Page 29 of One Last Secret

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastard!”

That shout is followed by a thump, then a scream. I rush downstairs and see my father struggling to hold my mother still. She's flailing and shouting something unintelligible as she fights him. I see a flash of silver, then hear my father cry out. He releases Mother, and she pulls away from him. She stumbles and falls, then gets to her feet and faces him.

In her hand, she holds a letter opener, the glint of silver I see. Blood wells up from a wound on my father’s arm. She stares at him, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Back off, or I’ll kill you too!”

I hear a whimper and assume it's coming from me. Surely, I'm terrified enough to be crying. But then I feel a hand slip into mine and realize that Annie's woken as well.

The cry attracts my mother’s attention. Her eyes snap toward us, and I flinch. Her lips pull back in a snarl. “You. You little cunts! You’ve taken everything from me! My whole life! Howdare you!”

She rushed toward the stairs with snakelike speed. Annie screams and tries to run, but I remain rooted to the spot, frozen in fear.

She’s going to kill me, I think.She’s going to kill me and Annie. She’s finally going to do it.

She reaches the foot of the stairs, but before she can climb, Father grabs her around her waist and throws her across the room. The sight of my father lifting her bodily off of the ground and throwing her through the air is just as shocking and disturbing as my mother’s threat to kill us.

She lands with a cry of pain. The letter opener skids across the floor and clatters against the far wall. Mother curls into a ball, weeping and muttering epithets.

“Mommy?” Annie asks tentatively.

My father looks at us, and in his eyes, I see the same hate that blazed in our mother’s eyes a moment earlier.“Go to bed!”he roars.

That finally snaps me out of my funk. I rush to my room, Annie at my side. We close and lock my door, then bury ourselves under the covers and cling tightly to each other until the morning. We didn’t sleep alone for years after that. Not until Annie finally…

***

I gasp and sit up in my bed. This time, the symptoms of my night terrors are in full force. I am dripping sweat, trembling and hyper ventilating. I look around wildly, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and to realize that I’ve woken.

I sigh and run my hands through my hair, then check my phone. It’s just before midnight. I’ve slept for less than two hours.

I get out of bed and head to the shower. It’s doubtful I’ll get any more sleep tonight, but if I do, it won’t come for a while. I take my time in the shower, allowing the warm, soothing water to slow my heartbeat and calm my trembling muscles.

When I am finished and dressed in fresh nightclothes, I leave my room. I check on Celeste, carefully opening the door and peering inside. She sleeps on the floor, surrounded by drawings pencils, and other implements. Crumpled papers lay scattered everywhere, rejected drawings, I suppose. I can't see what she's drawn without turning on the light, and I don't want to risk waking her right now.

I close the door and head downstairs. Celeste spent the entirety of yesterday after our conversation in her room, refusing to come down for lunch or dinner. I called Sean at one point, but only received a brief text in response.Still working, will call when I have news.

I wanted to do some investigation of my own, but I still don’t feel comfortable leaving Celest alone with Evelyn, so instead I help complete chores. When Evelyn leaves, I call Sean again, but once more, he only texts me, this time a somewhat irritable.I haven’t called, so that means no news. Be patient.

I consider calling Detective Reyes. The studio is still taped off, and there’s been no word from the police department. I think it would be helpful to Celeste if we could tidy up, but I don’t want to do that if the police still need the scene. I can’t imagine why they would leave it as it is for over a day if they still needed it, but I don’t want to risk putting myself on their radar.

So I head to bed frustrated. Apparently, I'm also troubled by Evelyn's comment about mental illness because I dream of my mother's own episode shortly after we moved to America.

But now I am awake, Celeste is asleep, and Evelyn isn’t here. I won’t sleep again for hours, so I return to the art closet to continue to look for anything that might help me understand what might have happened to Victor now and what might have happened between her and Annie thirty years ago.

I spend the first hour looking through the paintings, but I don’t find anything there. They’re all portraits of people I don’t recognize or landscapes of various local scenery. The box of newspaper clippings I’ve already examined. There’s nothing there that I don’t already know.

Besides the painting and the box, there is a small desk with file cabinets. The smaller ones on top are filled with old bills of sale for art sold many years ago. There might be something useful in there, but I don’t find it especially likely.

The next one, however, reveals a faded, leatherbound journal. I pick that up and open it to see it signed by Victor underneath the title, MY LIFE followed by dates that begin thirty-two years ago and end twenty-eight years ago, a few weeks before Elias’s death.

This could be a gold mine.

I start at the beginning and skim the entries. The thoughts are those of a much younger man and full of hope and optimism. How often the young squander such gifts.

The first entries are all about Elias. Victor’s admiration for him borders on obsession. Elias’s criticisms cut deeply, and his praise lifts him to exultant heights. It seems Lisa wasn’t wrong about their relationship.

Speaking of Lisa, she is mentioned in a few entries, but never treated with any importance. Victor talks ofElias’s agentasa pretty enough girl but too sensible for my taste.I smile drily at that. It seems Lisa wasn’t wrong about Victor’s opinion of her either. Perhaps I’ve thought too harshly of her.

Others float through from time to time. An art dealer named Sampson is reported to have enraged Elias enough that the man physically threw him out of his house. Lovers come and go—all Elias’s, I notice—and once, Victor’s sister visits him. He speaks with vitriol of her attempts to “separate him from his idol.”

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