Chapter 18 Its in Ink

There was something different about coming out of the Locker this time.
I couldn't put my finger on it. 

We're still covered in ink, but it isn't going anywhere.  Except...  did the Lock always do that?  It's sucking up the ink.  Well that's convenient, even if it is still wrapped around my hand like a glove. 

There's no laughing from that oversized man-eating box.  And...  Why is everyone still moving so slowly?  Why do I still feel so thirsty?  My head still hurts... It's like we never left.

The gauntlet busied itself slurping away ink from their surroundings.  Ernest lay up against the wall holding his side in confusion.  Ioan was...

Is there something on my face?  What is he staring at?

"Hey Ernest, take a look.  Don't move Reader."

Okay?  Is there something crawling on me that I can't feel?  Is it the ink?  I don't like that expression on Ernest's face.

"Any idea?" Ioan asked while slicking his hair back fruitlessly.  The ink continued to cause his mohawk to droop. 

Ernest forced himself to stand up, or at least he tried to.  The pain was evident on his face.  He shook his head and coughed. 

"What's wrong with my face?  Guys?"

Ioan was using his long tongue as a comb, draining away excess ink and using the rest as a hair gel.  "Wrong?  Well Reader, your face is melting away."

"Melting!?"

"Well it's kind of sinking.  Half of it is at any rate.  Can't be too bad, you don't feel any of it."

Reader spent the next few minutes pawing at the head, unable to feel anything so drastic as a complete face replacement. What is he talking about?  I don't feel anything.

"At least you'll get your own face back.  Not that Ernest's face on you didn't look that bad.  Even if it was only half a face.  More of a mask really."

Did that happen while I was out?

After he got his hair in order, Ioan seemed satisfied to leave and said as much.  With a flourish practiced through many meetings, he waved nonchalantly, wished Reader and Ernest good luck, and began to walk off down the hall. 

Now wait a minute!

Reader reached out and grabbed at Ioan's hand just as the ink still pooled around them rose up like tendril building blocks.  Ioan was not only startled, he seemed completely freaked. 

Where the hell am I? 

This isn't the hallway.  This isn't the school either?  It's like some kind of private lounge room.  Some antique music player?  A stuffed chair and fancy reading lamp?  What is this?

Ioan snapped his wrist from Reader's grasp. 

I'm back in the hallway?  The room is gone, but Ioan is still standing there. 

"Ioan.  Ioan can you hear me?"

"What the devil..?  Where are you Reader?  You were here just a second ago."
"I am still here.  I'm standing right in front of you."
"I don't see you.  How did you get into my room?"
"Was that where you went?  Some kind of private room?"
"Yes.  I always go here after an 'assignment'.  It's been my home ever since I started to play these games."

All I see is him standing there and ink floating around.  Is it... an illusion of some sort?  Another dimension? 

Reader looked back at Ernest who was still sitting there.  He seemed puzzled, staring at the hand he pulled from his side. 

That isn't ink on his hand... that's blood.

"Ioan.  Ernest is bleeding.  You have to come here and help."
"Bleeding?  He'll be fine.  We've suffered worse scraps before."
"Then why is he still sitting there in the hall?"
"Hall?  Reader, what are you talking about?  There is no hall.  Just another room where the music box is in."

"Music box?  There's just a hall and the Locker out here there's no..."

What the hell is happening?  Do we see completely different things?

Reader ran up to Ernest who didn't seem to register that he was there.

"Ernest.  Ernest can you see me?"

His head snapped back and forth as if he could hear Reader, but not see.  Reader reached out and touched his hand.  In a brief moment there was recognition in those eyes.

Where is here?  Some kind of medical room?  It's a mess-He's screaming? Why-

"Ernest! Why are you screaming!?"

The lock-glove-thing, it's sucking the ink off of him and... did ink get into his wound?

Reader broke contact and Ernest crumpled to the floor holding his side as blood poured out into the hall. 

"What was that?  Ernest? Reader?  Who was screaming?  I had to turn off my record player."

"That was Ernest.  Ioan something isn't right."

"I'm sure things will be fine."
"Ioan he isn't healing and we're all seeing different things.  It's not looking fine!  He's bleeding out and I can't even touch him.  What if he dies?!"

"Then he dies."
"Don't you even care!?"

What is with that look of resignation on Ioan's face?  How can he say that?  What am I supposed to do?

"R-Reader..."

Ernest's words were beginning to slur. 

"H-how, did you get to where I was?  I've never seen anyone else here since our first meeting."

If everyone is seeing something different before and after we leave... Then what is here?  Is it the Locker's fault? 

The Locker wasn't saying anything.  No laughs.  No giggles.  No taunts, or messages, or anything.  In fact, for an inanimate object, Reader was certain it was trying to be forgotten. 

If I can't touch Ernest, then maybe Ioan can?

"Ioan you need to come over here and help Ernest."

"What was that?  I can't hear you over my music."

Oh that's it.

It took three steps to the left, one scream from Ioan, and a two step drag to force the vampire next to Ernest's huffing form.  With Reader's hand firmly on Ioan's wrist, the three made contact through the reluctant Ioan. 

The world became a jumbled mess.  Fragments of Ioan's personal room shredded themselves to become the floor and ceiling of a dilapidated science lab which broke apart to become the flickering tiles of a hallway filled with containers, souvenirs, and the strange.  It was like someone's treasure room, stuffed with artifacts of their travel.  The room was filled with age, memories, and the distinct feeling that every item was watching you like a hungry animal. 

Isn't this... what I see every time the Locker would appear in the past?  Is this the Locker then?  Some kind of true form?

There wasn't time for pleasantries.  Reader forced Ioan to apply pressure over Ernest's wound while Reader struggled to figure out what to do next.  Looking at the remnants of what was Ernest's... 'room', there were things that looked like medical supplies, but nothing that stood out as helpful. 

"Reader, what are you looking for?"

"I uh..."  Reader stopped rummaging around for a moment to look a bit sheepish.  "I was looking for something that might help.  Needle and thread?  Bandages?  A mirror..."

Ernest pointed at a fragmented shelf.  Sure enough inside the drawer were bandages and some medical gear. 

No mirror though.

Reader returned with the bounty and dumped it on Ioan's lap.

"What am I supposed to do with this?  I'm not a doctor.  Okay-okay, chill with the bubbling face.  You'll boil it off at this rate."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"What?"

"The stuff about my face.  My face is fine."

Why do they keep making that look?  Hmm? 

Ernest pointed at the pocket on his coat.  Ioan fished in with his tongue and pulled out -

A mirror! Finally!

Let's get a look.  Hmm...  Other than a few splotches there's nothing on my face.  It looks fine. 

"There's nothing wrong with my face.  It's the same as it's always been."

Ernest gave a concerned look while Ioan didn't even bother to acknowledge the statement.  He was busy trying to work the needle into the wound to close it up. 

"Your face, Reader..."  Ernest began.

"Yes? My face?"
"It..."
"It..?"

He stopped speaking.  Wincing in pain. 

"It what?  Why all the talk about my face?"

"It looks like a lake."  Ioan stated between stitches.  He waited for Ernest to stop convulsing before continuing. 

"A lake!?  Are you saying my face is flat?"

"No it's quite round Reader."

"Then what?"

"It looks like it has no features.  Like the surface of water or glass.  Your face has no defined details.  None of your body does."

"What are you talking about, I'm looking at myself in the mirror right now and-"

"You look like glass or light in rough human form.  The only difference is that you're now covered in ink since we pulled you out of the Twins.  So that gives you this watery look.  Every time you speak it's like watching water drops ripple the surface of a pond."

Is it true?  What do I say to that?  I mean... it's possible I suppose that they might see me differently?  After all we were all seeing the world differently and now... now the world looks all screwed up.

It was quiet as Ioan continued his stitch work.  He was quite deft with the needle which surprised Reader who said as much.  Ioan just grunted and continued to work while Ernest passed in and out.

"You know I was just thinking... You're a vampire right Ioan?"

"Yeah.  Sort of."

"Well if you're a vampire... then why don't you..."

I don't know, bite him or something?  He looks pretty pale.

"What?"

"Make Ernest into one?"

Okay I didn't expect both of them to look so disgusted.

"I'm not that kind of vampire Reader.  What have you been telling this one Ernest?"

"I haven't had a chance... to get into... details."

"Right-Right, hold your breath.  Stitches are done, give me the bandages."

Wait a sec... We didn't clean that injury.

"Isn't there ink still in that wound?"

"Well Reader," Ioan looked up indignantly, "What am I supposed to do?  Suck it out of him?  The ink is holding the blood in him.  It's the only reason why he hasn't bled out.  I don't know what that's going to do to him, but considering the taste of this stuff...  I wouldn't imagine him sleeping well."

Ernest did say that the ink tasted like nightmares.

Ernest was patched up as best as they could.  With their rooms smashed together, it felt awkward.  None of them were used to having the other available after an assignment.  

So what now?

Ioan had tried to get his record player to work, but it was spliced with a medicine cabinet.  There was no saving it.  For the moment he was brooding in a corner with the mirror. 

If I wasn't mistaken, it feels like I'm being examined through that mirror by a vampire of all things; like I was some kind of monster.

Reader looked around in cluttered hall at all the different items.  None of the three could claim to recognize any particular trophy.  If they were parts of the Locker, their only reaction to Reader was to be lifeless.  One or two pieces which seemed open like traps left ajar snapped shut at the touch, but that was it. 

Ernest was either in deep thought or trying to hold in his lunch.  Considering his injuries, he could just be fighting off death.  Nothing too severe. 

"Reader."  Ernest's withered voice brought the able companion forward.

"You said that you look fine in the mirror... you don't see what we see...  right?"

"That's right Ernest."

"I'm sorry for calling you Reader all this time." 
"What? That's fine.  You should be resting don't worry-"

Ernest batted away the concern with a weak hand and a fit of coughing.  When he could speak again he looked grim.

"What is your name... Reader?"

My name?  Now of all times?  Sure my name it's uh....  It's...  It was on the tip of my tongue...  Didn't I say it earlier?  My name... My name is...my...  head hurts so much.  What...  Memories are flooding in.  Why now?  They aren't my memories. 

The Lock whirled on Reader's wrist as black strands of ink spun from it like a spinning wheel.  Ripples and waves contorted the outer flesh.  Bubbles filled with colorful memories boiled to the surface and exited Reader's shaking form. 

"I...  I..."

What are these things coming out of me?  Aren't those the memories that were flooding my mind?  Is it a bad thing that they're leaving?  Where are all these emotions coming from?  What... is... happening...

Reader bent over, the Lock picking up speed with some hidden purpose, until it stopped.  Frozen in mid spin, it clammed up and went silent.  All three were quiet, waiting to see what would happen next. 

What's this in my hand?  It feels familiar... Shiny.  Thin.  Golden... Ticket?

"Reader.  Is that gold?  Where did you get that?"