Page 7 of In His Veins

Before I know it, we’re outside of a shop and Paige is knocking on the door. I hear the laughter and screeches of partying college students, and for a moment, I almost wish to rejoin them in the clubs instead. A few of the lights are on inside, and a large, burly man unlocks the door. He grins at Paige, and ushers us inside, bells chiming as the door opens and closes. My head is spinning again as we follow him to the back of the shop.

4

CALLUM

Drunk college students stagger down the streets in Ava’s neighborhood. No one even glances in my direction as I drive by her apartment building in my black SUV. Parking a quarter mile away in another building’s guest parking, I grab my backpack from the backseat and keep my head down as I approach. Her car is missing from the parking lot, so I’m hoping she’s still gone. Just to be safe, I walk to the back of her building to see if she’s left any blinds open.

Ava lives in a wooded area, and the back of her apartment has a small patio in front of a steep hill. Thankfully, it would be difficult for most people to navigate behind her apartment without breaking an ankle. For better or worse, I’m not most people, and I’m able to cling to trees as I climb the hill.

She’s left most of her back curtains open, giving me an unobstructed view into her home. It’s mostly dark inside, and I watch for any movement for a few minutes. When I’m confident she’s not home, I jog down the hill, bracing myself on the brick of her building to stop from falling before making my way to the front of her house.

I pull a card from my wallet and slide it into the doorframe, jiggling it a few times until I feel the door release. Entering, I make sure to lock the handle and deadbolt behind me to give myself time in case Ava comes home early.

Her living room is furnished with a long couch, a table with a small TV, and a bookshelf. Unlaced sneakers sit discarded in front of the couch, which has a remote partially wedged into the cushions. I pause to take in her overflowing bookshelf.

The first few shelves contain reference material: Italian Renaissance, Pre-Raphaelite artists, and sculpture in the ancient world. The rest appeared to be fiction and I pull out a few titles that catch my eye. I flip through a dog-eared poetry book and see looping, feminine notes written in graphite.

Remembering where I am and the job I’m here to do, I reshelve the book and move to the next room.

The living room opens up to the narrow kitchen, which consists of a small table placed between the pantry and refrigerator with a couple of chairs and a stove and oven at the end. I open both the pantry and refrigerator, only to find them bare, save for boxes of cereal, protein drinks, oat milk, and granola bars. Testing the burners of the stove, I am shocked to hear the click of a gas stove. The smell of natural gas lingers in the air as I turn the burner off with a frown.

I exit the kitchen and head down the one hallway in the apartment. At the end are three doors. I open the one to the left and enter a cramped bathroom. Makeup supplies litter the small counter; a bottle of perfume in the shape of a bow sits amid the brushes and tubes. Lifting it to my nose, I smell caramel and amber, and I remember the striking warmth of her eyes. I catch a glimpse of my dark figure in the mirror and shut the door behind me.

The door to the right is cracked open and leads to her bedroom. The room is tiny and barely fits a full-sized bed, a bedside table, and a small armchair. The bed is made with a soft green quilt, a ratty monster plush carefully placed in front of the pillows, and a dark green blanket neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Ava’s left her curtains open in this room, too.

I open her bedside table and smirk at the contents: a vibrator, a small bottle of lube, and a single key shoved to the back. I pocket the key and plan to make a copy before returning it to her drawer and moving further around the room. The closet is packed with junk and clothes, and I chuckle when I try to step into it to see if it could be a potential hiding spot, but can’t find anywhere to stand or crawl.

Moving on to the last room in the apartment, I freeze in the door frame as I take in the space.

Tarps cover the dingy carpet of the room. A room that’s easily the size of her bedroom and living room combined. I presume it’s her painting studio, seeing as how the table in the back is covered in paint and her brushes and supplies are stored on the shelves underneath. There’s an empty easel against the wall and it’s also covered in paint. A third table holds empty jars and it’s much cleaner than the other furnishings. Looking underneath, I see bags of light gray blocks. Poking one gingerly, it gives way beneath my touch.

The brothers didn’t say anything about Ava being an artist, and I’m surprised to say the least. In the time that I’ve known her siblings, they haven’t expressed any ounce of creativity or interest in the arts.

I flip through the canvases that had been turned backward and propped up against the long wall and suck in a breath. The pieces seem to follow a theme and each is more disturbing than the last. Blood, surreal combinations of animals and humans, botany in states of decay. I’m captivated and find it hard to believe that the brothers hadn’t mentioned her abilities, making me wonder if they even know how phenomenal their sister is. I make myself step away from her paintings to look through the last door in the room.

A large closet is connected to the space and it serves as overflow storage for art supplies. There’s a multitude of finished canvases, and although I am tempted to study them, I need to get moving before Ava comes home.

Returning to her living room, I drop my bag on her couch and pull out my devices. I methodically make my way through each room again, finding the best places to hide the cameras and microphones, pausing outside her bathroom and deciding against bugging it. While the Giovanni brothers don’t scare me, I’d rather not intentionally provoke them.

When I’ve assembled the last camera, I open the app on my phone to make sure I can access the feed, toggling between cameras before packing up my bag and heading out the door. After making sure I lock the handle behind me, I start heading down the street, making it about halfway before hearing a car pull into the parking lot. Ava’s Subaru. Someone kills the lights and two women step out. Ava stumbles out of the passenger side, and a tall woman comes around to help her into the house.

I pull up the video feed again and see the tall woman steer Ava into her bedroom. Ava plops on the bed and the woman tugs off her shoes. She waves the woman away as she crawls into her bed. The woman pulls a shirt from the closet, but when she turns around, Ava’s already asleep. She lays the shirt on the bed and closes the bedroom door as she leaves.

I’m almost to my car when a vehicle comes down the street and parks in front of Ava’s building. The tall woman walks out of her house and climbs into the car. I glance back at the video feed as I lock myself into my SUV. Ava’s lying back down, now wearing the t-shirt her friend laid aside for her. She flings her dress on the floor before curling up under her quilt.

I should drive away. I don’t know why I don’t. She kicks at her covers, and I see now that her forearm is wrapped up. She tosses and turns before settling into a deeper sleep. Her legs are bare, and I can’t make myself drive away. I reason with myself that I don’t know how much she drank, and she could be in danger of alcohol poisoning as I leave my car again and stride towards her apartment. Watching the video feed, I make sure that the door squeaking with my entrance doesn’t cause her to stir before making my way to her bedroom.

Her door opens silently, and I slowly sink into the armchair that faces her bed, crossing my legs as I study her. Her long, chestnut hair has been manipulated into waves and tangled across the pillows. One of her arms is slung across her eyes and the other is stretched across the mattress. Upon closer inspection, her forearm is wrapped in Saran wrap, and I can make out a few lines of ink. I grin and realize now why the Giovanni brothers are concerned.

Ava sighs in her sleep and kicks at her covers again, pushing them to the foot of the bed. The movement causes her shirt to bunch up, revealing the tops of her thighs and a glimpse of her panties. I take in the lacey fabric but my breath is lodged in my throat when I look closer at her thighs. Thin, pale lines cover the entirety of her tender skin. Some of them start at her thighs and disappear underneath her panties.

I force myself to exhale as I imagine how the blood flowed from those wounds. The phantom burn from my own scars makes my heart race. Standing slowly, I walk to the edge of her bed. The scars are old, the wound long-since healed, and I have the urge to trace those scars with my fingers.

The thought startles some sense into me.

I can’t find it within myself to leave her apartment yet, so I go back to her studio. Opening the closet, I’m determined to see the rest of her paintings. These follow the same theme as the others, and they’re no less captivating. I get to the last one and have to pick it up from where it’s propped on the floor to look closer.

It’s a nude portrait of a feminine figure, but only shows the body from the knees to her shoulders. The woman’s thighs are pressed together and pale scars adorn her bare skin. One hand clutches a dagger and is in the process of splitting open the skin between her breasts. Blood coats her knuckles and trickles down her torso. The other hand is spread wide and is plastered to her lower belly, the fingertips making indentions in the soft flesh.

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