Page 29 of The Beast

“Why would you? The point is, I’ve watched him for five years. Watched him train, and plan, and sketch.”

She takes another step toward me. “He doesn’t paint anymore, but I’ve seen him sketch. He doesn’t show anyone what’s in that sketchbook, but one day⁠—”

She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “I shouldn’t.”

“Hey, you started it.”

She glances over her shoulder, then edges around a corner, urging me to follow. I consider bailing, but I’m just too curious.

“One day, he didn’t lock the drawer. I was looking for a legal pad and, well, I found the book.”

“And?” I catch myself leaning in.

“It’s the same woman. He sketches her. Over and over. I found one once, crumpled in the trash. He’d tossed it, but I could see how much love there was in those lines. I thought maybe he was remembering his mother. Like from when he was little. But it wasn’t.” She looks me up and down slowly. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

I can’t speak. Can barely breathe.

“Hatred doesn’t look like that,” she says quietly as she stands in soft focus beyond my tears.

From somewhere behind me, I hear Travis’s voice. “Anissa?”

I turn as she takes a step toward him. He’s standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, his expression a clear warning. Don’t get involved.

She pauses before passing me. “I’m not saying I trust you. I don’t know you. But I thought you should know.”

Then she falls in step with her father and heads toward the elevator and the hotel above us.

I stand still for a moment, not sure how I feel. Confused? Hopeful? Angry? All of it, actually. But it’s not just about what I feel, but what I see. And after talking with Anissa—after the night before, seeing my wadded-up picture pinned on the wall of his Spartan little cell—well, maybe I’m starting to see something really important. Like a crack in the wall Gabriel’s built around himself.

And that, at least, is something.