Painting Sky (44 page)

Keith’s eyes didn’t meet mine and he shuffled through his clothes. “I’m not a creep.” He looked embarrassed and I didn’t get it. I’d never thought he was.

When I thought he wasn’t going to continue explaining, he sat next to me and we both faced one of the paintings. It was black and white and I was naked, with my back turned and my face peeking over my shoulder. There was a shy smile on my face.

“I’ve been in love with you for years, Sky.” I jumped and turned to him at this confession. I was dreaming—it had to be a dream. “Drawing you is the only way I can really have you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said that and it broke my heart.

“That’s not true, You have me, Keith. I’m in love with you, too.” I tried to kiss him, but he leaned back, placing his thumb over my bruised lips.

“There are things about me you don’t know—stuff you won’t like. Stuff that will taint you.”

“Tell me, then,” I whispered, intertwining my fingers with his. Keith just shook his head and leaned against me.

“I can’t.”

I pretended to let go of the subject, but it still lingered in my mind every waking hour of the day. I went through time in a haze. Keith kept himself locked upstairs, and, now that I knew what he painted, I kept imagining all the ways he would perpetuate me. Us.

A few days before the next semester started, I needed to go to the office to get some papers signed and get the list of materials I needed to read before classes started. Keith was busy with his work, so I called Shelby to ask if she wanted to go with me and stop by the coffee shop. We haven’t talked to each other in a while and I needed to get out of the house.

Later that afternoon she dropped me off on the main road. It wasn’t raining, so I said I would walk the rest of the way. As soon as I got out of the car, though, a weird feeling crept up on me. I dismissed it and started my walk home. A few feet ahead, a man stepped out from behind a tree. I was startled, but I recognized him from the last time, when he’d claimed he knew Keith.

“Hi, there,” he said. His voice made my skin turn to goosebumps. His unshaven face and dirty clothes should have made me run, but I knew I had nowhere to go.

“Do you remember me?” I stepped back, but he quickly reached me and grabbed my arms. While I tried to pry him from me, he pulled his arm back and punched me in the face so hard that I fell to the ground. I tried to catch my breath amid the pain. My lip must have split, because I tasted blood in my mouth. I was still trying to get back on my feet, when he pulled both my arms to my back, which made me yelp in pain again. He was about to dislocate my shoulder when he stopped pulling and wrapped something around my wrists so tightly that it cut into my skin.

“Who are you?” I coughed, wrestling against the man who was now dragging me to a van parked on the quiet street, I recognized the van as being from the man who had asked directions months ago. I thrashed and kicked him, but his hold on me was too strong. I tried to scream but he placed one hand over my mouth.

“Your worst nightmare, dear.” He whispered on my ear while pushing me inside a van, placed a piece of tape over my mouth, and closed the door. I guessed the best thing to do was kick the door to make noise, but I could hardly control my movements with my arms tied behind my back. The erratic driving crashed me against the doors and other stuff inside the van.

I couldn’t control the images in my head of him raping and murdering me. No one would find my body. I kept picturing my parents’ faces. Then those of my siblings. Finally, I imagined Cody’s and Keith’s. Keith—he was going to murder me if this man didn’t. He had specifically told me to not walk around alone. Why did I have to be so stupid?

The man finally parked the van and pulled the door open. I knew it would be useless to scream, not only because of the tape over my mouth, but because we were in a deserted area of town. A block of abandoned industrial buildings surrounded us. He pulled me out and pushed me inside, bringing my backpack with him.

The man dragged me up the stairs until we get to the second floor. There were several structural columns dividing the spaces, chairs and desks had been thrown to the floor, but there wasn’t much else. He kept pulling me with him until we reached a corner. He pulled the tape from my mouth and threw me to the ground, scraping my knees in the process. He opened my backpack and emptied it. He picked up my cell phone from the pile and then started texting.

“What are you doing?” My shaking voice didn’t match the certainty of the question. If he thought my parents were loaded, he was in for disappointment. His laugh gave me chills much more than his rough hands did, because it showed how crazy he really was.

“I’m texting your boys. We’re going to have a party here.”

I was confused. Which boys? He must’ve seen the puzzled look, because he continued, “My son and his bastard brother. Who else?” The only brothers we might both know were Cody and Keith. His conversation didn’t make much sense, but I was starting to believe my suspicions about Keith’s father were true.

His laugh was much darker this time. “Oh, this is going to be better than I imagined. You have no idea who I am, do you, sweetheart?” I hated hearing that word from his mouth. I gave a little shake with my head, even if I had an idea.

“I’m Keith’s father.” He smirked at me just as my phone got a new text message. As soon as he said the words, a dozen images came to my mind, along with the words from Thanksgiving: “Each day that passes, you look more and more like him.” Keith’s shocked expression when his mother had uttered those words made more sense now.

The man’s face reddened at my surprised expression. “That man is not his father. I am. He stole my son. Maybe today, I’ll steal his.” I was starting to fear for Keith’s and Cody’s lives. This man was crazy.

He pulled a gun from his waistband and I scurried away. “While we wait, I can tell you a little story. How about that?” He waved the gun around and I feared he would pull the trigger accidentally.

“His bitch of a mother ran away from me when he was two years old. Who does that, huh? Who takes a son from his father?” I didn’t understand what Samantha had seen in this crazy guy to begin with. “I found them sometime later, and what did I find? My lovely wife cozying up with a lawyer. She hired him to divorce me and then had a bastard with the guy. Taking my son away wasn’t enough—she had to have another. So, I made her choose.”

I couldn’t follow everything he was saying, because the gun kept turning to me and he was getting more and more agitated.

“What do you mean?” I whispered, curious about the story. I also wanted to keep him talking; if the guys were coming, maybe they could hear him from down the stairs.

“I showed up on Keith’s birthday and made Sammy choose: either Keith, or the bastard. She put herself in front of the other son—Cody, right? I guess they both live with that day’s consequences.” The man pointed the gun at his own shoulder, right over the place Keith had the scar. “I bet Keith hates his mother as much as I do. She chose the bastard over him.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. First of all, Samantha wouldn’t have ever been able to choose between her two sons. Second, Keith probably didn’t even remember. When I thought about that, though, I decided maybe he did. After all, he hated his birthday.

“He doesn’t hate her,” I answered, despite the fact that my brain was telling me to keep quiet. The man, whose name I had yet to know, stepped closer and pointed the gun in my direction. He was about to open his mouth when we heard noises from the stairs. Both Keith and Cody had come—probably to their deaths—and it was my fault for being so stupid.

“Please,” I whispered, “Don’t hurt them.” The man laughed and pulled the gun to his lips to gesture for me to keep quiet. I wanted to scream at them to run, but I knew that would just make them come faster.

“Sky.” Keith was the first to see us and he came to a stop as he put the pieces together. His face turned red with rage and his hands curled into fists. “You. If you so much as touch a strand of her hair…” He started toward us, but the man pointed the gun at me as he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. Then he shoved the gun against my forehead.

“Tsk, tsk. Stay where you are, or your girl’s brains will be splattered all over us.”

“Peter, your problem is with me, not them.”

Keith placed his arm in front of Cody, who was trying to understand the situation. His wide eyes were confused and they stayed focused on mine. Peter held me in front of him, with the gun still pointed at my head.

“Cody, tie your brother against that column, tight—and believe me, this one will be the first to go if you mess up.” He threw a couple of plastic zip ties at Keith and nodded at the column near us. “The princess, here, will tie her boyfriend—or, should I say, ex-boyfriend.” He wiggled his brows, disgusting me.

I tried to keep the plastic zip ties as loose as possible without Peter knowing and hoped Cody had done the same with Keith’s.

“Now the party is complete.” With both boys tied up, Peter seemed to relax a bit, knowing I wasn’t much of a threat to him. My shoulder hurt, as well as my cut wrists and split lip.

“I have an idea.” He tapped his chin with the gun, while stepping around the boys, probably inspecting our work with the restraints. “What if we make our princess choose, huh? Between you two.” The gun waved around the boys’ heads, as its aim was alternated between the two.

“No! Leave her alone!” Keith struggled against his restraints and his father aimed the gun at his forehead.

“Stop!” I jumped forward. I couldn’t watch them die. “Please, let them go.” Peter pushed me away so quickly that I stumbled back and hit the floor with my butt. I winced in pain, while the boys I loved—and who I knew loved me back—yelled for him to stop. I knew this wouldn’t end well for any of us, but I would fight for them—for both Hale boys.

“Oh, princess, this will end as quickly as you want. Tell me which one to shoot.”

He couldn’t honestly think that I would be able to choose. “No.” I lifted myself to my knees, looking pathetic. I wasn’t beyond begging.

“Okay.” He answered so nonchalantly that I wondered if he was going to let us go. He raised the gun and shot over my head. I screamed so loudly that I’d missed which one he’d hurt. I spun around, trying to not lose my balance. Keith had his head down and his eyes shut tight. His left shoulder, in about the same area as his first scar, was bleeding. The color red was staining his shirt rapidly.

“Please, don’t hurt them!” I begged again. Cody was also begging for us, but I tried not to look at him or I would lose it.

“Then choose!” He aimed the gun at his son again, which brought more begging from the boys. I needed to get Keith out of here—he needed a hospital. “Who do you choose? Your sweetheart, or the guy you’re fucking?”

I had no idea how he knew this stuff, but it wasn’t the time to be worried about their feelings. It was their lives that mattered right now.

“Choose,” he repeated, this time kicking me in the ribs. I stumbled, but quickly got on my knees again.

“Me,” I whispered, trying to gain control of my emotions. Cody and Keith heard me first and started begging both me and Peter.

“Jane, baby, don’t.” I could hear the desperation in Cody’s plea, while Keith’s string of swear words against his father told me that he was dealing with the situation with anger, which wasn’t ideal with this man.

“What did you say, princess?” Peter stalked me, slowly, like a predator.

“Shoot me.” I thought he was going to laugh, tell me no, and extend this whole nightmare. What I didn’t expect was for him to shrug, raise the gun, and shoot. I felt it hit my stomach, throwing me off balance, and making me fall backward. I turned over and tried to steady myself with a hand on the floor.

Peter slowly walked away, whistling, while Cody and Keith called out to me. I wanted to get up, help them, and end this, but the pain in my torso was increasing to a burning fire. I stumbled, supporting my weight with my hand, and watching the blood drip to the floor. I turned to Keith, who was closer to me, and saw him struggle with his restraints. He was saying something, but all I heard was a buzz—probably from the gunshot.