Wallflower Ink

Chapter 36

· Jace ·

I stand staring through the busted front door of my shop; its shattered remains are scattered across the entryway like rhinestones on a dark cavern floor. On top of what happened earlier with Merri, now I have vandalism to contend with, too.

In my hand I clutch the mail I'd numbly pulled from the box next to the door, but I have yet to look at any of it. I take a deep breath then will myself to step through the door and into whatever disaster awaits me inside.

It is more of the same.

The furniture is overturned and broken. My file cabinets have been emptied, their contents slung out everywhere across the room. My neat stack of stencil filled binders are scattered, their spines broken, most of the pictures they'd held torn up and cast like confetti over my ruined files.

My heart sinking even lower than it already was, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the police department. When they come on the line, I step into the ink room and flip on the light.

"I'd like to report a break-in," I say softly as all the air leaves my lungs. Robotically, I give the information they ask for then end the call and just stand there, taking in the damage.

The chair where so many customers have sat is ripped open, its foam and cotton batting bulging out and covered in ink. The drawers that normally house my supplies are all pulled out and empty; everything from my sterilized needles to my supply of tiny ink cups is scattered across the floor.

My tattoo gun lays mangled amid that chaos, as if someone had beaten it with a mini-sledge then chopped up its cords for good measure. And covering everything there is a kaleidoscope of fresh ink; from ceiling to walls to floor, everything glistens with wet color. The emptied pigment bottles lay in a haphazard pile in my chair.

For the second time today my heart twists painfully in my chest. All my hopes have been destroyed within the space of just a few short hours, and I hang my head beneath the weight of my losses. When my phone rings I almost don't have the will to answer it. When I finally do, Katie speaks brightly in my ear.

"Hey, Jace. I'm headed your way with java." The grin in her voice is more than I can take.

"Don't come to the shop."

"Why? Are you not opening up today?"

I laugh bitterly at the question then shake my head. "Don't think I'll be opening up today or any other day in the near future."

"What's wrong, Jace? You sound upset."

"Everything," I say softly as I back out of the room and make my slow way down the hall to see what other damage has been done.

The first two rooms--the rooms I'd hoped to some day share with artists like myself--are empty and untouched. The third room is not. My autoclave lies on the floor, its door torn off and smashed, the keyboard carved up beyond repair. It's sides are dented in like an old tin can and its small shelves lay twisted on the floor beside it. Ten grand ruined, along with everything else.

"Jace, you still there?"

"Yeah."