Caustic vapors ripped through my nose, waking me from somewhere between sleep and consciousness. My head felt like it was floating. I could barely look down at my body, but I was upright, no longer in Desirae's shirt and shorts, but in a silky mauve plunging gown, zip tied to some kind of welded steel armature. Creamy white flowers wrapped in protective plastic laid at my feet. The last thing I remembered was Artie's hand against my cheek.

As my peripheral vision unblurred, I found her sitting on the edge of the chaise, her back rigid. Cora's voice entered my head, but I couldn't turn to see her.

"I covered for you, Artie. Every time you screwed up, I was there covering for you. When you got kicked out of school, when your husband caught you with that hooker, when Gabriel died—"

"That was not my fault."

"You paid him. What did you think he was going to do with the money? He was a junkie. And your husband just let him overdose in the courtyard." Cora walked over to her, wearing some kind of work jumpsuit, blonde hair tied back. She pointed at Artie with something slim and metal. "I gave you the idea for the body bank to get rid of Gabriel which conveniently helped your father as well. I helped you set up Landon. I helped you fake your death so you could escape. I did all of this for you. And you left me."

"This—these bodies, they were never part of the plan. We were setting Landon up for my father's bodies, for the body bank." Artie looked down at the sofa, holding up a photograph. "Miles was my friend."

"Did Miles tell you they fucked Kirby right before your visit?"

Artie's eyes met mine. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead looked back down at the photographs that I could only assume were sick trophy images of Cora's work. She shook her head.

"Nothing new there, right?" Cora laughed. Her thumb tapped at the end of whatever was in her hand. "They were always fucking behind your back. But I took care of it for you just like I always did before. This time permanently."

Artie briefly looked my way again before turning back to Cora. "What did it feel like?"

The corner of Cora's lips turned up as she held out the metal instrument to Artie. A scalpel. My heart began to pick up. Its beats lumped and jumped to my throat. I managed to twist my head some, enough to see my right hand. The tips of my fingers wiggled. But I froze as Artie took the scalpel from her and looked my way again.

She walked with Cora over to me where I stood fastened to the welded frame in the middle of our living room. She raised the blade to my chest and I slowed my breathing the best I could. My palms dampened with sweat. I couldn't read her face. As the tip of the scalpel slid down to the dip below my sternum, I sucked in a sharp breath. Cora was too fixed on Artie to notice, but Artie's eyes flicked up to mine again.

She abruptly pulled back. "I need a cigarette."

As she tried to walk away with the blade, Cora took it from her hands, turning away from me. "When did you start smoking again?"

"Right now."

Artie went over to the bookcase to check a carved wooden box that once stashed our party favors, but tossed it back to the shelf. She spotted my tote on top and rifled through it, finding Carl's pack of Luckies he'd pawned off on me.

As discreetly as I could, I tested my range of movement while Cora had her back turned. My arms were coming back. Legs, not so much.

Pressing a cigarette between her lips, Artie flicked the flint of the lighter and took a long drag. She exhaled out the rain streaked window, glancing briefly down to the alley below. Her eyebrow cocked at me and she gave me that disapproving look like when I had moved too much during a painting session.

She jabbed her cigarette in my direction, pointing and gesturing. "It's not right. The lighting? No." Her accent thickened. "She should be downstairs in the studio. In the north window." Exhaling a plume of smoke, she turned towards the alley again. "We can use the elevator."

"If the police come back through the warehouse, we're screwed."

"My father already gave them everything they need on Landon. They're not coming back. That's why I am here. Come, we untie her and drag her to the elevator."

"She's starting to come to. I can see it in her eyes. She might run."

"How?" Artie walked back over to me. "She cannot feel her legs. Look."

Without hesitating, she put the smoldering cherry tip of her cigarette against my bare thigh. Needles of heat scorched my skin, waking my nerves, but I clenched my teeth and held my breath steady. Reaching down, she pulled a budded ivory peony from the plastic and weaved it through the pencil rod steel by my cheek without a care, humming 'Ciuri, ciuri.'

"'L'amuri ca, mi dasti ti lu tornu...'"

She lit the end of her cigarette again and ambled back over to the window. The triple click of the lighter drew my eyes to her hands where she fumbled with the rest of the pack. "Let me finish this and I will help."

Cora continued to look me over as she screwed the cap back onto the can of resin, scalpel still in hand. "I'm glad she's starting to perk up a little. We'll get more of an authentic expression out of her by the end. I won't have to manipulate the skin as much."

Melted plastic drifted with the breeze as I caught Artie tossing the lit pack of cigarettes out the window.

"What is that smell?" Cora asked, turning to her.

"Nun lu sacciu."

Just as Artie shrugged, an explosion erupted from below. Roman candles began to shoot up and out of the alley, banging against the warehouse. Blasts of M-80s and the homemade Cherry Bombs tore through the air. She had managed to hit the bed of Rafael's truck with her little fireball.

"Oh, you stupid cunt," Cora snarled, running towards her and catching hold of her wrist.

As Artie tried to wrestle the scalpel away, the blade caught her forearm and Cora threw her down, taking the tote bag with her. Pastries and the Benin bronzes spilled across the floor. The edges of Cora's broken sculpture stuck out the side of the bag. In the alley, the fireworks died down as quick as they'd started. Just a gray billow of smoke whipped against the storm outside, but maybe it was enough for someone to have noticed.

Cora stepped over the mess and pointed the scalpel in Artie's face. "Get up and tie yourself to the frame or I will make you gut Kirby yourself."

Blood seeped between Artie's fingers as she held tight to her wound. She slid back towards me and stood up, slowly backing up against the welded steel armature in defeat. As she zipped one wrist to the metal frame, Cora watched closely, then did her other hand herself, checking to make sure both were tight.

She stepped back to look at us, arms crossed against her chest, finger tapping her elbow. "This wasn't what I wanted, Artie. But what else am I supposed to do now?" Turning towards the stairs, Cora climbed up to the bedroom loft.

While she was out of the room, I checked all my limbs. My hands and arms were good. Feet and legs, still weak. But we were running out of time.

"I'm sorry, amuri miu."

"It's not over, Artie." I managed to wiggle my pinky finger against her leg. "Are you okay?"

"Just a scratch."

But I could hear the pain in her voice. "Are you able to lift the frame with me?"

The steel base only moved slightly on her end. I had no strength in my legs and Artie couldn't carry us both. My eyes darted around the room for anything we could use. My phone was on the island. All the kitchen knives were in the block near the stove. Cora still had the scalpel. She'd be back any second now. The sharp, broken welds of her shitty sculpture inside the tote were too far away to reach.

Broken welds.

"Artie, break test," I whispered.

"Break test?"

"Like in sculpture class. Her welds won't hold." I explained. "On three, rock as hard as you can in my direction. Ready?"

I felt Artie look up behind me. Cora appeared at the top of the steps with Sunday Mourning in her hands.

"Tri!"

Throwing our weight as hard as we could, we toppled the steel armature over and crashed to the floor as Cora's feet pounded down the steps. My wrists were still bound to a small piece of steel rod, but it broke free. Artie's side hadn't hit hard enough and she laid trapped to the frame yet. I pushed up with all the strength I could find in my legs and scrambled forward. But as soon as I got upright, I fell to the floor, unable to get my legs to cooperate. Pushing up to my elbows, I crawled as fast as I could to the window, but just as I reached the bookcase, Cora dragged me back.

Her knee jammed between my shoulder blades. "Your face was never supposed to be in that painting, Kirby. It was mine. But you had to challenge her."

"Jesus, Cora," I groaned, scrambling, reaching for anything. "Get over it."

"I should've killed you in Ibiza." Her nails dug into my scalp as she lifted my head, scalpel to my throat. "But I am going to enjoy this now."

"Let her go, Cora."

The muzzle of Desirae's gun pointed in our direction as she crouched in the window. Slowly, she stepped onto the bookcase and into the loft. Cora's fingers tightened in my hair. The cold blade pressed to my skin.

"Take another step," Cora warned close to my ear, "and I'll slit her throat."

"Shoot her, Des!"

But my words stung as the tip of the blade dug into my skin. Warm blood trickled down my neck over my chest.

Desirae immediately took her finger off the trigger.

"Lower it," Cora commanded.

"Don't listen to her," I urged, reaching for the bronze cat, but it was too far away. Sharp pain scraped at my throat the more I struggled. My fingertips grazed the canvas straps of the tote.

Desirae slowly lowered her gun.

"Put it on the floor. And back up."

Obeying her demands, Desirae met my eyes before taking a furtive step to the side to place the gun down. Cora instinctually mirrored her, shifting her weight on my back, unaware that she gave me an extra inch. I pulled the tote straps closer. My fingertips met the cold steel base of her broken sculpture.

Just as I felt her turn to see what I was reaching for, I smashed the corner of it into her face, feeling the crack of her skull reverberate through my fingertips.

And the scalpel clinked against the floor.