Rafael tossed the photos at me. Memories with Artemisia slapped against my chest and floated to the ground. The thick ridge of his hardened brow shadowed his eyes beneath the waning sun. His jaw clenched and squared off. I'd never noticed how much he looked like his father. I'd never seen him so angry.

"Raf, I—"

"You were with her the whole fucking time? All of last year, yes?"

"Most of it, but—"

"Why?" he snapped. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?"

"She wouldn't let me. She wouldn't let me reach out to anyone, Raf." Hot tears welled up along my eyes. I tried to rub their burn away, but they slipped past my fingers to streak my cheeks. "At first, I didn't care. I was free and I was with her and she was happy. I'd never seen her so happy. But she got worse each time she'd have to fly back home."

"Why?" His voice splintered, demanding a better answer, one I still didn't have the courage to tell him.

"She was off her meds. You know how bad she could get."

"Why?"

A sob rattled in the back of my throat. "I didn't want to get blamed for her death."

His anger twisted his lips into a cruel smile. "So fucking selfish. Just like her. Did you tell my father the truth?"

"I told him what he needed to know."

"Vigliacchetta."

I deserved his digs, but I had to push past them. So much still wasn't making sense. "Where were you last night?" I managed to choke out.

He laughed. "You, asking me where I was? After you've been lying to me about where you've been this past year? No. You don't get to ask me that."

"I don't expect you to forgive me. And you can blame me all you want, I certainly deserve it. But something's going on, Raf. I have a bad feeling." I wiped at my tears again and pushed down the sobs to steady my voice. "I need you to come with me. To see Miles."

"Oh, of course you do. You always need something, Kirby. What, did you fuck them over too? They found out about your cop girlfriend?"

"You know about Desirae?" As quickly as suspicion flooded me, it left just the same. He was angry with me now, yes, but he wasn't sick enough to mess around with dead bodies. Or so I kept telling myself.

"You made this mess and you can deal with it. I am done helping you. Rot in prison with your 'bad feelings' and your guilt or run and hide like you're best at. Take the truck, take Pitruzza even, I don't care. But you need to leave. I do not want you here, on my dock, in my town." He began walking away along the cement barrels towards the dockhouse, but then turned. "By the way, the painting of you with Artemisia? It's not Sunday Morning. It's mourning. Lutto. Sunday Mourning. She knew from the beginning you'd be the death of her."

I couldn't stand to look at him any longer. My eyes fell to my feet, finding Artie's blues in the photograph. Rafael's shoes cracked against the sand and gravel, same gait as his father.

I should've told him the truth from the beginning. Or literally anytime between the last year. My fingers balled into a fist as my wrist bounced hard against my side. I never wanted him to find out like this.

And he still didn't know the worst part of it.

I had been selfish. I had been a coward. I let myself become that person because of her. And I still was. Her toxic waves ate away at me, eroding the dignity I always struggled to maintain. I kicked at the lustful eyes staring up at me, scraping her smile with the bottom of my heel. The photos scattered along the barrels.

"Fuck you, Artie," I whispered, cranking open the door to the truck.

The shine of the evening sun slipped behind dense gray clouds in the west, already darkening the marina as I drove along the narrow road. I followed the edge of the bay, merging back into the lower east side, then took a right on the high street to pass the warehouse we once lived in. Her studio. Where it had all started with Artemisia. But she was the last person I wanted to think about right now. I wished I could just leave her in the past, dead. She needed to be buried in more ways than one.

My toe pressed heavy on the gas pedal and I went the couple blocks south to the front side of the museum.

The second painting from the right just showed cropped pale green and lavender legs entangled in the benthos of pond tendrils and roots. Gabriel's painting too hung cropped along the banner between the first two Greek columns.

Dregs of dread stirred in my stomach as my eyes settled on the painting next to Gabriel's flayed torso. Miles still hadn't texted me back. I tried to call them again without an answer. Pink mandevilla vines bloomed against the muscles in their chest, their arm hung at their waist with red dripping from their two middle fingers. A mashed, rotten pomegranate at their feet.

I slammed my foot on the gas, leaving the museum behind to race a dozen yellow traffic lights along the high street until I reached the highway's underpass that opened into an empty country road. Houses became few and far between. Green fields and hazy blue hills rose up to the darkening overcast sky. Breaking through the static hum of a distant radio station, the raspy voice of Stevie Nicks faded in and out, mocking me with the lyrics of Gold Dust Woman.

Time slipped away from me and before I knew it, I was pulling into the long gravel driveway of the Shirazi Nursery. I parked in front of the domed greenhouse tents where we had this morning and hurried down out of the truck. The handpainted sign in the window was now flipped to CLOSED, the doors to all the tents were shut.

A new Chevy truck sat parked alongside the back of the farmhouse. Miles had to be home. As I rounded the corner of the deck, down farther in the field, amber light outlined the edges of leaves inside the Victorian greenhouse.

Blooming thistle and tall grass scratched and tore at my skin. There had been a path somewhere, but I didn't stop to find it. Nearing the glass panels, I noticed some of the windows were vented open despite the brisk air. I tried to look past the foliage inside, but a hand caught my arm.

"Kirby, wait."

I came nose to nose with Desirae as I spun around. "Jesus, did you put a tracker on me or something?"

"Damn straight, I did."

Don't trust her. Miles' warning echoed in my head.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

"I don't really do clingy," I mumbled, pulling out of her grip.

"Both the paintings of Gabriel and the sex worker in the pond were advertised on the banners."

"So was Miles—you know, one of your suspects?"

"And so were you."

"One of your suspects?" I laughed, not really surprised.

"No, a target."

Any snarky retort I had died on my tongue. Dread continued to slither up my spine. The hair on my arms bristled with goosebumps. Desirae's lips continued to move, but I had to force myself to comprehend what she was saying.

"...Greg is tracking down Cora."

"Wait—Cora?"

"She's in the other painting with Rafael."

I turned towards the glass door, not wanting to waste another second. "We need to tell Miles what's going on." No argument came from Desirae. Not that I cared either way.

I stumbled over a stack of empty, plastic, planting pots, kicking them off to the side as I hurried to the door. But it had been left ajar. Humid heat escaped through its crack, licking my cold fingers. Something fragrant wafted past, something sweet, but bitter. Desirae caught my wrist again before I could grab the glass door. She wedged her foot between it.

"Kirby, wait out here."

I let her slip through first, but like hell would I listen.

As soon as she stepped inside, I pushed in past her. "Miles?"

Palm fronds rose up all around, enclosing the space. My heart hammered in my chest, my throat, my ears. Air burned my lungs with each breath. I was already in the center of the greenhouse before I realized why my nose was stinging. Caustic vapors filled the hot house. Oil paint. Turpentine.

Resin.

"Kirby, stop."

Dizziness tugged and blurred my mind as I stepped around the wooden hand carved screen. What I was seeing wasn't registering. I rubbed my eyes until I saw white hot stars, but when I opened them, the scene hadn't changed. Where the first painting of the Eden series had been over the daybed, Miles now hung before me.

Stripped down to their bare skin, they held their hands out. Red stained their palms, their fingertips. Like in the painting, blooming vines wrapped their body, entangled with their hair, new green shoots sprouted from their veins. Head downturned, eyes closed. Desirae tried to pull me back, to shield me from view, but I ripped free from her again. Her voice calling to me was just noise in the silence. I couldn't tear my eyes away, horrified and engrossed; the grotesque drawing me closer.

Beads of dried blood threaded around Miles' wrists like prayer beads. Fine fishing line had been sewn and strung through their tendons then attached to the greenhouse arches above to keep their arms out. A steel armature disguised by the green foliage of the plants supported their body. Artemisia's tattooed signature claimed their ankle, just like my own.

With Miles being upright, blood beneath their skin pooled along their elbows, their feet as well, draining the rest of them to an achromatic lavender, devoid of any sign of life. A rotten pomegranate bled out on the floor. Beneath it, the scalloped lace of my underwear outlined the fruit.

A guttural wheeze rattled through Miles, startling me backwards into Desirae. The fog in my head immediately cleared. As I lunged towards the bed to try to pull them down, Desirae fully restrained me.

"Let go!" I demanded, fighting to free myself. "They're still alive, I heard them breathe."

"Kirby, stop!" Spinning me around, Desirae pulled me against her chest while I continued to wrestle away from her. "It was air leaving their lungs, Kirby. I'm sorry." Her voice softened, along with her grip and my arms went weak against our sides. My face was wet with either tears or sweat as I finally looked her in the eyes. "Stay here," she ordered with a whisper. Carefully, she walked around the edge of the bed to reach up to touch the middle of Miles' torso, but turned back to me to shake her head. "We're about an hour too late, I'd guess."

Legs numb, my knees went weak and Desirae rushed back to my side. I could feel her hands around my waist, but it didn't feel like mine. The fog grew thicker in my head, but I just tried to focus on her fingers against my ribs. Breathe.

"You got here a couple minutes before me," Desirae stated. "Did you see anyone else here? Anyone leaving? Miles said they had a meeting with a client."

My head still didn't want to function. My lips wouldn't move. My teeth chattered.

"Kirby, I think you're in shock. And with the fumes, we—"

"I'm not leaving them," my voice rattled and cracked. "Not again."

Desirae nodded with a solemn understanding, curling a lock of hair around my ear. "Okay."