Chapter 29: The Rented Room
Thomas awoke in the darkness, mind hazy with sleep. Around him, a faint blue light marked the borders of his limbs and the undersides of objects wrapped in sooty shadows. ‘Payne’s gray and indigo,’ his mind whispered, and he frowned in confusion. His torso was cast in shades of blue, the muscles highlighted with pale bands. This wasn’t any place he recognized… or was it? A thrill of realization ran the length of his spine.
This was Ava’s painting… the one of him in the nude.
He shifted, fabric brushing against bare skin, and details began to appear. He recognized his own heavily-muscled body, the sight of it reclining an echo of another image. He squinted, a long-ago conversation answering his unspoken question.
“Why am I blue?”
“Because it’s night... and you’re swimming in the dark... the only light is the moon that’s just come through the storm clouds. It’s just you and the water…”
He couldn’t remember when they’d been talking about that, or why.
As the fog of sleep lifted, things pulled into focus. He saw, to his surprise, that he was in a room. ‘Not water at all,’ his mind whispered. He was lying in an unfamiliar bed, moonlight coming through the mullioned panes of a bare window.
“It’s just you there … Nothing and no one else as far as you can see… You’re free. It’s a new beginning… like a sacrament…”
The ripples he could see under his hip and leg were the loose folds of threadbare covers, the shimmering patch near his shoulder a pool of light coming through the nearby glass. He recognized the shape of the quickly-fading image, but the story behind it had changed.
He tried to dredge up the memory.
‘A painting…?’
He closed his eyes, trying to draw the dream forward, but the threads linking his thoughts were fragile. His lids fluttered open and he stared upward at the raftered roof, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. For some reason, he knew that Ava would appreciate the interplay of moonlight and shadow. That, in turn, lifted the memory from the depths once more.
“It’s your beginning,” she whispered.
“There’s no point to a beginning if you have to be alone...”
He couldn’t remember when she’d said that to him.
Without warning, someone shifted next to him in the darkness, and Thomas jerked in surprise. Rolling onto his side, he caught sight of a woman’s curving back and pale sheet of hair, blending into the pillow. Shrouded by mismatched blankets, Ava was stirring.
“Is it morning already, Thomas?” she mumbled.
He smiled as the memory rushed forward.
They’d married hours ago. Tomorrow they set off to the new world.
“Not yet, my love,” he whispered. “The boats don’t leave until dawn.”
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling Ava into the hollow of his arms, their bodies blurring into the shadowy folds of the bed. She made a soft, dove-like sound as he dropped his mouth to hers. Ava kissed him with a fierceness which still surprised him, lips sliding against his in a heady dance. The night on the wharf had altered things between them… and it had changed Thomas and Ava too. There’d been months of uncertainty for Thomas as he’d waited for her to decide, but they’d been burned away by a single moment in the rain.
For a brief moment, he remembered Ava in the weeks after her father’s death, meek and subdued, her face colourless. She’d been bound by an obligation so strong Thomas had feared she’d chose someone else at her mother’s insistence.
‘Jon…’ his mind hissed.
He pushed the thought away, refusing to entertain his fears. That night in the rain, he’d been desperate. He’d pulled her into his arms and kissed Ava, and that had changed it all.
This here was the result.
Ava was all the things he wanted; no other woman had ever been close to the connection he felt with her. He moved nearer, sharing his meagre heat as he lay alongside her in the narrow bed. The kiss deepened, while his hands explored the length of her, tugging the thin cotton of her chemise up to her hips, leaving him free to play. Ava sighed into his mouth, her body melting against him as sleep faded. He stroked her inner thighs, feeling her shiver under his caresses.
“Thomas...” she moaned. The sound of her voice left him gasping for air. He couldn’t imagine life without Ava. Couldn’t imagine not having this moment.
Leaving her lips, Thomas’s mouth travelled the length of her neck and downward, tasting her flesh. Reaching her chest, he tugged at the ties of her chemise before taking one nipple in his mouth, then the other. Ava gasped, arching against the thin mattress, half sobbing with pent-up desire. Thomas revelled in the freedom their vows had bequeathed: to do the things he’d dreamed of doing so many times.
Thomas’ fingers moved deeper, finding her ready for him. Ava’s breath hitched with each brush of his fingers, one hand tightening on his shoulders, the other tight in his hair. Cautious of hurting Ava, Thomas eased himself atop her, awed by the flood of sensation which met him: her body, lithe and warm, wrapped around him. He slid forward, groaning at the perfection of their fit. A rising tide of passion began to build as they moved together in a familiar rhythm, a sensation he could almost recognize fluttering just beyond his awareness.
In minutes, Ava’s movements grew unsteady, mewling gasps growing into cries. She put her mouth against his shoulder, muffling a sudden shout as her body stiffened and then relaxed. In that moment, Thomas, realized what the familiar sensation was...
Ava felt like coming home.
An image flickered to mind unexpectedly: the two of them laying together on a couch, sheets billowing around them, the air sharp and cold. Behind them was a painting of Ava, fury marking her features… With a groan, Thomas tumbled into the scattered euphoria of their connection, the memory lost. He shuddered to a stop, ecstasy dragging all other thoughts away. Ava’s hands ran slowly over his head and shoulders, petting him the way his mother had when he’d been a little boy, and he smiled.
“Love you,” he murmured against her neck. “Always, Ava… always.”
Chapter 30: Triptych
Jon stood on the deck of the ship, the shouted prayers disappearing into the roaring voice of an enraged ocean. He knew the psalm, but he couldn’t hear it. Still he clung to the meaning of its words.
“They cried to the Lord God in their distress; from their difficulties, He rescued them…”
A stone’s throw from him, two sailors were lashing the sails, indifferent to his words.
“He calmed the Storm to a gentle breeze, and the rage of the sea was stilled…”
A wave, the height of a house rose on the starboard side and he grabbed hold of the rails, his voice rising.
“They were joyful that the Seas were calmed, and that He brought them to their peaceful destination…”
The wave slammed downward with a weight that drove the air from his lungs. Jon coughed and gasped, choked by seawater. When he opened his eyes again, there was only one sailor holding the ropes.
“Let these Sailors give thanks,” Jon screamed, terror rising. “Thanks to the Lord God for his Kindness!”
The deck underneath him groaned, the mast snapping under the power of the wind. Jon’s voice faded to nothing, eyes wide like a child. The ship lolled on its side, dark hands of water reaching out for him.
“We’re lost…” he gasped.
Fear was an anchor in his chest, dragging him down.
: : : : : : : : : :
Hanna O’Mally walked along the sand, her bloodshot eyes squinting into the distance.
It was morning, the night’s tempest spent. Debris cluttered the shore, the once-proud ships now broken down to kindling by God’s wrath. Hanna lifted her hand, hastily crossing herself. She shouldn’t think such things, but the force of the storm had left little doubt in her mind.
She was alive by the grace of God alone.
There was a man’s boot and a cask bobbing just off shore.
She’d been walking since she’d awoken on the sand, her body bruised and battered, but still, impossibly, alive. There were other survivors too; a barber-surgeon from Dorset who was assisting the wounded, and her Ladyship, Hanna’s employer, who’d shown herself surprisingly effective at doling out food and water. There was a Protestant preacher with a broken arm, a lean, unsmiling man, who sat, whey-faced, on the shore. He’d been staring out at the waves as she’d passed him, his shoulders hunched and sagging.
“Are you praying?” Hanna had asked him.
He’d shaken his head, not lifting his eyes. Hanna had turned, meaning to help others, but something about his grief-stricken face had stopped her. She turned back, shifting nervously. They didn’t share a faith, and she wasn’t sure what he’d say to the prayers of a so-called Papist.
“Would… would you like me to pray with you, sir?” she asked gently.
He’d lifted his gaze, the brokenness of his expression shocking her into silence.
“There’s no point,” he muttered, “My faith is gone… G-god has forsaken me.” His face crumpled in despair.
On the beach, Hanna crossed herself again, steps quickening.
There were several sailors amongst the survivors. They’d located one of the small dories, upended but still seaworthy, a little ways off shore. They trawled up and down the coast, searching for the lost. For every person they pulled from the waves, another five were floating face-down in the water. Ahead of Hanna, a small outcrop of trees spread out toward the shore, the limbs dropping down toward the ocean. She could hear water running somewhere and she narrowed her gaze, trying to locate its source.
That’s when she saw them.
Far in the distance, their bodies shadows of blue against the bright gold sand, were two figures. As she reached the trees, she could see that they were lying side by side on the beach.
“Hullo…?” she called. “D’you need some help there?”
: : : : : : : : : :
Kip lurched upright in bed, gasping. “Please, God, no!” he shouted, struggling against an unseen opponent. The sheets were tangled around his legs and he couldn’t move, the nightmare still hanging just out of reach.
“Kip,” Raya mumbled, her hand brushing his shoulder. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
He froze at the sound of her voice. He didn’t feel like he was asleep, the panic a noose around his neck. He scrubbed a hand across his face, reorienting himself with his surroundings. Raya flicked on the lamp on the bedside table. The dark wood headboard was exactly as he remembered it, the ochre walls, the large mirror on one side… nothing had changed.
And yet it felt like something had.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Raya said. “Praying, I think.”
He turned in surprise.
“Praying?”
She shrugged.
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
Kip struggled to recapture the dream, but it was already gone. Across from the bed, Ava’s three panels hung on the wall. He’d had them since early Spring, but they were still untouched, her brushstrokes exactly as she’d left them. The truth was, Kip hadn’t been able to bring himself to add to them. They meant something. The riddle behind the story of the painting felt closer than ever tonight.
“Kip...?” Raya prompted, touching his shoulder again.
When he didn’t answer, she rolled toward him, leaning so that her naked breast curved against his arm.
“You okay?” she asked. “You seem pretty upset.”
“Yeah… I’m fine. The dream was just… different,” he uttered, his body starting to relax. “I’m okay now.”
He settled down, turning toward her. In the dim light, her body was hazy. He ran a hand up her neck into her hair, pulling her into a kiss. She was warm and soft and his body jumped in reaction. The two of them had been together for the last year and a half – had been friends for years before that – but things had solidified in the last months. His free hand rose to cup her breast and she made a throaty growl, the kiss deepening. With a quick shift of her hips, she climbed atop him, rocking gently. Kip’s hands slid to her narrow waist, holding her steady where she straddled him.
“Wait a minute,” he muttered, dropping his eyes to her lithe form and then back up to her face. “I need to do something, first.”
She sighed in exasperation, climbing off. Clambering out of the bed, Kip walked over to the far side of the bedroom and lifted each of the three panels, turning them around to face the wall.
Hidden.
When he turned back around, Raya's eyes glittered brightly despite the dim room. Kip knew that his refusal to put his own graffiti atop Ava’s paintings had bothered her as much as his insistence on hanging the panels in their bedroom. Her eyes were wide and worried, not quite ready to ask, but curious. Kip gave a boyish grin.
“I showed the panels to Rick the last time he came by the studio,” Kip said sheepishly. (He knew how Raya felt about his continued interest in the career of Ava Brooks.) Raya pulled the covers up over her breasts, annoyed.
“Oh really...” she said tartly, one thin eyebrow arching like a question mark.
Kip chuckled.
“He wants to buy them.”
Raya’s irritated expression flipped into surprise.
“Honestly?”
He nodded, walking back to the bed, and sitting down beside her.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “At the time I said no, wouldn’t even give Rick her name…” Kip trailed his hand along the cotton sheet that obscured her skin, imagining the long legs underneath. His fingers traced words, leaving random love letters in invisible script atop her flesh. “Kept telling myself I didn’t need the competition, seeing as Rick’s the one doing my promotions for Asia.”
Raya rolled her eyes.
“You sound like me.”
Kip leaned forward, brushing her lips in a light kiss.
“The art field’s competitive,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone knows that, Ry. I do know how to look out for myself.”
His fingers trailed higher, reaching her hip and then her waist, continuing to leave ephemeral graffiti across her body. Raya shivered, goose-bumps rising where his hand had passed.
“And now...?” she asked, her eyes moving over to the reversed panels. Kip knew that Ava Brooks bothered her. He slid closer, his fingers reaching her ribs and from there to her arms.
“I’ve decided that I am going to sell them to Rick.” Kip said with a shrug. “They bother me. I can’t explain it, Raya… I just need to make…” he closed his eyes, the dream like a word hovering just out of reach, “a clean break.”
He opened his eyes to find Raya watching him. Her expression was soft and tender.
“You sure about that?”
Kip grinned.
“I can handle a bit of competition. And Ava deserves some recognition. She’s pretty damn good”
Next to him, Raya moved closer, the sheet falling past her nipples.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, “she really is.”
Kip’s fingers reached her bare chest, his fingertips slowly tracing individual letters across her heart. Raya’s eyes dropped down, watching the tag appear as if inked on her flesh. He laid his hand on her skin, holding it there until her eyes met his.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
Chapter 31: Decisions
The last few weeks of University rippled by like old films, becoming more poignant for the fact that they were ending. There wouldn’t be another semester after this, except for Cole. He’d been accepted into the university's graduate Curatorial program; he had a full scholarship once again and would start classes in September. Professor Wilkins had already assigned him a teaching assistantship for the Fall: an art history foundations class.
“Not ready for real life yet?” Marcus teased. “Don’t want to grow up with the rest of us?”
The four of them sat in The Crown and Sceptre, feting the end of university. Chim had a
lready started putting in regular shifts at the Amnesty International centre downtown. Mrs. Quan’s office was working several human rights cases with Suzanne as an unofficial go-between, allowing them to work together.
“Not if I can help it,” Cole answered, pulling Ava tight. “Besides, Ava’s gonna let me be a kept man... I’m good with that.”
The table of friends erupted in boisterous laughter. Cole and Ava had now unofficially moved in together. Cole would continue with grad school and she’d work on her pieces for the upcoming shows at the National Gallery. Ava still needed to talk to Oliver about living arrangements. (For weeks, she’d been weighing how to bring up the idea of splitting the rent and adding Cole into the mix.) Her father only lived there a few months a year; Ava was pretty sure they could work it out.
“It’s a better deal for Cole,” Ava said, elbowing him, “I’ve seen his place. He’s definitely moving up in the world. I’m just losing half the bed.”
Cole leaned in, smirking. Seconds later, his hands slid under her shirt.
“Oh I think you’ll get some benefits too,” he added. Behind the screen of the table, his fingers roved higher. Ava laughed and leaned closer as his mouth dropped to her neck.
Chim ordered another pitcher of beer and they spent an hour reminiscing about parties, and close calls with the police, and newfound adulthood. The evening slowly disappeared. Cole and Ava had gone out to his family’s place the last three weekends in a row; Marta Langden had been working with them. Slow progress was being made. Hanna’s room was now empty and several photographs of Angela had been removed from the walls. The house felt newer... younger somehow. It was a fresh start. Ava smiled to herself, remembering the first weekend they’d driven up to the house after the explosive revelations. Cole’s head had twisted in shock.
The flag had no longer been at half-mast.
Classes had finished a week previously and the convocation ceremonies were still three days away. Nina’s plan for a post-graduation party had come together, though it was now limited to a small dinner. Cole and Ava and Oliver, the Thomases, Marcus and Suzanne, and a few family friends would get together at the Thomas house next weekend. It was another step toward reconciliation. More progress.
Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down Page 21