Wallflower Ink

Chapter 6

· Jace ·

"Bit early, aren't we?" Kyle asks, looking at his watch with a frown.

"Only by about fifteen minutes."

As the van slows, I inspect the mailboxes for Merri's number. We're getting close. I hadn't thought she'd live so far from town, but I'd been mistaken. I hadn't taken her for a country girl, but as the sidewalks had given over to grassy hills and the emergency lanes had been traded for four inches of rumble strip, I'd realized how little I knew about the woman I'll soon be spending so much time with.

It had been one of her conditions. I hadn't been completely comfortable with the proposition, and I'm still not. But I stand to make a good deal of money with this job and I'm not about to blow it just because I feel a little uncomfortable.

She had done her research. She'd known how long it would take for the initial healing to transpire, how it would have to be washed several times each day, then have ointment applied to keep the wound hydrated and protected. And how after that, lotion would need to be applied every day until the peeling had ceased.

She'd said she had no one to ask for help, and since the piece would eventually cover her entire back and she was no contortionist, she had convinced me to do the honors for her, "... for a nominal fee, of course." I'll have free room and board through the entirety of the job, as well as free food and a daily stipend. From the first time we met she's said money was no object, and from what I've seen so far, I believe her.

And though the money had been one deciding factor for me, it hadn't been what swayed my decision. There had been her determination, the thought of adding the finished piece to my portfolio, and just a bit of old fashioned curiosity. Though I need the money, it isn't entirely about that.

"There it is, thirteen twenty three." I point at the drive.

Kyle aignals before slowing the van to make the turn. Gravel pops and crunches beneath the tires as he slows the van even further, to avoid jostling the equipment in the back.

I would rather she had come to the shop, or even my house, but I'd been unable to change her mind. So here I am, moving an entire home studio's worth of equipment at the whim of some emotionally disturbed chick. I just hope by the end it will be worth all the trouble.

Kyle pulls to a stop behind a little red Toyota, puts it in park, then shuts off the engine. A puff of hot air slips inside the cab as I roll down my window and stick my head out to listen.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asks, his curiosity tinged with amusement.

"Listening for a dog. She said she lives alone, so she might have one for protection."

He nods, then follows my example. After a minute without hearing any barking or growling, I nod, then open my door. Stepping out, I wait for Kyle to join me. As my brother-in-law makes his way around to the front of the van, a blood curdling scream breaks the silence of the quiet afternoon.

"What the hell?" we say in unison as we turn toward the sound, just in time to see one hundred thirty five pounds of pale skin, light jeans, red hair, and black t-shirt barreling toward us.

She's so fast neither of us are able to move out of her path. She runs full speed into Kyle, knocking him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground. Lightning quick, she rolls off her burly obstacle and then continues to roll, as if she's on fire and is trying desperately to put herself out.