Page 26 of Runaway Queen

Trying to stave off my paranoia and loneliness at being home alone on a Saturday night, I decided to work a little on my most private, personal paintings. The ones that I never took off my property.

Painting had always been a hobby, though as a student, I’d been more interested in the history of art. In another life, one where Antonio De Sanctis hadn’t been my father, I’d have loved to work with old art, in restoration, or curation. Instead, even before he’d threatened the unborn child inside me, there had never been any chance that I’d have a job that I’d love. I’d marry who my father told me to, and that was it. The art degree he allowed me to get was just a way for him to keep me busy until my sell-off date. I took comfort in the fact that the shitshow that had been the last seven years had at least deprived Antonio of his virgin bride poker chip.

I headed outside and down the porch to the left side. Angelo had helped me covert the garage of the little house into a workspace. A studio of my own.

Inside the garage, I flipped the overhead lights on, the scent of turps and oil paint meeting my nose.

I approached a large canvas that was covered in a sheet. I knew what lay beneath it. It was something I painted often. A moonlit forest, with a starry sky, and the faint shadow of a boy with his head tilted back, looking up at the moon. Leo thought it was him, and it was in a lot of ways, but it was also his father.

I settled onto my stool and turned a light toward the canvas.

Reaching for my paintbrush, noticing a slightly scruffy-looking area of trees, I nearly knocked over the jar of fresh brushes I kept on the table beside my stool. As I bent to steady it, a hard knock sounded at the door to the garage.

I froze, my heart all but jumping straight to my mouth. After a moment, silence fell again. I felt unsettled, the memory of the flowers suddenly pushing back to the forefront of my mind. What if it wasn’t nothing? I wouldn’t be able to work until I checked it out.

Heading back through the main part of the garage, I neared the door.

This time, the knock thundered through the entire building. It was so loud, my hands flew up to protect my face, and I cringed to a stop. Heart pounding once more, I peeked at the door. It sounded like someone had thrown a rock against it.

My skin rippled with the feeling of being watched again. In a second, I was right back to earlier and that uncanny crawling sensation working over my skin.

“Hello?” I called, my voice sounding oddly loud in my ears.

I approached the door again and turned the handle. It opened easily. Stillness flooded through the crack, the kind that was particular to where we lived. The distant sound of waves crashing on the beach was not too far from us, and the hum of crickets living in the bushes filled the night with their music.

The soft murmur of far-off cars passing on the nearest road drifted to me. It wasn’t that late, only ten, and everything sounded normal.

Everything was fine.

Then why are you so scared?The mocking voice in my head needed to take a hike. I had to get a grip. I drew myself up to my full height and put my shoulders back. I was Sofia De Sanctis, I didn’t cower. No one might know who I really was here, but I did.

Striding to the nearest tool bench, I pulled a long screwdriver from its slot in the table and tucked the hilt into my palm. The shape was comforting, similar to aliccasapuni, theparanza cortaweapon of choice. I might know it’s better to run, but if I had no choice, I could still fight. Even if it was just against the demons in my head.

Pushing the door open, I stepped out into the night. The streetlamps stopped a little way up the street and didn’t reach my property. I had motion sensors set up, however, to bring a floodlight on when triggered. It was angled at my front lawn, and the side courtyard, right in front of the garage.

Right now, the light was on.

Something had triggered it. It was probably just an animal. That was what usually triggered the light.

I couldn’t remember if I’d locked the front door. Maybe I’d forgotten, since Leo wasn’t home. I was distracted and sloppy. I’d never be able to work if I didn’t check.

Steeling myself, I started across the courtyard toward my porch. As I got closer to my stoop, my light came on, flooding the front step with light. I jerked to a stop as I saw my front door.

This time, a new lily bouquet sat at my door, tied with another pristine black ribbon.

Purity, innocence, rebirth, death. I’d looked up the meaning of lilies. It hadn’t been comforting. They reminded me of my mother’s funeral.

As I got closer, moving forward in shuffling steps, the screwdriver feeling like a hot poker in my palm, I saw that they weren’t perfectly white. There were dark-red droplets sprayed across them, like paint against a fresh canvas. Blood against white petals. All beliefs that I was overreacting fell away.

Terror filled me, and I fumbled with my phone, even as I rushed up the stairs toward the door. I had to get inside. It felt like a hundred eyes were on me as I stood on the stoop. It was official. This wasn’t just in my head. Someone was watching me, threatening me in some undefinable way. Trying to scare me, and it was fucking working.

I dropped the screwdriver as I dialed 911.

As I bent to grab it, my finger poised to call, a message came in, the sender unknown.

Only the guilty cower from judgement, prom queen.

Every single otherthought fled my head as I stared at that sentence, ripped straight out of my darkest fantasies. It couldn’t be real. It was impossible. Nikolai was in jail, and he thought I was dead. Itcouldn’tbe real. But, if it wasn’t him, then someone had found me who knew all about me. Someone with a very personal grudge to bear.

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