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Matteo was already looking at his phone. “Whatever,” he waved me away, smirking at whatever was on his phone.
I rolled my eyes and stepped inside. The scent of paint and, oddly enough, warm cookies enveloped me immediately, calming my otherwise wild thoughts.
“Carla!” Amy, the owner, greeted me from behind the counter. She was in her eighties, but you wouldn’t know it. She was statuesque even into her older age, and her dark brown eyes were warm as she looked at me. She reminded me of my grandmother, who I hadn’t seen in the last year. She’d been too ill to come up for the funerals from Mexico, but we’d talked and chatted.
She had been an artist in her day, and I felt a kinship with her that I’d rarely felt with others in my life.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted.
Amy smiled at me, the action causing the wrinkles around her eyes to deepen. “I’d ask you if you need me to get you anything, but I think at this point you know the place better than I do.”
This made me smile.
“I’m just going to browse some of the oils.” I started for the back. “I’ve gone through some of my usual colors quicker than normal.” My cheeks flushed as I considered why. Eli and I had destroyed some of the paints when we’d rolled around on the canvas.
I was certain that there were outlines of our bodies on the canvas and probably on the floor. The idea sent a delicious chill through me as I ran my hands across the paints.
Last night, Eli slept in my bed. His large form enveloped me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace. The nightmares that plagued me for the past few months were still at the edge of my mind, but Eli’s presence kept them at bay.
The guilt I felt at that started gnawing at me. The memories of that night were the only thing that I had. I’d seen the killers, and even with the gaps in my memory caused by the drugs and booze I’d consumed that night, in my gut, I knew that those men were someone I knew.
The only reason I hadn’t put up a fight when it came to being sent to New York was because I planned to start my own research. And I had. But at every turn, I came up empty. My father had done such a good job of scrubbing the case that there was no way I would be able to get anything.
Sighing, I stopped in front of the oils, closing my eyes as I willed the memories to come back.
That night was a series of images and blurs. Voices were distorted, and as time went on, it felt like they were getting further and further out of reach.
As I looked at a crimson pot of oil, I felt myself being transported back to that night. There’d been so much blood. Way more than I’d realized, and I’d tracked even more through the house. It was probably why I’d been an easy target. I’d fallen in my mother’s blood, tracking it through the house.
My hands reached up to my neck, and I wrapped one around my throat. The hand that night was larger and strong. He’d been able to lift me up off the floor by my neck. It wasn’t just the hand that was large, but also, the arms. I’d tried to dig my nails into the bulging muscles but hadn’t been able to get a good grip.
He’d called me a bitch and shaken me slightly. That voice…I trembled as I tried to place it. It was so close, and not being able to place it was making me insane.
“Carla?” A warm hand cupped my shoulder, and I jumped at the touch, knocking into the paints.
“Carla?” I could hear Amy’s footsteps rushing towards where we were. “Are you alright?” Her eyes were wide as she looked at me. Me and Caleb.
“It’s alright,” I said, my voice quivering as I pressed a hand to my chest. “Just got startled.”
Amy looked over at Caleb, suspicion in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
Swallowing, I nodded. Amy looked as though she wanted to stay nearby, so I did my best to relax my muscles.
“Sorry.” Caleb’s eyes were wide as he looked at me. “I didn’t mean to startle you…” He paused. “Again.”
Inhaling deeply, I did my best to calm my quickly beating heart. “It’s alright.” The sour taste of my fear still lingered on my tongue. “What are you doing here?” Caleb painted, which was how we’d met. But this small shop was locally owned and operated, and it was far from NYU where Caleb said that he was.
Perhaps it was just my nature to be suspicious. Considering what my father did for a living, I had learned long ago to keep a discerning eye on things.
He grimaced. “I noticed that you had a school emblem on a folder in your bag. I was able to look it up. When I saw the art store, I figured I was likely to run into you there.”
There was a pause for several moments as I tried to process what Caleb was saying.
“I swear I’m not stalking you. I just wanted to talk.”
I swallowed heavily. I did not know what to say to that. I’d never known Caleb to put so much effort into anything, except maybe procuring drugs.
But Caleb was also not someone I’d ever viewed as a threat. Just like he lacked initiative in most areas of his life, he was too easygoing to ever do anything remotely dangerous.
