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Awesome.
“Are we really not going to talk about the fact that you had no paint on your walls?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “Pretty boring topic, if you ask me.”
“Well, I am asking you. I can’t believe that your place wasn’t filled with your art. You were always complaining that you didn’t have time or the supplies handy for your paintings. You’ve had three years, Keran.” His voice is serious when he finally stops drumming. “What happened to you?”
I’ve asked myself that same question over and over. I let out a long sigh before replying. “When we were trapping, I had tons of drive to paint. I couldn’t wait to get back to the motel to work on a project. I don’t know what happened. I set up in the apartment, got out my supplies, and… nothing. Just completely and utterly nothing. It got to the point that picking up a paintbrush felt wrong—like holding a pencil in your non-dominant hand.”
Avet’s frown matches mine. “Are you serious? You’re telling me you haven’t painted in three years?”
I grip the steering wheel, making sure to keep in my lane as the road curves around spots where nature and commerce collide. “I’m not even sure I remember how. That part of me… I don’t know, Avet. It died or something.”
Avet rubs his palms on his thighs as he tries to come up with a solution on the fly. “We’ll just… I’ll stay until… You know it’s not lost, right? You’re an artist. That doesn’t just go away.”
I shrug. “I guess it does.”
Avet reaches over the console and grips my hand. He’s the more affectionate one of the two of us, but that’s not saying much. He’s always the most affectionate one in whatever group he lands in, and I am always the least affectionate one, no matter who I’m around. Still, I never shove Avet’s hand away whenever he wants to hold onto me. I’m okay with who he is, even though he is so different from me.
What’s more amazing is that Avet accepts me—scars and all.
“We’ll get it back, Keran. Job one: find Cher. Job two: find Keran.”
“My money’s on finding Cher. The other quest is a lost cause. Trust me.”
“No offense, but your assessment of you is usually wrong. You said you were retired, yet here you are. You said you were going to throw me out the window an hour ago, but you didn’t. I’m starting to think I know you better than you know yourself.” He squeezes my hand. “If you lost your paintbrush, I will find it. That’s how we work.”
Though I want to argue, Avet’s determination to preserve the non-trapper side of me is admirable. If parts of me are lost, maybe I can count on my best friend to find them.
7
CHER’S BELONGINGS
Avet holds my hand until we pull into a long row of storage units, each one the size of a single-car garage with the same orange door and a number over the top. Keran drags his keys out of his pocket and points to unit 248. “That’s the one.” His jaw is tight, his lips pursed. He is steeling himself, clearly distressed at being confronted with his missing sister’s things.
When we get out of the car, I make a point to reach for his hand this time, tethering him to the planet so he doesn’t run away from the things that frighten him. “You don’t have to go inside,” I remind him. “I’m the one who wants to poke around. You’ve seen everything in there.”
Avet nods, swallowing hard. He forces a brave smile but the expression twists, making him look like he is being choked. “I might wait out here, then.”
I take the keys and release his hand, though not before squeezing it once and saying, “If Cher is out there, we will find her.”
Avet presses his back to the storage unit, keeping his eyes from the door while I shove the key into the lock and open the thing. The rickety orange door slides up, revealing a slew of stuff in random piles. It looks like a hoarder’s paradise, with no rhyme or reason to the stacks. Clothes are thrown on the concrete slab floor. Books aren’t even in a proper pile but have been scattered throughout the space.
I would ask if the place had been ransacked, but Avet’s organizational system is to not organize at all, so this is on par with past performance.
Still, it irks me. “I can’t find anything in here. Take the car to the nearest chain store and grab some of those big plastic totes. At least a dozen.” I glance around, making a list on the fly. “An accordion file folder, too. We need a shelf in here. If they have shelves that just snap together, get one of those. We don’t have time for me to build you one.” I toss him my keys, catching the relief in Avet’s face as he trots away.
He doesn’t want to be anywhere near this place, which I get.
Before I start looking through all of this, I have to put it in order. My brain won’t settle down until the floor is visible, at least. I start with the clothes, sorting them into piles and folding them because what is the point of storing things if they’re not stored properly? I hate that Cher’s things need to be shaken out to get the dirt and other debris off them. Cher doesn’t deserve to come home to garbage.
I stop myself with a firmness I usually reserve for dealing with Avet. Cher isn’t alive. There is no chance she survived this long in a vampire’s clutches. They have short attention spans and rarely toy with their prey for more than a week. At best, I know I am on a mission to find Cher’s body and then murder the vampire who took her. Thinking that she is still alive will only make things harder in the end.
Now that Avet is not here, there is no need to pretend. I am sorting things for when Cher is declared dead, instead of just missing.
After the clothes are in piles and ready to be put in bins once Avet gets back, I start organizing Cher’s books.
Setting a book on a concrete floor?
