Ovenshine

33.

Indy stands looking at a painting and the hubbub of the student center around her disappears, melds into mere background noise.

She recognizes the face—the dark eyes fringed by long lashes, the set of the jaw are all undeniably Percy Mitchell's—though there's something captured in the oil paint, something etched into his expression that is more than the face she sees daily. He looks strong, she thinks, the sort of strength that doesn't come from never being weak, but from weakness itself.

"I keep telling Gatz they fucked up my ears," Percy says, and Indy turns to find him standing at her shoulder, a paper plate brimming with goodies from the snack table balanced on his palm. "I look like an elephant. Do they really stick out that much?"

Indy's response is silence.

"Wow," gasps Percy. "And to think I was about to offer you a cookie."

"Your eyes are quite striking though," Indy says then. "And the hair. Every coil's perfect, did you notice that?"

Percy lets out a pleased scoff. He holds the plate out in her direction. "The snickerdoodles are the best."

Indy takes a snickerdoodle, turning, her eyes scanning the room. The basement of the student center has effectively transformed into an art gallery, the walls adorned every few inches with student art: splatter on canvas, brushes arced across bedsheets, cubist renditions of African myths. Attendees chatter and gather around sculptures. Classical Greek, abstract, minimalist.

Indy's eyes find Gatz—who isn't hard to find, in a shimmering silver suit Indy helped them pick out for this specific occasion. They stand at the doorway, eagerly handing out brochures, earrings in the shape of paintbrushes dangling from their ears. Nearly all of this was their handiwork; after Dr. Clover went missing—the official story, at least—Indy was sure the art showcase Gatz and the other students had been working towards would grind to a halt. But Gatz refused to let it end. The Ovenshines' experiment had married terror to art, but art's original purpose was beauty. Truth. Inspiration. "That's all still there," Gatz had insisted. "That's what we should showcase."

Cinnamon and sugar melt against Indy's tongue as she takes a bite from the cookie, still soft. "What did your parents think of the...altered painting?"

Though he speaks to Indy, his eyes are elsewhere, wary of prying ears. "To be honest, I'm not sure they noticed. My mom said, Oh, we still have that? Which probably means they'll sell it again in a few weeks or so," Percy says. His voice softens as he asks, "And the Dobbs?"

Indy exhales, remembering the moment the painting had left her hands, remembering the slow realization crossing the face of Elizabeth's mother, Lydia's grandmother. "It was closure," Indy says, "but probably not the kind they wanted."

Something in Percy's face changes. "Do you ever get the closure you want, really?"

As Indy is still processing the meaning and the weight of Percy's words, a flurry of movement approaches them that Indy recognizes a second later is Jude, a cup of what looks like apple juice but could just as easily be something more alcoholic gripped in his hand. He pauses to examine Percy's portrait, frowning, then says, "They really fucked up your ears."

Percy's voice is faintly squeaky with relief. "Thank you! That's what I was saying!"

"You don't have to kiss up to him, Jude," Indy says, patting Percy's shoulder. To Percy, she says, "Didn't he finally win your approval?"

Percy rolls his eyes. "Just because he did one heroic thing does not mean he won my approval. And what—what do you even mean by that, anyway?"

"That reminds me," Indy says, ignoring him. She turns, facing Jude, who just blinks back at her in confusion. "Thank you, Jude. If it weren't for you and Percy, I—I don't know if I would have made it out of that house alive."

For a moment, he still looks bewildered, until an easy, lopsided smile spreads across his face. "Don't thank me. Thank the prophetic gods, or whoever it is that keeps fucking with my head."

"Yeah..." Indy says. "Sure."

"Indy!"

She turns her head towards the sound of platform heels, and sure enough, it's Sylvia barreling towards her, rosy hair flying out behind her like a flag. Her voice a harsh whisper, she grabs Indy's arm and says, "He's here. He really made it!"

Indy doesn't have to ask who; the hush the room falls under answers it well enough, everyone's eyes turned toward the entrance. She's seen his name in articles from nearly fifty years ago, proclaiming him a murderer, a sadist. She's seen it staring back at her from a patch stitched into a prison uniform. She saw it again, beneath the headline: Up Next for Death Row.

But this is her first time seeing Lamar Pine's face beyond the metal bars of a prison cell, outside of a mugshot. This is her first time seeing his face as he just is.

With Clover gone, the rest fell into place. There was no longer any money, any coercion to keep the charade up, and with some strong wording from Indy and Percy they had finally been able to force Kelso and the others to seek true justice. Indy finally gave the journal up, let it sit in the evidence room where it belonged—but only when she knew it would be used properly, and not ignored.

Pine's clean shaven now, the salt and pepper hair atop his head buzzed into a short fro, tired eyes hidden behind shiny new specs. Mostly what Indy notices is his smile. The hope in his eyes, renewed. Justified. The glimmer she put there, and the glimmer she was able to sustain.

"Mr. Pine," Indy says as she approaches, and he looks up. "I wasn't sure you got our invitation. I'm glad you could make it."

"Of course," says Pine, and his eyes lift from Indy's for a moment, sweeping across the faces of her friends as well. "It's no use to me, knowing the names of the people who saved me. I had to come see you in person. To get to know you. Just like you did for me. Thank you."

The words are a rush of emotion, for both the one saying and receiving them. Indy remembers seeing them in Elizabeth's print, encased in ink.

"It was nothing," Indy says. She reaches back, taking Percy's plate from him and offering it to Mr. Pine instead. "Cookie? The snickerdoodles are delicious."