Intaglio: The Snake and the Coins (12 page)

Ava’s feet took
her forward, the blood draining from her face. 
‘This is fucking bad,’
her
mind screamed.  She could see Chim coming from the other direction, his
nose flared angrily, hands rolled into fists.  It was the look he got
right before he started an act of civil disobedience.  It scared her to
see the expression here.

“You think you
have a right to judge that?”  Kip barked. 

He took a
half-step forward, hands rising in fists, but Cole didn’t move back in the
least. 

“You bet your
ass, I have a right,” Cole yelled, gesturing at the artwork.  “If you’re
putting this… this
bullshit
out there for public consumption, you’d
better get ready to answer some hard fucking questions about it!”

Ava was almost
near the front.  She could see the fury rising like mist off a lake. 
For a second she flashed to herself standing between the two of them, her hands
upraised.  She stumbled in confusion, another memory – like a radio
station caught between two channels –  threatening to overwhelm her. 

“She doesn’t
LOVE you!”

“You LIE!”

“Then ask her
yourself!  She’s made her choice!”

“Stop it! 
BOTH of you!  Please!”

Ava gasped,
blinking rapidly to force the after-image away.  She had no idea where
this memory was from. 
‘Something I dreamed...?’

“You want to ask
me something, then go ahead ask,” Kip snarled.  “Everyone’s listening.”

“I want to know
what you’re saying!” Cole barked.  “
Without
the BS!”

“I’m
saying
I’m against the war,” Kip said in mock sympathy, “so shoot me.” 

He laughed as he
said it, looking to the crowd for support, and Ava saw Cole’s face change like
quicksilver. 
Expression darkening with outraged fury.

“What the hell
does a punk like you even know about fighting and dying for a cause?” 
Cole roared.  “Because my sister
died
in this fucking war just so
you have
the RIGHT
to put your bullshit artwork up on a wall and say
whatever the hell you want about it.”

The harshness
left Ava gasping. 

“It’s no lie,
Thomas.  Ava and I are to be married before the ship sails.”

“My god, Ava…
you… you said yes?”

“Thomas, I’m so
sorry...”

Ava
staggered.  She felt like she was underwater, the vision of the two men in
the gallery coming to her through a haze of blue, colours muting.

“You dumb
shit...” Kip cursed, his body compressing slightly, ready to fight.  Her
hand rose to her mouth.  Cole was going to throw a punch, she knew
it. 

Chim stepped
directly between the two men, his hands coming up.

“Please know
that I still think of you with the utmost respect and admiration...”

“Relax, guys,”
Marcus ordered.  His words were calm though his face was furious. “This is
not
the time or the place… both of you!” 

Chim caught
Ava’s terrified eyes as she made it to the edge of the crowd.  He headed
toward Cole, his back turned on Kip, blocking him.

“Time to go,
buddy,” Marcus repeated coldly.  “Walk away, Cole.
  NOW!”

Cole let out a
blast of swearing.  He stormed past Ava, kicking open the door with a bang
and heading out onto the street.  The gallery exploded into excited
chatter, a number of people rushing up to Kip Chambers, trying to get his side
of the story.  This had been entertainment for them, Ava realized in
dismay, but what she’d seen with Cole worried her.  The feeling of her
dreams swirled in the room.

“I needed to
make a choice… It wasn’t fair to either of you to leave things uncertain...”

She pressed her
eyes closed, tears prickling behind her lids, just as Marcus made it to her
side.  She blinked rapidly, fighting the sinking sensation of being
dragged into a waking dream. 

“I’m so very
sorry, Thomas.  I never meant to hurt you.  Please try and understand
that I—”

Marcus put his
arm around her shoulders.  Ava glanced up, confused with her surroundings. 
The haze of alcohol and marijuana was still swirling around her; she felt like
she might be sick.

“You okay?”

She nodded
mutely and Chim tightened his hand on her arm.  He led her away from the
crowd before anyone started asking questions.  She rubbed her hands over
her face, forcing her composure down in place, like a suit of armour. 
She’d had plenty of practise pretending as she grew up, and tonight she was
going to use that skill.  Ava gave the people they passed a tight smile,
waiting until they got through the crowd to ask the question that was pushing
for release.

“What just
happened?” she whispered.  She’d never seen Cole so angry before. 
Chim sighed, his back to the crowd.

“I’m not talking
about it here.  Fucking vultures,” he sneered.  He added in a quieter
voice.  “You need to give Cole some time to calm down before you go
looking for him, Ava.  He’s going to be in a hell of a mood after this.”

She knew it was
good advice (whether she chose to follow it or not).  Marcus had spent the
last few years protesting the war, but he also knew his facts.  She slid
on her jacket, heading out at Chim’s side.  Under a streetlamp, he told
Ava a condensed version of events that led to tonight’s confrontation.  A
slow-motion series of snapshots flashed through Ava’s mind. She remembered the
headlines when she was in junior high school.  Bits of war footage. 
Things she’d seen on television reappearing, now saturated with deeper
meaning. 

Connections...

She’d been front
page news when she’d died: an eighteen-year-old hometown girl, daughter of a
high-ranking vet.  The young woman was the youngest female officer to die
up to that point: Hanna Thomas, barely out of high school, killed in action in
her very first mission overseas.  

‘That girl in
the headlines,’
Ava
realized in horror,
‘was Cole’s sister.’

Cole wasn’t
answering his cell phone, and Ava was in no condition to drive.  It was
too cold to walk, a Saturday night to boot, so she ended up taking a cab home,
alone and miserable.

Two hours later,
he called.

“Where’d you
go?” she asked.

There was a
pause.

“I needed to
blow off some steam,” Cole muttered, refusing to explain further.  He
sounded empty and hollow.  “Sorry, Ava… I just couldn’t be there.”

She could hear
him breathing hard as if trying to control himself.  Her fingers tightened
around the receiver.

“Chim told me
what happened to your sister,” she said quietly.  “I’m sorry.  I
didn’t realize...”  Her words trickled away to nothing, unsure what else to
say.

“Yeah.” 

There was an
emptiness to the sound which Ava recognized.  She knew that part of
herself… the anger so deep it could only come out in destruction.  ‘
Broken...’ 

“You can’t let
it destroy you,” she said, recognizing the words as her father’s.  It
unnerved her.  “Kip’s just…
Kip.
  You know?  Some artists
are like that,” she added, “they just want to blow shit up.  Cause a
reaction… nothing more.”

“Are
you
like that?”  he asked, the words sharp and biting.  (For a heartbeat
she could
remember
standing between them, though in truth, it had been
Chim tonight.)

Ava frowned,
closing her eyes and imagining Cole sitting next to her.  There was the
answer she knew she
should
give him.  The easy one.  She opted
for the second one instead. 
The truth
.

 “I used to
be,” she admitted

“Huh.”  The
sound was bitter and cold.

“Cole,” Ava said
quietly.  “I want you to come by… I can’t… I can’t do this on the phone
and I need to see you.”

There was a long
pause.

“Not sure that’s
a good idea right now.”

Each of his
words was hard, syllables pinched off and small.  It left Ava feeling like
more than just tonight was being destroyed.

“Why?” she
asked, the single word tight with pain.

He let out a
whistling sigh.  It was the sound of someone with too much to manage… and
no way to do it.

“Because I’m in
a bad fucking mood tonight, Ava.  If I come over, I’m not going to be able
to…
to stop…
and step back and just leave you again.”  His voice
darkened with the promise of
more
.  “I’d be staying the night.”

Ava could feel
things sliding toward the edge of a steep precipice.  For a moment she
flashed again to the memory – something she’d dreamed once, long ago – of
making a choice: ‘
The wrong one...’

“So you stay,”
she answered in a shaky voice.

: : : : : : : :
: :

Cole stood
outside the door, listening to Ava undoing the lock on the other side.  He
knew, without a doubt, that he shouldn’t be here tonight.  Things were too
raw inside… and that asshole Chambers and his bullshit anti-war painting had
put him in the kind of mood he usually had to just work his way out of. 
He was glad that the sculpture he’d just finished was already at the gallery,
because he knew for a
fact
that otherwise he’d be down in his studio
beating it to pieces.  Destroying any semblance of beauty out of the
stone.

He was in
that
kind of mood.

For a second,
Cole reconsidered being here.  He didn’t want to freak Ava out… and she
was always jittery as hell when he got intense. He thought about walking away,
but then the door opened and Ava was on the other side.

There was no
choice anymore.

She was
beautiful.  Her upper eyelids were lined in black like the night of the
earlier opening this year, making her look exotic and sexy.  She wore a
black dress and a silver necklace, but she had bare feet.  She smiled, and
Cole felt himself tugged forward, a marionette dancing on her strings.  He
needed to touch her. 

“You okay?” she
asked, her eyes worried.  Cole stepped inside, locking the door behind
him.  He wanted to bury himself in her and never come out. 

“No, I’m not.”

He reached out
to touch her face, but she caught hold of his hand before it could reach its
destination.

“Oh my god,” she
said in horror, catching sight of his knuckles.  They were torn to shreds,
ripped and bleeding.  Cole glanced at them absently, as if only just
discovering them.

“What happened?”
she asked in distress.

Cole shrugged,
not sure how to explain how sometimes the darkness was so black that he had to
hurt himself and others to let it out.  Had to give himself physical pain
to focus on instead.  He glanced up to see her staring at him in alarm,
the lines on her face tight.

“Got in a
fight,” he answered dully.  (There was always a fight to be had if you
knew where to look.  A Saturday night and alcohol just made it that much
easier.)

There was an
awkward silence, and Cole wondered if she was going to ask him to leave. 
(And what he’d do if she did.)

“C’mon,” she
said shakily.  “We’ve got to clean those up.”

She led him up
the stairs, her fingers around his wrist, mindful of the broken mess of his
knuckles.  Reaching the bathroom, she sat him on the side of the tub,
swabbing his broken skin with alcohol.

“Sorry,” she
muttered, but Cole didn’t flinch or answer. 

He was strung
out.  Numbed.  Even the burning of alcohol on his raw flesh didn’t
hurt.  He couldn’t feel
anything
anymore.  Cole watched her
work in silence.  She wrapped his knuckles in bandages, then put the
supplies away in the mirrored cupboard.  She turned back around, arms
wrapped around her waist.

“Thanks,” he murmured
tiredly.

Ava’s face was
doing that thing again, flickering like rippling water, moving one way and then
the next.  For a moment he thought she was going to bolt –
expected it
actually
– but then she stepped forward, putting her hands on his shoulders
and pressing herself against him like she’d done at the studio.

That broke what
little control he had.

In half a second
he was on his feet, pulling her roughly into his arms in the cramped bathroom,
his mouth slanting against hers, hard and needful.  She gasped, opening
her lips under the onslaught.  Cole noticed – in some half-removed part of
his mind – that she wrapping her arms
around him
, not pulling away, her
body trying to keep up with him.  He tasted her deeply, tongue plunging
into her mouth.  His teeth nipping lightly at her bottom lip.  She
moaned and his fingers tightened around her back and shoulders.