Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (26 page)

One day, I can only hope that becomes a reality for him.

Tying Lucky to a pole just outside the building, we climb the stairs, and when we enter, I gasp, as the works are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The huge warehouse is painted a bright white with spotlights showcasing the paintings and photographs hanging on the walls. The carpet is light beige, and black stools are positioned in front of the artwork, allowing one to sit  and admire each piece for hours. And that’s it. It’s plain, but so effective, as there is no need for fancy ornaments, or knickknacks, because one is not there to admire the furniture or surroundings. They are there to appreciate the art.

It’s so quiet in here, I feel like I’m in a library, so I speak to Quinn in a whisper. “There’s so much to see,” I say, raising my eyes to the second story balcony where more artwork adorn the walls.

“Why are you whispering?” Quinn says, matching my low tone.

“I don’t know,” I reply, and laugh softly.

As Quinn takes in the beauty before us, I know dragging him in here was a great decision. I remain silent, and allow Quinn to lead me, as I want him to discover every inch of this place.

We reach the first painting, it’s an explosion of color. There are random shapes scattered within the dark shading, and if you look close enough, you can make out images which are subjective to the beholder.

It makes no sense to me, as it looks like a bunch of chaotic squares and lines, but by the way Quinn tilts his head to the side, his intense eyes taking it all in, I know there is more there than meets the eye.

Kind of like Quinn.

As we move from painting to painting, they all seem a little repetitive, but I don’t say a word, as I know Quinn is absorbing it all.

Thankfully, the abstract art section ends, and we get to a section of charcoal sketches. Now this stuff, I get. This is the stuff that reminds me of Quinn’s work.

The elegant lines, which appear careless and messy, are far from being unplanned, as I know each stroke was done with intent, making the picture whole.

We pass pictures of every topic an artist could paint: animals, fruit, cars, even a lamp, and they are, all in their own way, unique and beautiful. But when we reach a picture, which is no bigger than a postcard, I gasp, because this picture is my most favorite of all.

It’s of a man and woman, both bare, entwined around one another so tightly that their form becomes one. The painting is called, ‘Love Blurs.’

Quinn takes a seat in front of it, pulling me to sit on his lap. I move effortlessly, as there is no comfier seat in the world.

Leaning back into his warm embrace, his lips touch my ear as he says, “It’s brilliant the way they’ve used cross hatching to follow the contours of their torsos. It really creates a richer feel to the drawing. It gives the picture a different dimension,” he explains, using his hand, stroking over the lines in the air.

His hypnotic voice lulls me into a sleepy bubble and I nod in response, even though I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Your stuff should be hanging in here,” I say with sincerity.

Quinn chuckles, his lips resting against my hair. “My stuff is far from being ready to display in a gallery such as this.”

“And why not?” I ask defensively, twisting my neck to look at him over my shoulder.

Quinn smirks, his arms tightening around my middle. “It just isn’t.”

“Who says?” I rebuke, ready to fight him if he doesn’t accept the fact he is brilliant.

“I say,” he replies, kissing my nose playfully.

“Well, I disagree. Your stuff is as good as these. Maybe even better,” I add. “I mean, did you see that lamp?” and I pull a face, shaking my head.

Quinn chuckles and the sound warms my insides.

Turning back around and looking at the picture while Quinn cocoons my body with his, I ask, “When you were younger, what did you want to be?”

Suddenly, I want to know everything there is about Quinn. He has shared bits and pieces, but now, I want to know it all.

“A paleontologist,” he replies with a small chuckle.

“Huh? Did you just make that up?” I question, not able to wipe the smile off my face.

Quinn laughs, his chest rumbling with his chuckles. “Nope. It’s the nerdy truth. Don’t judge me,” he says, still laughing softly.

“Sheesh, I never knew you were an overachiever,” I joke, while Quinn playfully nips my shoulder.

“I loved the idea of getting my hands dirty, and finding the next undiscovered dinosaur,” Quinn states, nuzzling my neck.

“What changed?” I ask sleepily, instinctually tilting my head to the side to give him better access to my flesh.

“I found out the chances of that happening takes years. Or maybe never,” he replies, sucking the underside of my neck, his lip piercing chilling my skin.

“And I’m not that patient,” he adds against my skin, biting my chin softly.

I shiver at the contact, heated by his words, as I wonder if he’s referring to something else.

“And now?” I ask with a hitch in my throat when his lips rest against my racing pulse.

“Now what?” he questions. I feel his tongue dart out and quickly lick my heated skin.

“Now that you’ve grown up, what do you want to be?” I clarify, my eyes slipping shut.

There is silence for a moment, and I can feel Quinn thinking over his answer before he replies.

“Now… now I just want to be a good man,” he finally answers, and the truth behind his words hurts my heart.

“You are a good man, Quinn,” I reply, turning around so I can meet his eyes.

“Thanks, Red. I’m glad you think so,” he says in return. His eyes focus on the drawing on the wall, not able to meet my probing stare.

I think so? What about him? What does he think he is? A bad man? That is so far from the truth, and I need him to believe that.

“Quinn,” but he silences me as he reaches for my chin, arching my head back and capturing my lips with his.

I know this is his way of putting an end to our conversation, and it’s a clever derailment, because I can never say no to a kiss from Quinn. We sit, making out for a while, and I could stay this way forever. Well, that is until my bladder rudely screams at me to make a bathroom stop.

“I have to use the bathroom,” I say begrudgingly, sliding off Quinn’s lap.

Quinn makes an attempt to move, but I place my hand on his shoulder to stop him. “No, stay. I’ll be right back.” I know he’s enjoying his time in here, and not ready to leave just yet.

“You sure?” he asks with uncertainty.

“You bet,” I reply, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. I hurry over to the restrooms only to be greeted by a sign saying they’re under renovation, but I’m welcome to use the port-a-potty out back. Great. An outdoor toilet in the winter! Nature calls, however, so out I go.

The cool December breeze hits my cheeks, and today is one of those days where magic is in the air. It could just be all the frantic shoppers buying last minute Christmas gifts, but whatever it is, it makes me feel fortunate to be alive.

I enter the plastic green box, hoping to finish quickly. My bladder thanks me, but I can’t wait to get back inside and continue where Quinn and I left off.

As I’m about to clean up, I hear a gentle whispering catch on the cool, winter breeze. It’s so faint; I have to strain my hearing to confirm I’m not imaging things. But as I raise my head upward, positioning my ear under the vent above the toilet, I hear it again.

I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the voices belong to men. I listen closely, blocking out all other noise, and focus on the hushed voices. The moment I hear the voice of one of the men, my stomach rolls in nausea, and my skin prickles in goose bumps.

It can’t be.

It can’t be him.

Jumping up onto the toilet lid in an instant, I’m just tall enough to peer through the vent, but I don’t see anyone.

Am I going crazy?

Am I imaging the voice of my… father?

Turning my head from left to right, my frantic eyes search for the face of the man I want dead. But it’s useless. There’s no place for him to hide, as this window overlooks an open courtyard.

So where is the whispering coming from then?

Softly lowering my feet onto the plastic floor, I crouch low and reach silently into my boot for my knife. If he’s out there, then I’m facing him, armed and ready for battle.

I flick open the blade, but accidentally fumble, slicing across the length of my palm when I hear his voice echo off the dirty walls.

“Mia… It’s only a matter of time.”

I slam my back against the door, knife in hand, ready to attack as I alternate from looking above me from left to right. My heartbeat is pounding so loudly in fear, it is almost deafening, and I only just resist the urge to cover my ears because I can’t concentrate on what to do next.

Why do I have to be in a plastic box? No doubt if my father really is here, then Phil isn’t too far behind. Therefore, I have to look over both shoulders, as I have not only one psychopath after me, but two.

How could I have been so careless? I should have scoped out my surroundings before I entered. If they’re coming for me, then fuck me going down in a cubical no bigger than a sardine can.

Taking three deep breaths, I listen at the door. I can’t hear the whispering any longer.

Giving myself a pep talk and internally counting to five, I slowly unhinge the lock and push open the creaky door with my boot, completely on guard with my knife poised in front of me. Ducking my head from left to right, I see that the coast is clear.

As I wedge my body through the door, my entire frame is shaking with pure adrenalin and fear. Taking my first step toward freedom is not freedom at all, as something squishes under my boot.

Looking down I gasp, and the color drains from my face in a second.

Staring back at me is a blue dog collar, with a silver tag that reads “Lucky.” Bile rises into my throat as I bend down to pick it up while biting onto my bloodied, clenched fist to stop my scream.

The collar is covered in matted fur, and the scream bubbles from my throat like acidic poison. Where is my dog?

Running out of the port-a-potty faster than my feet can carry me, frantic to find Lucky, I run straight into a solid chest. I’m hysterical, and don’t realize I’m screaming at the top of my lungs and pounding on flesh until I hear my name.

“Mia! Stop it. Mia, it’s Justin. It’s okay.”

But I can’t stop. I need to get away from him. I need to find my dog.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

My body slackens the instant I hear his voice, and I sag against Justin, who wraps a hand loosely around my waist.

“Get your hands off her!” Quinn snarls, and I’m ripped from Justin’s arms, hugged into his familiar embrace.

As I bury my head into Quinn’s chest, inhaling his comforting scent, Quinn screams, “What the fuck did you do to her?” His chest rumbles in red hot fury.

His hand is running down my back, attempting to calm me down, but the rage seeping from every pore in his body is anything but calm.

“Nothing, man. She just came running out the bathroom, screaming. I did nothing!” Justin says, backing away from a livid Quinn, hands raised in surrender.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Quinn growls, reaching for Justin, while pulling me with him.

I have to stop this, and now that my hysteria has simmered, I can focus on what’s important.

“Quinn, stop,” I quiver, my voice hiccupping in fear.

But Quinn continues to stalk toward Justin, deaf to reason.

“Quinn, Lucky!” is all I say, holding out my fist, his blue collar peeking through my fingers.

That stops Quinn as he reaches for my hand, extending my right palm open.

Gasping when he sees the collar, he quickly asks, “Red, what happened?” He softly removes me from his embrace, calmly gripping my upper arm and shaking me lightly to get an answer.

“I found it,” I manage to choke out. “In the bathroom, on the floor. And I heard—” I pause, covering my clenched fist over my mouth, not wanting to expel the venom that Quinn needs to know.

“Heard what?” Quinn asks, his eyes wide, waiting for me to speak.

But when I remain silent, trying to understand how everything has just turned to shit in the span of two minutes, Quinn barks, “You heard what, Red?” He shakes me harder.

“Hey, man, let her go,” Justin says, taking a step forward.

“You take another step, and I’ll make sure it’s your last,” Quinn spits out, never breaking eye contact with me. “What did you hear?” he asks again, nodding in encouragement for me to continue.

“
Him
,” I reply on a whisper.

That word has never sounded so dirty, and nausea rolls over me once again.

“We have to find Lucky,” I sniffle, not wanting to imagine what has happened to him.

“Fuck,” Quinn curses, grabbing my hand and leading me away from Justin, who looks confused and angry.

I have no time to question why, as Quinn is dragging me toward the front entrance where we left Lucky. He’s gone.

My heart crumbles in my chest and I choke back a sob. “Where is he, Quinn?” I say with a tremor in my voice.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find him, I promise,” Quinn says with sheer determination, as his eyes dart around the courtyard.

I can’t help but think, if and when we do find him, what shape will he be in? The sound of barking alerts both Quinn and me, and we turn to see Lucky limp toward us.

“Lucky!” I scream and run toward him, as his front right paw is hanging at a grotesque angle, hindering his walking.

“Stay, boy!” I yell, as he’s struggling to move.

The moment I reach his side, I drop to both knees, throwing my arms around his neck. The tears I have been holding onto spill free, and I sob into his soft coat as he collapses onto the cold ground.

The relief I feel is overwhelming, and I pass my hands over every inch of his body, making sure he’s real. It isn’t until Quinn gasps that I pull away and see what has him winded. My hand pauses, and I notice Lucky’s black and white coat is covered in smears of red blood.

“Where’s the blood coming from?” Quinn asks, dropping to both knees, frantically examining Lucky’s body with both hands.