Lost In Lies (20 page)

              Placing the glasses on the countertop, I open the fridge, grab the juice from the top shelf, and re-pour it. I grab the bag out of my pocket, place the pill in what will be Nick’s glass, and fill it almost all the way to the top. I pour myself a glass halfway so I can tell the difference and put it back.

              I raise the glass to my lips like I had been drinking it as I arrive back in Nick’s room, “Sorry again.”

              “Not a big deal. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he tosses the towels in the laundry hamper in his bathroom. I hand him his glass and sip from mine. After mimicking my action, he starts over, “As I was saying, Tim Darling painted this one. Fairly famous painter.”

              “I’m aware of his work.”

              “He’s fantastic.”

              “I agree.”

              “This is one of his older pieces. One of his first.” Continuing to down the glass, he takes a seat next to me.

              I rack my brain to recall this piece, knowing my father kept pictures of all his works. My brain kicks into memory mode, where the image of my father sitting beside me on the couch showing a very small me a black scrapbook of his pieces, then as a shy preteen, up until we moved into the penthouse. Every so often, when he’d add a new piece, we’d scan through the photos together, me marking my favorites, including the works that dated back to fourth grade, saved by my illusive grandmother.

              “What’s its name?” I politely ask, knowing how he names all his pieces after women.

              “Elaine,” the name slides off his tongue easily, choking my heart a little. “Tim’s first love. Painted with her favorite colors. He was 17 years old, love struck.”

              “Never heard that story before,” I place the glass down and fold my arms across my chest.

              “Arnett says he’s a good friend of my father’s. They’ve been friends since the end of high school. Met as seniors, became friends, told him all about this girl named Elaine. She wasn’t your average girl. He, um, he said she was like an angel. Had wings to make him fly but no halo. He painted this for her; the romance was quickly ended when his parents found out. All he would tell my father is his father told him, ‘Sometimes, there are bigger things at play than us. Who are we to destroy those things that were lifetimes in the making?’”

              The speech rings in my ears as my mind flashes back to the day I left, my father saying those same words to me. I attempt to shake them off before clearing my throat, “So how’d your father get this piece?”

              “Elaine disappeared and refused to take the piece with her. Wanted Tim to keep it to remember her by. He knew his father wouldn’t allow it, so he gave it to my dad. Asked him to keep it safe. Dad locked it up in storage until just recently. Apparently he asked Arnett the other day to take it out, mentioning something about I'm finally ready to have it around. He hung it in my room and said, ‘Tim is a great man, and someday you’ll know why.’”

              “Ever met him?” After receiving no response, I glance to see Nick indeed passed out. Unsure of how to sort out the feelings he’s just stirred up, I lick my lips and rise to my feet. My inner demons are going to have to wait on this one. I have a job to do.

              Searching around, I move his pillows then start digging through his dresser drawer. A girl that could make him fly with no halo? A fairy. It had to be. But I want to know, was it Belle? I mean, she said her name was Elaine, but she could have lied, you know? Maybe Elaine was a Dark Watcher. Maybe she was working with Alex against the Precious Society! What if she was the reason my father almost didn’t join the society? I mean, that would give him reason not to just hate Peter but hate Alex even more. Enough daydreaming—I have a job to do.

              Dropping to my knees, I begin searching under Nick’s ridiculously clean bed, lifting up the corner up of his mattress, knowing that’s where I would hide my notebook. Grunting in disappointment to see the box spring devoid of anything, I head over to his closet and start riffling around, digging through pockets and old boxes, doing my best not to get too much out of place. Did my father have to give me the same exact speech his father did? He couldn’t have paraphrased it? Is Dad punishing me for his own father’s stupid mistake? Though if his father hadn’t stopped him, would I have ever been born?

              I find myself defeated again and slide against the closed closet door. Running my fingers through my hair, I wonder how on earth Justin stays calm in a situation like this. Between the questions arising about my father to the pressure sitting on my shoulders, I can’t even think clearly. Crawling over to my purse, I pull out my phone and make a call.

              “Hey, Aiden,” I sigh.

              “Hey, Peyton, that girl I went out with the other night called!”

              “That’s great. I…”

              “Can you believe it? She actually called me. Me!”

              “That’s awesome, but…”

              “She’s a gorgeous girl too! Long blond hair, bright features, sparkling smile, and—”

              “Aiden!” I yell into the phone. “I hate to interrupt you. In fact, you can tell me all about it when I get home later, but right now, I need some advice.”

              “Sure,” I hear the keys on his keyboard come to a halt. “Wait, from me?”

              “That’s why I called you.” The agitation in my voice must be apparent.

              “Shoot.”

              “Let’s go back to when you guys were studying me at the penthouse. Let’s go back to when you were busy looking under my mattress. How did you know to look there? Why not in my closet? Why not in my drawer?”

              “Well, we checked the basics, but really, if you’re in search of something special, you have to check the person. You loved your sketchbook and wouldn’t want it far from you at any given moment, not even when you slept.”

              “My mattress,” I mumble. “So if I were looking for something that meant something to someone, I would need to look somewhere that meant something.”

              “People often ramble off information about things that mean something to them. They can’t help it. Their brain gets excited, their lips can’t be stopped, and it just pours out of them like water.”

              I search around, and my eyes land on the painting we were discussing earlier. “Elaine.”

              “What?”

              “I gotta go. Thanks, Aiden.”

              “Peyton, wait, I—”

              I cut the call off and slide the phone into my pocket. Darting over to the painting, nearly tripping over Nick’s feet, I take a leap of faith. The painting can’t hold perfume, but what if, just what if, it’s a clue to where it is? What if it’s right underneath? My eyes start at the painting and trail down to where Nick’s different bottles of glue and paint are when I notice it.

              “I’ll be damned,” I pick up the bottle of perfume and admire how much the replica in the locked-up case looks almost perfect. Putting the bottle down, I pick up my phone and call Justin, “Hey!”

              “Told you I believed you.” I smile, and he continues, “Time for part two.”

              After hanging up, I do like we discussed. I walk around and unlock the bedroom window before heading out of Nick’s room to unlock the windows in the back living room.

              I travel back to where Nick lies sleeping and sit next to his motionless body. My fingertips run across his forehead, a little sad that I have to treat this poor guy this way, the other part of me wondering if Elaine ever put my father in a situation like this.

              Feeling that I’m no longer alone, I raise my eyebrows, asking Justin without looking directly at him, “Did you ever slip this into my drink?”

              “Once or twice,” Justin admits, strolling around, his hand sliding in his pocket. “We needed a better look inside that journal of yours. It was damn near sown to your hand. You never parted with that thing, not even while sleeping.”

              “It’s personal,” I press my lips together. “Did you look through all of my journals?” A crooked grin slides onto his face, and I shake my head, “All those pictures of…”

              “I let it go,” he smiles as I roll my eyes and return to stroking Nick’s hair. “And let that go. He’s not a lost, sick puppy. He’s not even hurt.”

              “Still, I feel guilty.”

              “Guilt is absent when the act is justified.” The quotes cease my action. I assume that’s what he intended.

              “I…” is all that slides out of my mouth.

              “Shall we?” he slips his head in the direction of where the replica is being kept.

              Following him across the living room, I watch as he presses the keys before the door creaks open. We stroll into the library, and I watch Justin pretend to be looking for the magic shelf, leaving a trail to appear as if we’ve tried to steal it. Justin strolls over casually, with an annoyed, bored look on his face, and pulls on the right book for the shelf to pull out the display.

              Pleased at the sight, he pulls out a decoy camera and sighs softly, “Looks stunning. Wouldn’t even guess it was a forgery.”

              “Exactly,” I whisper as he zooms in on the different security features he would need to disarm if we were actually going to steal it. “Impressive. Makes the idea of hiding it in plain sight even more realistic.” After a moment, the shelf slides back into place. “Nothing should be that sensitive. It’s like it’s overcompensating.”

              “I see your point,” Justin’s tongue grazes his lips, while his hand fiddles around in his pocket.  The two of us head back to the door we entered, “This might just go off without a hitch.”

              “Has anything ever gone off without a hitch?”

              “Where’s the optimism?”

              “You know,” I start but stop as my attention drifts to the window I unlocked to notice it’s slightly opened. Game time. Immediately, I point, “Wasn’t that window closed?”

              “Yeah, but…” is all that manages to come out of his mouth before a bullet soars between us straight into the door only to bounce off.

              “Bullets don’t bounce,” I declare before looking at Justin, who yanks me out of the way as another bullet soars our direction. Justin pulls a pen out of his pocket, turns it, and slides it on the ground, resulting in a thick gray smoke for us to disappear into. Falling to the ground beside the recliner, we slide the camera into what will be the Dark Watchers’ line of sight as we avoid further ammo being sprayed in our general direction.

              “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a familiar, high-pitched voice chants.

              “I’m glad you don’t just have fans. You have stalkers.”

              “Plan wouldn’t have worked otherwise,” Justin croaks in a whisper.

              As the sounds of footsteps move closer to us, we crawl behind the furniture in an attempt to remain out of sight. Behind the couch closest to the window, we peek over the edge to see Lola standing in a pair of black lace-up boots, jean shorts, and a white tank top looking less than pleased. Why do she and Belle have so much leather in their wardrobes?

              “You said you shot them!” she snaps at a Dark Watcher with a thick scar above his eyebrow.

              “I did, but…”

              “Then why am I not looking at passed out injured bodies?”

              “Well, I…”

              She holds a hand up to cease him from talking. “Useless.” Her eyes scan the room, so we hunch back down before she starts to move again, this time toward the camera. “And what’s this?” The two of us slide around to the side of the couch just as she lifts up the camera. “Oh, Justin. You are magnificent.”

              Beaming, he shrugs his shoulders and bobs his head. Disgusted by his cockiness, I pop him in the shoulder. Quickly, he shrugs and mouths, “What? I am.”

              I point a stern finger at him as he starts to send a text to Aiden to sound the alarm, “We’re having a serious talk later.”

              “You…” Lola’s voice is cut off by the shrieking sound of the alarm. Shook up by the unexpected sound, she tornadoes her finger, “Go! Go! Go!”

              I watch as six Dark Watchers cloaked in black jeans and black tank tops file out, Lola last.

              Instantly, Justin pops up, “Ready?”

              “Can’t you go by yourself?” He tilts his hat at me before a smile escapes him, which hits me like a sucker punch. Mockingly, I follow him to the sill, “Oh, right! You can’t hit a girl.”

              The two of us float up slowly behind Lola, who is trailing behind as she fidgets on her phone, I assume to alert Alex of her bad yet good news. With very clear hand motions, Justin informs me that he will take out the six and I need to “attempt” to get the camera back from Lola.

              “Sure,” I whisper harshly. “Give me the hard job.”

              Trying to restrain his chuckle, he rolls his eyes and points that he’s going around to the other side. I nod in understanding and float silently behind Lola until she lands on the rooftop.