I did my best to stay rational, even though I wanted nothing more than to dump the carafe of water on their head and kick them out the door.
“Thank you.” The woman with dark hair sniffed in my direction. “Like your friend said, Mr. Clark, we’re only here for the best interest of—”
“Her best interest is to stay with her father.” Gil panted, raking a hand through his hair and dislodging my hold. “I have no intention of letting her out of my sight again.”
“You’re in a hospital. She can’t stay—”
“I can take her to my place,” Justin interrupted. “I’ll care for her.”
Olive scrunched up her face. “No, I want to stay with Dad!”
The agents looked triumphant. “It seems you are unsuitable. We believe the child needs to undergo extensive therapy after her ordeal. She needs to be placed with a family capable of nurturing troubled—”
“She’s not troubled,” Gil roared. “She’s loved and she’s back home with me. You’re not having her.” His finger soared to the door. “Leave. Before I do something I’ll regret.”
The redhead stood up to his temper. “You’re about to go through a lengthy trial for your involvement in the painted murders, Mr. Clark. Do you really believe you’re in a position to care for a child who needs psychological—”
“Get out!” Gil tripped from the bed, his IV line catching on the railing. Justin swooped toward him, supporting his weight as his legs gave out. More blood saturated the side of his hospital gown.
Olive began to cry, silent and sorrowful.
It broke my heart.
All of this...
It broke my stupid, foolish heart.
“I can look after her.”
Everyone froze. All eyes locked on me.
I trapped a lock of Olive’s hair and pulled gently. “Would that be okay? Would you be all right staying with me while your dad heals?”
Olive blinked, her eyelashes dewy with tears. “Stay? With...you?”
I nodded, bending to her level. “You don’t have to. You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met, so I know you can face anything, but while your dad gets better, you can stay with me...if you want.”
Gil made a noise in his chest.
A noise that wrapped around me and made tears prick my own eyes. Even now, I wasn’t immune to him. Even after everything.
“You don’t have to do that, O,” Gil strangled. “You’re leaving, remember?”
“I know.”
I wasn’t a martyr or a sacrifice.
But I was a person who tried her best to be good.
This offer wasn’t for him.
It was for her.
This little girl who’d captured me from the moment I’d seen her blinking like a woodland creature in the dark.
Olive’s shoulders fell, her hand slipped into mine. She held onto me while she turned and faced her father. “Can’t I stay here with you?”
Gil’s throat worked hard as he swallowed. “I wish you could, little spinach, but it seems that option has been taken away.” He threw a glower at the women. His gaze tracked to mine with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to do this, O. Truly. I’m not trapping you into yet another mess of mine.”
“I can help,” Justin murmured. “I don’t mind.”
Gil shot him a grateful look even as pain blended. He’d only just found his daughter, yet he had to relinquish her all over again. To watch others care for her the way he wanted. “Do you think you could stay with her at my warehouse? Instead of taking her to yours?” His voice lowered. “I don’t want her to think she’s been kidnapped twice.”
Olive sniffed, her energy levels quickly slipping into sadness, knowing her happily-ever-after of going home with her father wouldn’t come true. “I don’t want to go home with him. I want to go home with you.” Her grey eyes snapped fiercely to Gil, her hand squeezing hard around mine.
Gil sighed sadly. “And I want to go home with you. And we will.” His attention shot to the CPS agents watching us with suspicion. He dared them to refute his claim about going home.
Gil might’ve saved Olive but he’d lost any right to keep her.
I thought he’d have more time before they tried to take her away from him.
It wasn’t fair.
What would happen now?
Who would have custody while he was arrested and put on trial for a murder that he did commit? A murder that would come with prison time.
I froze as the future unravelled before me. Gil in jail. Olive with foster parents. A lifetime of broken families. We weren’t just talking about a few days here; we were talking about Olive’s entire livelihood.
She can’t be allowed to leave with them.
Justin followed the same path I did. His harsh inhale wrenched everyone’s attention to him. He looked at Olive with a pained expression, wanting to talk frankly but aware that word selection had to be careful.
“Clark...” He cleared his throat. “Um, seeing as your hospital stay might be longer than a few days...” His hand shook as he rubbed his mouth. “And we all know how slow doctors can be...” He looked at me, seeking support, refusing to look at the agents. “Perhaps we should arrange a longer-term arrangement for Olive than just a few days.”
The agents crossed their arms, tapping their feet.
Olive narrowed her eyes, trying to follow the cryptic conversation.
I deciphered it and my heart sank further. Seeing as you’re arrested and we all know how slow court dates and hearings can take, Olive needs a caregiver for the next few weeks at least. And longer if you’re convicted. These CPS agents can’t be allowed to take her. Who knows if you’ll ever get her back.
Gil’s whitewashed face turned a greenish hue. He rested on the edge of the bed as he buried his hands in his hair, tugging hard as the ramifications crashed into him. “Oh, God.” He looked as if he’d be sick.
I wanted to go to him. To rub his back. To assure him he wouldn’t lose her for the second time.
But if I did, I’d fall into the same pattern.
The pattern I was trying to break.
The pattern you’re stuck in now that you’ve offered to care for Olive.
“What? What is it?” Olive asked.
I pulled her into my side. “Nothing. Your father is just sad he can’t come home with you for a while.” Turning her to face me, I added, giving her options, giving myself options where I could still leave and not be linked to Gil, “Justin has the coolest place, and you can stay with him for a bit. It’s probably best if you stay with him.” I smiled as wide as I could. “He’s your godfather, after all. He’s kind of like an angel who will look after you. It will be fun. A little holiday.”
Olive’s eyes welled with fresh tears. “But I don’t want a holiday. I want to go home.”
“How about I come stay at your place then?” Justin offered. “It will be a holiday for me, instead.”
She cried harder. “I just want to go home with my dad.”
I hugged her close, my heart a bleeding ruin.
Gil looked into me, his stare piercing and full of so many troubled, hurting things. He nodded in thanks while I rocked his most precious belonging.
My stomach knotted.
My heart pounded in answer to his gratefulness, his sorrow.
God, what a mess.
“Look, we can discuss the fine print in a few days when emotions aren’t running so high.” The redhead tried to pry Olive out of my arms. “Just give us Olive, and we’ll ensure she’s well taken care of—”
“No!” Olive’s little hand slipped into mine again, deepening the bond between us that’d formed from dark forests and her father’s blood. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
I stood, keeping Olive’s hand tight in mine. “I think it’s best if you come back later.”
“We can’t leave until we’re sure Olive’s living arrangements are satisfactory.”
“Can...can you look after me?”
I looke
d down as Olive tugged on my hand. Her face seemed older, alive with understanding that I was the lesser of the evils. She couldn’t have her father. She didn’t want Justin. She definitely didn’t want to be given to strangers.
She’d chosen me.
And her choice sentenced me to yet another cycle of not being able to say no.
“Can you? Please? Can you come stay until Daddy can come home?”
Justin stiffened.
Gil groaned, putting my welfare above Olive’s in a way that made me feel both cherished and utterly guilty. “No, little spinach. Let her go. O has already done far too much. She’s going away—”
“Please?” Olive looked up, her fingers so perfect and trusting in mine. “I’ll be good, I promise.” She practically climbed up my body with her panic. “I’ll go to bed when you tell me. You won’t have to tie me to a tree outside for being naughty. I’ll be super quiet and good, you’ll see.”
My eyes flew to the CPS agents.
Shit.
The dark-haired one narrowed her eyes, hearing what I did. That Olive had been subject to abuse that needed to be repaired. Abuse that I wasn’t qualified to deal with.
Gil made a broken noise, forgetting our unwanted audience. “God, he tied you to a tree?” His hands curled. “What else did he—”
“Gil.” I flashed him a warning look. “Now is not the time.”
He choked, his face white and hospital gown bright red. A crimson trickle ran down his naked calf, licking through leg hair and plopping onto the disinfected floor.
He shouldn’t be vertical. He shouldn’t be fighting such fear.
This wasn’t fair on either father or daughter, and I’d had enough.
No wonder I despised hospitals.
They were the steppingstone to hell.
A stopping place where those injured had to get better and those waiting had to hope their loved ones returned. It was purgatory and I wouldn’t let them suffer anymore.
I looked down at a little girl who’d somehow replaced my desire to run with unbreakable loyalty.
Olive’s tears were fast and fat, heavy with hurt. “Please! I don’t want to go with them—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” My vow hissed with promise. “Ever.”
She burrowed into me, trusting me. She trembled; the brave, curious girl who I thought was resilient to what she’d gone through buckled in my arms. She was fragile beneath her courageous exterior. She was hurting beneath her spirited exterior.
She’s like Gil.
A perfect chameleon, hiding her true feelings until she couldn’t hide them anymore.
This promise would break me all over again.
But I also couldn’t deny her.
Glaring at the agents, I clipped, “I’ll take care of Olive. She can stay at my apartment with me until Gilbert Clark is released from hospital. I’ll ensure she attends school and any other requirements you have. I’ll fill in any reports and do what you ask as long as you don’t take her away from her father.”
I could care for her in my home, as long as she didn’t want to return to the warehouse.
I couldn’t go back there.
Not yet.
“And when he goes on trial?” The redhead crossed her arms. “Who’s going to look after her then?”
“I will.” Justin puffed up his chest. “We all will. We’ll make it work.”
“She has family,” I said. “She doesn’t need strangers.”
“O,” Gil groaned, his voice deepening. He couldn’t stop looking at me, his body rigid. Love that he could no longer hide poured from his gaze, wrapping around me, drowning me. “O, you don’t have to—”
“I do.” My voice was bold and determined. “I am.” Wrenching my gaze from his, I focused on his daughter. The daughter I’d been sacrificed to find. The daughter who’d been the reason Gil had left me.
Her creation drove us apart.
Her desperation kept us together.
There was no other option but to protect her like Gil had.
Pausing all my plans, allowing love to trap me further, and kindness to make me powerless, I arched my chin at the agents. “Is that satisfactory enough for you?”
The redhead pursed her lips, looking at her colleague. “I suppose that would be okay, for now. We will monitor the situation.”
“Fine.” I nodded. “Now, please leave.”
In a tense standoff, the women looked one last time at all of us, turned around, and vanished out the door.
The moment they’d gone, Gil almost crashed off the bed.
The monitors screamed.
A doctor flew in.
The chaos that followed ensured everyone focused on Gil’s recovery and not the future where he might have wished he’d died in that forest instead.
I wished I could stop what was coming for him.
I wished I had the capacity to slay monsters and defeat court dates and stop murder trials, because it wouldn’t be a disgruntled, greedy family member who would tear him apart this time, but the law.
A monster no one could win against.
Chapter Eleven
______________________________
Olin
POLICE RELEASED A statement today, assuring the public that the killer responsible for the body painting murderers has been arrested. Currently, it is believed there were two men involved. Jeffrey Clark was killed the night a fifth girl went missing. Olin Moss was to be the next victim and was already painted before the police found them. The second man, Gilbert Clark, is in hospital. The families of the deceased are demanding swift and severe justice for their loved ones and have taken to online petitions and GoFundMe requests to ensure Gilbert Clark receives life imprisonment.
More details to come.
I trembled on my couch, phone in hand, internet searches giving me nightmares.
Darkness rained all around me, hissing with horrors, while Olive was in my room, asleep.
It’d been a long day.
After leaving the hospital, Justin kindly dropped Olive and me off at my place. He’d offered to stay, to run errands with us. But Olive had withdrawn and I sensed female company would be better for her fragile state. Once Justin had gone, I’d shown her around, changed the sheets on my bed, then taken her grocery shopping.
She’d perked up toward the end, asking if I could take her to Gil’s warehouse to grab her things as she literally had nothing. No toothbrush, no nightie, no clothes.
But I’d rather use the money from Status Enterprises that’d been earmarked for rent and bills to replace her things rather than go back to the warehouse so soon. I bought her what she needed, doing my best to buy her happiness as well as staples.
The strawberry scent I’d caught in Gil’s apartment now laced mine from her shower. The sweet pull of maple syrup and pancakes lingered from the unhealthy dinner I’d made, cooking Olive pancakes like I’d once cooked for her father, hoping it would fix her troubles and knowing nothing had that much power.
Exhaustion had sat on my shoulders all day—a whisper in my ear to fall asleep and hide, but I waited until Olive collapsed beside me watching Netflix before carrying her into my bed and returning to the little nest of blankets and pillow I’d made on the couch.
I got comfy.
I closed my eyes.
And images of paintbrushes and caravans and blood, blood, blood surrounded me.
Gil followed on such gruesome thoughts, fisting my heart and making me fear he’d died after all. That the blood he’d lost at the hospital would push him the final way into a grave.
He won’t die.
He can’t.
Even though his future was bleak, he had to stay alive for Olive’s sake.
Heart winging, I sat up, peering into the darkness. I checked the door was locked for the third time, and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen.
My pulse stayed too high to rest, so I made the terrible decision of googling information on the most recent body painting
murder case.
I hated that my name was printed for everyone to see.
I hated that Gil sounded like a blood-thirsty beast.
They hadn’t given any facts, just vague accusations that would lead to a witch hunt.
Returning to the page results, I braced myself all over again and clicked on a link for a petition set up by the parents of Moira Jonston, one of the murdered girls.
Sign the petition below to ensure this doesn’t happen to any other English girls.
Gilbert Clark, the renowned body painting artist and owner of the company Master of Trickery, used his stature as an artist to lure unsuspecting women into his lair to kill them.
He is a despicable human being and we boycott all his work.
We want Facebook to delete his Master of Trickery page.
We want the police to provide clear justice.
We want compensation for the families he’s torn apart.
We want him to pay to the highest degree.
Sign now to ensure he doesn’t get away with it.
#deathsentenceforthebodypainter
I tossed my phone away, closing my eyes from the screen’s glare.
Could they do that? Could they take away his business and force the law to lock him away indefinitely? There was no mention of his arrest for killing his uncle. But they’d pinned the girl’s murders on him instead.
Gil hadn’t killed them.
He might have painted them, but he didn’t actively kill them.
Jeffrey had gloated that he’d done that.
Their deaths coated his hands, and Jeffrey’s demise coated Gil’s.
He’d done the world a favour by removing him from society, yet he might end up serving a life sentence because of the power of social media and the pressure of people with a voice.
And Olive...what will happen to Olive?
I rubbed my eyes.
God, this is such a catastrophe.
My phone illuminated the gloom as it vibrated across the couch. An unknown number flashed across the screen.
Who the hell is calling me at two in the morning?
My heart kicked.
Gil?
Could he call me from his room in the hospital? Had something worse happened?
Scooping up the phone, I answered with a whisper, doing my best not to wake up Olive. “Hello?”
The Living Canvas (Master of Trickery, #2) Page 12
