Chapter 140: 37| Eyes-2

Marshall agreed. "Take your guns and be careful. Both of you. It's a long drive there and back. Stay the night there if you have to." The drive from Manhattan to Albany was a little over two hours, and I dozed off for most of it. Even though I offered to drive, mostly to keep myself awake and to let Dante get some rest, he refused to let me and drove the entire way there. I was gazing out the window when he gave my thigh a squeeze and called me, "Baby." I sat upright. "Hmm?" "We're almost there," he said. Slowing down as we approached the street the house was located on, we carefully observed our surroundings. The pool of dread in the pit of my stomach was growing the closer we got, but it wasn't until Dante stopped the car and my eyes landed on the house that I felt pure nausea kick in. It was the same house we were kept trapped in. The same house we were locked inside of for several weeks, isolated and alone, being tortured. I hadn't seen it since the police came to rescue us and took us back home, and the view of it as we drove away was one that haunted my dreams. "Listen to me," Dante said, pinning me against the car door as he pulled the gun out of my waistband and ensured that it was loaded before placing it in my hand. "You stay behind me at all times, okay?" I turned away from the house and looked at him. "If anything happens, I don't want you to stay there and fight. You'll get out and hide, then call for backup. You're not going to come back." His eyes lifted to mine. "Do you hear me?" Blinking, I stared at him. "Anastasia," he said sharply, "do you understand?" I took a breath. "I understand," I said… but it was a lie. How could I not stay there and fight for him? How could I run and not come back for him? Staying behind him, we walked up the driveway and to the front door, both of us cautious and aware. Both of us took one lap around the perimeter of the house, but it seemed extremely unkempt, unmaintained, and abandoned. I couldn't imagine someone living in this place. Vines were growing on the walls, the front yard held only dead flowers and plants, and not a single light was on inside the house. Rounding back to the front door, Dante rang the doorbell. We waited but got no answer. We rang it once, then twice, but to no avail. "I don't think anyone's in there," I whispered, "let me try the door." Before I could even move toward it, Dante twisted the doorknob open, and the door gave way completely, swinging wide open. His body shielded mine completely as we tiptoed inside, and although my heart was racing, I felt a certain sense of safety with Dante's presence. Not a single sound could be heard. The house was so painfully silent that every breath I took felt like it was disrupting the silence between these walls. Slowly and extremely cautiously, we swept through the entire house and found it completely empty. He wasn't here. We both hesitated as we neared the basement, and Dante stopped to look at me. As nerve-wracking as it felt, this was more important than my discomfort and fear. We had to go down there. "Go," I whispered. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "We don't have a choice," I told him. He still hesitated. "Anastasia-" "Go," I said more sternly, "or I will, Dante. Please." Sighing in frustration, he took the first step and led the way downstairs. From the first step we took downstairs, I knew the basement was empty. The door was splayed wide open with the intoxicating and suffocating smell of paint coating the walls. We lowered our guns upon entering the empty room, and we went utterly still in the doorway. Dante let out a harsh breath and ran a hand through his hair, turning his back on the room while cursing under his breath. On the other hand, I gasped sharply, my eyes scanning the room in shock. The state of the room was disturbing, to say the least. Several canvases were scattered, some discarded on the floor, some propped up on stands. A giant plastic sheet covered the floorboards, preventing them from staining. There were paintings everywhere you looked, in every corner of the room. A few paintings thrown on the floor were of a young boy, an alternate version of himself perhaps, then a few of the same boy but now older. There were several attempts at the same paintings of himself with a dark, gloved hand gripping his jaw, stealing his soul from his lips. Save for those paintings, all the others were of… me. Some were with Dante, some were solely of me, and some were of Ethan and me, which he created from his own twisted imagination. A series of shivers danced down my spine as I took in all the paintings. I could feel his eyes on me even when he wasn't there. Seeing all those paintings of me with Dante and with Ethan, even though we'd only interacted twice… twisted my gut with such discomfort. If I ever imagined the paintings he would make of me, I always imagined them to be gruesome, like the ones on display at the events where bodies were found. But strangely enough, not a single painting of me was tainted with blood or gore. The way he painted was purely elegant, with colors floating above the canvas, blending into each other so seamlessly. Every painting made me out to be some kind of… ghost. The way he painted me was almost translucent, like I was floating through his thoughts as he painted. The work he portrayed gave me the impression that Ethan was a brutal, ruthless, and extremely disturbed person. But the way he painted for himself, when he wasn't painting for a crowd, making a statement or putting on a show… Then the way he painted was so… angelic. "Anastasia," Dante said, taking my hand. "We should get out of here." "Yeah," I agreed, taking one last look around the room. It only left me more puzzled. What could his motive possibly be? Was it as simple as avenging his father? Or was he just after us? After me? "We should go," I breathed out. . . . . . Chapter 37