Killer Kisses // h.s au

eight. Revelations

Revelations

Fingertips traced over a small, professional-looking notebook. I removed the elastic band wrapped vertically around it, opening it to reveal lined paper littered with scribbles. Further observation led me to discover they were, in fact, people's names. Page after page was filled with names of people I had never heard of. All of the names on the first three pages had been crossed off. The most recent being 'Parker Scott'.

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the shrill of my phone from my pocket. A string of profanities echoed around the room whilst I fumbled for it. Answering it, I held it to my ear.

"Yes?"

"It's me. Can you talk?"

"Boss, it's okay. I'm alone in the house."

"Good," replied. "How is progress?"

"Progress is good. They gave me an assignment, I did it well. Harry seems a little protective of me – probably because I'm a girl or some shit. But I think I'm starting to gain their trust."

"That seems believable considering they've left you alone in the house. I hope you're not just sitting there at such a grand opportunity..." he let his sentence hang.

For some reason, I felt uncomfortable on enlightening him about the sketches and novels I had uncovered. They were a personal, intimate part of Harry that I knew he wouldn't want to have shared. And I didn't want them to be either. I liked being the only one knowing.

"Of course not, Boss. I'm doing a bit of snooping. I haven't really found much though. A few guns and a door that's–" I stopped mid-sentence, eyes trailing to the bottom drawer of the bedside table, "...locked."

Sandwiching the phone between my cheek and shoulder to continue listening to Boss, I ripped the drawer open and hastily rummaged through. Removing the key, I held it up in excitement. How had I not put two and two together earlier? The door was locked and there was a key in the drawer.   

"Boss, I've gotta go," I stated simply, cutting the call before giving him a chance to reply. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I descended down the dark hallway until reaching the required door. I slid the key into the hole and turned it to the right. My eyes grew wild with anticipation as I heard it click open. Twisting the handle, I stepped inside.

The room was pitch-black, but it surprised me when I felt an untraditional material under my bare feet. Paper of some sort, perhaps?

I flicked on the light switch after spending a few moments searching for it in the darkness, and clutched my hands to my mouth to suppress my gasp at what I witnessed before me. Canvases of all sizes littered the walls, filled with pictures painted to absolute precision. Some were swirls of random colours that still managed to look beautiful and deep, although to some, may appear as just a mess. This, alone, singled out the fools from the intellectuals.

The most common were simple black sketches painted with a thin brush, or some even with charcoal. A vast majority of the artwork, I was sure, possessed a deeper meaning to what it showed. After studying each and every piece of artwork curiously, my attention turned to his latest, unfinished piece that sat snugly on the canvas holder. It was a rough outline drawn in pencil, with only a few strokes of paint. I could see it was a girl, but that was all. There were no features, no colours, no objects to give me further clues to who she was or what she was doing.

The sound of a car revving outside caused me to leap to my feet and hurry out of the room, my hand wavering over the handle. When no sound of the front door slamming shut was heard, I realised it must have been an everyday vehicle passing by. My paranoia was getting out of hand.