Read Online Indelible by Kristen Heitzmann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristen Heitzmann
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creasing her brow as she slid the cloth off a cone-shaped mound on the huge Corian table. A mountain clogged with faces.
He stared. It was like seeing the event again, even the smallest faces reflecting the vibrant evening. Then he realized the most prominently represented were Jaz, Kirstin, and he, the expressions anything but vibrant.
He circled the piece. “There’s Whit and Sara, Tia, the chief, the mayor.” He shook his head. “They were all in there, clamoring to get out?”
“A silent cacophony.”
It was like seeing her soul. “Your wolves and waterfalls are great. But this is … something else altogether.” Prodigious. He returned to his aspect. “Is that how you see me?”
“It was last night.”
“I didn’t mean to be so hard.”
“It was one night.”
He looked at the cloth-covered pieces on the deep wooden shelves. “More?”
She nodded.
“Can I?” He removed the cover from a stunning bust of Sara holding Braden. A present-day Madonna. “These are not only accurate, they’re insightful. Like you see inside.”
“It’s microexpressions.”
He nodded toward a man-sized statue in the corner. “And that one?”
She hesitated, then walked over to it. “It’s the first one I did here. The night Cody was attacked.” She removed the cover.
He could hardly move.
Natalie felt the shaking begin as Trevor stared at the unfired statue.
His body stiffened. “You only saw me once.”
“The image you left was very strong.” Hands pressed to her back, she paced in short quick steps. “If what I capture is emotionally static, it fades. If not, it leaves an indelible imprint—until I transfer it to the clay.”
“That makes you forget?”
“I don’t see it anymore.”
He frowned. “Show me tonight.”
She startled. “You mean you?”
“Show me what you saw. In the spa.” When she shook her head, he took her hand. “I saw you do it—the capture thing. Don’t you need to get it out?”
She lied with another shake of her head.
“Yes, you do.”
Closing her eyes, she jerked her hand free, pulled a mound of clay from the slop bucket onto the wedging surface, then pressed and rolled in a triangular motion until the excess moisture and air bubbles had been expelled. Taking a moment to calm herself, she started in. The aspect formed on the clay, an intense, sensual, haunted man.
She didn’t know why or what she’d seen. She only copied what showed in his face. Finally, chin to her chest, she stepped back.
He rasped, “It’s all there.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared at the sculpture again, then walked out.
Trembling, Natalie covered it. She’d tried to tell him, but he had forced entrance to the freak show. She washed up, locked the gallery, and went home.
His pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equaled the Most High.
T he sign said OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS , in recognition of people for whom day and night were indistinguishable. He went inside, aware that the bulbous mirrors in the corners were in fact surveillance cameras. He had no intention of robbing the store. He would not plunder, not even pilfer.
The woman at the register dug something out from under a nail, too bored to notice him unless he brought something to be paid for. He wouldn’t. He moved to the end where the photo printing machines explained their operation. He read every step, removed the part from the camera that went into the machine, pressed the correct buttons on the screen, inserted the credit card, and waited.
A sigh of relief. The card had not yet been missed, one among so many, and of a lesser pedigree than those he’d left in the wallet, replaced exactly as he’d found it. Having been instructed and duly paid, the machine disgorged the photograph, taken at the moment Leviathan surfaced, inspiring maximum decibels from the star of the first act.
A tremor ran through
He stared. It was like seeing the event again, even the smallest faces reflecting the vibrant evening. Then he realized the most prominently represented were Jaz, Kirstin, and he, the expressions anything but vibrant.
He circled the piece. “There’s Whit and Sara, Tia, the chief, the mayor.” He shook his head. “They were all in there, clamoring to get out?”
“A silent cacophony.”
It was like seeing her soul. “Your wolves and waterfalls are great. But this is … something else altogether.” Prodigious. He returned to his aspect. “Is that how you see me?”
“It was last night.”
“I didn’t mean to be so hard.”
“It was one night.”
He looked at the cloth-covered pieces on the deep wooden shelves. “More?”
She nodded.
“Can I?” He removed the cover from a stunning bust of Sara holding Braden. A present-day Madonna. “These are not only accurate, they’re insightful. Like you see inside.”
“It’s microexpressions.”
He nodded toward a man-sized statue in the corner. “And that one?”
She hesitated, then walked over to it. “It’s the first one I did here. The night Cody was attacked.” She removed the cover.
He could hardly move.
Natalie felt the shaking begin as Trevor stared at the unfired statue.
His body stiffened. “You only saw me once.”
“The image you left was very strong.” Hands pressed to her back, she paced in short quick steps. “If what I capture is emotionally static, it fades. If not, it leaves an indelible imprint—until I transfer it to the clay.”
“That makes you forget?”
“I don’t see it anymore.”
He frowned. “Show me tonight.”
She startled. “You mean you?”
“Show me what you saw. In the spa.” When she shook her head, he took her hand. “I saw you do it—the capture thing. Don’t you need to get it out?”
She lied with another shake of her head.
“Yes, you do.”
Closing her eyes, she jerked her hand free, pulled a mound of clay from the slop bucket onto the wedging surface, then pressed and rolled in a triangular motion until the excess moisture and air bubbles had been expelled. Taking a moment to calm herself, she started in. The aspect formed on the clay, an intense, sensual, haunted man.
She didn’t know why or what she’d seen. She only copied what showed in his face. Finally, chin to her chest, she stepped back.
He rasped, “It’s all there.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared at the sculpture again, then walked out.
Trembling, Natalie covered it. She’d tried to tell him, but he had forced entrance to the freak show. She washed up, locked the gallery, and went home.
His pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equaled the Most High.
T he sign said OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS , in recognition of people for whom day and night were indistinguishable. He went inside, aware that the bulbous mirrors in the corners were in fact surveillance cameras. He had no intention of robbing the store. He would not plunder, not even pilfer.
The woman at the register dug something out from under a nail, too bored to notice him unless he brought something to be paid for. He wouldn’t. He moved to the end where the photo printing machines explained their operation. He read every step, removed the part from the camera that went into the machine, pressed the correct buttons on the screen, inserted the credit card, and waited.
A sigh of relief. The card had not yet been missed, one among so many, and of a lesser pedigree than those he’d left in the wallet, replaced exactly as he’d found it. Having been instructed and duly paid, the machine disgorged the photograph, taken at the moment Leviathan surfaced, inspiring maximum decibels from the star of the first act.
A tremor ran through
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