laborious task of changing the tire. Grease coated his hands as he twisted the hub cap into place. From the center lane of the highway, a dark sedan cut over into the right lane and swerved onto the shoulder inches from where Lorenzo knelt on the ground. Instinctively, he rolled to the side to avoid being struck by the 5,000 pound steel death machine. Shouting and staggering to his feet, he stared in shock at the reckless car as it sped away and merged back into the center lane. Lorenzo’s limbs shook as the car disappeared into the twilight.
That was no accident. That was attempted murder , he thought, terrified. The car had aimed directly for him and narrowly missed. But he didn’t have any enemies, none that he knew of at least. There was the possibility of professional jealousy on the part of fellow sculptors. Lorenzo enjoyed a monopoly over the Milanese art scene, and he knew it. But how would a professional rival find him on the highway? Lorenzo hadn’t noticed anyone tailing him as he drove, but then again, images of Coretta had consumed his thoughts during the whole twenty mile trip. Hurriedly, he climbed into the van and eased the clumsy vehicle back onto the highway. Whoever had tried to kill him was gone now, but the spine-chilling memory of the incident was embedded in his mind.
*****
Coretta blinked in sheer disbelief. The digital clock on her cell phone read 10:46 am. She sat up straight in the uncomfortable bed, unable to believe she had slept that long. Last night, as exhausted as she had been, slumber had not come quickly. And she knew very well that jet lag was not the culprit for her insomnia. It was that sniveling, staring old janitor who had frightened her to the marrow. Somehow, though, she had managed to fall asleep, and apparently stay asleep, until half the morning had passed.
With lingering fright, she had gone to bed in her clothes, which were wrinkled and odorous this morning. Coretta still didn’t feel safe enough to take a bath, even with the doors barricaded shut downstairs. So she plodded over to the bathroom for another sink shower, rubbing some dry shampoo into her hair and shedding her clothes to quickly soap her body. Grabbing a towel, she swaddled her body tightly and rushed back to the room. Opening her suitcase, she randomly selected a pair of khaki pants and white tee-shirt.
Warily, she descended the staircase, reaching the bottom without incident. The studio appeared soft and inviting in the morning light. Suddenly, Coretta felt compelled to break free of the stifling building and explore the painter’s annex that Lorenzo had mentioned yesterday. In the light of day, the episode with Angelo didn’t seem nearly as sinister, and a surge of adventure flooded through her. As she strode towards the side door, she held her head high, thinking how she had successfully escaped Jonathan’s clutches and wouldn’t be a prisoner to anyone or anything again…not even to her own fears.
Outside, the mild breeze beckoned to her as she strolled behind the main studio. The grass was overgrown with weeds peppered in, but the annex was clearly visible and charming in the distance. Obviously built more recently than the old farmhouse, the small structure was painted a friendly shade of pastel blue that sparkled against the cloudless sky.
Coretta opened the solid wood door, propping it open with a branch. She gasped as her eyes beheld the contents of the studio. It was not dusty or dirty like Lorenzo’s artist space, but spotless and organized with every tool a painter could possibly dream of. Easels, poster board, and stacks of paintbrushes were brand new. Paints of oil, acrylic, and watercolor were stocked in a rainbow of shades. Coretta’s eyes glimmered as she envisioned all the creative ways she could delve into the art supplies.
Lorenzo had clearly been preparing for the arrival of a painter. Secretly, she
That was no accident. That was attempted murder , he thought, terrified. The car had aimed directly for him and narrowly missed. But he didn’t have any enemies, none that he knew of at least. There was the possibility of professional jealousy on the part of fellow sculptors. Lorenzo enjoyed a monopoly over the Milanese art scene, and he knew it. But how would a professional rival find him on the highway? Lorenzo hadn’t noticed anyone tailing him as he drove, but then again, images of Coretta had consumed his thoughts during the whole twenty mile trip. Hurriedly, he climbed into the van and eased the clumsy vehicle back onto the highway. Whoever had tried to kill him was gone now, but the spine-chilling memory of the incident was embedded in his mind.
*****
Coretta blinked in sheer disbelief. The digital clock on her cell phone read 10:46 am. She sat up straight in the uncomfortable bed, unable to believe she had slept that long. Last night, as exhausted as she had been, slumber had not come quickly. And she knew very well that jet lag was not the culprit for her insomnia. It was that sniveling, staring old janitor who had frightened her to the marrow. Somehow, though, she had managed to fall asleep, and apparently stay asleep, until half the morning had passed.
With lingering fright, she had gone to bed in her clothes, which were wrinkled and odorous this morning. Coretta still didn’t feel safe enough to take a bath, even with the doors barricaded shut downstairs. So she plodded over to the bathroom for another sink shower, rubbing some dry shampoo into her hair and shedding her clothes to quickly soap her body. Grabbing a towel, she swaddled her body tightly and rushed back to the room. Opening her suitcase, she randomly selected a pair of khaki pants and white tee-shirt.
Warily, she descended the staircase, reaching the bottom without incident. The studio appeared soft and inviting in the morning light. Suddenly, Coretta felt compelled to break free of the stifling building and explore the painter’s annex that Lorenzo had mentioned yesterday. In the light of day, the episode with Angelo didn’t seem nearly as sinister, and a surge of adventure flooded through her. As she strode towards the side door, she held her head high, thinking how she had successfully escaped Jonathan’s clutches and wouldn’t be a prisoner to anyone or anything again…not even to her own fears.
Outside, the mild breeze beckoned to her as she strolled behind the main studio. The grass was overgrown with weeds peppered in, but the annex was clearly visible and charming in the distance. Obviously built more recently than the old farmhouse, the small structure was painted a friendly shade of pastel blue that sparkled against the cloudless sky.
Coretta opened the solid wood door, propping it open with a branch. She gasped as her eyes beheld the contents of the studio. It was not dusty or dirty like Lorenzo’s artist space, but spotless and organized with every tool a painter could possibly dream of. Easels, poster board, and stacks of paintbrushes were brand new. Paints of oil, acrylic, and watercolor were stocked in a rainbow of shades. Coretta’s eyes glimmered as she envisioned all the creative ways she could delve into the art supplies.
Lorenzo had clearly been preparing for the arrival of a painter. Secretly, she
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