Page 41 of No Saint

“I have something for you.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Gabriel,” she begins her walk away, “Thank you for dinner.”

“Please,” I call to her retreating form. She pauses, her hand on the dining room door, spine stiff, “Please, Amelia, see what I have for you. If you still don’t want it, then I will remove it from the house.”

She glances over her shoulder, hesitating but then her shoulders drop and she spins, leaning back against the door and crosses her arms. She watches me carefully as I stand and go to the shelves lining the wall of the room, plucking a box, simply decorated with a red ribbon, from the bottom.

I place it at the end of the table closest to her and step away, “Open it.”

With her jaw tight, she comes to the box, pulling the ribbon until it falls apart and lifts off the lid. Her sketchbook is on top which she pulls out first.

“You went through my apartment!?” She seethes.

“I did.”

“You had no right!”

“Please keep looking.” She angrily throws her sketchbook to the table and tugs out the next item. The sketchbook I’d chosen for her was bound by black leather, the pages thick and ready for anything her hand may create. Beneath that was brand new, top of the range sketching pencils along with pens, paints and pencils for color. She’s a lot more gentle with these items, fingers caressing them as she pulls them out one by one, as if doing so unconsciously.

“What is this?”

“It was the only thing I found in that apartment that was personal, Amelia. Something obviously loved.”

“But why?”

“There is no reason why you cannot enjoy your time spent here, I thought this might be what you wanted.”

“I haven’t drawn in a long time.”

“You are not required to do anything, it’s a gift, one you can enjoy if you want to.”

“I want to,” she whispers, glancing at me quickly before looking back at the items, “Thank you.”

“I would also like to offer to pay for your classes.”

“Sorry?”

“You do not have a degree.”

“No,” she grits.

“I would like to help get you one. You are very talented, Amelia, you should do something with it.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Amelia growls at me, shoving the lid of the box back on, “Thank you for the gifts but I cannot accept.”

Leaving the box and her old sketchbook where it is, she storms to the door.

“If you change your mind, I will leave them here. Collect them whenever you want.”

“Good night.”

The door slams hard enough the frames hanging on the wall rattle with the thud.

It was well past midnight but like every night since Amelia has been beneath my roof, I was restless. No amount of alcohol could settle the urge to find her, to look and short of leaving my own house, I was helpless to resist the craving.

My feet are silent as I take the stairs and carry myself down the hall towards her bedroom. A guard stands a few feet from the door, not to keep her inside but to protect. With everything happening in this city, with my family being threatened I would take no chances on the woman or my nephew. Until I found the rat inside my organization, a guard here would remain. He nods once and steps to the side, letting me through. The handle doesn’t make a single noise until it releases with a gentle click and then swings silently inwards. The room is bathed in the soft light of a full moon, the curtains still open and I find Amelia in the middle of the bed, facing those windows as if she fell asleep watching the stars and the sea beyond. She breathes evenly, her dark mane of hair fanned out onto the pillow behind her, the lines of her face relaxed, lashes fluttering as she dreams.

My feet carry me closer, eyes moving away from my sleeping wife for just a moment to dip to the child cradled in her arms, sleeping as peacefully as she.

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