I couldn’t ask.
I couldn’t not ask.
My voice abandoned me.
“What? What do you want to know?” His eyebrows tugged over his gaze, shadowing him. “I’ll answer anything you want.”
My heart raced. “What part of this did you play, Gil? Did you...did you hurt those girls?” My question fell like unexploded dynamite, dangerous and volatile.
Silence stole the carnage before Gil shifted and sucked in a breath. His stare smoked with apology. “I painted them.” He shrugged, holding up his palms. “It was my paint on their skin.”
I trembled. “I don’t want to believe that.”
“It’s true.”
“I can’t believe you could paint someone knowing they would die.”
His face fell. “I painted you.”
Silence fell.
Truth fell.
Despair fell.
My insides collapsed into one another.
He’d painted me in olives. He’d prepared to sacrifice me.
If he could do that to someone who’d been in his bed and in his heart...what made strangers any different?
The chilly warehouse prickled my arms. “Those people online and the ones on the street...they want you dead.”
“I know.” He no longer glittered with the ice he’d used to keep me at bay but wore a cape of desolation. Of acceptance that everything had gone wrong and the only thing he could do now was pay the price. “I’m aware that I’ve fucked everything up all over again. And Olive will pay the most.”
“What if they put you away for decades?”
“I’ll find her a family worthy of having her love before it’s too late.”
“And you? What will you do?”
He gave me the saddest, rawest smile. “I’ll tell the truth. I’m done hiding, O. When they come for me, I’m going to tell them...everything.”
Chapter Fifteen
______________________________
Olin
“THANK YOU FOR seeing us, Miss Moss.”
I nodded, cupping my warm cup of tea with icy hands. “You’re welcome.”
They weren’t welcome, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. I’d woken to a rude knock at seven a.m. I’d made the mistake of opening it. I now stood in my pyjamas and dressing gown in an apartment that felt even more lonely and oppressive now that Olive had gone home, and did my best to shake away the nightmares.
Nightmares of Gil being given the death sentence. Of him being fried in an electric chair. Of Olive going to live in a whore-house with a backpack stained in dumpster dirt. Of Ms Tallup selling her off to the highest bidder.
It’d been three days since I’d dropped Olive off.
And I was going out of my mind.
I needed to do something.
Go somewhere.
Figure out what the hell I should do from here.
“Are you okay? Healthwise?” Two new officers interrogated me today. Two women. One plump with her uniform neatly pressed and her name tag, Gloria, proudly pinned to her breast, and the other as skinny as a pen with her hair tied tight at the base of her nape.
“I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt.”
“You were found naked in a forest, on a cold evening in England. It’s lucky you didn’t have hypothermia.”
“The adrenaline kept me warm.” I stared into my milky tea, wishing I’d never opened my door. What did they want? What could I tell them that would benefit anyone?
Almost as if they sensed my unwillingness, they jumped straight to their point. “Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened the night Gilbert Clark painted you and took you into Lickey Hills Country Park?”
I looked up. “I already told the officers who found me.”
“Yes, but we’d like to hear it again.”
“There isn’t anything to add.”
Gloria scowled. “Just in your own words, please give us an account of the evening in question.”
I paused, going over the facts and wondering if lies were necessary to protect Gil. A fabrication to perhaps grant a shorter sentence. But lies hadn’t saved him, and lies wouldn’t save me. The truth was the only option.
My voice stayed monotone as I gave as much information as I could in as few sentences as possible. “Gilbert Clark painted me at his warehouse, drugged me so I’d stay asleep, planted a GPS tracker on me so he could follow, and took me to the location his uncle had advised. The plan was to trade me for his daughter and then chase after me and set me free. He was shot in the back after his uncle decided to keep both me and Gilbert’s daughter. Jeffrey then took both of us deeper into the forest where he’d been living for a while in a camouflaged caravan. He said he planned on selling us into the sex trade. He took me outside to rape me, Gilbert arrived just in time, he passed out once Jeffrey was dead. That’s it.”
The skinny officer looked up from scribbling notes. “You said he put a GPS tracker on you? So he had hope that you wouldn’t die?”
“Of course. His intention was always to keep both of us alive...if he could achieve it.”
“Yet he painted those other women and allowed them to be murdered?”
I still couldn’t believe he’d been guilty of that.
I looked into my tea again, wishing it had the answers.
“Do you think Gilbert Clark is a good person?” Gloria asked, pen poised over paper.
I nodded fiercely. “Yes. He’s a good person.”
“Is he a killer?”
I don’t know.
“I don’t believe so.”
“But he did paint them?”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to answer because Gil had told me the truth. The same truth he’d provide in court. I stood taller. “Yes. He painted them.”
Flicking back through her notes, Gloria asked, “In your previous statement, when you first called the police about the attempted kidnapping outside Gilbert Clark’s warehouse, you said the van used was white with blue stripes. Do you still wish to stand by that statement?”
I slouched, knowing I’d been caught in that fib. “I lied to protect Gil. It was a black van.”
The skinny cop sniffed. “Do you think, if you’d told the truth about the van, we might’ve been able to prevent what happened to you and ensured both Gilbert and Jeffrey were in prison?”
“I have thought about it, and I agree that lying prevented Jeffrey from being found. However, I lied because Gil asked me to, and I would lie again, knowing what I know now.”
“And what is that?”
“Olive would’ve died in that caravan if Jeffrey had been caught. She wouldn’t have been found until it was too late.”
“And the life of one girl is worth the lives of others?”
I tipped my tea down the sink. “I can’t answer that.” Striding to the door, I opened it. “I need to go to work. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave.”
They stood, tucked their notebooks away and walked in heavy boots across my threshold. “We’ll be in touch, Miss Moss.”
I nodded, smiled goodbye, then closed the door in their faces.
The moment their boots sounded on the staircase, I grabbed my phone and called Shannon at Status Enterprises.
“Hello?”
“Shannon, I’ve had enough time off. I’m ready to return to work.”
“Oh, that’s great! We’re short-staffed so we’d super appreciate it. You can come in tomorrow.”
“Today? I’m free today.”
“Today is great! See you soon.”
I hung up and padded toward my bathroom and the shower.
I couldn’t save Gil from what was coming for him.
I couldn’t protect Olive from having her family torn apart.
I couldn’t figure out what I needed to do to put this behind me.
But I couldn’t sit at home anymore.
I had to do something productive.
Before I did something wrong.
Something like catching a bus to
Gil’s and demanding the entire sordid story so I knew what he would face in court, so I knew how long he would be imprisoned, so I knew how this sorry tale would end.
Chapter Sixteen
______________________________
Gil
I UPLOADED ANOTHER time-lapse video of a girl I’d transformed from human into a lush, dew-misted strawberry last year. My Facebook page no longer acted as a positive beacon for my business. Instead, it granted a platform for people to comment on how vile I was, how they wished I was dead, how they planned on killing me if I wasn’t dealt life imprisonment.
My star rating had plummeted from five stars to one, effectively blacklisting me from any future commissions.
I’d done my best to keep uploading previous videos and pieces of art, hoping my inbox would fill with a request for work rather than death threats. But no company contacted me for ad work. No campaign or business dared hire me with the bad press surrounding my name.
It fucking sucked because yes, I was involved, and yes, I had taken a life, but no one knew the full story, and they’d stolen my livelihood. I only had a finite amount of time to pay off my debts, squirrel away enough cash for Olive, and figure out a way to keep her happy and safe before the police summoned me to trial.
I even considered getting a job as a house painter or some other labourer, but I couldn’t leave Olive. I knew I should enrol her back into school and set up a routine so she had something familiar and trustworthy in her life, but I wasn’t prepared to miss out on huge chunks of time together.
Not now.
Not when every moment was precious and our time together unknown.
Two weeks had passed since I’d seen O.
Two weeks since I’d had my daughter back and pretended things were normal. I’d taken her to Kohls and bought her a new outfit to replace the ones she no longer fitted. I’d sold my car so I had some disposable cash for food and incidentals. And Justin had become a regular dinner guest. Some nights we ordered in. Some nights I cooked. Most times he fucking paid.
My guilt and self-hatred at him picking up the bill and delivering groceries because I couldn’t leave ensured I diligently kept note of what I owed him. I had a little notebook now, full of numbers, the tally growing bigger and my debt growing heavier each time he popped round.
I’d warned him that he wasn’t welcome if he continued to bring small gifts for Olive and found some unsubtle way of ensuring we ate. He’d jokingly said ‘I’ll put it on your tab’ when I’d tried to force the entire three-thousand-pound pay-out I got for my car into his hand.
He’d been kidding.
I hadn’t.
I took it literally, and my notebook had become my tab.
One that I had every intention of wiping clean one day.
I wanted to banish him from popping around so much, but yet again, I was fucking selfish.
I knew why he made the effort after a long day in the office to swing by my place and watch TV with Olive. Why he learned the names of silly cartoon characters and sat on the floor and submitted himself to a painting lesson that ended up speckling his suit with colours.
I’d catch his eye mid stupid joke with Olive and my heart would squeeze in agony.
This bloke, who’d been more like a brother to me than any other family, went out of his way to make sure Olive was comfortable with him. To prove to her that he was trustworthy. To prove to himself, and to me, that when the day came for me to be locked up, he could cope being a godfather and Olive could cope being raised by yet another man who wasn’t her dad.
Fuck.
Slamming my laptop closed, I eyed it. Perhaps I should sell it too. After all, the uploaded content didn’t seem to be resurrecting my career, and I didn’t need the expensive Photoshop software to edit my painted canvases.
My career was dead.
The public had officially murdered any chance I had of climbing my way out of the hole I was in. Not to mention, O hadn’t messaged me or emailed or attempted to get in touch in any way.
I checked my phone for the billionth time today.
She’d gone from coming around when she wasn’t invited to avoiding me at all costs.
The amount of times I’d stared at her number on my phone, willing myself to call her, even while knowing I never could was pathetic.
In her mind, we were over.
In my mind, I couldn’t allow us to be.
Not like this.
Not without confessing everything.
“Hey, mate.”
I jolted as Justin appeared behind me, slapping a hand on my shoulder and eyeing my phone. O’s contact details blazed on my screen, condemning me to a life I’d totally destroyed.
“Still not got the balls to call her, huh?” He tutted under his breath. “Two weeks is a long time. She might’ve moved out and flown overseas for all you know.”
I stood, shoving my phone into my pocket and marching past all my paint supplies that no longer had a purpose and into the small apartment.
“Hey, Dad.” Olive waved with her tiny paintbrush as I brushed past her and planted a kiss on her crown.
“Wow, that’s amazing, little spinach.”
And I wasn’t just saying that.
My daughter was fucking talented.
Her eye for shading. Her patience with detail. Her skill at intricacies. I’d like to think she inherited all that talent from me, but the reality was, she got some from Jeffrey too.
God rot his soul.
“It’s a toucan to go in the rainforest.” She pointed behind her at the rainforest graffiti on the wall. “It needs more animals in there.”
“Good idea. Perhaps do an otter next.”
The word turned to ash on my tongue.
Otter.
O.
Fucking hell.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I’d always carried her in my heart since I’d walked away from school, but now the memories of her, the thoughts of her, were a hundred times stronger.
I couldn’t stop them. I had no peace from them. Every part of me craved to see her. To touch her. Kiss her. Slip inside her and erase all the badness between us.
Carrying on into the kitchen, I tore open the pantry and grabbed a box of risotto. Tonight, I’d cook creamy mushroom risotto because it was filling and cheap and the leftovers could make a pasta bake tomorrow night.
I’d make every penny stretch as much as I could, so Olive at least had some cash to take with her when I was incarcerated.
Justin unbuttoned his blazer and sat on the wooden barstool. His hands rested on the same counter where O had cornered me, stolen my vodka bottle, and I’d consumed her instead of alcohol.
My gaze fell to the floor where I’d thrust inside her for the first time. The rush of lust and the cloak of shame at being so rough with her after only wanting to be gentle. My healing side twinged a little, jerking me back to the present.
“You’re thinking about her again,” Justin muttered under his breath. “Why don’t you do what I said and talk to her?”
“Shut up.” Opening the fridge, I pulled out an IPA and shoved the cold bottle at him. “Here. Sip your beverage, let me cook, and then you’re leaving.”
Unscrewing the lid, he smirked. “How about I’ll drink my beer and harass you while you cook? I like that plan better.”
“I just won’t listen to you.” I tapped my ears. “Selective hearing, Miller. And tonight, I don’t want to hear what you say every fucking time you come here.”
“What? That I think you’re giving her too much space and should go over there before it’s too late?”
My heart kicked. “You keep threatening me that she might have gone. But...has she left yet?”
“No, but that’s beside the point. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be.”
Hard, definitely.
Hard emotionally and physically.
My body tortured me on a daily basis. I almost had a fucking wet dream the oth
er night. I woke to an orgasm threatening to crash over me, her scent in my nose and her touch on my skin. I’d finished myself off in the dark, drowning in the fantasy that I hadn’t destroyed us.
“I’m honouring her wishes, Miller. She wants nothing more to do with me. And I can’t fucking blame her.”
Justin swigged his beer, settling in to give me the lecture he’d given almost every night he’d visited. “Yes, you fucked up. Yes, you used her to find Olive. You didn’t tell her—or me, I might add—what you were going through. You pretended you hated her, when really, you’ve always loved her. You sent out so many mixed signals and made up so many lies that she has no idea what part of you is real.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly why she wants nothing to do with me.” I dumped the risotto into a pan and scooped some butter into it.
“So...why don’t you go and tell her the truth? Why don’t you show her what part is real so she knows for sure that leaving is the right choice.”
“She deserves better.”
“Ugh, don’t start this martyr bullshit again, Clark. You know as well as I do that if she’d truly been afraid of you, if she truly never wanted to see you again, she would’ve booked a ticket anywhere in the world to run away from you. She would’ve vanished by now.” He pinned me with a stare. “But she hasn’t. She’s still here. She’s waiting for closure or hope—just as much as you are. So...you should go to her.”
“She probably wouldn’t even open the door if I knocked on it.”
“Don’t you owe it to both of you to find that out instead of making up bullshit excuses?”
I scowled. “Just stay out of it.”
He looked over his shoulder at Olive still engrossed in her painting. “Answer me one question. If the answer is honest, I won’t bring this up again.” He drew an x over his chest. “Cross my heart.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the itch of healing from my wound. “No chance.”
He lowered his voice, not giving me an option. “That teacher bitch you told me about. She took your virginity, right?”
The Living Canvas Page 16
