My phone held another seven missed calls, and I braced myself for Gil’s reaction when he finally found me on his doorstep.
You can do this.
I straightened my spine.
Ask him sternly but nicely.
I sucked in a deep breath.
Don’t let him change the subject or argue.
My eyes fell to the pedestrian access. The door remained closed, but something white wedged in the gap between interior and exterior.
Walking toward the graffiti, I hissed at my new bruises and ducked to collect the large envelope.
I frowned as I smoothed out the blank, unaddressed mail.
Perhaps Gil didn’t have a letter box? Maybe the postman always delivered correspondence this way?
Standing straight, I raised my hand to knock. To get this confrontation over with. But my eyes drifted to the envelope again and my fingers traced the unseen contents.
No name...odd.
Unsealed...strange.
Firm.
Smooth.
A clue to...something.
Breaking the law and Gil’s trust, I shoved my handbag higher up my shoulder and tugged open the unstuck envelope.
Holding my breath, I pulled out a single piece of paper and a photo.
Oxygen no longer resided in my lungs.
My blood turned to sleet and my heart to lifeless stone as I read a terrifying threat. A threat addressed to The Body Painter but designed for his Living Canvas.
Me.
Her.
Tonight.
No more excuses.
Time to choose.
It’s her or I steal your most precious love forever.
The simple sentences were typed in bold font and printed in morbid black. A command, not a request.
I swallowed a cry as I dropped the paper and clutched the photo.
A photo of me.
Of me leaving my office building tonight with my grey scarf hiding my hair, my steps quick and furtive.
Anxiety and fear shattered the ice crystals in my veins, sending fire into my heart. I no longer stood frozen on Gil’s stoop, I reeled backward, trying to unravel this new riddle.
But the door opened.
The door opened, and Gil was there.
And our eyes met with all the sorrow in the world.
His gaze dropped to the photo in my hands.
His skin turned white.
His face slipped into torment.
He almost stumbled to one knee.
Almost.
His hand clutched at the doorframe, keeping him upright as a riot of despair and horror claimed him. His throat worked hard as if he was seconds away from vomiting. His eyes filled with tears, his head shook in denial, and his voice broke as he muttered something incomprehensible.
His utter heartbreak scared me worse than anything.
This was truth.
Here was the evidence I needed.
Gil wasn’t a killer.
But he was involved.
Somehow.
And now...so was I.
I backed up, throwing the photo in his direction. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.”
My voice slapped away his anguish, bowing his head in defeat.
When his eyes met mine again, there were no more tears. No more torment. Just the deepest, saddest misery in his wretched green gaze. “Olin...I tried calling you.”
“I needed time to think.”
“I called to tell you to stay away.” His voice caught with rage. “Why the fuck did you come back? You weren’t supposed to come back.”
“We needed to talk.”
“We needed to never see each other again.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if every headache in the world crippled him at once. “I left messages. I told you...” Stepping from his warehouse, he stalked toward me. “I tried to tell you. I warned you. I—”
“Don’t come any closer.” My hand swooped up, forming a wall between us. A wall blocking off our teenage tragedy and fledging broken romance. “I’m leaving.”
His head shook again, sadly, slowly. “I wish you’d never come. I wouldn’t have had a choice then.”
“Forget I did. I’ll go. Right now.”
His hands opened and closed. His eyes fell to the photo on the ground. For a moment, he nodded as if he agreed. Agreed that my disappearance was the only thing to do. That he chose me over whatever consequence would follow.
But then, he buried his face into his hands and screamed. He roared with helplessness. He bellowed in whatever trap he couldn’t escape.
And he didn’t choose me.
He chose the alternative.
He accepted that my life was forfeited even while I fought to persuade him otherwise.
One step fell toward me as his head tipped up and desperation etched his features. “I can’t let you do that.”
I backed up, my heart winging with terror. “Gil...let me walk away.”
“I wish I could.” He chased me. Hunted me. Sad and defeated. Determined and depressed. “I’m so sorry, O. So, so fucking sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? What have you done?”
He choked on words too horrendous to utter. He swallowed them back, along with any sign of the boy who’d protected me in our youth. “I need you to come inside now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He gave a half-smile, reeking of destruction. “You don’t have a choice. Not anymore.”
“I always have a choice.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. A whisper that was worse than any shout or curse. “Did you have a choice when life took away your dancing? Did you have a choice when I left you at school?”
“You can’t twist this. In this, I have a choice.”
“You’re wrong.” His hand came up to capture my cheek.
I flinched from his touch, but he kept pursuing me until his icy skin seared into my flesh. He held me tenderly but firmly. A lover’s caress all while chains wrapped tight around me.
“I lost everything the moment you found me again. I thought I’d lost it all when I left you in high-school, but that pain is nothing, nothing, to the fucking agony now.” His fingers dug into my cheekbone, seeking forgiveness, absolution. “I wanted you, but I should never have been so weak. I was selfish. So fucking selfish to keep you. This is all my fault, O. I take full blame. I will never, ever forgive myself.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Not yet.” I looked toward the street, begging for someone to fix this. To replace this terrifying, shattered version of Gilbert Clark with the protective loving one I knew.
But no one came.
We were alone.
“I’ve done so many things that are past forgiveness.” Gil’s eyes blazed with self-hatred. “Including letting you back into my life. The moment you appeared, I should’ve chased you away. I should’ve hurt you if it meant you’d never return.”
“You couldn’t have kept me away. I can’t leave when you’re—”
“I told you your goodness would get you killed.” He interrupted me, his voice strange and thick, full of misery. “You’ve always been the one I put above everyone. I would’ve done anything for you, O, been anyone, fought everything...but in this, you can’t come first.”
“I never asked to come first.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t.” His temper flared. “You’d never expect someone to love you over everything else. It wouldn’t even cross your mind that you’d be that precious, that wanted...especially after having parents who treated you as if you were an inconvenience.”