Color Photographs, Chapter Twelve

A warm silence enveloped Sadie. She couldn’t move, or think, or feel. She was vaguely aware she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, yet she felt no inclination to leave. She felt so dumb and happy. Like she’d smoked a bit too much weed, and fell into her ultimate happy place.

“Sadie.” She heard a distant voice calling her name.

Oh, that must be Mey, she thought happily. “Come on, Mey! I like it here. Come be with me.”

“Sadie,” the voice called again. “Sadie, wake up!”

She couldn’t figure out where the voice came from. She couldn’t see anyone. She realized she couldn’t see much of anything. That was okay; she didn’t really want to see things. She was happy without seeing. Sadie heaved a sigh as she felt the warmth dissipating with every time someone shook her. All good things had to end eventually.

“Oh thank god.” Meyer hugged her close to his chest as she opened her eyes. Sadie blinked stupidly as she lay limply in his arms, not quite sure what was going on. Her happy place seemed so distant now, at the fringe of her memory. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Sadie furrowed her brow, trying to remember what had happened. She didn’t know why Meyer seemed so worried. She couldn’t remember much of anything at all. “Babe? What’s…?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I—” Sadie started to push herself up into a sitting position, and trailed off as pain shot through her side. She took a sharp breath. “Oh…”

“Not good, I take it?” Meyer carefully helped her sit up. Her memories slowly started to trickle back, then suddenly they all came rushing back at once. She took a deep breath then sighed.

“I’m okay,” Sadie said after a moment. “I’d just… forgotten… everything.”

“But you remember now?”

“Unfortunately,” Sadie answered, staring down at her hands. “At least I got a break. I feel better now.”

“Good.” Meyer pulled her into another hug, burying his face in her hair and sitting for several long moments. They both enjoyed the companionable silence they shared. Sadie buried her face in Meyer’s shirt and breathed deeply, taking in the scent of his cologne.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Karson slowly pushed the door to his apartment complex open. He looked around, not sure how much noise Ashlyn had made last night on her way out. It didn’t look like she’d damaged anything in the hallway at least. Let’s hope the apartment was as lucky, he thought.

He started up the stairs to the second level where his apartment was, sighing as he saw the door hanging open. Karson walked past his neighbor’s door, biting back another sigh as suddenly the door jerked open and his short old neighbor came charging into the hall.

The man, Mr. Moore, had never been particularly fond of Karson. His opinion seemed to sink lower with every girlfriend that went storming out in the middle of the night. Karson couldn’t say he really blamed the man, but that didn’t mean that he felt like talking to him now.

“Your late night shenanigans are getting old, boy!”

The old man stepped forward and brandished his cane at Karson. He was short, but stout. The top of his fedora barely came to Karson’s mid-chest, but the glare he shot at Karson from under bushy white eyebrows could’ve melted steel.

Karson almost smirked, but carefully kept his expression neutral. He wasn’t about to fight with a man who was half his size and twice his age, but he didn’t feel like being whacked with a cane today. It’d happened before. Mr. Moore advanced, cane raised threateningly, until Karson was standing with his back to the railing.

Mr. Moore was dressed in white buttoned up shirt, tucked into black slacks, as always. But today he had a dark blue checked bathrobe over his clothes, with matching slippers on his feet. The creases in his face were making the bags under his eyes even more pronounced—probably a trophy from Ashlyn disrupting his sleep the night before.

“I’m sorry,” Karson said, telling a partial truth. He was unwilling to take responsibility for his ex’s temper tantrum—but he was sorry that Mr. Moore had to deal with Ashlyn. “She won’t be back to bother you anymore.”

“Oh, I know,” the old man slowly lowered his cane. “Oh god, do I know. ‘I’m so over this town. I’m never coming back. That fucker won’t get anyone like me again. I’m so gone’,” Mr. Moore mocked, making his voice shrill. “That’s the worst part of listening to her leaving. The slamming I could ignore, but the bitching. Ugh.”

“Yeah, well…. That was Ashy,” Karson said with a smirk, letting his shoulders slump a bit. “Always upset about something.”

“You need to find yourself a better woman,” Mr. Moore said, shaking his head. “The sluts you always keep around are nothing but trouble—trouble, I tell ya!”

“Yes, sir,” Karson said, dipping his head. “I agree. Don’t worry, though. I think I’ll stay a bachelor for a while, now…”

“I ain’t sayin’ you need to do that,” Mr. Moore said, moving closer to his doorway. “Women are nice things to keep around… you just need to find one that don’t act like she’s been brought up in the middle of the jungle.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Karson said, taking a step closer to his apartment.

“What about that girl you bring around here sometimes. That little brunette?”

“Who?” Karson thought for a moment. He couldn’t remember bringing any girls to his apartment, save his girlfriend and – “Oh. You mean Sadie?”

“Is that her name?”

“Yeah. Sadie… Lovett. I don’t think so.”

“Lovett…” Mr. Moore said slowly. A spark of recognition flickered across his smoky gray eyes. “You mean the Lovett boy’s old woman?”

“The same.”

“Ooh…” The old man cringed, shaking his head. “Best not then.”

“Best not,” Karson agreed, smirking. “Thanks anyway… and sorry about Ashlyn…”

“Yeah, yeah,” the old man grumbled, before he turned and went back into his apartment. Karson watched as he slammed the door shut and listened to the sound of several locks fastening. Karson smiled and shook his head.

Karson turned and walked to his own apartment. He walked in and briefly surveyed the damage. His couch had deep gouges in it with bits of stuffing sticking out, as if Ashlyn took a knife to each and every one of the cushions. The curtains were ripped. There were holes in the dry wall. His lamps were knocked over and he saw DVDs and clothes were strewn across the floor. No sign of Ashlyn.

Karson sighed and turned to shut the door—he didn’t need spectators while he tried to gather up whatever Ashlyn hadn’t ruined. A large, dark figure stood behind the door. Karson lurched backward, just in time to dodge the hands that shot out to grab him. Karson tripped over the trashcan Ashlyn left in the middle of the floor and went tumbling backward.

The man was after him in an instant, grabbing a fistful of Karson’s shirt and yanking him to his feet. Karson threw his shoulder into the man’s side, sending them both tumbling back to the ground. Karson struggled with the other man clawing at his face, until he got enough leverage to land a solid blow on the other man’s jaw.

The man was slightly larger than Karson, probably well over 200 pounds of solid muscle, with broad shoulders and a scruffy brown beard. The man forced his feet between their bodies, and launched Karson off him with a force that sent him tumbling across the room once more.

Karson jumped to his feet, barely having enough time to recover his balance before the other man tackled him again. They went down in a fury of fists, both blindly landing blows on each other, desperately hoping to come out on top. The man landed a solid blow on Karson’s jaw, disorienting him just long enough for the man to be able to slip out from under him and get to his feet.

He grabbed Karson as soon as Karson stumbled to his feet again. The man grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back, then pulled a knife and pressed it against Karson’s throat, instantly stilling him.

“Dammit,” Karson muttered under his breath, cringing as the man yanked his arm further upwards, causing his entire shoulder to ache. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Your big bubby,” a man said. Karson looked up and saw his older brother leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe to his bedroom. He had his dark brown hair combed to the side, and had his beard cut to the little goatee that looked stupid on him. He brushed invisible lint off his fancy, pretentious suite. “Hello, Karrie. Surprised to see me?”

“Let me go!” Karson hissed, his face flushed red with anger. He turned a venomous glare at his older brother, Avery. He almost wished it was Resnick standing in front of him—anyone would’ve been better than his brother. “Damn you, Ava.”

“Tsk, tsk, as hotheaded as always, I see,” Avery said, strolling forward casually. He leaned forward and patted Karson’s cheek condescendingly. “This is why you’re never going anywhere… you need to learn how to control your temper.”

“At least I don’t have to hire someone to do my fighting for me.”

“You mean you can’t afford to hire someone to do it.” Avery looked up and nodded at the man holding Karson, causing him to release Karson. Karson stepped forward resentfully, tugging his shirt straight, trying to salvage as much dignity as he could manage. Avery glanced around the apartment. “Is this little rat hole really what you call a home?”

Karson clamped his mouth shut, refusing to validate Avery’s comment with a response. He squared his shoulders, his glare still fixed on his brother. “What do you want?”

“Such a cold welcome, after so many years apart.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Karson cleared his throat and made his voice as shrill as he could, adopting a purposefully bad British accent. “Would you like to stop by for a bit of tea and some biscuits, miss?”

Avery rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for your childish games.”

“Good. I don’t have time for yours,” Karson said, desperately trying to calm his temper. He turned towards a pot of flowers and turned it right-side up. “Don’t you have candy to steal and villages to plunder? Elsewhere?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t intend to stay long. I’m in town on business.”

“Dear god,” Karson muttered under his breath. He turned a wary eye on his brother. Avery never ventured to this side of the country unless he had big plans—plans that usually involved screwing Karson over. “Who’s dying this time?”

“You are, if you don’t stop meddling,” Avery said crisply. There was a tense silence as their glares locked on each other. “I have business with Resnick, and he seems to think you will be a threat to those plans. You’d best look closer to your level, if you’re planning on causing trouble.”

Karson was silent for a long moment. “What business do ya have with Resnick?”

“That’s no concern of yours.” Avery strode towards the door, pausing to turn back and glare at Karson once more. “Just know it will be the worst mistake of your life if you get in the middle of it, brother dear.”

Avery turned briskly and walked out the door, followed by his large bodyguard. Karson stared after them for a long moment, indignation welling up inside him as he watched them move down the stairs and exit the apartment complex. Who was Avery, to tell him what he could and couldn’t do? Karson was a big boy now, and he could make his own choices. He didn’t care that big brother had more gun power.

Another wave of anger washed across Karson, adding itself to the rage already coursing through him. He growled loudly in frustration and punched the wall, sinking his fist through the dry wall. Adding Avery to the picture definitely wouldn’t make taking Resnick down any easier. We’ll see who has the last laugh, brother mine.