Ink and Blood

Ink and Blood

A Short Story

Linda M. White

2528 Word Count

Terria Mitchell stood staring at the tall dark man straight from the pages of her fantasy story. Instead of standing on the path where she had left him, he was blocking an aisle at the grocery store. As her female protagonist had done in her narrative, Terria stopped and scrutinized him, admiring his tall, strong physique. He was not dressed in the garbs that she had imagined for him, but she would never mistake his presence. As her dark and brooding stranger had done in her story, he was looking at her with such an intense gaze that she thought it best to beat a hasty retreat in the other direction. Better yet, she decided to leave shopping for another day and left the store empty handed. She came straight home and opened her story to read the passage again. To confirm that she was not going mad.

She stared at the words, studying them as if she had not written them a day ago. Something was bothering her about these words and the image they conveyed. And there it was, a scene right out of her life—sort of.

“That can’t be right,” Terria said, a note of fear in her voice.

The dark character she had named Dontalt was standing in the narrative on the path where she had left him. His emotionless expression added tension to what Terria had intended to write next. The protagonist she had named Revera was supposed to challenge him to move out of her way. He was supposed to refuse, giving Revera no choice but to fight him.

Though Terria had not worked out all of the details, she had established Dontalt as a duplicitous character, one not entirely trustworthy. Revera had heard of Dontalt, and his reputation did not encourage her to trust him anytime soon. She had to get to the citadel before nightfall in order to claim her right as heir to the throne. Dontalt worked for the royals who were well aware of her claim but were in no mood to honor it. He had been dispatched to handle the situation—to handle her. This was their first meeting, and Terria had intended for it to bond them in a way that neither had expected.

Terria sat back in her chair, trying to stop her hands from trembling. This last incident had given her pause. She had been successful—successful enough to continue writing at least—at dispelling other odd incidents since she began writing this story two years ago. So much so that she had chalked them up to her strong imagination. They felt real because she wanted them to. She had always found it easy to immerse herself in her fantasies, but this was the first time she had decided to rely on ink and paper to mold the worlds she conjured for herself.

The would-be writer did not find it difficult to step into Revera’s character and see the world through her eyes. Terria had felt cast aside as well, given away when she was just a baby. A year ago, she had decided to find her birth parents and tried to meet them. It did not go well. Her parents were wealthy beyond measure, heirs to a large estate and clearly not interested in her. It was not a stretch that as she crafted the royals that she would envision her birth parents. She ignored the fact that she had drafted notes about the royals and had developed the characters in the first hundred pages of her book before finding out about her parents.

Unlike Revera, Terria had no intention of challenging her birth parents to recognize her as their heir. She considered herself a simple person with simple needs. Her adopted parents had taught her to value others and how to manage her resources to live quite comfortably. Her degrees had landed her a respectable job editing other writers’ works, and she was happy. So, she had found it plausible to blame odd occurrences on her active imagination.

Until today.

Today, she struggled to gain composure enough to write the next word. What if she developed the fight scene to be as brutal as she intended? Would Dontalt break down her door and come after her? Would she be able to use her martial arts training to fend him off?

Terria found the question laughable and did so with abandonment. After wiping away the tears, she steadied herself and decided to be brave enough to find out if she was going to write reality. Her imagination fired up, and she wrote well into the night. The scenes centered on Revera and Dontalt’s epic fight and its aftermath, including Revera being severely wounded and Dontalt feeling guilty and remorseful. Not only was he starting to see Revera as a worthy opponent but the value in her cause as well.

Terria stopped to let the characters rest and to let herself rest as well. She looked around her study, pleased that all was familiar and unchanged. Satisfied, Terria decided to go to bed and start early working on the nuances of Dontalt’s change of heart and Revera’s newfound interest in him.

The creak in the floorboard jostled Terria awake, and she sat up with a start. After listening intently for a few seconds and hearing nothing, she laid back down and tried to return to sleep. But sleep would not come, for she felt something was wrong. She was not alone.

Getting up, Terria grabbed the exercise bar she used in her routine, for it was heavy enough to do some harm to any wayward intruder. She walked slowly and carefully to the bedroom door, intending to peek out into the hallway, hoping to see nothing. Her hopes were dashed when she spotted the silhouette of a man, and she knew it had to be Dontalt. She switched on the hallway light to confirm her suspicions. The adrenaline that pumped suddenly into her system overrode her common sense. Instead of rushing back into the bedroom, grabbing the phone, and calling the police, she stepped firmly into the hallway to challenge him.

“What are you doing in my house?” she screamed at him.

“You can go no further,” the man replied, echoing the words in Terria’s book. His deep voice rumbled toward her down the narrow hallway.

“You need to leave now,” she warned, grasping the bar firmly.

“You need to stop pursuing what is not yours,” he said, taking a step toward her.

Terria was surprised that she was not afraid, and she wanted answers.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“You must desist from pursuing your birth parents’ assets,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“What?” Terria asked, stunned, lowering the bar slightly. “My birth parents sent you?”

“They will not comply,” he affirmed.

“Comply with what?” she asked.

“You must withdraw your claim,” he replied. “I was sent to ensure that you do.”

“You are all out of your mind,” she shouted at him. “I have made no claim to anything. Now, get out.”

The man looked perplexed as if he was expecting a different response from Terria. By then, of course, Terria had had enough. She lunged at him letting the bar drop from her fingers to clatter to the floor. Before he could react, she felt her fist connect with the side of his face, and he tumbled back. For a moment, he only blocked her blows, but she saw him recovering quickly.He soon began to counter her moves, and she felt a blow to her ribs that stole her breath. She struck back, landing a punch that split his lip. The hallway echoed with grunts and gasps. The epic battle between Revera and Dontalt was playing out in Terria’s hallway.

She saw his fist coming but could not get out of its way before it struck the side of her head, rattling her a bit. Terria stumbled back, trying to clear her vision. She recovered and dealt her own blows, surprised that she had the stamina to match him. And glad that neither took up swords as Revera and Dontalt had done. Though she had held her own, the man proved the better fighter. He was stronger, taller, and more in shape than she was. She figured that the latter was a prerequisite to his line of work.

A blow to her head then chest sent Terria falling to the floor, covered with sweat and blood trickling from her wounds. It was then that she noticed the insistent pounding of her heart and her labored breathing. Though she wanted to get up and finish this man, she now could hardly move. When she looked up to present him with a glare that would make most men falter, she only saw compassion in his eyes. She could not maintain her anger and looked away confused. Words from her novel swirled around her.

“How is this happening?” she asked herself.

The man kneeled in front of her and seemed to examine her injuries. After a cursory look, he noticed that she was favoring her left shoulder. Terria recoiled from him when he reached out to touch her.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat at him.

He stopped and explained, “I believe that your shoulder is dislodged.”

As the adrenaline subsided, Terria started to feel pain everywhere. She groaned and scooted up against the nearest wall to balance herself. The man followed cautiously, waiting for her to realize the extent of her injuries. After a few minutes, Terria realized that the pain in her shoulder was only increasing and decided to let him set it.

“I must admit that you are a worthy fighter,” he said, smiling slightly, attempting to massage away the pain in her shoulder. “It is rare that I underestimate my opponent.”

Terria could see her handiwork in his face, neck, and arms. He was bleeding from his temple where she had landed significant blows. As he finished helping her and stood up, she saw him wince and heard him let out a quiet grunt. Oh, yeah, he’ll feel her efforts in the morning. A slight smile creaked across her lips.

“The hallway gave you a slight advantage,” he said looking around before continuing, “and you, obviously, used your martial arts training well. I recommend that you continue training to keep your skills in peak condition.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, disgusted. “You’re giving me a critique?”

He smiled and looked back at her before replying, “I only do that for my worthy opponents.”

“How are you here?” she asked, confusion and anger intermingling.

“What are you talking about?” he asked confused himself.

“I wrote you,” she said. “I wrote all of this.”

Terria could see that he was considering whether he had done more damage than he expected. He stared at her for a moment before moving toward her.

“I need to get you off of this floor and fix you up,” he said, leaning down to pick her up.

Terria tried to resist but with one of her shoulders out of commission, the fight was unsuccessful. As he lifted her up, she took comfort in one thing. Breaking and entering, assault, oh, he was going to jail.

Terria let him bandage her up and wipe away the blood. She still had the scars to prove the assault so was not worried about getting a conviction. In fact, her thoughts were on a wholly different issue.

“Why would my birth parents do this to me?” she asked as she took the cup of water that he offered her.

As he continued addressing her wounds, he glanced at her, a hint of remorse in his expression. He didn’t answer immediately, and Terria got the impression that he was hiding something. Whether it was about her parents or him she couldn’t be sure.

“An apology probably would not solve our situation, but I offer it,” he said softly. “Your parents did not send me here to harm you.”

“Well, I kind of started it,” she admitted, fully intending to leave that bit of information out of the official police report.

“No, you had every right to defend yourself and your home,” he said.

Terria found it hard to stay mad at this intruder, his resemblance to a character she had completely made up not far from her thoughts.

“What is your name?” she asked as inconspicuously as she could muster.

The man cast her a suspecting eye, smiled knowingly, then replied, “Dolan Foster.”

He was silent for a while, finishing his work on her and attending to his own injuries. Terria watched him carefully—cautiously. He seemed to be struggling with his own thoughts and soon she would know why.

“I have worked for your parents for many years,” he started, stopping as if to test his words before continuing, “and have done things for them that I am not proud of.”

Terria said nothing though a multitude of questions fought to erupt from her highly active imagination. She watched him struggle with his thoughts and did not want to interrupt him. Didn’t want him to stop talking.

“But this thing,” he started, “following you, intimidating you, antagonizing you, interrogating you, I had not signed on for that.”

“Really?” she asked. “Why not?”

“I’ve done my homework, Terria,” he said softly, “and there was nothing about you that read as a threat to them. I saw no indication that you were seeking their fortunes though they were insisting you were.”

“But you came here anyway,” Terria said firmly.

“I did,” he admitted solemnly.

And there the seed was planted. The seed that Terria had drafted just hours ago between Revera and Dontalt. Would it germinate? Would it grow despite all obstacles? These people who had come after her had gone too far. They had made their own fiction very real.

“They want to write me out of my own story,” Terria said softly, feeling an ember of something igniting in her. Was it sorrow? Was it anger? Was it indignation?

She wasn’t sure what it was yet, but she knew that the spark would grow into something substantial. As she looked up at Dolan, their messenger, Terria felt a sense of purpose that she could not deny. She knew at that moment that she would challenge these people to recognize her birthright.

“Will you help me?” she asked, watching him carefully for a sign.

Dolan looked at her for a long time, and Terria thought he might not have heard her, might not understand what she was asking. Then he sighed and bowed his head slightly in deference to her.

“I will, Terria,” he said, his voice firm and resolute.

Terria studied his face, looking for truth in his words. She was not entirely sure she trusted him to follow through and would have to keep an eye on Dolan Foster. Nevertheless, she smiled slightly, fully accepting the challenges that she envisioned would materialize in her story—both the fictional and the real one.

THE END