Chapter 53
Davian
Inkwell
Meghan’s Theme
David Buckley, Luke Richards
For the past four nights, I had spent my time in my study going through the detailed marginal notes in Batteries of Ink. Marginal notes in a book I had never wanted to read again, left by a woman who seemed to understand the male protagonist better than the author himself did.
All these annotations made me want to jump out of my desk chair and rush into her room to dig deeper into what she meant by certain marginal notes, or to explain to her what was behind the passages she had misinterpreted.
Instead, I clutched the key ring charm she had given me and let this stirring burning sensation in my head wash over me.
At some point, I came across the yellow autumn leaf. It was undamaged, dry, but on a different page.
She had found it.
And as if all that wasn't already worrying enough, reading at Maplecrest had turned into a literal wildfire.
Every Monday, I prayed that the copies would disappear from the students' hands. Every Monday, there were more, and I began to wonder if the publisher had actually ever printed that many copies of this edition.
I wanted to get used to it, but it was a nightmare. I was on the verge of a profound personality split, because Professor Davian Rydell was a lawyer and lecturer at an elite university. Atrianima should be six feet under. Buried. Deeply buried.
Why had Quill dug up this fool, as if she wanted to adorn herself with corpses?
Apparently, there was a certain appeal in analyzing the thoughts of an anonymous artist in hiding, as if they were the last remnants of a lost treasure.
An answer to questions she had been searching for for years, but which I would never be able to give her.
Because all that lay behind this product of a midlife crisis was an ordinary depressed man.
I paused at the front door.
Was that... music?
It had been quite a while since Dilara had listened to loud music. Besides, today was her long day at university. Tony would bring her home later.
With noticeable question marks above my head, I unlocked the door, and the music grew louder. Normally, a half-grown puppy would jump into my arms at this point.
Wait, was someone... singing?
First I laughed, then the corners of my mouth curled up.
She sang just as out of tune as her brother.
I hung my coat on the hook, walked through the hallway, and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen.
Rolling Stone
Hurts
Gripping the mop with both hands, she wiped the floor, swaying her hips as she sang along with real passion in her voice to the song blaring at full volume throughout the house.
She had rolled up the sleeves of her midnight blue knitted sweater, her brown tousled hair following her energetic dance moves as she alternated between mopping, closing her eyes, and dancing as if she were standing on a stage in her mind's eye.
She spun around energetically, looked down at the knee-high Streusel prancing around her and chasing after the mop.
Her grin was divine. Alive.
Quillon Veritas was alive.
She was more alive than I had been in the last twenty years.
A smile stole across my lips and I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed.
Although her voice was off-key and she only hit half the notes, causing me to automatically squint one eye, something about this color film playing before my life-hungry eyes gave me a deep sense of inner peace.
Quill stretched her arms out to both sides with swinging movements, swayed to the rock music with her eyes closed, arched her back and threw her head back, squinting her eyes shut as if she could feel every note of the electric guitar while she swung her head from side to side.
I wondered if she had ever been to wild parties, if she had visited good discos. After all, she hadn't even had a high school prom.
When I saw her dancing like that, I wanted to take her to all those places, wanted to see her dance under colorful disco lights, wanted to capture moments of lightness for her, give her all the thousand reasons I had secretly promised her.
She spun around again, seemingly unaware that I was there, because for that moment she was living in her own world. A world of music, dance, and imagination, from which I didn't want to pull her out. She seemed happy there. She seemed to be clinging to that moment as if she needed it to survive.
She started spinning in my direction. Once. Twice. Three times.
She bumped into me, flinched, and opened her eyes wide.
With a smirk, I looked down at her.
“Good evening, dancing queen.”
I wouldn't trade the overwhelmed look she gave me for anything in this world. Nor would I trade the blush that exploded unevenly across her cheeks.
Just like last weekend in the parking lot...
Since then, I had been carrying around a bucket list that made me question how well I had actually buried Atrianima.
Dead men tell no tales. They were part of it. Only I was neither alive nor truly dead. What was I, except a lifeless body that barely survived because another soul filled it with life?
With a bucket list.
The list was incomplete. But the dream I most wanted to write at the top was the one I would sooner or later have to bury, along with Atrianima.
I pushed the painful thought aside and looked down amusedly at Quill, who slowly stepped back before quickly turning around, rushing to the radio, and turning down the music.
Fading Hours
Ahmet Kenan Bilgic, Turgut Mavuk
Streusel sniffed at my shoes.
“Why in such a good mood?”
I wished she had danced for another second.
Or two... Now the moment was over, and I realized that seeing her like that did something to me.
But I didn't want to name the devil. The one I always lost to as soon as I thought I had him firmly in my grasp.
Without which I would stare at the gun in my nightstand for hours.
Quill ran her fingers through her hair.
“I... um... Lara said you two would be at university until eight today?”
“I spontaneously decided to correct the remaining papers at home.”
She nodded and turned the music volume down even lower.
I looked around with raised eyebrows before nodding toward the radio.
“Is that what you do when we're not here?”
“I usually write,” she said with a grin. “But to answer your first question...”
She seemed to be regaining her composure.
Was it wrong that I liked how much I had thrown her off balance?
“The whole campus will be reading Atrianima's book. Two readers helped me contact a newspaper in D.C. that reserves a weekly page for a book review.”
All positive emotions vanished. So did my smile, which Quill didn't seem to notice as she reached for the bucket and mop.
She clicked her tongue and Streusel immediately looked up.
“Come with me. You're next to be washed.”
The dog tilted his head, but immediately jumped after her when she started moving.
“You have what?”
Only now did I manage to think clearly, grabbing Quill by the shoulder before she could pass me.
“Quill... Are you aware that you're going quite far to...”
What was the intention behind her behavior?
“What is your goal anyway?”
She stared at me, and if I wasn't careful, I would reveal things that no one was allowed to know. Not even her.
“What if this author just wants to be left alone?”
Quill grinned.
“I think she just needs recognition to be motivated to write book two.”
She walked past me, and I followed her to the bathroom, feeling overwhelmed.
“What if she's burned out and just wants to be done with this writing project?”
She shrugged.
“Then she'll probably announce it on her website as soon as the pressure gets too much.”
“You're an author. You know how mean that is.”
“Sometimes even the best authors need a kick in the ass.” She poured the dirty water into the tub.
“Besides... I'll leave her alone if she announces that she doesn't want to continue with this series.
It wasn't even my main intention for her book to suddenly get so much attention. All I wanted was to have people to talk to about Batteries of Ink.”
I should have offered it to her. Back then, on the bridge...
You goddamn coward.
Taking a deep breath, I stared at my reflection in the mirror in front of us while Quill began filling the tub with water and rinsing the bucket at the sink.
How conspicuous would it be if I announced on my website at this very moment that I would no longer be writing. Never again. I had to wait until it made sense for the author to find out that so many people were suddenly reading his book.
Fading Hours
Ahmet Kenan Bilgic, Turgut Mavuk
Determined, I turned around and hurried upstairs, where I locked myself in my study and began searching for this reader forum on my computer.
A mistake.
As soon as I accessed the forum, I was flooded with sensationalist messages from readers who were upset that the author had never continued writing, as well as endless analyses of the erotic chapters, or girls who raved about Atrianima as if he were a hero and the book a romance, rather than the story of a driven man who made a woman his muse, as if she were his object and his goddess at the same time.
With growing unease, I stared at the button in the bottom corner.
Join to participate in the discussion.
Definitely not...
Why I clicked anyway? Because I couldn't let this chaos continue to have power over me.
Quill had found her people. I was sure she had a lot to talk about. But this had to stop.
Please choose a name.
Good heavens...
The temptation to hammer Atrianima into the keys was overwhelming. But, as always, my reason won.
Inkwell: It's just a book... Why is everyone making such a big deal about something that will lose its relevance in two weeks? We should read the next book. Does anyone have any suggestions?
Tiffanynr1: Just a book?! This book changed my life and my view of literature!!!!!
Bookbox11: @Inkwell Are you new here? If so, send me a private message and I'll explain in detail why this book actually deserves more attention.
DINA4: Why don't you leave the forum if it bothers you that people are finally reading a good book!!!
JohannJohnson: The whole rugby team is reading it right now. And what can I say? My girlfriend was right. This book is worth talking about.
This couldn't be true...
Twenty more replies came in, with people explaining how this book had brought them back to reading, that they wanted more, and it got even worse.
Jason93: You're funny. It's only just begun.
Benny213: Are you aware of how high the market value of a copy is right now? Soon people will be killing for it.
JulienneRivers: Does anyone else happen to have a copy they don't need anymore? I'll offer two thousand.
Two thousand?!
What the...
Cucumberlove: I'll offer three thousand.
Leonelleeeee: You guys are crazy...
Jessbooks: Do you think anyone in their right mind would give up their copy?
Luckycharm12: I don't think it's fair that only some people have access to these copies.
Hannah222: So true. Everyone should have access to copies. There should be copies in the library. But all four directors rejected the request.
Of course Arnold had.
Cucumberlove: What if we contact the publisher?
Nervousness began to well up inside me.
Hannah222: They're not responding. Not even when I had my father call a colleague in the industry.
Of course they had already tried that. Still, I was glad that the publisher seemed to be fulfilling at least one part of the contract without sending hundreds of inquiries and requests to my old email address.
Someone posted a link in the forum.
Bookqueen: Please, everyone sign it. If we collect enough signatures and send it to the publisher, new copies will be printed.
Hannah222: Oh my God!!!
JulienneRivers: Ahh! Signed immediately.
Bookqueen: Please share!!
Justacannibal: I'll forward it.
Kiewiiihunter: Me too.
Tom187: Me too!
In horror, I stared at the link, but unfortunately my eyes weren't laser-equipped, and the reactions didn't slow down until the link finally disappeared from the chat, only to be sent again and get pinned the next second.
Something inside me hesitated, begging me to leave this forum for good and just get through the next few weeks without focusing on all the readers who would soon lose all their interest and euphoria anyway.
When I clicked on the link, I prayed that people would be lazy, as was the case with all the important petitions in this world concerning world hunger, war, and human suffering.
80
The digits spun, transforming into a new number.
120
I ran my hand over my face.
260
Raking my fingers through my hair, I leaned back as the number increased tenfold within minutes. After an hour, the number was at 4675. And it only took four hours before I received an email from the publisher. The first in three years.
The door to my office flew open.
She Might Be Scared of You
Luke Richards
“Dad? Is everything okay?”
Lara’s eyes were filled with shock. And knowing.
“Quill just told me that the publisher has responded to the petition and promised to consult with the author.”
I motioned for her to close the door, and she did so immediately, stepping over to my desk and studying me as if I looked as shattered as I felt.
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just sit here and watch this escalate.” Driven by restlessness, I jumped up and paced back and forth. “I should have bought all the copies. All of them.”
“Don't be silly.”
“Look at the result, Lara!”
Gesturing, I pointed to the PC, trying to lower my voice.
“The result of you giving Quill a hardcover copy of your book.”
Her gaze was stern. Judgmental.
“I didn't...”
Pity and remorse immediately appeared on her face.
“I know.” She took an audible breath and lowered her voice as well. “She stole it. But you could have taken it away from her. I tried to convince her to calm down this forum, but I have no reason to keep her from doing what she's doing. You're the only one who can stop her.”
“What do you suggest?”
I could fob off the publisher, remind them of the contract. But I knew what these vultures were like when they smelled fresh money and dollar signs flashed in their eyes.
“You have to talk to her.” Lara hesitated, gritted her teeth. “You have to tell her.”
You dig up corpses in search of treasure chests.
But not all treasure chests hide treasure.
– Leaking Batteries Diary