Spirit Bound Page 21

  Stefan let his breath out slowly. What could she be hiding in this studio? The danger didn't feel like treachery, or conspiracy. He passed his hand slowly over the door, a slow inch-by-inch inspection, paying particular attention to the frame. There were no hidden trip wires he could detect, nothing that would alert her to a breakin. He laid his palm over the lock, at first not touching the door handle. No heat came off the metal. He very lightly wrapped his hand around the knob. The lock responded to him, welcoming his touch, sliding open for him without a push. The door didn't open.

  He had never come across a lock that didn't open at his will. Never. Security systems were nearly as easy. But even with another light push, the door didn't open for him. Judith had double-locked this studio. She really didn't want to chance anyone getting inside. His suspicious nature kicked into high gear. What in the hell could she be hiding from the world? From him?

  He ran his hand once more along the frame of the door. At the bottom of the double doors he felt the slightest of resistances and knew he'd found the second lock. She had a floor lock. Ordinarily, it would be impossible to get around the lock without cutting the glass or going in through a window. He glanced at the bank of windows used strictly for ventilation. No one could slip inside those narrow openings. There were dozens of windows, long and narrow, opening to allow air through, but impossible for a child, let alone a grown man, to slip through. She'd planned this studio meticulously, making certain no one could get inside without her knowledge or consent.

  He crouched low and laid his palm over that slight resistance. Patience mattered. Concentration and focus were essential. He felt familiar warmth travel down his arm and once again he flexed his fingers. His hand warmed, went perfectly still, hovering over the spot a moment before slowly descending to rest over the lower frame. Still the lock remained stubborn. Judith's will was strong, at work here. Stefan pushed the thought away and focused wholly on the mechanics of the lock. It was a simple enough lock, but very effective. A small slider turned the metal clasp, preventing the door from movement. Once he "felt" the mechanism, he could maneuver it open.

  Once again, before he slid the French door open, he checked for an alarm system that would alert Judith that someone had invaded her secured studio. Using extreme caution, he turned the handle and opened the door. The heavy drapes, as black as midnight, blocked his view, but he could feel the blast of rage, an explosive energy that leapt toward him. Again, every cell in his body rebelled. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, his pen light in his teeth, the only relief in the darkness of the room.

  Stefan drew the drapes aside enough to allow him entrance. He found breathing difficult, the air so thick with rage it was impossible to draw a full breath. He moved the light around the room for a quick inspection to assure himself that he was alone, although his radar had already told him of that. Nevertheless, he always double-and triple-checked when it came to preparation and safety. Attention to detail, no matter how small, was the one thing that kept him alive over the years.

  Every other room in Judith's house was painted white or cream, a foil for the joyful colors she splashed through her home and into the walls. Here, there was only unrelenting darkness. True, there was a mural running from floor to ceiling, great, thick tree trunks, broken and shattered limbs that twisted grotesquely, creating the illusion of a dark, forbidding forest.

  This was what she no longer allowed into her paintings. She kept her emotions compartmentalized. This was a room housing all destructive emotions. She didn't realize one couldn't possibly live the way she was trying. Darker emotions often got one through the most difficult circumstances. There was a balance to life and Judith had tried to get away from that balance fearing the darker side of her mind.

  Even here, in this studio of rage, he could see the artist in her. Above his head the ceiling was painted in deep purples and swirling darker, nearly bloodred black slashes. The effect was astonishing. The ceiling looked as if it was weeping dark tears. Looking at it, he felt sorrow creeping into his heart, an insidious tendril of emotion winding its way into his mind. He pulled his gaze away from the fascinating montage of color and inspected the walls.

  The colors were more mottled on the walls, great ropes, twisted into vines of hatred and anger. Sorrow dripped through the black forest of rage. The blood drops were more vivid, the knife slashing through the paint in quick bursts of anger, while that deep purple wept over all of it. Candles were on the tables and shelves, many burned down to nothing, the wax pooled around the bottoms of the candles, becoming part of the macabre atmosphere. A creepy oily smell permeated the room adding to the morbid, almost gruesome feeling emanating from the walls.

  He was surrounded by her once again, her darkest moments, her most intimate, chilling thoughts. As joyful and bright as her kaleidoscope studio was, as beautiful and soothing as her painting studio, this was the complete and utter opposite, although, he found there was still a kind of beauty in the unrelenting darkness, mostly because no matter what her emotion, the artist that was Judith always came through.

  "Oh, moi padshii angel, you're so lost," he murmured aloud.

  Stefan knew he was a phantom, belonging to the shadows, but at least he knew exactly who he was and how he had gotten there. Judith didn't trust herself--didn't realize that by creating this place, she only reinforced her own belief that she was twisted. Five years of rage and sorrow were held suspended in one space. No one could stay in this room for any length of time without the unrelenting destructive emotions affecting them.

  He stepped close to the painting she was working on, slowly removing the cover and shining his light over it. His breath stopped in his lungs. Something hard blocked his throat. This was Judith's nightmare. The torture and death of her beloved brother. Jagged glass, tipped with dark blood, slashed angry lines through the canvas. Bold angry strokes with a broad brush, none of the fine little brushstrokes for this painting that he'd observed in all of her other works. The only real color was a bright, bold Japanese character. He knew it was her brother's name painted over the rivers of blood and the broken, tormented body.

  He peered closer and Judith's eyes eerily stared back at him filled with a mixture of grief and anger. His own eyes burned and his gut churned. Shame and guilt descended over him, a heavy blanket weighing him down, nearly crushing his chest in the vicinity of his heart. Intellectually he knew he was feeling her emotions, the intensity she felt each time she gave into the concentrated, unrelenting sorrow and came into this room where she felt it was safe to allow her emotions free rein, to rework the painting.

  She hadn't signed the graphically detailed depiction of her brother's death, but she'd brought it to life. He could almost see the figures moving in that room of blood and pain. The men turning on one another as her brother lay in agony, gasping for his last breaths. The policeman's lifeless body crumpling over the top of Judith, driving her down into the blood and torn flesh of her brother, while the policemen's blood and fragmented flesh sprayed over her like a fountain.

  It was a ghastly scene, even to a man used to violence, mostly because it was viewed through the eyes of a woman who loved the victim--through the eyes of Judith. He knew she wasn't finished with it because she hadn't signed her name. It didn't matter how much he told himself it was Judith's feelings, his heart nearly exploded in pain. Looking at her eyes, the guilt there, the anger and grief, he felt a murderous rage begin to smolder in his belly, growing stronger the longer he stared at the painting. He needed to make this right for her.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as he covered the painting. He'd told her he was her man. He was certainly capable of vengeance. Her brother hadn't been tortured to extract information vital to the safety of a country; it had been done as a lesson. He knew he was justifying his own life, his own terrible sins, but at this point, he couldn't change what the men who had shaped his life had made him into. He could do this for her and if anyone deserved to suffer before he died, it was Jean-Claud
e La Roux.

  In the center of the room a dark cloth covered a large object. The cloth seemed to stir, although there was no way for a breeze to have moved it. The slight ripple of the fabric drew his attention. The room whispered, an insidious buzz in his ears, never quite grew loud enough for him to make out words.

  He walked around the object, which nearly came up to his chest. He used the tips of his fingers to remove the cloth. The kaleidoscope was large, almost as big as a telescope to view the night sky, and sat on a tall tripod. Four individual sealed cells were stacked in a black canister and a fifth, which she appeared to working on, was on top. He assumed each cell represented a year gone by without her brother's killer paying adequately for his crime, yet when he picked them up, he couldn't make out the images inside of them.

  Puzzled, Stefan examined each cell from every angle, laying them out carefully in order. His mind always remembered the smallest detail, but he was still methodical, always double-checking the small things, taking no chances anyone would feel his passing. No real phantom could afford to overlook the tiniest detail.

  He turned the first cell over and over. It was filled with mineral oil and sealed, clearly finished but no matter how much he shined the penlight on it, he couldn't make out the objects that should be floating around inside of it. He frowned, his mind working at the problem. She wouldn't have empty cells, but she'd found some way to protect what was inside them. Just viewing her kaleidoscope studio had taught him that cells were very personal. Each item chosen was selected with meticulous care and meant something important.

  Judith told stories with her kaleidoscopes. She brought peace and joy into people's lives all around the world. The scopes were more than art, they were useful for medical issues, bringing down blood pressure and aiding an autistic child or adult to find a healthy escape. Stefan studied the large kaleidoscope again. What was she telling? And how?

  The kaleidoscope itself was much larger than he'd seen in her other studio and that had to be significant in some way. The outside was powder-coated over metal rather than a wrap of some kind. The color seemed an unrelenting black, but there was something about it that made him think, just like the cells, she'd hidden something from view.

  Again he checked the room with his penlight. He was missing something important. It was difficult to think when the room was so alive around him. Emotions battered at him and every lungful of air was difficult to draw in, seething with bright hot rage. His belly coiled into tight knots and blood thundered in his ears, howling through his mind, thundering for revenge.

  A portable ultraviolet light sat on the workbench, near her rolling chair. It looked as if she used it often, and yet it didn't fit with the set up of the room. The handle opened to provide the stand and although it wasn't plugged in, it was close to the cell she was still working on. Stefan plugged it in and flipped the switch.

  At once he could see an array of objects in a small bin beside tools. She had created the various items she wanted to use in her cells from materials that would only reveal themselves under the ultraviolet light. Ingenious. Stefan shook his head at her creativity. Not only was she able to hide her work, but the secretive nature of the cells reflected the intensity of the emotions she kept so hidden from the rest of the world. Essentially, she'd locked a part of herself away in those sealed cells.

  Stefan choose year one to examine first. Not only was it evident to him that this particular cell was the beginning from being on the bottom of the stack, but when he took it close to the light and swirled the contents, he clearly saw the number one in the midst of the other items. Red drops that looked like blood dripped over the images. Purple swirled through the contents and once more sorrow settled heavily on his shoulders.

  Year one was all about grief. Judith imprisoned her anguish at losing her beloved brother in this cell for all time. The heartache cut deep, slashing wounds that refused to close. Through the cell were images of guilt and a faint trail of shame. Twisting sticks of metal, a broken heart and weapons of torture swirled slowly, tumbling over one another, all while the cell wept drops of blood. The same Japanese character in red that was the name of her brother tumbled in the mix. A glittering object proclaimed "I'm sorry" and another was a very telling clock turning back the hands of time.

  He found himself nearly weeping and, glancing down, realized his finger stroked the trigger of his gun. Abruptly he pulled his hand away, understanding just how intense her emotions were. He was feeling what she felt. Here, in this room, surrounded by relentless sorrow, she contemplated ending her life to make up for her sins. She knew better, he could read that as well, but the thought was in her mind occasionally. She couldn't bring him back; she couldn't turn back the clock.

  In the second cell he studied the objects representing Paris. A broken paintbrush. A slashed canvas. A palette of colors that ran to darker blues and purples. A tiny replica of the Louvre. A torn picture of herself and her brother that nearly broke his heart. Small things that told him her guilt was growing.

  Subsequent cells revealed a Japanese Kanji symbol for shame and another that represented guilt. A police badge. The small Greek island where Jean-Claude's men caught up with her brother. Things he believed portrayed her brother's life. As the years progressed, the rage in Judith obviously grew and more items showed the slow, torturous death, slice by slice as they tried to extract information about Judith's whereabouts. In a single cell she had created tiny replicas of torment so detailed he knew her spirit had merged with her brother's as he lay dying and she felt every cut, every burn, just as he had.

  A burning flame took fire in his gut. His mind snarled and raged with murderous intent. His body crawled with the need to avenge the murder of Paul Henderson. Murderous rage for Stefan was unfamiliar. He killed coldly. Without emotion. His feelings had long ago been stamped out of him. Until Judith he hadn't realized he had such a well of passion to draw from.

  This--this need to make La Roux suffer had to come from Judith, not from him. His hands didn't shake, his body didn't coil tight, his brain never roared for the kill. She'd poured those emotions into this room, and then trapped them here and his spirit always absorbed hers. He was soaking those darker sentiments into his body.

  Taking a breath, Stefan managed to push the rage down deep as he fit the cell into the large kaleidoscope and added the portable ultraviolet light. The wand fit into the cylinder and illuminated the cell. Placing his eye to the glass he turned the cell. The scenes were duplicated in a starburst pattern through the mirror system so that he saw the torture as if he was looking through a macabre nightmare, probably in the way Judith had to revisit the memory when she closed her eyes at night. He turned the cell.

  Instantly a great cosmos burst through all the blood and gore and rage like a wild primordial mix of pure emotions. The pinpoints of exploding stars unwittingly revealed Judith's character no matter how hard she tried to conceal it from herself and the sight was raw beauty and yet terrifying. Chaos reigned, and still there was order. Passionate hatred and love mixed together in a swirl of stark, raw emotion no other human had the right to witness. He was looking into Judith's exposed soul.

  He saw the truth of what and who she was. She had spent five long years working up her anger and need for revenge because Jean-Claude La Roux deserved to pay for what he'd done, yet her true essence always prevailed. The light in her, the compassion and natural brightness refused to be dimmed. She trapped those dark emotions in one room and tried to live there, tried to separate herself, become something she wasn't and could never be, but he knew when he viewed each separate cell he would see those bursting rays of light spreading over the dark, hostile buildup of her need to take revenge.

  The shame and guilt she felt was not as much over the death of her brother and the policeman--she'd worked through her responsibility over the years, and had obviously come to the conclusion that the circumstances were beyond her abilities at that time. But shame and guilt had grown in this room, stayed h
idden here, like a terrible wound she couldn't cauterize. She was incapable of making another human being suffer. She certainly couldn't kill someone. He had no doubt she would defend herself and those she loved passionately, but to kill cold-bloodedly was an impossibility for a woman with her character, and deep down, she knew it.

  Judith wanted to avenge her brother, she even felt she should, but she was not the kind of woman who would ever do such a thing and guilt ate at her constantly. She felt as though she were letting him down all over again. It was no wonder she didn't sleep.

  It had been natural for Judith to call on her older brother to help her out of a bad situation. He'd raised her after her parents had died. He'd been the one she'd always counted on and of course he had rushed to help her. She probably closed her eyes and saw him looking at her accusingly. In her painting, Paul's eyes had been wide open, staring at his sister as the life ran out of him and she saw his indictment of her guilt. Stefan knew better, knew that was her conscience talking.

  The revelation brought out those protective instincts he hadn't known existed until Judith, every bit as raw and stark and passionate as her wild chaotic emotions. He needed to wrap himself tightly around her and shield her from outside eyes until she could bring the two halves of her spirit back together. She had to forgive herself for being gentle and kind. For being compassionate. Judith didn't seem to realize the world would be a much better place populated with people like her instead of people like him.

  She feared her own passionate nature so much that she thought about death, about ways to keep others she loved safe. She was so afraid that her darker emotions, as natural as they might be, would contribute to the pain and suffering of others she loved.

  Stefan shook his head. He was not about to let her go. He knew he had the capability to fill every shadowed space inside of her with his own spirit, merge so deeply that she would never feel the burden alone again. His gifts somehow intertwined with hers, allowing him such intimate closeness that he knew he could shield not only Judith, but others around them until she had full understanding and control of her gift.