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Chapter 15

Charlie woke in the middle of the night to Sinclair's arm wrapped around her. She had the faintest sense of having been in extreme pain and her hand went to her stomach, touching it gently, but found nothing more than dull tenderness and the plastic dressing. She thought of going to the couch but decided against it. Sin was sound asleep, and whatever far off disturbance lingered seemed unimportant in the security of his embrace. She closed her eyes, returning to the refuge of the small space that exists in between the lapses of time.

The next time she woke, he was gone. William lay at the bottom of the bed and gave her a lazy yawn. "Time to get up," she said, scratching his head. She got out of bed and used the restroom, pulling on her robe. William gave her an accusatory look at having woken him then promptly closed his eyes. The kitchen was empty. On the counter was a plate with an egg cup and egg and two triangles of buttered toast. She started the electric kettle and made herself a cup of tea. Then munching on a piece of toast, she climbed the stairs to the loft. When she got to the top, she stopped. Like the kitchen, this area was completely modern. Large floor to ceiling windows made up the walls. Sin sat on a stool near one, in front of an easel, working. The sun shone in, lighting him up from behind and hiding his features in shadow.

"You're awake," he said without looking up and pulled an Air-pod from his ear. "And you found breakfast." Beethoven's Ninth blared from the earpiece. He shrugged then said casually, "For inspiration."

"Thank you." She held up what remained of her toast for emphasis, going to stand next to him.

"Na huh." He stopped her. "You can't see until I'm done."

She opted for an old armchair instead, sitting down. The view of the ocean as it crashed on the cliffs was breathtaking. She didn't remember seeing these windows from the outside before and wondered how she could miss something so incredible.

"Do you think they're looking for us? It has to be on the news," she said, concerned.

"It's not. I've already checked. Anyway, they won't want to make it public yet. It would be bad press for the museum and they will be afraid any prints they have on loan will be recalled by the owners. They'll do their own internal investigation," he explained. "Plus, it's a small print they keep in storage in the print room. They only brought it out for the festival. By the time they announce anything to the public, we will have returned it."

"Oh," she said, but the concern didn't leave her. She finished her toast. "What paper are you using?"

"Standard sketch paper from the early nineteen-hundreds, found in an estate sale in Austria. It's left over from my earlier days." He pointed to a cabinet against the wall.

"And the pencil."

"It's chalk. All limestone dates back millions of years. It shouldn't be a problem." The side of his mouth quirked up. "Anyway, I thought you said last night that's not what mattered, that it was about feeling and soul."

She felt her face flush at the thought of last night's conversation. What about your liberation? "It will still matter."

Sin shook his head. "The painting, the crest on your stomach, it's all just a game to Sokolov. I doubt he would know the difference."

"On the contrary, I actually think he knows what he is talking about," she said. "When he had me, he spoke a lot about art and beauty."

"What else did he say to you?" He put his pencil down, listening.

She regretted saying anything. She hadn't told anyone of the actual experience yet, even though they'd asked many times. It was still too personal, too raw, and somewhere deep down she didn't want to expose what she and Sokolov shared. "Nothing. Or at least I don't remember."

"You called out for him last night. You were having another nightmare and you cried out for him to help you."

She shook her head. "I don't remember."

He got up from the stool and came over to her, crouching down so they were eye level. The wool of his kilt brushed her knee, rough and course. "We have to talk about it sometime, Charlotte."

"I can't tell you what I don't remember."

"Aye, but your eyes tell me something different, darling." He reached out and stroked her cheek.

"Uhm, I should leave you to it while the light is good." She stood up.

"Will you take William out for me? The tide will be going out and I don't like him on the beach by himself."

"Sure."

"And, Charlotte, be careful."

* * *

Sin watched from the windows as she made her way to the cliffs. She was running around with William chasing her, her hair blowing madly in the wind as she laughed. Beautiful and young, the selkie princess of his dreams. It was as if time caught up to him, mocking him for how he had wasted it. Thirty-five years, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but a bunch of untruths and fabricated lies. But he had been born from lies, illegitimate by birth, his path continued in a series of deceptions that infiltrated every aspect of his life from work to relationships, only to be brought forefront in his mind by a fairytale with lavender eyes.

Charlotte followed William down the steep trail, stopping at the water's edge. The dog ran into the surf barking at a group of seals as they bathed in the weak sun. She looked around her, her eyes skimming across the windows. Sin sat back, out of instinct, but he knew she couldn't see him as he watched. The sun's reflection off the glass would make him invisible. Slowly, she removed the thick sweater and dress she wore until she was naked, and she walked into the water, diving under a wave. He stood up to get a better view. He had a good mind to go down there and pluck her out. The undertow of the current alone was too dangerous, not to mention the fact the water was freezing. Her head popped back up and she swam to shore easily as if she and the ocean belonged together, repudiating any of his doubts. The sun glistened off the droplets on her skin, highlighting the rise of her breasts and the flat plane of her stomach, the crest in complete dissension with her beauty. The contrast was both difficult and harsh to comprehend. One illuminated the delicacy and triumphs of the human condition while the other revealed the inner workings of one singular mad mind, both lost on the innocence of a gentle soul. A seal soul, he thought to himself.

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