Complementary Colors (41 page)

“Five, we think. Including your friend.”

“You think?”

“The mother of one boy tripped and fell down a flight of stairs. She’d gone to the police. She claimed to have evidence. She named your father.”

“They didn’t arrest him?”

“The evidence was never found. And since she died…”

“He killed her too?”

Carmichael shook his head. “He was on a business trip.”

A tremor began in my hand and traveled down my body. I swallowed once, twice… “Julia.” Not a question, a fact.

“She was ten.”

“But it was still her, wasn’t it?”

“She was attending a sleepover with her daughters. But no one saw anything.”

“But it was her.”

“I’m inclined to believe it was.”

Because pushing people downstairs was something she was good at. “How come no one put all this together before?” Here it was, decades later, and Carmichael connected the dots. Why couldn’t the police?

“Your father traveled, and they moved around a lot.”

“But there’s a reason…there’s a reason why you think it’s him.” I tapped the file. “Besides this…” Pictures, articles, and a couple of police reports. I wasn’t a lawyer, but even this was piss poor evidence.

“Yes. There is.”

“What?”

“I tracked down the parents of Harrison’s first wife. They said they became suspicious of Harrison when they found out he’d lied about his background and was a maintenance worker at the firm he worked at, not sitting on board of directors like he claimed. They told their daughter, but she still wanted to marry him. When they protested, she cut ties with them for almost a decade. Then one day, she called them. She was very upset but wouldn’t say why, but they had the feeling it had to do with Harrison. The next time they spoke to her, she said it had been a misunderstanding, but her mother said she sounded afraid.

“Kelly was diagnosed with cancer a few weeks later, and gone shortly after that. Harrison had her cremated before her parents were even aware she was sick.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The doctor who signed her death certificate was Mason.”

“But he’s a psychiatrist.”

“He’s still a doctor. He’s also Harrison’s brother.”

“They don’t have the same last name.”

“Different fathers. Mason didn’t take on the last name of his mother’s second husband. Because they were brothers he had a vested interest in keeping the real cause of death hidden.”

Real cause?
I shook my head because my voice had shriveled up.

“I was able to obtain a copy of the original pathology report and sent it to a friend of mine. He said there’d been no autopsy since she’d been diagnosed with cancer.

“He said the tests done support the diagnosis, but the blood values were also consistent with select types of poisoning.”

“Julia.” Again, not a question.

He nodded. “But she would have had help. While the chemicals are fairly common, it would take someone with a medical background to know which ones to combine. And at her age… Anyhow, I think her mother found out what really happened to Andrew, and to protect her father, she poisoned her.”

“And…” I wadded up the folder in my fists.

“Your mother’s pathology report is almost identical to that of Julia and Alice’s mother.”

The air thickened. I sucked in one breath after the other, but couldn’t fill my lungs fast enough.

Carmichael knelt in front of me and cupped my face. My tears turned him into a watery haze. He urged me to put my head between my knees. Air trickled in. At some point, he pried the file from my hands. It must have torn because there were fragments on the floor in front of my feet.

“Breathe, Paris. You’re safe here.”

After what felt like forever, the vise around my ribs eased and the tingling receded from my lips. The first full breath of air rushed in a cool wave down my throat.

I nodded and sat up. “Ww—” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Why would she do that? Why would he…”

“Mike did some research. Harrison inherited his first wife’s estate, but he lived beyond his means and it wasn’t long before the money was gone. I’m pretty sure he married your mother because she was wealthy. He would have inherited that estate too, only your mother rewrote her will before she died and it was all left to you. Upon your death, it would be passed on to charity. It’s an unusual arrangement. Enough so it makes me think she knew. Or at least knew enough to think you might be in danger.”

“Why didn’t she leave him?”

“I don’t know. I doubt we’ll ever know. But it’s not uncommon for people to stay with a spouse even when it’s dangerous for them and their families. But she did stay and after she died, Harrison found out about the will.

“He couldn’t get rid of you, Paris, and then every day, he had to look at the face of a boy he’d killed.”

It must have been maddening. No wonder he came after me. Only instead of me who died, it was the boy whose name I couldn’t remember.

Harrison might be gone, but there was still a killer in the mix.

“Sign the transfer papers.”

Confusion marred Carmichael’s features. “You don’t have to do what she says. I told you you’re safe.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you want me to sign the papers? Especially after everything else?”

“Because…” My nose ran. I wiped it on my sleeve. “I’m safe. But Roy isn’t.”

“Don’t do this. Roy would not want you to do this. You go back there, and you could relapse.”

I didn’t care if I exploded. Because now I knew she wouldn’t just ruin Roy. She’d kill him.

“The papers, sign them. I’ll go pack.”

The rabbit and I watched the Jaguar make a lap around the lot.

I’d expected Julia to send our private driver, but at the same time, seeing Mason didn’t surprise me. To make this lie work, to send me back into the hell he’d help create, they would need as few witnesses as possible.

"Paris?” Carmichael came running up the hallway and into the waiting room. He flicked a look to the car pulling into the pickup area. The worry lines on his face turned into the hard mask of anger.

“You’re not talking me out of this.”

The argument played through his eyes, but he held out a card. His name, office number, and three more phone numbers had been penned across the margin in blue.

“Call me. If you change your mind or need anything.”

I knew with every fiber of my being if I did this, Julia would sink her claws so deep I would never escape. Now that I knew the things she’d done, there was a chance I wouldn’t even survive.

She might let me keep breathing, but I would drink, snort, and take the pills she gave me. I would paint for her, and she would keep the money to buy all her fancy things. She would pass me around as a bonus prize to those willing to spend top dollar.

She would kill me. It just wouldn’t be the kind of dead where I needed to be buried.

The automatic doors hissed open, and Dr. Mason walked in dressed in a three-piece suit and Italian shoes. I was willing to bet his ensemble cost more than what Carmichael made in a month.

Dr. Mason pulled back his shoulders. “Are you ready?”

Carmichael stepped in front of me. I’m not sure if it was on purpose or if his protective instincts moved his feet.

Dr. Mason pulled his lips into a pseudo-smile. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to collect my patient.”

“What you’re doing is unethical.”

“Paris.” Dr. Mason motioned toward the door.

“He needs treatment.”

“And I will provide that for him.”

“How? By doping him up on pain pills, speed, and barbiturates?”

“I’m not here to discuss my medical practices with you. I’m here to pick up my patient. Now move.”

I put a hand on Carmichael’s arm. His eyes were so sad. “It’s not your fault.” I took his hand and shook it. “Thank you for everything.” I meant it, and I think he knew I did.

“Remember what I told you,” His grip tightened over mine.

“I will.” I opened my fingers one by one. Once I let go, once I turned away, once I got inside the car, everything would end for me.

I think he knew that too.

Dr. Mason led me out the door.

“Backseat.” He went to the driver’s side and got in.

The rabbit hopped up from the floorboard onto the seat next to me.

“No luggage?” He looked at me in the rearview mirror.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to be reminded of what I’d lost by leaving. If I could have gone without the clothes on my back, I would have.

The rabbit tucked up next to my hip until it became a fuzzy white ball with a twitchy pink nose.

I petted its ears.

Dr. Mason watched my reflection. “What are you doing?”

“It likes to have its ears scratched.”

“Excuse me?”

“The rabbit.”

He started the car and concentrated on the road.

The remaining clouds from last night’s rain broke apart overhead. Sunlight cut streaks of gold, severing shadows left by predawn. It set everything on fire. Reds, yellows, whites, and blues. There was just enough bite in the air for frost to form on the grass. The crystalized surface shattered the colors into a million points of light. The details were smeared as the car accelerated, but the hue could not be dulled.

At least the colors were back. Hopefully, Mason would let me keep them. I was sure he would. Julia wouldn’t want to chance affecting my ability to paint.

Anything green and living receded as we entered the city. The mirrored windows of my apartment building reflected the world around it. But that’s all it was. A reflection. Not real. Two dimensional. And easily destroyed by one thrown rock.

Dr. Mason dropped me off at the lobby. “I don’t have to tell you to go directly upstairs, do I?”

“No.” I’d learned my lesson. I would never talk out of turn again.

Mason rolled up his window.

The rabbit followed me to the elevator but stopped at the threshold. It stood up on its hind legs sniffing the air; ears back, eyes rolling as it examined the space.

“You’ve been in an elevator before.”

It shook its head, and its ears flopped. The rabbit washed its face.

The door started to close, and I stopped it. “Come on. I don’t have all day.”

The rabbit cleaned between the toes of its back feet.

“If you don’t get in here, I’m just going to go without you.”

The rabbit licked its privates.

“Fine. Be an ass.”

I let the door go.

“Wait.” There was no way I couldn’t know that voice, and for an insane moment, I thought it had come from the rabbit. Then Roy put a weathered hand between the doors, stopping them.

There was a fresh bruise on his face, and he had a half-healed split lip.

The rabbit followed Roy into the elevator.

“Paris?” Roy’s eyebrows came down, and his eyes softened. The combination made his handsome face tragic.

I stumbled back into the corner. “Are you real?”

“Yes, I’m real.”

“How do I know? You could be just like the rabbit.” He had to be because no sane man would want to be around me after everything that had happened.

“Rabbit?”

The real question was, did I care whether he was here in my mind or in the flesh? Roy was real enough to hold his hand out to me asking for my touch, and that became all that mattered.

I cleared the space between us until we touched head to toe. He was warm against my body, solid under my hands. His breath tasted like coffee, but his tongue was all him.

I worked my mouth against his, and he dug his fingers into my hair. I couldn’t stop. I was determined to suck out his soul.

The hard line of his cock pressed against me from behind his jeans.

Roy pegged me against the wall and held me there, searching my face, holding me, loving me.

“God, Paris.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I missed you so much.”

I touched his split lip. A fresh dot of blood stained my finger. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“She sent you to jail.”

“It was my choice not to tell the judge what he wanted to know.”

“But she was going to make sure you stayed.”

“She can’t do that.”

Roy. Always the optimist.

“Julia was going to plant drugs in your apartment. She was going to set you up.”

Some of the color drained from his cheeks.

I nodded. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to get away from me.” Especially now.

“Julia told me you were getting released today. She lied, didn’t she?”

The lump in my throat threatened to choke me. “Yeah.”

“If you still need treatment, then why did Carmichael discharge you?”

“I asked for a transfer to Dr. Mason’s facility.”

“Why?”

I dropped my gaze. The rabbit sat on Roy’s boots, looking up at me. “If I don’t paint for her, she will destroy you.”

“What about you? You go back to her, and she will destroy you.”

“I’m already broken.”

The elevator dinged. I pushed in my floor before it reached the level it had been summoned to.

A moment later, the lift stopped and the doors opened. Oil and mineral spirits, fresh wood and gesso filled my lungs on a single breath. I had no idea how bad I’d missed my studio until I stood in the middle of it.

I ran a hand along the edge of a bench. I touched a jar of paintbrushes, the section of framing for an unfinished canvas, tubes of oils, my palette, a blank canvas on the table waiting to be filled.

Roy pressed himself against my back and brushed his lips against my neck.

“I’m never going to escape, am I?”

“You need to go back to the hospital.”

“She owns me.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.” I’d been a fool to think I could ever be free.

“Only because you let her.”

I suppose I did. In much the same way, I let her make me help her drag that boy into the woods and drop him down an old bored well. I let her do those things, and that made my sin all the more difficult to bear. Perhaps that’s why I was here. It was my penance. My hell on earth for the terrible thing I’d done.

“Roy, will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”