Outlined in Ink

Chapter 2-2

The apartment was empty when he let himself in, with no sign of a savagely written note telling him to get lost anywhere to be found. Eli dropped his pack in the corner rather than next to the navy futon where Gretchen usually tripped over it, then went straight to the kitchen. He wasn’t always the tidiest person, and with Gretchen, who didn’t care about cleaning either, he’d gotten worse. He owed her something extra for borrowing her U-Pass. That, and he didn’t want to think too hard about what had happened on the El.

Two hours later, the kitchen was spotless, the living room was clear of Diet Pepsi cans and Snickers wrappers, and the inch of dust on the top of the TV was gone. He’d even vacuumed the whole place, though he’d had to empty the vacuum halfway through. The smell of Mr. Clean reminded him for a split second of home, and he flopped down on the futon, draping his arm over his eyes to try and block it out.

Images of the train intervened.

If the guy was a fan, and he knew Eli lived near Loyola, how long before he leaked that information on the forum? And what was going to stop him from digging for even more details about Eli’s life? For that matter, how had he known what Eli looked like to recognize him? Eli knew how insecure the online world really was. He did everything in his power to keep his two identities separate. Somehow, however, someone had bridged the gap. He needed to get rid of it before it got even narrower.

Retrieving his laptop from where he stowed it beneath the coffee table when he wasn’t around, he logged in and waited for the site to load. He didn’t have time or patience to monitor everything that was said in the Lockeford forum, but it would only take him two seconds to set up a query to let him know if anyone mentioned Loyola. If they did, he could track where they were, and if it was local…

He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

The forum seemed a little quiet, but then that was usually the case during the middle of the week. He posted a new strip every Saturday, which drove traffic up over the weekend and Monday, and had people coming back on Thursday and Friday to start talking about the next one. Some hung around at other times just to chat, but not enough to make a statistical difference. He often tried to get on when volume was low, both because it meant he didn’t get constant bombardment with messages or questions, and because it gave the real diehard fans a little more incentive to stick around.

But not tonight. He wasn’t in the mood to be social with fans. He’d focus on some admin work, then curl up with a new pad to work on this Saturday’s strip.

Clearing out email was always first. He had the toughest spam filters he could find, but he invariably ended up with a lot of junk to throw away. He’d set up the accounts initially for more personal feedback from readers not comfortable with the comment section on the posts, but in the past few years, he’d kept a close eye on it in hopes someone in the industry stumbled across his little corner of the webcomic world and thought he was brilliant. He had a million and one fantasies where Marvel or DC or Dark Horse emailed and asked him to spearhead their latest and greatest books, or better, asked if he wanted to create a brand new series for them to produce. Nobody had yet to nibble, but he wasn’t giving up. Drawing for a living was the only dream he’d had since he’d picked up his first pencil at the age of four.

Most of his inbox was crap. He’d deleted four pages of messages not even worth looking at before he hit on one that didn’t tout Viagra or solicit him for some webcam scam. That one required a quick “no thanks” back to its sender, and then he was clicking onto the last and most recent page of emails.

The very top one stopped him in dead in the water.

The subject was, “A blast from the past.” But it was the sender who made him wonder if he was seeing things.

J. Kessel.

He only knew one person named Kessel. His first name started with a J, too. But it couldn’t be, because the J. Kessel he knew would never be interested in a superhero comic strip.

Would he?

Shit. What if he’s seen it?

There was only one way to find out. But moving his mouse over the email and clicking it open felt like it took an eternity.

His eyes went straight to the signature.

Jarrett.

God. It really was him.

Licking his lips, Eli took his time going back to the top of the message. He hadn’t seen Jarrett Kessel since he’d graduated, when he’d shown up at the house with Brad the day after the party to congratulate him for surviving high school. He’d given Eli a card with a fifty dollar bill in it, and a note that said, “Hope this buys enough art supplies to last you the summer.” Eli had smiled and thanked him, his heart thudding so loudly he was sure Jarrett could hear it.

The next day, he created the Lockeford Files. He’d already been drawing Sovereign for a year, but right then, right there, with the proof that Jarrett’s nice guy act hadn’t been a onetime freak occurrence, he wanted to do more. He had to share it with the world. And the rest, as people were so fond of saying ad nauseum, was history.

Eli,

I hope I’m addressing this correctly. There’s no clue in the contact information, and I haven’t been able to find anywhere on the site that this is really you—

Holy crap. Not only had Jarrett found the comic, he’d spent time digging around. Eli read on.

—but the name looks pretty obvious, and I can’t think of anyone else who could ever draw like you could. So fingers crossed I’m not making a total ass of myself to a stranger.

His cheeks were hot. It was stupid, getting so excited about a compliment from a guy he hadn’t seen in years, but Jarrett Kessel had been the first guy Eli had ever seriously crushed on. He’d inspired pages and pages of work. Eli couldn’t contain the rush from knowing Jarrett found his sketches distinctive.

A friend pointed your website out to me. I haven’t had the chance to look through all the archives yet, but I’ll rectify that soon. In the meantime, I’d love to find out what you’ve been up to. Are you still in the Chicago area? I live and work in Aurora now, so if you’re still reasonably local, we should meet up. Call or email, your choice.

Look forward to hearing from you.

—Jarrett

Eli read it two more times just to convince himself it was real. As much time as he spent online, he’d never crossed the line to search out what Jarrett might have been doing with his life. Brad stopped talking about him not long after they’d finished their master’s programs at Purdue, though Brad hadn’t really talked to Eli much by that point anyway, and looking him up felt like such a stalker move he couldn’t do it. He’d finally decided seeking out more details would get in the way of his vision for Sovereign. Best to keep the two separate.

And here they were.

Colliding.

But only if he let it.