INK: Abstraction Read online

  “Oh McNab, I’m hurt.” I'm startled that Miranda is standing behind me, she's a sneaky bitch. “I thought you would always remain a gentleman and never kiss and tell.” Her meaning is layered thicker than an onion.

  McNab shakes his head. “No, Miranda, I’m not a willing participant in your fantasies.” He steps outside onto the back patio. I assume he’d like to be left alone.

  “So do you have any ideas on how to help Shay?” I ask.

  “I have some ideas. I want her to find peace and I want to get the sicko that’s committing these murders.” She pauses a moment and her demeanor softens. “I’m really here to support Harry and make sure he has everything he needs during the investigation.”

  She's incredibly transparent. There's no doubt she's here to watch Harry. “Who do you work for?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that. But you can ask Harry.” She slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’m going to follow up on some leads and then go back to my hotel. I’ll be back in the morning. Give me a call if the mystic man decides to go astral. I’d like to be here for that.”

  “Will you call if you hear something?”

  She puts her purse back on the counter, looking down, defeated. “Listen Eli, there’s some tension between McNab and I, but I can assure you it’s simply a matter of difference of professional opinion.” She closes the distance between us and takes my hand. “I know you are too smart to buy into all of McNab’s parlor tricks and trained monkey act. We’re going to find her, and trust me when I say, we don’t need McNab. He’s only going to complicate things.”

  “How so?”

  “For instance, wouldn’t it be much better if we were mobilized actually out looking for her rather than meditating? The only thing we should be planning is how to narrow down the search grid on the map.” She steps in closer to me with a sympathetic gaze when I don’t answer. “We don’t even have a list of suspects. How are we supposed to have an inkling of an address or even a zip code where we could start looking for her? McNab is a TV personality, not a detective, not a P.I., just a pretty face with lots of charisma.” She forces a sarcastic laugh. “Little wonder Shay’s fallen for him. A small town girl like her didn’t have a chance with his flash.”

  “Shay hasn’t fallen for McNab,” I protest. How would she know anyway?

  “Well, I think you’re smarter than that. She was spending an awful lot of time in L.A. with him.” She puts her hand above my elbow and gives a gentle squeeze. “Anyway, this isn’t what we need to be worried about, we need to focus on finding her, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  She pulls me into a hug and I stiffen. There’s something about this that feels wrong. Possibly that she has the emotional acuity of a garden tool, but she is trying to comfort me and I can appreciate that. “Thank you Miranda, call if you hear anything.” I pull my lips into a thin line.

  “You’ll be the first one I call,” she reassures me while offering a consoling smile. “We’ll find her and put an end to her pain.”

  Miranda looks back at me once more before closing the door. I run my fingers through my hair. The madness is getting to be too much. All I want to do is find her and hold her and stop sitting around here with my dick in my hand waiting for something to happen.

  “Hey, how are you holding up?” Trish’s voice pulls me out of my pool of self-pity.

  “Not good, how about you?” I can’t manage a smile.

  “Not good.” She sits down at the breakfast bar with me and starts picking at a doughnut. “No news?”

  “No, nothing. Although, Carl’s thinking about doing something where he says he’ll be able to talk with her. At least possibly find out if she’s still alive.”

  “Really?” She raises her eyebrows. “What is he waiting for?”

  “I guess it’s pretty dangerous, so he’s trying to decide whether or not he’s going to do it.”

  “Fuck that! What is he, some kind of pussy? If he can save her, then why hasn’t he already done it?” She gets irate and drops the doughnut on a napkin. She stands from the stool. “Where is he?”

  “He’s meditating, and I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to prepare for whatever it is he’s going to do. Something about astral projection or some shit.” I put my hand on her arm to keep her from giving him a rude awakening. The last thing I need while he's trying to prepare to help Shay is him being a victim of Hurricane Trish.

  “Well, he’d better make it snappy. We don’t know how much longer she has.” Trish sucks in her bottom lip trying to hold back the tears. “That is if she’s even still alive.”

  “Don’t talk like that. We can’t give up on her; she wouldn’t give up on us.”

  Trish cuts me a hard look. “Hasn’t she though?”

  “No, she hasn’t. Regardless of everything that’s happened, she never gave up on either of us,” I bite back, angry with Trish for suggesting that Shay has given up.

  “I for one am not giving up on her.” McNab comes in from the patio.

  Trish and I stand silent for a moment, waiting for McNab to say something more inspirational.

  “I’m not throwing in the towel. I know she’s going to be ok, that we are going to find her and bring her home,” I say, trying to convince everyone in the room including myself.

  “Good, she needs you right now, Eli. You need to really focus your thoughts on her in a positive way. If you don’t believe in her, she’s going to feel it.” McNab raises his eyebrows to make his point.

  “Isn’t there something that you can do? I mean, you are into all this paranormal shit, why haven’t you done some sort of ritual or sacrifice a fucking chicken to find her?” Trish asks.

  McNab rolls his eyes and looks at me as though I could help Trish understand or help him understand Trish. Either of which would be impossible.

  “I’m ready.” Carl comes from the hallway with his standard serious expression laced with worry.

  “You’re sure about this, Carl?” McNab asks.

  “I need to know she’s okay.”

  “Thank you Carl, really, thank you.” Relief floods me at knowing that he’s going to be doing something.

  “I thought you didn’t buy into all of this.” McNab raises one eyebrow.

  “McNab, if you told me that cutting off my right arm could get her back, I’d do it,” I answer in complete seriousness.

  Carl looks at me with pity. “I know you would, Eli.”

  “Let’s do this.” McNab grabs his bag of tricks and starts setting up weird statues and trinkets on the coffee table.

  Carl lies down on the couch. He looks at McNab and grabs his wrist. “You’ll stay here no matter what while I’m streaming, right?”

  “You know I will, Carl.” McNab wraps his hand around Carl’s wrist in reciprocation. McNab’s expression is riddled with admiration and concern. “I’ll be right here.”

  “What exactly are you doing?” Trish asks.

  “I’ll explain in a minute.” Carl says, dismissing her, then turns to McNab. “Can I do anything?”

  He looks up from Carl, still holding his wrist. “Pray.”

  Chapter Two

  Through the Looking Glass

  Shay

  Time means nothing to me anymore. There's no use in trying to count the number of cycles where it’s gone from hot to cold. The assumption is that nightfall chases away the warmth. My fingers and wrists are raw spending countless hours trying to get out of the ropes. It’s hopeless.

  Humming softly does little to drown out the sound of cutting and tearing at flesh. Hearing every little thing has become my new obsession. The only conclusion is that my captor is carving up my companion.

  I lament his passing over and over in the darkness of my captivity. A few times my captor has taken the gag out and given me some sort of liquid that tastes chalky, but sweet like vanilla. There should be hope in the fact that he’s clearly trying to sustain me, but to what end? When and how will he be finished with me? Why would
I want to know what was going to be happening to me? I mean, really I have to be next; otherwise, why am I here?

  In my slumber I’ve tried to dream, but so far no luck. Finding Gabriel would provide some form of relief, it would be welcome regardless of how small it might be. All of the muscles in my body ache from being unable to move. The cutting sessions are the only time I'm allowed to stand.

  I don’t understand what’s happening. He’s only cutting me barely deep enough to draw the smallest amount of blood. The cuts are shallow, but they still burn when the blade travels in long lines in my flesh. The cuts on my wrists and ankles from the ropes are deeper than the ones from his knife.

  I still can’t place his voice. All I know is that he’s a man and he talks to himself as much as he talks to me. He has cryptic arguments and there's no telling whether he’s winning or losing.

  The stench of rotting flesh permeates the entire room, and I can smell it on my captor’s breath when he’s close to me, breathing on me. That leaves me wondering if he’s eating my companion and if he intends to do the same with me.

  When I’m alone I can hear the sound of something dripping, slowly dripping. It sounds heavier than water. My ears have become keener with the inability to see. My sense of smell has heightened along with my awareness of the temperature when I was trying to count the days. I lost track. The problem is I also had fallen out of consciousness a few times and I’m not sure how long I was out or if I missed a cycle.

  I’ve spent a lot of time reevaluating my life choices. Although, who thought that going to work could be so dangerous? Just like any other day, I got out of my car to go into the building. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up here, tied up and in pain, terrible pain and even worse terror.

  My captor has left and I’m alone again. The air is growing cooler and I desperately wish I could fall asleep. Eli comes to mind and I imagine him wrapping his arms around me. Holding me, keeping me safe. I swear if I get out of this alive I’ll never leave him again. Focusing on him helps with the pain and the fear. I think back to when Elise died and he was so strong for me. I put every beautiful memory on replay in my mind.

  One of my favorite events is when he proposed to me. I relive that moment a thousand times. I can almost smell the Chickasaw plum blossoms, while remembering how my face flooded with heat when he went down on his knee. What it felt like when he kissed me after I said “yes.” How he smelled. What he looked like through my tear-blurred eyes. All of it. I try to fall into the memory and let it blanket me in comfort.

  “Shay.” There it is again, I’ve been hallucinating and hearing things that I know aren’t there. At first I thought it was the Specter, but not even he has tried to come to me here. I try to return to the image of Eli making love to me.

  “Shay, it’s Carl.” The voice shatters the memory demanding my attention. My imagination has been running wild. This is more than likely just something I’ve cooked up to quell the loneliness.

  “Shay, please talk to me.” Carl’s southern drawl is unmistakable.

  Carl? I realize how ridiculous this is, but why not just let my mind protect me.

  “Oh thank God.” His voice is overflowing with relief. “Do you know where you are?”

  In a heap of shit if you hadn’t already guessed.

  “No, your location, do you know where you are or who took you?”

  Um, that’s a negative. I’m blindfolded and I don’t recognize his voice.

  “That’s okay, darlin’, we’re trying to find you. But if you can give us a clue it sure would go a long way in our efforts,” he says.

  Well, all I know is that the temperature changes pretty drastically between what I assume is day and night. It smells like gasoline, lawn clippings, sawdust and death. It’s a small room where I am, either a small room or small building.

  “Can you hear anything: trains, airplanes flying overhead, traffic sounds or running water?” He asks. I have to think about it, but I don’t recall any of that.

  Not that I can hear. There was someone else here, I hesitate, but he’s dead now. It’s hard to stuff down the feeling of sadness and loss when I remember that.

  “How do you know he’s dead?”

  Because his breathing stopped and I think….I think that whoever has me is eating him. I drop the realization on him. But now I’m starting to feel the panic of it. I really think I need to get out of here. I don’t know how much longer it’ll be before I’m next.

  “You aren’t going to be next; we’re going to find you.” The uncertainty in his voice is haunting. I can tell he doesn’t believe it.

  It’s okay, Carl, I’ve come to terms with the possibility that this is it for me. My eyes well up with tears that get trapped under the tape. Can you do me a favor?

  “Anything.”

  Can you please tell my dad that I love him and that I’m sorry? We didn’t exactly leave things on the best of terms last time I saw him. Eli’s in the forefront of my mind and I want him to know how I feel, but I’m having trouble verbalizing it. And tell Eli I love him, and that I’m holding on for him.

  “I’ll tell them.” A long silence stretches between us. “Shay, he loves you. He’s very worried and is doing everything he can to find you.”

  I’m sure he is. How is McNab? I’m trying to think of anything to say to keep him talking so he doesn’t leave me alone.

  “McNab is just fine, he’s also very worried. He went to your hotel room and cleaned your stuff out. It’s all here waiting for you,” he informs me.

  Please tell him I say thank you for helping. Carl is quiet for a few minutes. Carl?

  “I’m still here,” he assures me. “I’m with you, Shay.”

  Why were you so quiet?

  “I’m trying to pick up on where you are based on your memories. There’s possibly something in your subconscious that could be significant to me, that you didn’t notice.”

  That sounds a little invasive, picking around in my brain like that. Trying to lighten the mood I let a little joke fly. Could be dangerous in there.

  He laughs and it puts me at ease. “It’s not as bad as some.”

  There’s another span of silence. I try not to respond to it, but I can’t help myself. Carl?

  “I’m still here. But I’m going to get back to McNab so I can let them know you are okay.”

  Are you coming back? It comes out urgent and small. I don’t want to be alone.

  “Of course I am, darlin’.” The remorse is heavy in his words. “I’ll be back soon okay?”

  Okay. I’m sure my disappointment is apparent even though it’s sheer terror of what’s to come. Loneliness. After a long silence I call out to him again in my head. Carl? I’m scared.

  There’s no answer and my fear is realized, I’m once again alone. That should mean that they are trying to find me. Like actively working on it, so I have to help. I have to at least be able to tell him something about my surroundings.

  Reliving as many moments as I possibly can to figure out where I am and who took me is proving fruitless, but I have to keep trying. My mind is running away from me and I wonder if I’m even really in Florida, or if I’m in the void again, but I don’t think so.

  The thought of Eli trying to find me and Carl coming to me gives me a burst of energy. My hopes of getting out of here alive are rekindled. I work hard against the binds on my wrists. Hours are going by and the ropes are starting to give and I slip one hand out, then the other. Oh hell yeah! I lean forward out of the chair and land hard on the floor. It smells awful and I try not to think about what I just landed in.

  Carefully, I start peeling the duct tape away from my eyes and try to untangle it from my hair. The blindfold goes up enough that I can see little bits out of one eye. I’m in some sort of garden shed or workshop.

  The sound of grass being crunched underfoot brings me back to my center and I try to mentally prepare for him to come back. But he’s going to see that I’ve worked my way out of the c
hair and that my hands are no longer tied. I scramble backward when the door creaks open and I feel a bright light illuminate the room. It’s quickly extinguished by the sound of the metal door slamming. It’s a metal door.

  My head is down and my hair is covering my eyes in hopes that he doesn’t see that I’ve gotten the blindfold partly off. But I’m sure he would notice if I move back into the chair. Cautiously I look up through my hair, and what I see sends my world spiraling straight down into insanity.

  “You!” he whispers, looking at me with hatred. A cruel smile plays on his lips, “Shayleigh Baynes, as I live and breathe.” He doesn’t move toward me, he just stares at me, and I can’t tell if the look in his eyes is horror or delight. Either way, I already know in my bones that this isn’t good.

  He staggers backward, disoriented, catching himself on the work bench. Frantically, I try to get the blindfold off more. My eyes must be deceiving me. I cannot be seeing him, there’s no way. He’s a cop. It has to be someone else, this can’t be happening. A million thoughts are running through my mind like an avalanche. My head is spinning in disbelief.

  He picks up a box cutter off the workbench. That must be what he’s been using to cut me. He looks at the gun in his other hand, then back to the blade. Glass moves toward me with renewed purpose. All I can do is stare at him as I process that it’s really him. He’s really here and I don’t think he’s going to use the box cutter to free me. My eyes are pleading with him. I’m hoping to tap into some modicum of kindness that maybe I can stop him. But his forward motion makes it clear that isn’t going to happen. He has every intention of finishing me. Now.

  I try to pull the gag out of my mouth, but it’s too tight. I decide it would be better to run than scream. I work the ropes on my ankles. I’m not sure why I think I can actually get out of the binds and get out before he can take five steps to where I’m lying, but I try anyway. With as much air as I can suck through the gag I scream. I howl. I make as much noise as possible and the terror seeps through the fabric. He stops short just in front of me. Pleading with him in one last attempt at tapping into some sort of humanity I whisper through the gag, “Glass.”