Chilled by Death Read online

  “I can’t answer for everyone,” Stacy said, “but for me it was about the photos in that series.”

  Everyone looked at her, confused. She laughed.

  Her brother said, “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re signing by the series.”

  “On the back is my real signature,” she added with a smile. “In your case, you don’t own your photographs. You work for the company who gets the rights to all your work, so it’s not an issue.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “At the moment. Who knows where I’ll be down the road? I hadn’t thought about the individualism with my work.”

  She didn’t add that she’d been in a strange space when she’d started doing her professional signature series that way. In truth, they weren’t signatures. They were titles. But as there was more than one in the series, the name had stuck. The world loved different. It added mystery to her work.

  Considering this was the first time Stevie and the rest were hearing about her work and the slightly injured look on their faces, she realized that their relationship would be changing again, too. Maybe it was time. And maybe that was the real reason for coming on this week-long adventure. She needed fresh inspiration.

  It would center on letting go.

  She needed to open up the narrow scope of her world. Her girlfriends were gone. She wasn’t responsible for what happened to them. She couldn’t hide away on the off chance that something might happen to her. And if fate intervened, making it her time, then she needed to come to terms with that. Still, it was time to move forward. Time to move on. Time to say goodbye. Somehow.

  She’d been looking for months for new inspiration. She’d been working on a massive urban portfolio of her local area for months now. She hadn’t shown anyone but the gallery owner. He’d immediately booked her for a showing under her Rebirth name. She knew that at the release of this next set, the world would understand some part of who she was.

  Now she needed to heal the other areas of her life, and coming here was part of that.

  She settled back comfortably. For the first time, she felt that spark of need, that spark of creation in her soul. She’d find her inspiration here.

  She knew she would.

  All she had to do was recognize who or what that was.

  Then do everything she could to learn how it ticked.

  *

  Royce watched George and his sister interact. Not only was affection and love in there, but there was no professional jealousy. At least none that he could see. George was fanatical about his work. Always had been.

  Yet his stuff was all action.

  George, as if realizing Royce was out of the loop, came over, his phone out in front of him, and he clicked on something then held it out for Royce to see. In a quiet voice, he said, “This is one she did several years back.”

  Royce shot him a quick look then glanced at the image. It was a flower, dying from the outside in. As if in pain, the leaves were curling in on itself.

  “Kind of depressing,” he muttered. He had to consider that a few years ago meant three. If ever someone had been affected by the loss of her friends, Stacy would be the poster child.

  “Look closer.”

  Frowning, Royce studied the photo. And started. It was a huge aster type of flower, the tips brown and dying, almost hanging like rotten teeth. Yet juxtaposed to those teeth was a series of tiny buds reaching up toward the brown tips as if ready to feed off of them. And sure enough, there was a single drop of dew hanging down, giving the life force to the little ones that they might grow strong. The aster in death was reaching out a hand and helping, offering the gift of life.

  Royce stared, hating that he’d read so much into the picture. Surely that wasn’t what she’d meant to show. He glanced over at Stacy, speaking quietly with Geoffrey then letting his gaze slide from one person to the next then on to the next. Finally, he came back to his best friend.

  “Do you see it?” George asked quietly. “Or rather tell me, what do you see?”

  “I see the old and dying reaching out and nurturing the young.”

  Stevie walked past just then and leaned over and saw the image. “Oh, that one. God, those teeth give me the chills.” And he walked away.

  “Some people only ever see the teeth.”

  “I saw those first.” Royce said, “Then saw them more as umbrellas but also directing the gift of water to the buds below.”

  Stevie walked back. “Yeah, you could see that. Or you could take the teeth concept one step deeper and realize those buds are feeding off the mother plant’s decaying flesh.”

  With that he sauntered away, a beer in hand.

  Royce stared down at the image. “Not a nice thought.”

  “It’s why her work’s so popular. People see different things with every one of her pictures. Are they innocent and spiritual or dark and devious?”

  Royce shot his gaze back over to Stacy. As if sensing his look, she turned to stare at him. He dropped his gaze back to the image and recalled the disturbing interpretation Stevie mentioned. “Have you ever asked her?”

  “No,” George said, putting his phone away. “Not sure I want to know the answer.”

  *

  Well, he did. He’d been listening in quietly, studying the pictures with interest but from the sidelines. Stacy was a photographer? Like what the fuck? He hadn’t pegged her for the artist type. As his daddy would say, she was all book smart and life stupid.

  Now he finds out she has a hobby. Not just any hobby, but one of his hobbies. Well, one he was working on developing. It kind of went along with his other hobby. As he sat there contemplating the implications, he started to burn inside. Like, how dare she?

  If, and that was a big if, she was the artist known as Eternal, then she was considered a leader in her field. One with a perspective like none other. Touted as a fresh look on life.

  What bullshit.

  She was like every other bitch he’d met on these trips. Only in Stacy’s case, she was too good for anyone – not just him. She wanted to be the queen and have everyone dote on her. Well, he had plans. Plans for her. To put her in her place like she had him all these years.

  She’d see the results of her actions then. It might be years late, but revenge was best served cold.

  And he’d make sure she was damn cold.

  A shudder rippled down his spine. Goddamn it. He clenched his jaw so hard he swore he heard his teeth grinding.

  He glanced down at his hands. A tremor was already starting. He shifted, tucking them out of sight. No one could know.

  No one could suspect.

  Or else he’d have to ramp his agenda up. And make Stacy pay – now.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, Stacy woke up cold and sore. She had no idea why the aches. Maybe from the long drive yesterday? Maybe the extra heavy running workout schedule she’d put herself through this last week? As she rolled over, a groan slipped out. Well, there was that answer. She’d earned those aches from sleeping on the floor last night. Maybe she should have taken another look at her choice of sleeping quarters. She’d also gone to bed before the others. And had felt self-conscious doing so. She opened her eyes to study the large loft. Was she alone here? Was she so lucky?

  It appeared to be so. For some reason instead of cheering her up, she felt let down. As if finding out no one had wanted to share her space was deliberate. Silly. Everyone was in groups already. And there were plenty of bedrooms downstairs. So why would anyone come up here?

  And if there was a pang of upset over the concept of Royce having paired up with someone else, then she’d stomp on it. They weren’t an item. Never had been when the relationship could be measured in a matter of hours and days, not weeks.

  Besides, she’d chosen the warmest place in the house. If that didn’t seem to matter to the others, well, it did to her. She’d been out of the loop with winter playtime and she was feeling the cold big time. If the fire wasn’t lit and coffee not bubbling, she so wasn
’t getting out of bed.

  Of course, several in the group were likely to be cuddling up with someone special. That would keep anyone warm. She stopped on the image of Royce and Yvonne. He could do what he wanted.

  Hopefully the others had stayed up late drinking. That would mean no early risers.

  She smiled and curled up again. She could actually see her breath. And she’d come why?

  She closed her eyes again, breathing the cold air deep, the smoke of a fire and the smell of coffee combined with the rustling movement from down below wafted up. Sliding forward, she looked through the railings to see who was awake.

  And damn if her heart didn’t jump for joy. Royce. His open sleeping bag was still lying in front of the fire where he’d obviously slept. Dressed in just long johns, he was poking at the fire, willing it to burst into flame. A pot of coffee sat on the stove. It wouldn’t be ready for a while yet, but at least the process had been started. There was a coffeemaker somewhere, but coffee made this way had a special flavor.

  She leaned over further, wanting to confirm that he had slept alone.

  He had.

  Instantly she felt terrible. There was plenty of room up here. She would have shared. Damn it. Then again, as she studied his bedroll down by the fire, why should she? Likely his had been much warmer than hers, and it was pretty damn smart of him too. Although, as she’d gone to bed early, that place would hardly have done her any good.

  “You could come down and warm up,” Royce called up softly, not turning around.

  She waited, wondering if he was talking to her. When he twisted slightly to stare up at her, she wanted to pull back like a little kid. Instead, she stared down at him casually. “Is it warm enough to venture down?”

  He grinned. “If it isn’t, you sure aren’t going to want to go outdoors.”

  “Not sure I am anyways.” She yawned. “Let me know when the coffee is done.”

  “Ha. You’re not the boss here, sis.” George called up from the closest bedroom. “It’s first come first serve on that pot.”

  “And I’m here on the spot,” Royce called. “Good luck getting any.”

  There was a mad scramble from all the rooms as the men left their beds and raced to the pot. In various states of heavy winter underwear, the gang huddled around the heater stove and watched the coffee boil.

  “You’re all nuts,” she called down, sinking lower into the sleeping bag.

  “Ha. Looks who’s out here in the middle of nowhere with us,” George called up.

  “Don’t remind me,” she muttered.

  “I heard that.”

  She ignored him. But tucked up inside her warm bag, she smiled. Life was good. She lay back peacefully, enjoying the novelty of her surroundings. Below her, the conversation between the groups floated up. Everyone was speaking about the day ahead. She was thinking that doing exactly what she was doing was the perfect activity. She yawned. How had she become so worn out? Maybe it was the constant overtime and heavy workouts. She’d filled her time so she didn’t have to think. And fill them she had. And now that she had nothing to do, no reason to get up, it was hard to do anything but doze off again.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.”

  The voice woke her from her daydreams. She rolled over to find George standing over her with a mug of coffee in his hand. “Sorry, I guess I fell asleep again.”

  “You need it,” he said, his voice serious. “You’re exhausted.” He squatted down beside her and lowered the cup to the floor beside her head. “I don’t think you even see how bad you’ve gotten. You’re completely worn out.” He plunked his butt on the floor. “You are working yourself to the bone.”

  “I’m not that bad,” she protested, rising up on one elbow.

  Stevie called up from below. “Yes, you are. You’re the first one into work and the last one to leave.”

  Mark added, “And you usually come in on weekends.”

  “Not to mention,” George said, “what are you running now, 5K and 10k?”

  “Both,” she said. “It depends on the day of the week and how I’m feeling.” She smiled and lay back down. “I’m in bed now. I might just stay here today.” At the frown forming on his face, she added quickly, “Maybe go out for a couple of runs when it warms up outside.”

  “Ha.” He laughed. “I bet you’re still in bed when I get back.”

  “Hey.” She kicked him through the sleeping bag. It was a faint effort and hurt her more than him. “That’s not fair.”

  “We’ll see.” He grinned. “You were always hard to get out of bed.”

  “What? When I was six?”

  “Maybe.” He stood, a big smirk on his face. “Stevie and Mark and I are heading out to do a quick check on the snow conditions. Then we can make plans.”

  “No breakfast?” she asked, not moving and having no intention of moving any time soon. “Make sure you load the fire to keep it going.”

  “Maybe you should work on breakfast.” He headed to the stairs and called back. “We’ll be back in just over an hour. And we’ll be hungry.”

  She groaned. “Listen to you, giving orders already.”

  “Always, sis. You’re the boss at work. I’m the boss here.”

  There was no arguing that. She lay on her back and listened with half an ear as the group discussed the array of runs offered. They wanted to do as much as possible over the next week. She had no such ambition. As it stood now, going downstairs was about all she could manage. She sipped her coffee and relaxed. The more she relaxed, the more she realized how long it had been since she’d let her guard down. The last few years had been very stressful. Too stressful. She’d seen herself how bad she’d gotten. The nights she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d worked herself until she collapsed to the floor then picked herself up and did it all over again. She hadn’t really noticed until she’d been flattened by pneumonia.

  What she hadn’t realized was that others had noticed.

  Of course, one was her brother. If anyone would notice, it would be him. Or maybe not. She worked with Stevie and Mark. They’d seen her day after day as they worked in the lab. She’d been promoted just after the girls had died. As a way to avoid being overwhelmed with grief, she’d worked her ass off. Staying late, coming in early. She’d picked up the extra duties and kept her own. She still did.

  Then she’d spent a weekend with Royce and, after that, had done everything she could to forget him.

  Instead of just missing lunch, she’d also skimped on breakfast and when she got home, she often crashed before eating a decent dinner.

  The end was a foregone conclusion.

  She’d caught herself before completely collapsing. She’d actually gone to a doctor, something she rarely did but knew she couldn’t put it off anymore before she got any worse. If she couldn’t work, she didn’t think she’d have survived.

  The doctor had been horrified when she’d seen Stacy. Immediately, Stacy had been heavily dosed with vitamins and minerals, put on heavy antibiotics, and weighed and measured so she could check her progress.

  That had been her epiphany.

  A massive wake-up call.

  She’d only realized as she’d stood on the scales in the doctor’s office how dire the situation had gotten. She’d been a hair over one hundred and five pounds. At 5’ 9”, that meant she was a skin-covered skeleton. And she’d seen more than her fair share of those. The mirror showed her starkly how much she’d let herself fall. And that she was only a step away from death. She could just imagine her co-workers performing an autopsy on her young bag of bones and wondering what the hell had happened to her.

  The doctor had also ordered her to a psychiatrist for a mental health check-up. Stacy had been just scared enough that she’d gone. It had been difficult to convince the good psychiatrist that she wasn’t suicidal or bulimic or anorexic. As she’d tried to explain, she’d seen the decline herself. Her actions were that of a woman trying to forget. To remove herself from the world that had be
come too painful.

  Just not in a suicidal sort of way.

  But the psychiatrist hadn’t been so easily convinced. Indeed, she’d seen him for over three months before she realized he’d helped and that her emotions had stabilized. If nothing else, she understood what she’d done. And how she’d gotten to this point. With his help, she had picked herself up, made a promise to take better care of herself, and to rejoice in the life she’d been so quick to underappreciate.

  It had taken six months to add a layer of flesh under her skin and another six months to get the rounded look back on her face.

  Still, it had scared her. It had also shown her how weak she’d become. And how greatly she’d been affected by the loss of those she’d loved.

  She’d vowed to never let that happen again.

  Only she’d fallen sick again a couple months ago – a relapse – minor but scary when she considered how slow her recovery had been. In some ways, still was.

  She’d brought her physical health back as far as she could but understood that it was sitting on a delicate balance. And so was her emotional state.

  “Are you going to come down here or stay up there all day?”

  She started. She’d been so lost in her own musings that she hadn’t even realized where she was. Or who she was with. She sat up and looked over the railing.

  “Oh, so you are awake.” Royce stood in front of the heater stove. “Are you coming down? Or,” his voice deepened, “are you scared to be alone with me?”

  “Alone?” she asked. She bounded to her feet and leaned over the railing. Sure enough, there was no one down there. “Is everyone else asleep?”

  He shook his head. “They’re gone.” His grin flashed. “George came back and checked on you but you’d dozed off – again.”

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” she cried out, unaccountably flustered. She hadn’t meant to sleep again.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Royce called up. “Do get dressed and come down for a fresh cup of coffee though.”