by Rae B. Lake
When I was a young child, I had everything I could ever want. I never wore the same dress twice, and my hair was always done. All my birthdays were special, and I even had a live baby giraffe at my seventh birthday. All my little schoolyard friends were jealous. I was the one they all wanted to be. I thought I was just lucky my dad worked so hard.
Nothing lasts forever, though. By the time I was fifteen, my father’s business choices had become worse and worse, my brother in an effort to prove himself to our father had set up business deals that had gone wrong, and soon people were shooting up our homes and stealing from us. They even beat my brother half to death. He was paralyzed from the waist down after a drug deal gone bad. I lived in constant fear something was going to happen to me, that I would walk outside and someone would kill me to send a message to my father. The stress of it all became too much; I had no one to turn to. My mother had died long ago, and both my father and brother were so thick into the life I knew they wouldn’t understand how I felt. I was spiraling out of control with nothing to hold onto.
I did the only thing I thought I had control over, the same thing my mother had done years ago just two weeks after having me. I swallowed a bottle full of sleeping pills. Imagine my surprise when I woke up, not dead. My father had found me shortly after I had tried to end my own life and rushed me to the hospital where they were able to pump my stomach and get the pills out. I ended up in an inpatient psychiatric facility. At nineteen, I had tried to take my own life to escape the hell I was in.
The doctors and therapists tried everything they could to break me out of my depressed state. Medicines, therapy, meditation, they tried all of it, but nothing helped. I tried to fake my happiness so they would let me out. My father was waiting for me to come home; there was no way out. I knew I would try to end my life again, and I couldn’t do it there.
It was the day I chose to sit in on a group therapy session that changed my life. I was only going to sit there and observe, let the doctor see I was putting in an effort. It was all about perceptions in the hospital. If you made it seem like you were getting better, that’s what the doctors believed. One of the therapists was conducting a painting class, and she said the colors and the pictures soothed people. I watched as she swiped on her small canvas, and quiet overcame the room as others tried to do the same. It seemed so relaxing, and before I knew it, I was asking to try.
Once my paintbrush hit the blank canvas, and the first stripe of blazing color left my brush, I was hooked. The connection was instantaneous, and for the first time in my entire life, I found something that sparked a passion inside of me. From then on, all I wanted to do was paint, and I was good at it. I was able to look at something and know what I needed to do to bring it to life on the canvas.
Slowly, I started to get better. Then I realized my art could be a way out. I could use art as an outlet, a way to escape from my father and brother’s thumb. When I was well enough to go home, the therapists there raised a few bucks for me to get the basics I needed to paint. I used it to make art I’d be able to sell. It was all my own money, and it was all legit. Slowly my popularity started to grow, and soon I’d saved enough money to open a small shop.
Of course, the problems of my past followed me. My father owed someone some money, and they came through me to get to him. When I couldn’t come up with the money my father needed to pay his debt, they torched my shop. There was nothing left but ash and a few singed paintbrushes. It was a blessing in disguise, though.
That same night, my father and brother were trying to sell a big score, except they were trying to sell it to the wrong people. The buyers were feds. It was a sting, and my dumbass father and brother fell for it. My father shot and killed the two, not realizing the rest of the unit had already cornered them. My brother and father went to jail that day, and they’d never get out, both of them got life without parole.
I was sad. Not only did I lose my place, but I also lost anyone I’d ever called family all in one night. The blessing in disguise here? Now I was free. I was cut a check from the fire insurance, which was more than what the place was actually worth, and I took off for a new place. A new town. A fresh start. I could run away, and no one would ever know about my past.
That was what I found here, on the back half of the pier among all the small shops and people arriving after long trips at sea. I was able to get a few clients here in town, and I was also able to set up weekly sip and paint parties, which seemed to be all the rave nowadays. It didn’t bring in the money I was used to having as a kid, but it paid the bills and put food in my belly. That was all I needed.
I walked into my small shop, the blank canvas I’d left there the night before still on the easel waiting for me. I took a huge sip of my coffee and moved to the back of the store to get the colors I knew I needed for the masterpiece stuck in my mind. I walked down to the basement and picked up one of the crimson red paints I’d shipped in from overseas. There was only one company in the world who made a red as vibrant as this, and it played a vital part in the picture in my mind. There were a few puddles on the floor, one of which I almost slipped on in my rush to get back upstairs.
“Great, just what I need. To slip and bust my ass with no one here to help.” I looked up to see where the water was coming from. Flooding was always a possibility being so close to the coast, but it didn’t seem like a large enough amount of water. My eyes focused on the steps leading to the door to the outside. There was water there. I walked over to investigate further and found the door unlocked.
“Dummy.” I reprimanded myself. I would sometimes go out the back and try to paint some of the people passing by. I rarely locked it when I came back in; it was a habit I had to break. The town was pretty safe, but the massive amount of drugs that seemed to be flowing in was on the rise. A new sex drug called Blue Bunny was at the top of it all for some reason.
Satisfied I’d found the reason for the wetness, I grabbed my paint and ran back up to my workspace. I got myself set up and took another sip of the coffee. Once the first stroke of my brush hit the canvas, I was lost to the world.
I worked through breakfast and lunch, the colors and shapes taking perfect shape right before my eyes. The underwater scene forming would be one for the books. I could already tell it would go for a nice piece of change. It was mystical yet unnerving at the same time.
The ring of the doorbell broke me out of my trance for the first time since I’d sat down on my stool. I blinked and looked around the easel to see through the clear glass doors at two men. Customers.
I got up from my seat, placing the palatte on the table, so it didn’t fall and make a mess on the wood floor. I put on a smile and walked over to the door.
I opened it up and let the gentlemen walk in, “Hello, sorry about that.” I rushed over to the counter, “How may I help you guys today?”
One of them, a man with dark brown hair and a shadow of a beard, walked toward me, a false smile on his face. “I’m so sorry to disturb you. I see you were in the middle of a great piece.” He looked over his shoulder at my unfinished painting.
“Oh, thank you, that’s sweet, but it’s no bother at all. Are you guys looking for some supplies? Redecorating? We do have availabilities for the sip and paint parties at the end of next month.” I said, pulling out a brochure I’d put together for the different types of parties and classes I offered.
“No.” He answered a bit tersely, he put the smile back on. The alarm bells I hadn’t felt in quite some time began going off. I knew a slimebucket when I saw one, and this guy was as slimy as one could get. “No, actually, we came here on a search. You see, our brother and niece are missing. He isn’t all there mentally, and we’re really worried about him.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; he was fake crying. I almost laughed right in his face. His acting skills needed work.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” I tried to put the appropriate amount of compassion in my voice. I just wanted them out of my space. “I’m not sure what
I can do about that, though.”
“Well, have you seen anyone who doesn’t belong here since this morning? Maybe on your way out for lunch?” He stepped closer to the counter, and I stepped back.
“No, I actually haven’t had lunch today? Or breakfast, either.”
“Then what’s this?” The other man spoke up, lifting the coffee cup still sitting on the table.
“Oh, I got that on the way in. Haven’t been out since.” I smiled, “I’ve been focused on my work. You know how it is.”
“Of course.” The creepy man in front of me said. “Well, I don’t mean to intrude but would you mind if we looked around. We would hate to have him hiding in here without your knowledge. That could be dangerous for everyone.” I kept myself calm, I’d been around scarier people, but he was pretty fucking high on the list.
“I already told you, I hadn’t seen anyone. You can see for yourself I’m the only one here.” I gestured around the small space. Nothing but artwork and supplies. A small kitchenette area where I kept my water and snacks when I did have them.
“What about downstairs? You have a basement, right?” He asked, already walking toward the back of my shop.
“Yes, but I was down there this morning, there’s no one there.” I followed, and the man he came with followed me. I was a sandwich between them. “Excuse me,” I said, putting a little base in my voice. There was no way I was going to sit back and let them walk all over me, not in my damn shop. The man in front of me stopped and turned to me.
“This is my establishment, and I don’t appreciate you just walking through like you own the place.” I stepped into his space and stared into his eyes. “I will take you downstairs so you can check for your brother, but once you see it’s clear, I want you out of here.” I pushed past him, not waiting for his response, and I opened the door to the basement. I walked down the stairs, and just like this morning, there was no one there. I stood in the middle of the room with my arms folded across my chest.
“See, are you satisfied now?” I asked as they made their way downstairs. I looked to the side to make sure my weapon was there. I may be out of the lifestyle my father and brother once led, but that didn’t mean I was stupid. I would protect myself if I needed to.
“What about that door?”
“My fucking god.” I rolled my eyes and stormed over to the door. I pulled on it hard so they could hear the lock rattling. “See locked and no one down here.” I looked back over to the side of the room, and my heart nearly jumped straight out of my chest.
Two dark eyes glared at me. A man was lying under some of the tarps, behind some of my boxes. He hadn’t moved or said a word, and he was holding onto something in a tarp in front of him. The wounds on his wrist, red and angry looking. It looked like he’d been tied up.
I turned to the two men who were still in the basement, searching behind big paintings. I opened my mouth to tell them he was there, but when I turned back around to look at the man, he didn’t flinch or beg me not to tell. He stared and waited for what I would do.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. Please, if you see our brother, would you let us know?” The man who’d been doing all the talking took a few steps toward me. I took a few steps forward to meet him halfway. Something about the way he stared at me and the strange wounds on his wrists led me to believe maybe these creepy men weren’t the brothers they said they were. I didn’t want them to see him, and if it turned out the man was a nut job, I would use my pistol to run him out of my shop, but I wouldn’t just hand him over to these two.
“Sure. What’s your contact information.” The man pulled out a small pad from his back pocket and a pencil and began jotting down what I assumed was his contact information. I smirked at the sight of it. Either he was a cop or a criminal. No cell phone, and I was pretty sure whatever was printed in his book was coded.
“My name is Lou, and it’s important we find our brother. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to anyone in this town because of him.” The threat was evident. He smiled at me again, and I wanted to peel my skin off. He was creepy. I started walking toward the stairs and hoped the man hiding in my basement wasn’t going to get me killed by making a noise or something stupid like that.
“Absolutely, I’ll give this number a call if I hear anything.” I walked them briskly upstairs and out of my store. I watched as they left and waved to them politely as they walked over to the next store on the pier and walked in.
I turned as soon as they were out of sight, grabbed the pistol I had hiding under the front counter, and rushed downstairs. When I looked behind the boxes, the tarp was wrinkled up, but the man was no longer there.
I heard a step behind me, “Shit!” I swung the gun toward the sound, but the man had already ripped it out of my grasp before I could do anything with it.
“What the fuck do you want?” He growled at me as he moved closer to me.
“What?” I looked at the man, and fear erupted in my body as I moved back toward the other gun I had stashed. “What do you mean, what do I want? You’re the one hiding in my fucking shop. What the fuck do you want?”
He stopped moving forward. “You saw me. I know you did. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know them or owe them anything. What I do with the information I have is my business.” I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to stare him down, but it was hard. The man had dangerous written all over his face, yet he didn’t take another step toward me.
“You really their brother?”
“Fuck, no.” He answered quickly.
“They cops?”
“Why you asking so many fucking questions?” He tipped his head to the side.
“Why you hiding out under a fucking tarp,” I finally looked down to his body, his glorious awe-inspiring body, “wearing nothing but torn up pants?” the last part of my statement was lost. Just as I was lost, his body from neck to as far down as I could tell was covered in tattoos. His hands, feet, and face the only parts of him I could see bare.
I had to get a better look; he was a living breathing work of art. I turned and flicked on the switch for the lights to come on. The bright florescent lights caused him to raise a hand to his eyes.
“Is this everywhere?” I stepped closer to him, wanting desperately to examine each tattoo. It was only then I could see the scars. Too many scars. This man was beaten regularly. His massive frame entirely still as I looked at his body. I could see all the muscles in his body straining with the effort. I reached out to touch him, but he stepped back quickly. A suspicious look plastered across his face; he didn’t trust me.
“Inkpop?”
A small angelic voice called out from where he’d been lying, and he instantly started backing toward the sound. “Angel, get up right now. We have to go.” He put the gun into his waistband but never stopped looking in my direction.
“Who is that, did you steal that baby?” I tried to walk closer to see, but he squared up a little more, like an animal ready to pounce if I took another step in his direction.
A little girl emerged from the tarp, her blond curly hair dirty and matted to her head in places. Her clothes were tattered, and she looked like she hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks. Her face was pale, with dark circles lining those beautiful blue eyes. When she saw me standing there, she ran straight to the man and hid behind him. There was no way he stole her, and if he did, she needed to be stolen.
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said and tried to move a little closer. That baby needed help.
“Fuck that, I don’t know you, and I’m not in the habit of accepting handouts from people I don’t know. For all I know, you could have told them to come back. We have to go.”
I backed up, I wouldn’t win a fight against this man, and I knew if I tried to stop the little girl from leaving he would rip my head off my body, I could see it in his eyes. It was like he was a momma lion protecting his cub, except he was a massive man with skin an artist dreams of. “Fi
ne, if you want to leave, go ahead. I have a few dollars upstairs in the till take it and get her some help.” I pointed at the little girl who was still behind him.
He started walking and pulling her behind him, but she was barely moving, her feet dragging awkwardly against the floor underneath.
“Angel! What are you doing? We have to go.” He turned and bent down toward the girl yelling at her.
“Inkpop, I don’t feel well. I don’t want to go. Sleepy.” She fell into him. Her body giving up for a second before she pulled herself back up and looked into his eyes.
“What? What’s wrong? Tell me.” The man I was sure would take my life if I sneezed too hard, kneeled and held onto the small child as she practically collapsed onto his shoulder. His anger now fear. It was obvious he cared for her. I rushed over to them, grateful her passing out was enough to distract him from me.
I put my hand to the small child's head; it felt like I was touching the side of a furnace. She was so hot. “She’s burning up; we gotta get her to a hospital.”
“No!” He snapped at me before he lowered his voice slightly, “No, we can’t go to the hospital. They will be looking for us. The people we are running away from can’t get their hands on us again. Especially not her. I know you didn’t ask for this shit, and you don’t owe us anything, but I’m begging you not to call anyone.”
“How bad is this shit you are in?”
“The worst.”
I shook my head and looked to the ceiling; I’d just gotten out of the shit. All the stress was gone, and now I could already feel my stomach knotting in dread, from only a few minutes with them.
