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I’m usually a blackout-blinds type of girl, but the darkness doesn’t feel safe right now. So, I leave the lights on and shuffle under the covers. The second, still sealed, bottle of water tips over when I jostle the mattress, landing on the bag of jerky with a crinkle.
Reminded of the food available, I sit up and drag the tray to the head of the bed.
My mouth still has that minty taste in it, so I stare at the array of snacks, debating. But decide that the only thing worse than dying, would be dying hungry.
CHAPTER14
King
Only child.Parents still married and living together in Florida, but no records of any phone calls or texts between them and Savannah in the last six months. I click back to last year’s phone logs and find a five-minute call on Christmas day.
Huh. Certainly not close.
The cousin with the kids also has no phone contact with Savannah, but they’re friends on Facebook, and a few clicks tells me they interact with each other’s posts regularly. So not close, but not estranged.
I follow the trail from Savannah’s Facebook profile to her Instagram, which has a link to another account in the bio PaintsBySavannah.
I click on it.
Twenty minutes have passed and I’m still scrolling through her posts. Pausing on each one.
I’d seen her tax return for the business, but I hadn’t realized…
She’s fucking amazing.
Her talent is carved into each painting. The rawness of it right there for everyone to see.
The thick oil paints act like clay on her canvas. The texture lays in stark contrast to the smooth colors. And the style…
I scroll to the next one.
The style is almost graffiti in nature. But it’s not done with a spray can. So, the ones that showcase drips… It’s all deliberate. Purposeful. Brilliant.
And the colors…
It seems like she works in series. A whole set of paintings all about the same subject matter. Then you scroll through the images and it changes to a different subject matter.
The most recent collection were paintings of Michelangelo’s David. A dozen variations. Some just in shades of gray. Some in nothing but neon. One in green and purple and a white so bright it almost glows. And it all works. Each one on its own. And then all of them together as a collection.
The series before that was of ladybugs. Before that was dog collars. Before that, light bulbs, then skulls…
They’re beautifully unique. Simple, but I could stare at one for hours.
And they make me that much more curious about the woman currently locked in my bedroom.
CHAPTER15
Savannah
I shove the tray,and what’s left of its contents, onto the nightstand.
My belly is full, the box of processed pastries is half gone. The snickers bar is no more. And the last water bottle is half empty.
With a sigh, I haul the blankets up to my chin.
The motion wafts the scent ofmaleup from beneath the covers.
It’s the same collection of scents that are currently clinging to my skin after that shower, but the bedding smells––I take a deep inhale––warmer.
