Текст книги "The body painter"

Автор книги: Pepper winters

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

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Chapter Thirty-Four

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

DEATH.

Another murder.

Another girl’s body painted and left in broad daylight, her camouflaged skin turning her invisible to those who sought to save her.

I stood in Gil’s living room, dressed in a fresh skirt and copper blouse, ready to go to work so I didn’t lose my job.

Gil had fallen asleep an hour or so ago.

I hadn’t.

My thoughts had kept me far too busy—the exact opposite of counting sheep. I’d been running in my mind, and utter exhaustion made my limbs heavy as I struggled out of Gil’s entrapment and slipped from his bed.

He’d stayed unconscious and in the enviable slumber of vodka while I’d flittered around dressing and making myself presentable.

I hadn’t consciously decided what tomorrow would bring. I’d allowed the sunshine to warm his warehouse, content to stay in Gil’s cage until he could shed light on the shadows he’d brought into my world.

But the longer he’d slept behind me, the more my fear couldn’t be ignored. He’d tried to tell me something last night. He’d tried to be honest yet couldn’t reveal the full story.

Was it because he himself didn’t know? Or because he had a bigger role to play than I’d imagined?

Moving to his kitchen, I stole a cup of coffee, doing my best to chase away the dregs of fatigue. While sipping on bitter caffeine, I tried to unravel the knots Gil had given me, but the coffee wasn’t strong enough and I didn’t have enough of the pieces.

Whatever he’d told me last night was worthless unless he painted a bigger picture.

And that was why I’d decided to go to work.

I knew he wouldn’t want me to. To be honest, I didn’t want to go either. Being chased yesterday and having someone in my apartment had made me listen to Gil’s warnings.

But I also couldn’t afford to lose my job.

I had my own life to tend to, even if he was intent on destroying his.

Heading into the bathroom with my toothbrush from my overnight bag, I layered it with minty paste and began brushing. While doing the routine task, I swiped on my phone, ready to summon an Uber.

My toothbrush promptly landed in the sink in a splash of green paste.

I clutched my phone, shaking my head as I skimmed the news app that I’d downloaded a few days ago.

I’d wanted to keep track of the murdered girls. Now, I wished I’d kept my head in the sand. Articles and ‘breaking news’ bulletins littered my screen with alerts.

Another girl had been taken.

Another life stolen.

She’d been found in the undergrowth at Moseley Bog Nature Reserve. A small wilderness where families and walkers could explore wooden pathways and soak up the serenity of trees.

I’d walked there myself. I’d found it tranquil and picturesque.

Now, it was a cemetery where an innocent woman had died.

Nausea swiftly gathered. My heart relocated into my mouth as I read:

Another victim was found this morning thanks to a mother and son taking a stroll like they do every morning in their local park. Unlike the recent painted murders, where cleverly camouflaged girls were gagged and bound, rendered silent and trapped while they died of exposure and dehydration, this new victim was bled out at a different location while her painted corpse was hidden next to the bog with rushes and bluebells.

I swayed.

Gil had been out till late.

He’d been afraid of what tomorrow would bring.

He’d been muddy and tormented and turned to a bottle for salvation.

Salvation from what?

From murder?

From painting a cadaver?

From being a part of something I’d hoped and prayed he could never do?

My legs gave out, slamming me against the sink as my skin grew clammy with terror.

It couldn’t be.

Gil had been with the police for most of the day.

He wouldn’t have had the time to capture, paint, and kill.

And yet...

He didn’t come home for hours.

He acted as if his life was almost over.

He behaved like someone who’d given in to the worst kind of master.

My sickness swelled and crested, demanding fresh air and answers.

I opened another article, desperate for some hint that no matter the evidence, it couldn’t have been Gil. I wanted the killer to have been apprehended and in custody.

I want all of this to be over.

With icy sweat running down my spine, I found further condemnation.

The police are still calling for help from anyone who might’ve seen someone suspicious last night between the hours of ten p.m. and six a.m. They are following enquires but so far have no leads. However, at least this time, a clue has been left behind. A boot print was found by the body. Size eleven Timberland with all-terrain tread. Please call your local law enforcement if you find footwear relating to this crime.

Fighting the urge to vomit, I stumbled from the bathroom and into Gil’s room where he still slept like the dead. Holding my breath, I fell to my knees by his filthy boots.

The boots he’d kicked off as if he couldn’t stand having them touch him any longer.

The clothing he’d shed like someone would shed a nightmare.

My fingers burned as I hefted the heavy weight of his tan, paint-splattered Timberlands, and turned them upside down.

Please be any other size.

Please!

Size eleven.

Covered in mud.

Smeared in truth.

I bit my lip until I drew blood, scrambling to my feet as fast as I could.

No.

Spinning to face a sleeping Gil, I swallowed back rage and fear.

No.

He’d done so many things.

I’d given him so many excuses.

He was so much more than just this.

No.

My eyes fell on his boots again.

There could be another explanation.

He could’ve gone for a walk after his police interview.

He could’ve needed the silence and tranquillity only a park provided.

He could’ve—

No.

I could be blind.

I could be hopeful.

But I couldn’t be naïve.

I couldn’t trust in the past or in my useless, stupid heart.

He confessed to something...

He admitted he’d made mistakes.

He looked so innocent and harrowed, raked with hardship and sketched with despair. Whatever had happened to him had turned him into something I didn’t want to see.

I didn’t want to believe.

I didn’t want to give up fighting for the Gil I used to love.

But...how could I refute hard evidence?

How could I ignore what my instincts had been whispering all along?

The boy I was in love with had grown into a monster.

A monster who was secretive and sly and asleep before me.

It’s not him!

You’ve already been through this!

You’ve spoken to Justin.

You’ve asked him to his face.

So why did I back away?

Why did I grab my handbag and tiptoe through his warehouse?

Why did my instincts whisper to run, run, run?

I broke my promise and left when he needed me most.

Rain pummelled my clothes as I leapt from Gil’s warehouse and slipped into his hatchback.

I’m sorry.

His keys allowed me to steal his car.

His scent still lingered on my skin.

I’m afraid.

I needed space to think.

To worry.

I need to be alone.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

______________________________

Gil

-The Past-

FUNNY HOW LIFE could promise such hope, then snatch it away so quickly.

Funny how a heart could love someone so much even when it could never have them.

I still loved Olin.

But she wasn’t mine.

She could never be mine again.

My love for her didn’t accept that, turning into a vicious, hungry thing.

It gnawed on me every day and crippled me every night.

I wanted it to stop.

I begged it to go away.

But...it only increased.

Drop by drop, I drowned in agony for what I’d lost.

School had ceased being my salvation. Now, the corridors were a tomb rather than a maze I was lost in. A tomb where my heart was condemned to die because I was no longer allowed to love Olin or had the privilege to dream of our future freedom together.

The corridors and classrooms were worse than the whorehouse I lived in. My sins echoed in the gym. My corruption painted the building’s bricks.

I despised it.

I’d had everything taken from me.

Everything.

And still my love continued to bleed me dry.

But in my dark, dismal world, at least the woman who’d granted such loneliness stayed true to her word.

One night.

She’d used me for one night. She’d placed a photo of the girl I loved on a side table while she fucked me raw. And then...when she’d ensured I wasn’t fit to touch anyone else, she’d set me free.

I’d stumbled from her hotel room at four in the morning, bruised, dehydrated, and trembling. Red marks rimmed my wrists from the handcuffs she’d used. Teeth indents tattooed me from where she’d lost control and hurt me.

I felt more exhausted than I ever had in my life, more hurt than any fist my dad could deliver, and more adrift than I ever thought possible.

When Monday rolled around, I couldn’t face Olin.

I couldn’t sit in a classroom with her while our teacher’s scratch marks branded my body. I couldn’t stop the wash of sickness each time I relived how many times Tallup had fucked me and ensured I would never be worthy of Olin again.

I’d gone to our teacher a virgin.

I’d left a monster.

And the gorgeous girl I wanted for my own was now far too good for the likes of me.

I was used and dirty.

Contaminated.

Defiled.

If that wasn’t enough to keep me away, the knowledge that Tallup would ruin Olin’s chances at university were the final nails in my crypt.

Seeing Olin’s pinched and tear-blushed face tore out my heart and left it rotting for eternity. A few days after our ending, she chased me on the field.

Her bag fell from her body, her lips spread in a hopeful hello, she went to launch into my arms with apologies.

Apologies?

Fuck, she’d done nothing wrong.

I had.

I’d betrayed her.

Betrayed our future and our promises.

Holding up my hand, I stopped her from hugging me. My own sadness choked me until I almost broke. My teeth clenched, my stomach roiled, and I teetered on kneeling before her.

I missed her so goddamn much.

But I’d sold my soul to the devil to save her.

This nightmare was mine to endure, not hers.

I would protect her future by removing myself from it. I’d made a vow as Tallup gagged me, staring at Olin’s picture on the dresser that I would never prevent the girl I loved from living the life she was meant to.

Tallup had agreed to let her go.

I’d paid the price.

But there was still a tax on that payment. A tax of silence. Not one word to the girl I would always love. Not one hint that I still cared.

The only thing I could do while Olin begged me to explain was step back, shake my head, and leave.

That was the second time that I broke Olin’s heart but definitely not the last.

Every day, she sought me out, and every day, I didn’t say a word. I sank deeper and deeper into ice, hoping the glaciers in my eyes would warn her to keep her distance.

In class, I studied her pretty hair while she sat in front of me.

In my mind, I apologised over and over.

In my heart, I screamed. I told her I loved her with every breath. I promised her I always would. I begged her to forgive me.

The only person enjoying my heartbreak was Tallup.

Her tiny smirk hidden beneath her teacher’s tone. Her eyes smug and satisfied.

A love-killer, hope-stealer.

A total fucking succubus to the end.

* * * * *

“Gil! Please.” Olin dashed toward me after school.

A few weeks had passed.

I’d lost weight. I barely slept. I welcomed the beatings my dad gave me now because it was the only way to leech out the pain.

I drove my hands deeper into my jeans pockets, striding faster.

She chased me, catching up as we rounded the corner of the street.

“Gil.” Her hand landed on my arm, her eyes watering, lips thin with stress. “I can’t do this anymore. I need to know why you suddenly don’t want to be with me.” Tears fell, sticking to white cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did...but I love you. I miss you.” She walked into me, pressing her forehead to my chest. “I miss you so much.”

I stepped away, dislodging her hold. “Go home, Olin.”

That was the worst part.

Not being able to walk her home.

Not knowing she was safe.

Not escorting her through shadows and sinners.

She followed me, her breath catching with wet tears. “Please. Talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on.”

I didn’t speak.

My boots thudded as she chased me down the road.

“Gil...please!” A sob hiccupped in her chest. “If we talk about this, we can go back to the way it was.”

It was too much.

To believe we could be together again? To think I could have her, despite everything?

It hurt.

It fucking hurt.

I whirled on her, my nostrils flaring, temper firing. “Leave me alone, Olin. I won’t tell you again.”

No more nicknames starting with O.

No more togetherness after school.

It was over.

All of it.

She trembled on the sidewalk, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to argue but didn’t know how. For a second, hate flashed in her gaze.

And it tore out what pieces I had left and threw them in the gutter.

Then she launched herself at me, her hands reaching for my cheeks, her lips seeking mine.

I didn’t think.

I just reacted.

I shoved her back, making her trip and stumble.

Shit.

Shit!

I moved to support her, but I forced myself to lurch backward instead.

The last time someone had touched me, kissed me, it had been against my control. I supposed, in some way, I would have to work through that violation if I ever stood a chance at having a good relationship with affection again. But there, on that street, I couldn’t stomach the thought of Olin’s lips on mine.

Not after Tallup’s had been there.

I wasn’t clean anymore.

“Forget about me,” I muttered, turning away from her. “Just forget I ever existed.”

* * * * *

She didn’t forget about me.

For weeks after, Olin tried to talk to me countless times. Cornering me in the corridor, trapping me in the classroom, chasing me over the grounds.

Tallup was there for all of it; her smugness making me sick. Her rules making me howl for this to be over.

I wanted to leave.

To run.

I’d begun having nightmares on the rare occasions I actually slept.

Dreams of being tied down, unwanted fingers on my body, hated tongues on my cock. I’d dream of Olin being violated like I had. I’d dream of both of us dying.

I’d wake in a full sweat, listening to the sounds of fucking in the next room and wished I could stop myself from ever falling in love with Olin.

Because my love for her was now twisted with what happened in that hotel room.

I hated my body.

I hated the reactions it had and the erection that’d condemned me.

I didn’t care I’d been tricked into taking Viagra—it was still me who fucked my teacher, and I couldn’t unscramble that from choice or command.

“Gil.”

I rounded the corner by the gym, almost smashing into Olin where she waited for me. Her bag rested by her feet, her hands wrung in front of her, shadows decorated beneath sleep-tired eyes.

I sighed hard, pretending impatience and chilly disdain when really it took everything I had not to crush her to me and beg for her forgiveness.

“I love you, Gil. Doesn’t that mean anything?” She reached for me, her body jerky and foolish.

Again, I just reacted. Instincts that no longer attributed affection with love lashed out and hurt the one person I never wanted to hurt.

Affection came at a cost. A cost I could no longer afford.

My hand latched around her throat, and I shoved her against the brick wall. I was tired and struggling, and I had nothing else to give.

Nothing else to offer.

I was dead.

And she deserved better. “Stop. Just stop.”

She stiffened.

I froze.

Time stood still as I physically mauled her.

Bruised her just like Tallup had bruised me.

I reeled backward, ripping my touch from her, drenched with disgust and dismay.

Fuck!

Trembles hijacked my limbs as I almost tripped to the ground.

Olin stood there, shock making her eyes wide, fear making her breath fast.

And we stared at each other.

Stared with our history and our hope, knowing that this was the moment it was truly over.

She didn’t say a thing.

I couldn’t.

I turned and walked away from the best thing, the only thing, my forever.

* * * * *

She started dating Justin Miller a few weeks after I’d bruised her.

The first time I caught them together, I ran off school property before I did something that would end with me in jail for two crimes.

Seeing her with him?

I couldn’t bear it.

I couldn’t survive it.

I’d taken three steps toward Olin, words on my tongue full of apology. Of how much I missed her, wanted her, needed her, craved her. I’d taken another three with my fists curled ready to pummel Justin’s face into his skull.

But somehow, in the mist of possession and pain, I stopped.

If I told Olin how much I loved her, Tallup would ruin her life and have me arrested. And if beat up Justin Miller for laughing with the girl who owned my heart, I’d be sentenced to yet another crime.

It took everything I had, but I endured the flirting, the tentative smiles, the knowledge that Justin touched her.

I deliberately picked fights with my old man when I caught them kissing behind the gym where I’d shown her my sketch book for the first time. I thought I’d die from the way my chest split in two.

But I didn’t die.

And my father cracked a rib with his drunken fist.

Week after week, I had to bear witness to Olin replacing me with another. And week after week, I crumbled inside, turning into an empty shell of grief.

By the time school holidays rolled around, I was hanging on by a fucking thread.

Knowing Olin would spend most of her time with Justin during the holidays.

Wondering if she’d give him her virginity.

Imagining her kissing him, laughing with him, touching him.

Fuck, it made me break into a million pieces and roar with fury.

I’d have nightmares of him hurting her like Tallup had hurt me. Visions of Olin writhing in ecstasy with someone who wasn’t me.

It was enough to drive me insane.

Maybe I was already insane.

Even my father started leaving me alone. His beatings weren’t as often, his slurs and drunken tirades not as loud—almost as if he didn’t like the way I encouraged them, accepted them, needed them.

I got a job working at a local construction company, accepting payment in cash. In return for hard labour, I earned money to repay my debts. I returned to the places I’d stolen from and left the exact dollar amount for what I’d taken—the art supply shop where I’d stolen the cans of spray paint. The stationery store where I’d nicked a sketchpad and pencils.

Once I’d paid them, I bought more supplies, returning to the freedom painting gave me.

I graffitied the ugly corners of town.

I doodled the unwanted pavements of alleyways.

I filled paper with my heartbreak.

And through it all, I never stopped watching her, protecting her, waiting on the street outside her house...making sure she was safe.

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Chapter Thirty-Six

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

YESTERDAY, MY PHONE had no power to reach Gilbert Clark.

No matter how much I begged it to connect me to him, each attempt was futile.

Now, when I needed space, the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing.

I’d gone to work this morning.

I’d left Gil’s hatchback parked a few blocks from my office and walked to the office without being assaulted or kidnapped. I’d pretended it was a perfectly normal day even though my nerves were fraught.

I uninstalled the news app from my phone, unable to handle the regular updates on the painted murders. I plastered on a professional smile and allowed Status Enterprises to surround me in its usual hive of employees settling in for a long day. I pretended everything was normal—that I had a boyfriend with normal secrets, that I had a love story worthy of fairy-tales.

When Shannon appeared at my cubicle at lunch, I’d apologised profusely for the mess my life had become. I’d thanked her for the opportunity of employment and promised I wouldn’t let her down again.

She’d given me a hug when exhausted, screwed-up tears wobbled my voice, making me hate myself for my weakness.

For my confusion.

For my aching, breaking heart while I suspected the worst thing anyone could suspect of another.

I couldn’t stop picturing Gil’s muddy size eleven boots.

I couldn’t stop connecting dots from his disappearance, to the unusual vodka use, to the night-shrouded confessions.

On the inside, I was an absolute catastrophe—tangled and tired, doing my best to latch onto an answer that would make sense of the labyrinth I’d been dragged into.

On the outside, I sat in my cubicle, replied to emails, and answered calls. I was the perfect employee, doing the job she was paid to do.

I’d managed to stay busy until lunchtime.

To stay away from Google and stop conjuring stories without facts. But when I caught the elevator to the second floor café, I’d made the mistake of checking my phone.

Ten missed calls from Gil.

The first only a few minutes after I’d left him—as if he’d sensed I was no longer in his home.

I deliberated calling him back, but I had no idea what to say. He’d dumped his hardships on me last night without any concrete explanation of what it all meant. I needed time to understand—or at least try to. I needed space to clear my mind before I could handle any further conversation that I couldn’t decipher.

Gil may or may not be a killer. He may or may not be blackmailed into doing things he despised. He may or may not have a tragic secret in his past that explained everything he did in his present.

The only thing that would help us move on from this mess would be honesty. Bitter, brutal honesty with nothing left out.

And I didn’t think he was ready. Didn’t think he had the strength to tell me what he hid in that second bedroom, where he was last night, or why he disappeared at the same time two girls went missing.

And if he wasn’t ready to talk about it...I definitely wasn’t ready to listen.

Just the thought of my suspicions being a tiny bit true made my stomach slither and slide into my feet.

Keeping my phone on vibrate, I’d forced myself to eat a salad sandwich. With my stomach churning, the struggle was hard even though I was lightheaded from hunger.

Avoiding fellow employee stares and unwilling to be sociable, I opened an internet browser, falling down the rabbit hole of news sites and murder investigations.

With shaking hands and racing heart, I read more details on the latest killing, skimmed hypothesises, and drank up potential descriptions from so-called witnesses.

The vague description was a man wearing a baseball hat. No distinguishing features like hair colour or tattoos. Just a masculine shadow.

Gil had never worn a baseball hat in his life.

Was it purely a disguise or was his wardrobe yet another thing I knew nothing about?

You know so little...

I gritted my teeth.

I know his heart. That doesn’t change.

I sighed, tracing my thumb over the picture of the girl killed last night, following the artistic shadows and splashes of bluebells painted on her lifeless thigh.

Are you sure? Hearts can change. Hearts can camouflage into strangers.

Shaking my head, I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag. It felt a thousand times heavier than normal as I tossed out the rest of my lunch and went back to work.

* * * * *

The work day was over.

Employees slowly filtered from the building, heading home to loved ones.

I literally had nowhere to go.

My apartment wasn’t safe. Gil wasn’t safe. Justin couldn’t be expected to babysit me.

I didn’t know where to go and I still didn’t have enough information.

And I needed it fast so I could make up my mind on what to trust: my heart or my mind.

My heart urged me to return to Gil and tell him how I felt. To provide a non-judgemental, totally accepting environment in which he could spill his every revelation. But my mind cursed me for being such a stupid fool. It wanted to call the police. To use the card the female officer had provided and ask outsiders for advice.

And because both options weren’t practical, I had to rely on myself to make a correct, informed decision. Just as I’d had to rely on myself to cook, clean, and study when I was young. The one lesson my parents taught me well: independence was hard and lonely, but it meant you were strong no matter the situation.

As the last of the staff left for the day, my fingers flew over the keyboard.

I inputted every parameter I could. I read online articles and trawled through facts.

Gilbert Clark.

Murdered girls.

Previous Birmingham killings.

Maps of the forests and parks where the girls had been found.

Body paint supply stores.

Other body painters in England.

Bad publicity on Total Trickery, good press, negative reviews, glowing feedback.

I diligently did my research all while earning a chest full of frustrated heartbeats and a headache of confusion.

Nothing hinted that Gil could be involved.

The longer I stayed online, the more I hated myself for doubting.

I wanted so, so much to trust my heart. I wanted to be brave enough to return to Gil’s and ask him point blank where he was last night. Why he’d vanished for the second time. Why he’d been traipsing around in the undergrowth. Why my instincts told me there was more to his life than he’d told me. More darkness. More pain. More sin.

But all I could think about were his muddy boots.

Size eleven.

Same as the killer.

I needed more time.

Time where no one could find me.

Using the elevator, I left work by the back entrance in case Gil waited for me in the foyer like last time. Stepping out into narrower streets, I tucked my dark blonde hair beneath a grey scarf stuffed in my purse.

Jamming hands into my blazer pockets, I weaved with end-of-day foot traffic, making my way from the work district to the more artsy side of town. Where small theatres hugged street corners and posters displaying colourful dancers decorated lampposts.

Stepping into the area where I’d practiced my art before moving to London, I struggled not to cry.

I missed dance.

I missed the smell of musty picture houses and papery playbills.

I missed Gil even while I hid from him.

Dance practice had finished for the day for full-time staff, and it seemed no after-school classes were held tonight as I slipped into the studio where I’d first been noticed by the London Dance Company. I’d sweated and cried and flown on endorphin highs in rooms that all looked similar.

Mirrored and wooden floored, a simple stage for a ballerina.

I no longer belonged here.

My accident had stolen that right.

The door clicked behind me; the heavy silence of the space hugged me tight.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deep.

Tears sprang to my eyes as leotards and ballet slippers and sweet piano notes pirouetted on my senses.

I was safe here because no one would expect me to come. Those who used to know me had grown used to my absence, and those who didn’t would never know what each dance studio—no matter where they were—meant to me.

Dropping my purse on the piano stool, I kicked off my heels and placed my silenced phone on the polished wood of the ivory-keyed instrument.

Ten more missed calls from Gil since lunch.

Ten more times I didn’t answer because I had no idea what to say.

I wanted him to tell me everything.

But I was too in love with him to hear the truth.

Innocent.

Guilty.

Both came with complications I wasn’t strong enough to bear.

Balancing on my toes, I spun in my stockings on the slippery wooden floor and closed my eyes. I ignored the twinge in my back where surgeries had given me the gift of mobility but taken away lithe grace. I clenched my teeth against the tightness and restriction of stolen movement. Notes of music whispered around me, and I danced...alone.

My arms rose like useless wings as I glided and spun.

My childhood found me as it so often did when I released myself from adulthood. I remembered the loneliness of having parents who didn’t really care. I basked in the happiness of knowing Gil loved me enough for any missing or absentee family. My arms fanned out to hug the teenage boy who owned my soul. The music in my veins spread louder, faster, and I answered the summons.

I threw myself into the air, performing a move I’d perfected. The grand écart en l'air had been my favourite. I found it so easy. So effortless to soar from one leg to another and slice my legs into splits at the highest point.

My teacher and employer said no one could bend as much as I could in full flight.

My eyes stayed closed as I relived the sensation of being unbelievably good at something that didn’t require skill or repetition—it was just a gift. My body’s gift. My soul’s purpose. My life’s design.

But unlike so many other hundreds of times, I didn’t land weightless and elegant. I didn’t manage to kick and split. I didn’t have that priceless gift anymore.

My ruined back seized mid-bend.

My healed bones and stitched together muscles hadn’t forgotten the punishment they’d endured.

I landed with a teeth-rattling jar on my knees, bowing on the floor before mirrors that’d witnessed my failure.

And my silenced phone vibrated against the piano.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I accepted the physical pain as well as emotional. I’d come here to torture myself deeper. To layer more agony. It might not have been intentional but the pain was double as I crawled toward the piano and grabbed my phone.

It stopped ringing; I slouched against the mirrors and stared blankly at the screen.

Gil.

I couldn’t call him back.

I couldn’t talk to Justin.

I couldn’t turn to my old dancers.

I couldn’t go home and lick my wounds.

All I could do was sit there and let my mind dance faster than my body ever could.

* * * * *

I stayed until well past dark.

Until cleaners wheeled their squeaky mop buckets, washed up shed-sweat, and tidied spaces for another day of practice tomorrow.

My stomach had quit complaining about hunger an hour or so ago, disgruntled at me for ignoring its demands. My heart had stopped grieving for my stolen abilities. My mind was exhausted from chasing thoughts and theories on Gil.

My phone was almost dead from the many internet searches and more research on the murdered painted girls.

I’d overstayed my welcome, and as much as I’d like to stay hidden, my options had drastically reduced to just one.

Regardless of Gil’s involvement, I was safer with him than anyone else.