"By you? Go on and try it." I throw my arms wide. "Rip me to pieces."
He stares at me for several seconds, breathing hard, his teeth bared. Then he whirls away from me. "Get moving. We need to find that bloody painting and hope Sefton is there or that he at least left you another note."
Naturally, he speaks those words in a vicious tone like the beast he is.
With only the light of Dax's lantern to guide us, I lead the way as we navigate around the debris and hop over artworks that have fallen onto the floor. Maybe it's a dumb reaction, but I can't help feeling a little sad when I see those beautiful works of art strewn across the floor, damaged and abandoned. I'd visited this museum more times than I can count, and coming here had always given me a sense of peace. Now, it's a war zone.
I almost walk past the painting I'm looking for, but then Dax raises his lantern, dispelling the shadows—and the picture we've been searching for comes into view. I stop six feet away from it, entranced as always by the stark beauty of the image. It's a not a scene of war, though. The painting evokes the perils of the sea while a storm rages around a jetty and a beacon meant to guide ships to port. Two men struggle to aid a boat as its occupants make way for the harbor. The drama and starkness of the imagery has always fascinated me.
"This is it?" Dax says. "The painting you love is of a storm at sea?"
"Yes."
"And you told Sefton about this painting."
"That's right. But I don't see him anywhere around here. Do you?"
Dax peers into the shadows at the edges of the room where the lantern's light peters out. "We should wait here for a while to see if he shows up."
"How long do you plan on waiting?"
"Overnight." He glances at the collapsed ceiling, then scans his gaze over the room again. "If Sefton hasn't turned up by morning, we will move on."
"To where, exactly? If Sefton is still in town, he could be anywhere. Assuming those monsters haven't killed him."
Dax grunts. "They won't. He created them."
"It's time you explained yourself. Tell me how you know so much about Sefton, how you know he created the Echo, and what the hell all these creatures are that apparently came out of the other world." I round on him, stabbing a finger into his chest. "Cough up some answers. No more sidestepping."
"What gives you the idea that you have leverage to make me do anything?" He leans in to glare into my eyes. "I have the power, not you. When and if I feel like explaining myself, I'll tell you."
He's wrong. I have leverage, because he believes he can't find Sefton without me. So I lift my chin and march past the jackass.
Dax grabs my arm. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To the cafe." I shake off his hand. "There might be edible food there, and what you've got in your backpack won't last long. Might as well gobble up whatever's available here."
He squints at me.
I start walking.
The clomping of footsteps behind me lets me know Dax is following. I'm getting damn sick of his behavior, and if he tries to grab me again, I'll sink my teeth into his nose.
In the cafe, we find both food that still seems edible and paper bags to store it in, so we gather as much of the food as we can. We put the bags in a plastic tub we discover in the kitchen. This part of the building suffered minimal damage, but it's getting awfully warm in here thanks to no central air and the Texas summer heat.
Dax takes us back to the South Gallery, where the painting we came to see resides. He thought Sefton would leave a clue for me here, but we found nothing.
On our way back to the gallery, Dax ripped the cushions off a pair of benches and hauled them in here, carrying both under one arm. Each cushion is as long as I am tall. Yeah, the jerk is very strong. He lays the cushions down on the floor after clearing an area, creating a space where we can sleep in relative comfort. A breeze wafts down to us through the hole in the ceiling and makes this room a lot more tolerable, temperature-wise, than the cafe had been.
Maybe I should appreciate the fact he tried to make our sleeping spot comfortable. I can't feel gratitude, though, not for the man who abducted me. Besides, he positioned his makeshift bed in front of mine, essentially trapping me against the wall. I promised him I wouldn't run away as long as he stopped threatening to dismember me, but he clearly doesn't believe I'll stick to my oath. Somehow, I manage to fall asleep. After a day of trudging back and forth across the city, I'm exhausted. But still, it seems like a miracle that I can get any rest when I hear unearthly screams and roars reverberating through the night outside our little sanctuary.
In the morning, Dax announces we need to get moving again. When I ask where he thinks we're going, he just grunts and orders me to move my "arse." We find our borrowed car again, and of course, he insists on driving. I've decided to think of this vehicle as borrowed rather than stolen since the person who owns it is probably dead. The thought gives me a shiver.
Dax has no idea where he's going, but he drives like he has a plan, his gaze fixated on the road and his jaw tight. He makes turn after turn, his choices clearly random. But I've given up on trying to convince him to let me take the wheel. Every time I suggested it, he snarled one sexist statement or another, all related to the idea women are too silly and stupid to be trusted to drive.
I can't believe I kissed the jackass. Can't believe I had a dirty dream about him last night either. Maybe he is hot, in a scruffy caveman way, but I will never do the things I fantasized about in my dreams.
When he turns onto River Drive, I can't stop myself. I need to speak up. "Do you have any idea where you're going?"