Truth or Lies? by A. Gomez (books to get back into reading TXT) 📕

this is Betty Lou. It’s very nice to meet you.” I shifted on my feet awkwardly. She waved at Betty but Betty didn’t come out from behind me; she gave Lilly a shy wave back. “I’m sorry we woke you. And I’m sorry you had to witness that. It’s something no one should ever have to see,” I offered.

“It’s okay, I hated him and I always wanted to do it but I didn’t know how or if I even could. I’m glad you did.” She nodded her head, wiping away a tear. Did she feel relief now that he was gone for good and couldn’t hurt her anymore? My heart ached for her and all I wanted to do was hug her.

“Well, I’m glad Gator Leg is gone too. That’s one less evil man roaming the Earth.”

“Gator Leg?” she cocked her head to one side, looking puzzled.

“Oh, yeah, I nicknamed him Gator Leg because he reminded me of an alligator walking when he walked.”

Both girls began to giggle softly.

“I heard Mr. Chang wants you downstairs with him.” Lilly was trying to stop giggling. “If you want, I can take care of Betty Lou while you go meet with him. Miss Debbie brought in some milk and cookies to the room. We can eat that while we wait for you.” She gazed at Betty Lou. “Don’t worry, Isabel Grace just killed the meanest man that comes through here so no one else will bother us tonight.”

Betty Lou looked up at me and her angelic face was fraught with fear. I gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s okay. Remember what I said about praying. Plus, I think Lilly will take good care of you. I’ll try my best to hurry him along.”

“You better go. You really don’t want to keep him waiting. It could be bad for not just you but Betty Lou too, if he gets angry.”

Her words stabbed me like a dagger. I believed her. The man was a textbook sociopath and was capable of anything. “Thank you, Lilly.” I tried to keep my composure calm and reassuring for Betty Lou’s sake. I didn’t know Lilly, so therefore I really didn’t trust her but I had no other choice.

I took a deep breath, put my shoes on and headed downstairs, trying to remember my way to the living room, or rather to where the Picasso hung. Hopefully, Debbie would be there to direct me. If not, that would be my starting point and from there I would try and find my way to the dining room. How hard could it be? I would just need to look for a room with a dining room table.

My hands were shaking from fear and tension. What was Chang going to do with me or to me? What would happen to Betty Lou if he killed me? I had killed one of his men and shot another. My imagination went wild. I shook it off and told myself to just survive until Josh could get here. I made my way down the less elaborate set of stairs. I found myself in the kitchen with no sign of Debbie. I walked toward where I thought the Picasso was and found myself in another living room with another Picasso. This one from his blue period, I believed. I gasped softly, impressed by its beauty and how magnificent it was. Replica or not, it was very impressive. I stood from afar, admiring it. Cocking my head from side to side, wondering how or who inspired Picasso to paint this piece.

“It is called Lady at Eden Concert,” Victor Chang startled me from behind. I spun, taking a step back away from him. “It is one of Picasso’s more famous pieces from his blue period.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Yes, I think so as well. She looks so lovely and yet so melancholy. He is one of my favorite artists. I wonder what he was feeling and thinking when he was painting this.”

“He was melancholy himself,” I offered. “His blue period was when his friend, the poet… um… Carlos Casagemas, I think was his name, committed suicide. Of course, other factors influenced his blue period as well, not just his friend’s suicide. At the time he was struggling to sell his paintings and was living in poverty, so this could have been a factor as well.” I paused, then added, “It’s a very impressive replica.”

“Ha, ha,” he laughed. “I do not acquire replicas, Dr. Langley. I can assure you.” His tone had a ring of irritation. Was he insulted?

“Uh, so the Georges Seurat upstairs, the one at the top of the stairs going up from the kitchen, you’re telling me that’s the original?” I asked, incredulously.

“It is and let’s just say, the one that is in the museum may or may not be a flawless copy,” he said with a grin. “Shall we go to the dining room?” he asked as if I were his guest here and not a prisoner that was kidnapped and scared beyond belief I might get raped.

 

29

We walked silently to a very elegant room with a long, elegant dining table. It looked like it could seat around fifteen people. I idly wondered if that was how many girls he had prisoner here. Like a perfect gentleman, he pulled out my chair for me. I briefly frowned at him and then sat down. He sat down next to me. A very fragrant drink was already sitting in front of us, waiting for us to drink. Right above our drinks was a small plate of assorted petit fours. They looked enticing.

“Dr. Langley, I am impressed that you know your art. I have many pieces here that we could possibly have long discussions on.” He took a sip of his drink. “Including a few sculptures.”

“My mother’s family is very big on the arts. I have