The Last Piece

Raw canvas lay across the floor, shredded and mangled with muddy footprints.  The sink had been left on, drain clogged, and the floor was a long, imperfect mirror, showing the wreckage left of the studio.  Amber sunk down in a crouch, cocktail dress dipping in the water, and ran her hands through her hair, trying not to cry.

"The police will be here soon," said Peter, turning off the tap.  "They told us not to touch anything."

"What's left to touch?" asked Amber, looking at the cracked frames, ...