Page 34 of Dublin Ink

Conor

I told myself I followed Aurnia out of curiosity. Surely this was all a ploy, a tiny piece of a bigger con. It made no sense otherwise. She was manipulating me. Tugging on heartstrings she stupidly thought I had. Setting me up to feel bad for her. Playing the long game to catch me completely unaware when there was more money than a few crumbled bills on the line.

I didn’t allow myself to question where exactly Dublin Ink or I was getting this money that was worth investing a lot of time and effort and trickery into stealing. If I did, then I’d have to consider that maybe I wasn’t following Aurnia purely out of curiosity.

And I didn’t want to go there.

I’d run out of Dublin Ink just in time to catch Aurnia grabbing a local bus. My keys were already in my pocket, my helmet hanging from the handlebars of my motorcycle. It didn’t even cross my mind that I was leaving Dublin Ink unattended. Some curiosity…

It was bitterly cold on the bike with just my leather jacket on. I trailed behind the bus as it blew out black smoke at red lights, lingered as it pulled over for the rare person to hop off, the even rarer person to hop on.

The distance between the street lamps grew more distant as we wove through the city streets. The number of bulbs blown out and forgotten became more frequent. Dogs barked. There was the occasional shattering of glass down some seedy alleyway. Other than that, the streets were quiet. No, not quiet—abandoned. Anyone who happened to be pacing on a corner turned to give me his back as I passed.

I felt wary eyes on my back as I drove slowly past, engine sputtering too nosily. A few blocks later the bus pulled to a stop where a sign was toppled over on a patch of dead brown grass. Aurnia alone got off. The lights on the bus switched off after pulling away.

We were at the end of the line.

I remained far enough back that Aurnia did not notice me as she started off in the opposite direction, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets, her shoulders shivering slightly. I knew enough about neighbourhoods like this to know that you didn’t walk through them the way Aurnia was walking through them. You kept your head up. You checked behind you more often than you think you need to. You held something sharp or hard or something that goes bang in clear sight. You didn’t stop.

Aurnia should have known this. She should have known she wasn’t being safe as she stopped at a dark corner. An attacker had plenty of places to appear from to catch her completely off guard.

I was surprised to find my fingers tightening on the handlebars. It was somewhat startling to realise that I was mad. Really fucking mad. Mad at Aurnia. Mad that she was putting herself in this situation. Mad that she wasn’t being smarter.

Was this how she was when I wasn’t around? Was she this reckless? This stupid? Did she taunt fate often when I wasn’t there to even the scales?

I tried to remain calm, to remind myself that I was there for Dublin Ink, for the security of my business. But I found myself wanting to yell across the street at her: “Get! Get out of here, you stupid little eejit! Go somewhere safe! Get!”

It was a struggle to keep the front tire of my motorcycle straight when Aurnia began to walk again. Her quickened step was all that kept me from throwing down my bike, stalking toward her, and grabbing her by the nape of the neck.

I rolled along the empty street after her and stopped in the shadow of a dilapidated warehouse when she slipped into the side yard of a trailer house.

I knew immediately what it was when I saw it. Any police officer would too, if they bothered coming down these godforsaken streets. All the most obvious signs were there: boarded front windows with light between the cracks, an old faded door with brand-new bars across it, and, most obvious of all, a wretched smell.

It was a drug den. A crack house, if you insisted on using the word “house”. I didn’t.

I leaned over my handlebars and forced my frozen fingertips to uncurl from my shaking fists. Aurnia was climbing up to a window on the side of the place and it made me want to punch a brick wall. I watched her with fury in my eyes as she pushed the glass up and then slipped one skinny leg and then the other inside. The last I saw of her was a sweep of glossy dark hair.

She was the closest this place would ever get to a shooting star. Just like any shooting star, I blinked and she was gone. Gone into that place. Into smoky rooms. Into needle-littered hallways. Gone into that house of horrors.

I could not see her. I could not protect her.

Any illusions I had that I was there out of curiosity were gone. I had one focus and one alone: get Aurnia the fuck out of there.

I would curse her for being stupid later. I would yell at her for putting herself in harm’s way like that later. I would shake her, if needed, to scare her into never, ever going back. That would have to wait till later. Because I still needed to figure out the now.

Think, Conor. I tried to come up with a solution that didn’t end up with me squaring off with a room of drug dealers. Fuck. I didn’t have time for this shite. Every second she remained in there was like a noose tightening around her neck.

The window Aurnia had crawled in through remained dark. Come on, turn the light on. Let me see you moving around. Let me see your silhouette. Let me see you’re okay…for now.

Nothing. Just blackness.

Goddamn her.

I pulled up outside the house. I still had no plan. Had no clue what the hell I was going to do as I stalked angrily across the weed-infested sidewalk. I just had to get to Aurnia.

I raised my fist to the barred door and rammed against it. Knocking on the front door of a drug den. Great plan, Conor. I had no clue what I was even going to say when someone opened the door; I wasn’t even sure I could say anything in the state I was in.

The shitty music and drunken laughter fell to silence. I heard hushed voices, then footsteps toward the door.

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