Page 79 of Forgotten Comeback
Really regretting that decision.
Whimsical watercolors. Frou-frou flowers. Saccharine sweet sunsets. The paintings on display aren’t my vibe, and I don’t really see much of Taylor in them, even though they’re signed by her.
Sidestepping a red splatter of paint, I examine the artwork lying flat, still shimmering with wet paint.
A morgue, with a woman on a body cart, a toe tag that says, “Can’t you see I’m dead?” Faceless men in suits surround thebody, holding contracts, medical bills, and a court judgment. A silhouette of a woman hides in the corner.
A little girl holding a cactus pot. Her face is covered in a skull mask, and she’s holding hands with a ghastly black figure.
A corpse levitating in the air, being strangled by tree branches. Long, red hair covers the dead woman’s face.
An abandoned gas station at sunrise, blood spraying out of the gas pumps.
The final canvas, a silhouette of a ring girl standing on top of a pile of dead boxers, holding up a sign that says, “Bloodlust.” Severed penises make up the audience.
Dark. Distressed. Disturbed.
As if I needed another reason to be obsessed with this woman.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Taylor
“Hey, Taylor. We’re hitting up the Diamond bar. You want to join us?” Coworkers ask me as I grab my purse from my locker.
“Thanks for the invite, but I have plans.” With my paintbrush. Now that the creative juices are flowing, I don’t want to stop.
Walking to the employee lot, I slide behind the wheel of my car. Curiosity has me driving by my old house, but I force myself to turn in the opposite direction before I reach my street. I’m not mentally prepared to see the carnage.
I’ve been holding my breath, terrified I’m one trigger away from a manic episode. But my therapist is right: I know the signs, and thankfully, there haven’t been any. I’m pretty proud of that, except a part of me worries I’m doing a little too well; that stability’s boring, and secretly, I like the chaotic turn my life’s taken.
Damn, if that’s the case, I need to be riding that roller coaster every day.
Arriving at Kat’s, I toss my keys on the table before walking upstairs and stripping out of my uniform. Throwing on my paint-spattered overalls and a painter’s smock, I head for my makeshift art studio.
A light shines beneath the guest bedroom door, and I freeze. I didn’t leave the light on. Or did I?
My heart’s beating a mile a minute as I fling open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I grab a paintbrush, holding it handle-side out as a weapon.
“Returning your plant.” Gavin jerks his head to Bonnie on the table, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Saved it?—”
“From yourself? When you blew up my house?” I shout at him.
“Dominic killed Mrs. Parker,” he says calmly, and I cover a gasp with my free hand. That was her corpse I saw. “Between her body and his, I had to clean up the scene.”
“A scene you created! Why? Why did you kidnap me and Kat?”
“Kat was who I was after,” he admits. “You, unfortunately, were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“At my own fucking house?” I fume.
He shrugs.
“This is about the Parisi family, isn’t it?”
He remains silent.
