Her father sprawled out on the couch, a baseball bat on the floor next to him “just in case.” Brick’s father positioned himself in the dining room with a book, one of Brick’s guns, and a line of sight to the front door and stairs.
“You all right in here?” Remi asked, bringing him a glass of water.
He nodded. “I’m right where I need to be.”
“I know Brick feels better with you here,” she said, brushing her fingers over the chair back.
“He’s entrusted me to keep an eye on you,” William said. “I’m not going to let him down. Not again.”
“Seems like you’ve been done letting people down for a long time.”
“It’s nice of you to notice,” he said with a soft smile.
“I’m going to marry your son,” she said suddenly.
“I’d hoped so. You’re just exactly what he needs. A reminder that life isn’t so black and white. That there’s a lot of fun to be had with colors.”
“It’s good to have you here,” she said. “I’m going to go back to the studio and see if I can burn off some energy with paint for an hour or so.”
He nodded. “I’ll be here.”
She headed down the hall, wandering past rooms that held so many signs of life now. Schoolwork for the kids. Kimber’s makeshift office in the living room. Magnus and her father both snoring in the living room. The popcorn bowls. It felt good, right, to fill Brick’s life with just a little bit of chaos.
She stepped into the studio and flicked on the lights. Shaking off the anxiety about what lurked beyond the dark windows, she rolled her work in progress back onto the center of the drop cloth.
She’d finish her painting for Brick later. Right now, she felt like exorcising some demons. With “No Surprises” on repeat, she kicked off her shoes and got to work.
The nervous energy, the sliver of fear that put a metallic taste in her mouth, was exactly what she needed. To create fear and confusion with brush and oil. To bring a desperate drive to survive to life on canvas. As it took shape, as she shaded and scraped and layered, she wondered if anyone else would ever see this painting. Or if perhaps she’d paint it and then burn it. Or maybe she’d sell it. There were collectors out there who would appreciate a moment of fear frozen in time to hang on a wall.
However it ended, she would be free. She, Camille, Brick. They would all be free to go on with their lives, to move forward.
But first, she had to finish.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when someone calling her name dragged her from the trance of color and memory. The song was still on repeat, but it felt distant now. As if its hold had been severed.
“Remington?”
She tore her eyes away from the painting and found Camille standing on the ramp. She was dressed casually in borrowed leggings that were several inches too short and a sweatshirt.
Remi snapped the rest of the way out of her reverie and fumbled for her phone to shut off the music.
“Hey,” she said. “Can’t sleep?”
Camille shook her head. “My brain feels too full. Am I interrupting?”
Remi glanced at the canvas again. “No. I think I’m done,” she said, dropping her paint-laden palette on the nearest work table and rolling out her shoulders.
“That song,” Camille said, walking down the ramp. “That’s what we were listening to in the car.”
Remi nodded.
“Are you painting it?” her friend asked.
“I think I painted the song and the accident,” she said, again glancing at the canvas.
She needed to step back, to take in the whole picture. After so many hours of detail work, she wouldn’t understand the piece until she took that step back and saw the bigger picture.
Camille joined her, and together they stared at the canvas.
“Wow,” Camille said.
Headlights and footprints. The colors of the music. Camille’s screams. The smell of blood. Everything echoed distantly. Remi felt a strange sense of peace pour over her.
“I can’t shake this feeling,” Camille admitted. “Like he’s coming. I got really good at anticipating when his moods were changing. I knew when he was going to snap, and that’s how I feel now. Like I’m just waiting for him to walk through the door.”
Remi looked at her friend. “I feel something, too. But remember, you’re not alone this time. We’re here together and we’ve got a house full of people who would love to kick him in his balls.”
Everything in the world that Brick cared about was in this house. Remi’s pulse kicked up a notch. While a landmark burned, everyone that was important to him was gathered under the same roof. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.
“We need to go,” she said quietly.
Camille nodded. “I think so, too. We’re putting everyone else in danger just by being here.”
Brick was going to murder her. But Freddie Mercury willing, there’d be a Remington for him to murder in the morning.
“Let’s grab what we need. I’ll talk to that asshat White outside,” Remi decided.
Spurred on by adrenaline, they hurried for the ramp when something thumped against the door leading to the backyard.
“Oh my God,” Camille clapped a hand to her mouth as Remi jumped in front of her. A hand slapped against the glass. It was impossible to see into the night with the studio lights blazing.
“Let me in,” a weak voice rasped. “Hurry.”
“Shit. I think it’s White,” Remi hissed.
“What happened? We can’t leave him out there.”
“If we get murdered because of this guy, I am going to be so pissed off!”
“Go get William,” Remi ordered Camille. “And stay with him.”
She waited until her friend was in the main house before yanking open the side door. White was slumped on the ground. “What did you fucking do?” she hissed as she grabbed him under the arms. “And why are you so sweaty?”
Oh God. It wasn’t all sweat, she realized, looking down at his white button-down. A crimson stain was spread in a lopsided circle.
“Did you get your ass shot? I thought you were a big fucking deal, Agent White.”
He murmured something she couldn’t make out.
“I’m never going to hear the end of this from Brick,” she muttered as she managed to drag him halfway across the threshold.
“Remi!” William burst through the door to the house, Camille on his heels.
“He’s either been shot or he impaled himself on a fucking garden gnome,” Remi said. “Help me get him inside.”
William tucked his revolver into the back of his pants and bent to pull the man inside.
“He’s heavier than he looks,” Remi said, pushing the door closed. But she wasn’t quite fast enough. A shadow slithered into her periphery.
“Fuck!” She slammed the door but wasn’t fast enough. A black-clad arm slipped wraithlike inside.
Camille let out a sob that broke Remi’s heart.
William abandoned the agent on the ground and reached for his gun. But they’d underestimated the enemy. Warren Vorhees shoved the door open with exceptional strength, knocking Remi back so she stumbled over Agent White’s legs.
Gun outstretched, he fired one quick shot that sounded like the snap of a firecracker.
William crumpled to the floor next to White.