They are
all running back and forth through the house with all of this weird
equipment in black crates with silver-tipped corners and clasps.
McNab is barking orders at everyone and Harry is still calling out to
Shay.

Harry left the French doors to the patio
open and I can clearly see the rays of the sunset streaming through
the bottle of Johnny Walker.
Jesus
Christ, I want to down that whole bottle
.

The chaos takes over my mind and I feel
like an observer, sitting and watching in the background. Motion
slows; my perception becomes keener for the things closer to me. The
noise becomes muted and distant until I can hear almost nothing. The
scenery is losing focus. My first thought is that I’m too young
for a heart attack or stroke.

“Elijah.” The sound wisps by
my ear like something I
almost
thought was there. There’s no way I heard that.

Trish pushes her way through the cops in
the foyer. She zeros in on me and stomps in my direction, yelling
some kind of demand at me and waving her phone. Her mouth is moving,
but there is no sound coming out.

“Ah, yes, the collection is almost
complete. Only a few missing.” The voice starts in my right ear
and moves around behind me to my left.

Three firefighters enter the house and
pass other people walking from the hallway to the front door. One of
them is staring at me; he’s small and his steely blue eyes are
disturbingly penetrating. I feel a sense of violation with him just
looking at me.

I hear the voice again, but more clear,
less of a whisper. Looking around to find the source of the voice, I
find nothing. Dread overcomes me as two hands rest on my shoulders
from behind. I’m not sure why I can’t move, but I can’t.
My feet are glued to the floor.

Trish’s face is contorting with
what appears to be hysterical cries for me to respond. She slaps me
in the face, but I can’t react. Harry comes and takes her by
the shoulders, leading her away toward the door. She’s
protesting, but he’s pointing toward the smoke.

Carl emerges from the hallway and
glances in my direction briefly. Everything is still moving in slow
motion, and I’m not moving at all.

A putrid smell invades my senses, but
I’m too paralyzed to react. Cold lips brush against my ear.
“Elijah, old friend, look at this mess.” He tsks.

His dark and smoky form glides around in
front of me. His movements are so fluid, hypnotizing. “What are
you?”

“Elijah, I’m hurt.” He
touches his dark chin down to his shoulder, feigning offense.

My lids won’t blink and I can’t
take my eyes off of him. I ask again. “What are you?”

“Elijah, I am your friend. Friends
help each other, and right now you are going to help me,” he
says, pacing in front of me.

My eyes dart to the bottle of whiskey
outside, then back to the form or whatever it is in front of me. I
feel like I can’t disobey him; he has a hold on me and I don’t
know what it is. “Why would I help you?”

“Because you have something I
want, and I have something you want. It’s the basics of fair
trade. Well, ‘trade,’ anyway.” He clasps his hands
behind his back.

“What could you possibly have that
I want?” My tone challenges him. It’s apparent that he
doesn’t like being challenged.

“The answer to that question is as
plain as the nose on your face.” He pulls tendrils of smoke
down from his chin, forming a beard to fool with. “It’s
so much more than that bottle of Johnny Walker outside. I bet it
would burn blissfully on the way down and all your troubles would
melt.”

This has to be some sort of
hallucination, something from the fumes from the house burning down.
Shit, my house is burning
down
.

“Eli, I need you to focus. I’m
telling you that I have the one thing you desire more than anything.”
He’s gotten irritated with my lack of attention.

“You still haven’t told me
what you are. Are you some kind of nightmare or–” He
grabs my throat lightly to bring me back to center with him.

“Pay attention to me, Elijah.”
He slaps my face as if to wake me up from a heavy sleep.

My line of vision is drawn to the kid
with the steely eyes; he’s staring at me again as he walks
through the room carrying another case.

“Elijah!”

“You haven’t told me what
you are. What’s your name?” There’s a haze
prohibiting me from thinking clearly.

“They call me the Specter.”
He waits for my reaction. This sounds familiar to me, but I can’t
place it.

The great room is filling with smoke. I
know I should be trying to get out of the house, but my legs and mind
won’t work. I don’t have the will to make them react.

“Elijah, I have what you want.”
The Specter’s voice is agitated, and he’s holding my face
in his hands.

“What do I want?” I ask.

He places a lock of hair directly under
my nose. I inhale the beautiful scent of gardenias. “Shay.”

“Yes. Shay. I have her. If you
want her back, you’ll give me what I want.” He snatches
the hair back.

“What do you want?”

“I want Carl.” He pauses
while we both watch Carl walk across the living room back toward the
hallway. “Dead.”

“What?” I’m puzzled by
this request.

The kid with the steely blue eyes walks
with purpose toward me, never taking his eyes off of me. He picks up
one of the stools from the breakfast bar and swings it like a bat,
hitting me in the shoulder, and knocking me over.

All at once the noise is overpowering
and everything is moving at a normal speed. Albeit accelerated by the
fact that there’s a fire in my house, yet people are still
filing in and out.

“What the fuck was that?” I
stay on the floor for a minute to regain my bearings.

The kid says nothing and just stares at
me. McFruitcake comes from behind. “Pitch, what’s wrong?”

“This guy, he needed help,”
he says in a nervous tone.

“Help?” I ask dubiously. “He
just whacked me with a barstool.”

“Pitch?” McFruitcake looks
down at him with disapproval. It figures this is one of his guys.

“What was I supposed to do? The
dude was in trouble, he was in a trance, and he was feeling
completely helpless. And fuck if I was going to touch him.”
Pitch is waving his arms in wild gestures.