The Most Beautiful Painting

Blue eyes. Beautiful like a clear afternoon sky; I could gaze into them for hours on end. She lay on the bed next to me, and I turned onto my side for a better view. Reaching up, I brushed a hand through her long, golden locks of hair. How soft. Even her skin, plush like a newborn’s. Her lips painted red like the strawberries during harvest season. Oh, how lucky I was to lay in bed next to such an elegant, young woman. Her slender figure covered only by the white satin nightgown that complimented her tanned complexion. She was a woman of the fields. The calluses in her hands counted each day she’d spent helping to plow, plant, and pick her family’s various crops.

“Adin. What a beautiful name.” I whispered to her. She didn’t move. She didn’t respond. She was dead.

I looked down over her throat where her blood poured out from her neck like a thick wine. It gathered under her head, and stained the pillows beneath. She had tried to scream, tried to fight. Adin managed in a few long scratches over my arms, but I’d won her over in the end.

Rolling over, I stared out across the cabin’s small bedroom. Her husband, Boaz, was seated across from us. I’d had to tie him up, and gag him to prevent his interference. I looked him over, a burly man in flannel. Just from the size of his arms and lines on his face, I could tell he’d seen more days in the fields than his wife. Sweat dripped down his forehead, eyes locked onto mine.

Wiping my hands clean against my trousers, I asked, “If I remove the gag, will you scream?”

Boaz closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“That a boy.” I said, and hopped off the bed with a spring to my step. I waltzed over to the farmer with a smile that only death could lay upon my face. It’s not so much that I enjoyed the act of killing, but more that I enjoyed what came next.

Untying the rag I’d used as a gag, I tossed it to the floor and smiled down at the man. If he’d have been able, Boaz would have surely snapped my neck between his fingers. I could see it in his eyes.

“Are you done?” He asked with a heavy gulp to hold back his bile.

“Almost,” I answered back, patting the man on his shaggy head. “I have one more thing I must do. And it is the most important thing.”

Without waiting for the man’s inevitable question of what that thing was, I grabbed my bag of supplies from the foot-end of the bed. Opening up the cow-hide flap, I first pulled out several hollow, wooden pipes. Each just over a foot long, I screwed them together and within moments, had my easel all setup. Next came the canvas, and finally came the paints and palette.

Stealing a lonesome chair from the corner of the room, I sat down in front of the blank canvas. My brush hit the paint, and in one swift motion, I started on the outline to Adin’s bed. “She was very beautiful, your wife.” I said of Adin. I wasn’t accustomed to being observed, and silence between folk always did bother me. “How long were you married?”

Boaz stayed silent. For so long did he hold his tongue, I thought maybe the brute had fallen asleep or something. Or maybe he was one of those types who fell ill at the sight of blood. Eventually though, he answered in a whisper, “S-Seven years.”

“Seven years. And two beautiful children. Am I right?” I asked. The farmer only nodded. Adin had sent them away for the night, expecting my arrival. That was fine with me. I never did get along with children. Noisy, whiny, stinky brats. You couldn’t pay me enough to have one and keep it.

After finishing the bed’s outline against the oak wall, I dipped my brush in a mixture of yellow ochre, white, and cadmium red light. I gazed over at sleeping beauty, taking in every detail of her figure. How she laid in bed. How her head tilted to the side, letting her blood gush out from the open wound on her neck. And how she laid perfectly still for me, just for me.

As I went to work stroking the paint brush over the cotton duck canvas, I heard Boaz speak up again. “When did she write you?”

“A week ago.” I told him, not bothering to look at the man when he spoke. I had considered tossing him into the painting, but that left far less room for his beautiful wife. And Adin deserved to be the star of this portrait. “Said she’d had a fling with a Twilight Satyr.”

I heard Boaz huff out a long breath. He’d wanted to deny it, and he almost did. But a husband, and only a husband, would know whether his wife was fornicating with the fairy folk. They tended to leave marks, or fairy pimples, as the locals called them. Small, violet-colored bubbles that would shimmer near the person’s genitals. At least, Twilight Satyrs caused the violet bubbles. Mermaids gave blue, and play with a centaur and green fairy pimples would sprout. Oh, and did I forget to mention, relations with the fairy folk were highly illegal.

“No one was gonna know. Just me and her.” Boaz whimpered. Somewhere between painting Adin’s golden hair and starting the splash of blood to her neck, the man had started crying. “We coulda worked the fields, lived life like normal. Ain’t no-one bothering us way out here anyway!”

I sighed. This conversation was one I’d had a dozen times. Just never needed to have it while I was painting! “Merchants travel the road by your farm all the time, not to mention the occasional order of knights. And your wife being with child from that satyr, those fairy pimples would only spread.”

“How would you know she’s with child?!” Boaz bellered out.

“Cause if she wasn’t, those marks would’ve vanished by now. And . . .” and I paused my art to look over the canvas at him. “. . . she wouldn’t have written me.”

The man hung his head. He blinked out his tears and shuddered as if trapped outside in the freezing winter. “So, you just killed her? A-And what now, you’re painting her?! What kind of sick freak are you?!”

See this is why I usually painted alone. Too many critics! I finished a few details to Adin’s dilated eyes, and fleshed out the stains to her bedsheets before setting my brush down. “You know very well Mr. Boaz why I am here. By one of King Haggar’s Bloodline Decrees, fraternizing with the fairy folk is punishable by death. The good king don’t take kindly to them magicals much.”

Boaz slumped his head back down at that. He knew. We all knew. When King Haggar rose to the throne, several wealthy families had tried to have him killed. By skin of his teeth, Haggar dodged assassins and poisoned chalices until his round posterior took the throne. And with it, came the Bloodline Decrees. What are they? Simple. The Bloodline Decrees were a series of laws that laid the blame of a crime at the feet of an entire family, even if only one was guilty. And with shared blame, came shared punishment. It’s how he cleaned house with all those wealthy pot-bellied bastards that tried to kill him.

“So, either Adin gets the guillotine, or you all get the guillotine. Children included.” I clarified for the farmer. “Was a pretty obvious choice for her.” When Boaz didn’t respond, I went back to work on my painting. He needed a few moments. That was fine. I needed only a second to wrap up my latest masterpiece. I drew out the candlelight shadows, and brushed in the midnight moon leaking in through the window for some added flare.

Finally, having finished my painting, I cleaned up my brushes, stashed away the paints, and grabbed my bag. With everything packed and painting in hand, I stepped over to the motionless Boaz. “I’m going to untie you now. You don’t have to pay. Your wife already supplied the hundred gold for my fee.” He didn’t react, so I continued my wrap-up. “In the morning, flee for Archlond and scream to the guards that your wife has been murdered, but that you did not see her attacker. Her fling with the satyr will stay a secret, and you and your kids can keep your heads.”

I pulled a knife from my pocket and cut away the bindings to Boaz’s arms and legs. I waited until I was certain he wouldn’t attack before sheathing my blade. When the man had nothing more to say, I bid him farewell, clutched my new trophy, and let myself out of his cabin. And as I headed out into the night, I heard two words leave the farmer’s lips. “Thank you.”

After returning to my own little cabin, I placed the painting on an easel in my bedroom so that I could make the finishing touches. Once ready, I’d mount it on the wall alongside the others. With Adin’s lovely portrait, my count would total 13 lovely art pieces for my collection. It was almost like walking into a museum each time I opened the bedroom door. Each painting more stunning than the last, I’d be here in my house, while cries of murder and justice would rush past the windows.

I found it unwise to be out and about when a new murder was reported. The night brigade, a mashup of soldiers and townsfolk tasked with keeping the peace in Archlond, had a tendency with jumping to conclusions. So, I’d hunker down for a week or two, and polish out my latest piece. The nightmares would come, like they always did. But twas a small price to pay for good food and good living.

When finally I did step out of my home, I made straight for a local tavern known as The Poached Pig. It was aptly named for its poached pork, and rested near the center of Archlond. Archlond was the city at the base of King Haggar’s castle, and its streets bustled with crowds and travelling merchants. A beautiful city if one enjoyed the nightly sights of puking drunkards, or busy brothels. Shakedowns and muggings were commonplace here. But if one avoided the alleys, carried a blade, and kept a soldier or two in their pocket, then there wasn’t a better place to call home.

I entered into the dimly lit tavern and waved at the bartender.

“Jadon you crazy ole fool! Where’ve you been?” The man boisterously announced, leaving his bar to come wrap me in a hug. “Been almost a month since I saw ya! Thought someone might’ve gone and ripped the rug out from under ya.”

“Well, you know . . .” I fumbled around, seeing the regulars with their mugs and a few soldiers taking their lunch break. “I’m a slave to the canvas.”

Colan had ran this bar for as long as I remember coming to it. He was the genius behind the menu, and the law behind the counter when alcohol went to peoples’ heads. A heavy-set bull of a man, he kept his wits sharp, and his anelace sharper. No one who met the end of that blade ever returned for trouble. Colan also happened to be my first “customer.”

When Colan heard my response, he slapped my shoulder with that club of a hand. “Yeah well . . . times don’t be getting any easier you know. Least an artist like yourself can make work outta anything.”

I nodded my head. “Chilion or Rotem around?”

“Ahh. Needing the paper I see.” Colan said, glancing back and handing me the rag of a newspaper. “I saw Chilion ’bout an hour ago. I’ll let him know you stopped.”

“Thanks!” I told the old bartender and took my place in the empty table in the back. The newspaper was nothing special, had a front and a back and not much else.

Knowing how to read and write was a bit of a luxury here in Archlond. My parents never bothered me with all that lettering. It’s one of the few things I thanked them for. “A man could go mad reading every scribble that gets written down!” My father had said about it. “Why, any old bastard could write up a lie and publish it as truth! And then what would ya do?” Those were probably the only good words my father ever spoke to me, but I took them to heart. I’d laid the pen down, picked up the brush, and never looked back.

I leaned back in my chair and gazed out over the bar when a shadow of a person moved right next to me. The movement came so quickly that I almost jumped out of my seat in excitement. But when I turned to face the visitor, no one was there. I rubbed my dry lips together and cursed myself for having not asked Colan for a drink.

Turning to the paper, I skimmed over the front page and found a picture of Adin’s farmland. As regular as clockwork, the paper probably had all the details printed out as they always did. That’s what Chilion and Rotem were for. They made their money doing reading for people like me. Chilion was a soldier who took the extra gold when he wasn’t dutying himself about with the king’s orders, and Rotem was a runt of a man who couldn’t do anything but read.

Movement catching my eye again, I glanced up and found a girl sitting across from me. Long blond hair, fair skin, and red lips. I knew her. I recognized the fresh cut along her throat. Adin. The woman whose murder was laid out in the paper in front of me. I felt myself sweat a bit. She tilted her head back, and blood oozed out from the slice in her throat. Her eyes stared down at me, watching me, judging me. She tried to speak, but blood gargled out of her mouth and bubbled down her chin.

She wasn’t real. I knew she wasn’t real, but I spoke to her anyway. “I saved your children. I saved your husband,” I whispered. Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “Not my fault. Not my fault you screwed a fairy folk. You came to me.”

“Butcher,” she whispered. More blood poured out from her mouth and streamed down onto her satin nightgown. “Murderer.”

I reached up, wiping the sweat from my brow. “You paid me. You wanted this.” I reminded the ghost. “You got your wish. Now go back to hell.” And then closing my eyes, I counted to eleven, the highest number I knew as the others just melded together after that. And when I opened my eyes, she was gone.

“Damnit, she’s gotta stop doing that.” I grunted. Adin had first appeared to me shortly after I hung up her finished painting on the wall. It’d scared the hell out of me, and then after that, randomly. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. Jacob had done the same thing after I killed him. And Serena before that appeared to me for two weeks after I stabbed her through the heart. Adin would go away, just like the others. That was the misery of this work, the hangover.

I shuffled my feet over the creaky floorboards and twirled my thumbs around, waiting for any sign for either of the two readers. I didn’t particularly like hanging out at the tavern after what had just happened. A few guests had seen my ramblings and were staring. I ignored them, pretending to be reading the paper. I hated people staring.

A sudden tap on my shoulder and I turned to find Chilion standing next to me with a mug of ale. “Jadon. Still among the living I see.” And he dropped the mug in front of me. “Figured you could use a drink. You’re white as a ghost.”

I thanked him and sipped from the mug, chugging down the cheap ale. “Yeah, well . . . just a bit nervous on what the next job’s a going to be.” I said with a dose of honesty. My line of work, as much as I enjoyed it, could never count on just when the next payment would arrive.

“Well on that note, I think I can help you out.” Chilion said, and pulled out a small envelope and handed it to me. “This was given to me a night ago.” Before I could open it, the soldier said, “I don’t know what it’s about, but this woman needs your help. And the sooner you can help her, the better.”

“What do I do with it?”

Chilion then detailed out the location of an old cottage on the other side of town. Most of the real business from that end had up and moved due to the rat problem over there. But apparently a small family had managed to grow a few crops to eat and sell. “Or maybe they’re eating the damn rats. I don’t know.” Chillion said, his voice going dead quiet. “Go to them when you’re ready, and hand them this envelope. The woman’s name is Sabra. Her brother Micah was selling his crop to the neighboring kingdom, and someone’s on to them.”

I tapped the envelope in my hand, staring over at the soldier. Chilion was a younger man, drafted into the service when he was only fourteen. Now in his twenties, he looked just as satisfied with his job now, as he had when he signed up. Still clad in his armor, his dirty brown hair leaked out around his helmet. The poor guy sat glancing from side to side, ensuring no one was listening in on us. He’d had his own grievances with King Haggar, but then again, who didn’t?

“I’ll get the paints ready.” I told the soldier. And then reaching into my pocket, I pulled out five gold coins. Handing them over to Chilion, I said, “You wanna read the paper now?” The man just laughed, picked up the parchment, and went to decoding for me. It ended up being nothing special. Boaz hadn’t seen the person who’d killed his wife, had found her in the morning lying with her neck split open. No suspects, and Adin’s death was officially added to the list of victims by the Archlond Butcher. Kind of a boring name if you ask me. I would’ve hoped them writers would’ve come up with something more original.

“Soldiers will be on high alert for suspicious characters in the city. If you see anyone that doesn’t belong, please report them immediately.” Chillion finished. “Looks like they don’t know have a clue who done it unfortunately.” He said, covering his tracks in case anyone was listening in.

“Yeah well, I don’t normally do two of these jobs so close together.” I said. “I don’t want to ask for too much, but Sabra might have to pony up a little extra for this one.”

“Duly noted.” The soldier answered. He turned and saw a few other soldiers leaving the bar. “Well, guess lunch is over. Thanks again Jadon.”

“Pleasure as always” and I waved him off. I turned the envelope over in my hand and then finished off my drink. I’d have to be extra careful with this one. If anyone so much as looked at me wrong, I’d have to call it off.

Taking the mug back up to Colan, I tossed the bartender a tip and retreated back to my home to begin the planning.

Men. I always found it difficult to paint them in a beautiful light. Because I was one? Maybe? When the girls lay soaked in their blood, it was beautiful. Their skin stayed soft, and their figure like that of a porcelain doll. But somehow, a dead man lying in bed looked almost grotesque. Not sure if was the hair on his arms and legs drenched in blood, or the dirty complexion of his face, Micah, while a shorter, handsomer man than most, still couldn’t bother to die with any grace.

I stood over his still body, with his sister waiting outside the room. A knife into the heart, followed by a twist, a turn, and then carved it down his chest and into his gut. And good lil Micah laid dead under his covers. His blood and insides spilling out onto the bed. But still, “Why does this look so wrong?”

When I’d arrived, the guy had already fallen asleep, and Sabra had told me he preferred dying in his sleep anyway. Understandable. I couldn’t argue with that, but something ate away at me. “What’s different about you Micah?” I asked, staring over his corpse.

I already had my canvas setup and ready to paint, but the most I’d done was the outline of his motionless figure on the bed. Even with the glow of the candles flickering over his skin, and the blood running down the side of his chest, staining his navy blue pjs, something about him didn’t feel right.

A knock on the door pulled my attention away and Sabra’s voice drifted in from the other side of the door. “Are you finished?”

“A few more minutes Miss.” I answered back. Scrambling with my paints, I decided I’d just brush over the important details and I could finish the thing back at my home. “Two. No, three lives saved.” I whispered to myself. Yes, Sabra was saved, along with her twin daughters. Apparently, Micah had taken her in when Sabra’s husband died from being trampled by his own ox. Sad thing that, but at least he could rest in peace knowing Sabra and her children wouldn’t be burdened with his crime.

“Murderer.” Came a whisper of a voice.

I turned and saw no one. Sweat again trickled down my face.

“Murderer.”

I looked back to the bed and there, clothed in white, lay Adin’s body. Still, after nearly three weeks, she still pestered me like I was some kind of monster. I ignored her, trying to finish drawing out the final details of Micah’s death.

“Monster.” She whispered, when she realized her words were being ignored.

“Shut-up!” I yelled. “I’m saving people. Saved your husband. Your kids.” I told the phantom. “Saving this man’s family too.”

Adin only glared at me. “Murderer.” She whispered again.

I closed my eyes, counting again and when I opened them up, she was gone. That was it. I was done here. I could finish this damned painting later. Pounding on the door started back up just as I put away my easel and paints. Hurrying over to the door, I opened it up. “Yes Miss. Sabra. I am finished.”

“Good. About time you get out. Been too long already.” She said, shoving a small pouch of coins into my hand. “Here’s your payment.”

“T-Thanks.” I said to her, noticing the woman appeared more offended by my presence than what I’d just done to her brother. “In the morning, make sure you call out to the guards, but don’t . . .”

“Don’t mention you. I got it. Now please go.” Sabra said. She’d pointed to the door this time.

Well, I suppose it took all kinds. So, I nodded my head and I stepped out into the night.

“Can’t we read this somewhere else?” Rotem asked.

The lil runt had stopped on by my house with the new paper. Apparently, Chilion was caught up in some royal training or guards-duty. His schedule always did have the most random of hours. I suppose that’s how working for the king goes. This left Rotem to all my reading needs. The guy was the runt in his family. Barely stood at half my height, pot belly, old rags for clothes, and stubby legs that gave him a wobble when he walked. Nice enough runt, but then again, he had to be. Any able-bodied man could’ve kicked him across Archlond if they had the fancy to.

“No. I want it done here. Right here.” I told him. That damned spirit of Adin had yet to relent. At first it had been cute, like many of the dead were. But the longer she dragged it out, the harder it became to stand. A week had passed since I left the good Sabra’s house and left her brother dead. And for that whole week, Adin came to me. Now though, she never left. She’d sometimes fade away from sight, but if I glanced out the corner of my eye, I’d see her. Staring. Judging.

Here in this room, my bedroom, I could always see her. She never vanished from here. Her eyes too busy wandering over my paintings, my masterpieces. Never looking at her own, but always studying, criticizing my other masterful works of art. And she’d turn to me, whisper those disgusting words, those mindless accusations. She sat on my bed right now, next to an unaware Rotem. The blood still dripping fresh from her neck, as she peered over the paper the runt was holding.

“It has to be here.” I said, looking to Adin. I wiped the sweat from my brow. If she’d just hear the story, hear how I saved Sabra’s life, she’d understand. I guess being “brain dead” really was a thing, especially if the rest of a person was dead too.

“But Jadon, you know I don’t like it in here. It’s like a horror show or something . . .” Rotem argued, cowering between the walls that so proudly displayed my work.

“No. It will be here. You will read the article for me now. Aloud.” And I jingled the small pouch of twenty-five gold coins for him. I’d needed to offer the guy extra just to get him into here. “Or you won’t be paid.”

The runt fumbled into his pocket and pulled out his spectacles. Tossing them on his face and sliding them up the bridge of his nose, his voice read out with a stutter. “One week ago, today, the brother of Miss Sabra was found brutally murdered in their small cottage. Micah, a trader of twenty years, was found gutted like a pig in his bed. The time and brutality of the killing leads guards to believe this to be another attack from the Archlond Butcher. Micah is survived by his sister Sabra, and her two daughters who were away at the time . . .”

I sat back, a smile spreading across my face. See Adin! This is what I did. I saved three lives by killing only one. Surely, she’d see now how noble my actions were. She’d see I was hired to protect those children, and save Sabra’s life. Just as she had hired me to protect her husband and kids. Then I could be free of her damn haunting, and move on with my life!

“Micah, who’d recently secured trade operations with the neighboring land of Theosia, perished shortly after completing his first trade negotiation . . .”

“Wait.” I said. Something about that sentence hadn’t sounded right. “He was doing trade behind the king’s back. Why are they reporting on that?”

Rotem, who hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d started reading, refused to look up at me and instead just said, “Not according to this. Sounds like he had the king’s blessing and everything.”

“No!” I nearly shouted at the little man. I bolted to my feet, knocking over the chair behind me. “That can’t be! His wife was in fear of her children! The bloodline decrees! They were gonna be killed just like him!” And I saw Adin’s ghostly face looking back over to me.

Rotem stumbled over his words, skimming through the rest of the article. His mouth moved but no words came out. And then I saw it. He stopped on something and then looked up to me, shock covered over his face.

“What. What is it?” I demanded.

“It-It’s . . . Sabra . . .”

“What about her?”

“Micah . . . he made a fortune off that deal. With him dead . . . all the money . . . goes to her . . .”

Sweat poured down over my brow, soaking my head. I locked eyes with Adin, who’d been sitting there the entire time, her smile growing wide and cracking her dead flesh. “Murderer.” She whispered out.

“G-Get out.” I whispered.

“Jadon?” Rotem’s voice squeaked out.

I shoved the pouch of money into his hands and opened the door. “Out. Now.”

“You don’t look okay Jadon. You sure you’re . . .”

“OUT!”

The runt clutched his bag of coins and waddled on out of the room. I heard my front door slam shut and I was left alone with the ghost. “I am not a murderer. She tricked me. She lied to me.” I hissed at Adin. The girl just leaned back on the bed, smiling up at me, spreading her body out. So proud of herself.

“Monster.” She whispered.

The candlelight in the room flickered and suddenly she disappeared, with that smile lingering on her face. I gazed about the room, and ran through my three-room cabin house. She certainly hadn’t left. I could still feel her presence. I searched my bedroom. I opened up every drawer and cabinet in my kitchen. I tore through my storage, tossing around empty paint cans, and damaged canvases. Nothing. No one. Empty. Damn it!

“I’m not a monster!” I shouted. I knew she could hear. “I’m not a monster! And I’m going to prove it to you! I’m going to fix this.”

Then grabbing my bag, I started packing a canvas, some paints, and all of my other “tools.”

The moon crept higher into the sky, midnight quicky drawing near. A couple of straw clouds drifted in front of the sparkling moon, casting dark shadows over an otherwise lit-up Archlond. The bad side of town, where I’d traveled to get to Sabra’s cottage was mostly deserted. One lone horse drawn carriage waited at Sabra’s front door. Worry struck over me. Had other hands gathered to help her and her children move out from the run-down house?

I observed longer from the house adjacent to her own. It’d been the same one I hid in when I initially travelled here. The house, much like others on this part of the city, were in disrepair, and abandoned. Few people lived out on this end, and tonight, Sabra was attempting to drop the number down even further.

When the moon shone back out through the clouds, I bit my lip. I saw the woman with her two daughters. Brand new dresses on both of them. So that’s how they first spent their riches. Pretty little bonnets on the girls, and long flowing, plaid dresses with little black bows along the sides. Their mother, the witch, wore something a bit more sophisticated. It looked more like a velvet ball gown with small white pearls around the neckline.

“Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.” I muttered under my breath.

I watched them a bit longer. Still no sign of a driver or any other bodies of any kind. Looked as though the two girls were helping her mother load the back of the horse drawn carriage themselves. Good. Perfect even. It meant no distractions, no interruptions, and zero complications.

When next the mother disappeared into the house with her two girls, I hopped through the window I’d been observing from and pulled out a dagger from my belt. I wasted no time in bolting for the front door. Rage seeping through me, that this woman, this witch, would ever think to use me the way she did, to use her brother the way she did. Oh how good this would feel!

I stood by the door and when it opened, I shoved my way inside. The sudden motion forced Sabra back, tripping over her own dress and falling backwards to the floor. The girls, twin blondes, both screamed in a high-pitched unison. It sounded like a couple of squealing rats with their voices amped up.

I shoved the door shut behind me, brandishing the dagger as I bolted the door, just in case.

Sabra backed away; terror stricken as she hugged her daughters close to her. The girls’ eyes welled with tears as their desperate mother hugged their little heads to her chest. “What do you want?” She asked, her eyes locking with me. It took her only a second to remember who I was. “Y-You!” She spat.

I smiled. Good. She remembered. One less thing I had to concern myself with. “Yes. Me.”

“What do you want?! I paid you! You have no business here. Get out!”

Oh how she tried to sound so tough, so threatening. Pathetic.

I squatted down, staring at them and tapping the blade of my dagger against the floor. “Now now Sabra. I can’t do that. Because you used me. Took advantage of my services.” I said to her, gritting my teeth as I tapped the knife against the floor. “All you cared about was money.”

The woman scoffed, still pretending to be tough. “So what! You gonna turn me in? No way that you could!”

I started laughing. This woman actually thought she could threaten me. I dropped my bag to the floor and opened it up. “What are the girls’ names?” I waited for an answer, rummaging around. When only silence, I turned back. “NAMES!” I yelled at them.

Softly, the twins answered. The left said, “M-Mia.”

The right said, “Sarah.”

Finding the rope, I pulled it out and threw it at the twins. “Well Mia and Sarah. Your mommy hired me to kill her brother. Cause she wanted money. Now, mommy’s gonna get a taste of her own medicine.” I said to them. Sabra’s front started to crack. I could see the tears in her eyes forming. But I had no time for scum. “Tie her hands and feet. Now.”

The girls, too scared to react, only started when Sabra told them it’d be okay. Right, now she was playing the victim. How convenient. I watched the two closely. Mia, only distinguished from Sarah by being the one with a blue bow in her hair, looked to be far more skilled with tying knots than her sister was. I suspected her to be the tomboy of the two. Even in that dress, all one had to do was cut her hair and I could see her skipping stones and catching frogs with the other boys.

Grabbing some more rope, I tossed it at Mia. “Now tie your sister. Same way. Nice and tight like.”

Mia held back her tears, and obeyed. And when she was finished, I ordered her onto the ground and tied her in the same fashion. I could feel Sabra’s eyes glaring needles into my back, and I gave her a bright smile and a couple pats on the cheek as I checked her bindings, and then checked Sarah’s bindings.

“L-Leave them out of this! They had nothing to do with you at all!” Sabra begged.

I went back to my bag, and began setting up my easel, and my paints. “I can’t do that Sabra.” I said to her. “You know I can’t. The Bloodline Decrees after all . . . make your daughters just as guilty as you for your brother’s death. They may as well have been the ones that hired me.” I said, as I placed the canvas on the easel, and prepared my paint palette.

Yes, this is how justice was served in our country. Sabra knew that, as well as I. I may have killed her brother, but only so as to spare her family. But to destroy my good name by using me, by tricking me into believing that the lives of her children, and her own were in danger due to her brother, now that was monstrous. And maybe this is where King Haggar had it right. Deceit was like a poison that boiled in a person’s veins. A disease that if not controlled, would spread like wild fire and burn everything to ash. And who would this disease spread to first? Why, it would spread through the household of course. Meaning, both Sarah and Mia were already infected. If I didn’t kill them, then King Haggar would. Why delay the inevitable? Why deny me what I deserve?

With three more long, silver daggers, I approached them. I listened to their cries, their screams, and their pleas. But the only sounds I could make out were the sounds caged puppies begging for release, only so they could become wolves to prey upon you in your sleep. And I would not relinquish myself to such things. Sarah and Mia were first. I could not in good conscious kill their mother in front of them. After all, I was not a monster. A long dagger for each of the twins, pressed down into their throats, straight down to the sternum. The girls choked and gagged, blood squirting out from around the hilts of the daggers until the two pressed in against each other, dead.

Next was Sabra. She’d fallen into shock, and didn’t say anything. That was fine. I didn’t need her to. I’d said every word I wanted to her already, and then some. So, I took my final dagger, and sliced along the woman’s throat. But I did not complete the cut. I angled my blade, cutting under her throat before ripping the silver out. Blood spurted from the side of her neck and the woman gasped for air. A bubble of skin formed in her neck, turning purple where I sliced the veins inside. Sabra’s eyes rolled around in her head. Her whole body reduced to a violent series of spasms like she was possessed. And maybe she was.

I watched until the end, satisfied with my justice. Yes, now things were how they should be. Waiting a few minutes just to be sure, I went to work propping the daughters up on either side of their mother. “I’m sorry Micah. But at least I’ve done you justice.” I whispered, thinking of the man that I didn’t have to kill. The man whose sister took advantage of him, and me. Well maybe with this, he could finally rest in peace.

Seated at my chair, I began the painting, probably the most beautiful painting I had ever done. One of justice. One of revenge. I’d never felt happier, painting the trio of girls onto this blank canvas. In a way, I felt almost bad for the daughters. Their mother had brought this on them, had infected their lives with her evils. But in this way, I could protect Mia and Sarah. They’d never grow into monsters like their mother had become. They could spend the rest of eternity with their uncle, while their mother rotted in hell. I suppose that’s why when I painted the twins, I added flowers into their hair, and into their hands. I had freed them. Sabra looked miserable, but she should. I touched up the cheekbones, and brushed in calming smiles upon the girls’ faces.

“Murderer.”

My eyes shot up. “Oh. You.” I said. Once again, Adin stood in the room next to me. All color gone from her skin. White as a banshee, she stood with dirt molded into her hair. The dried blood black over her soiled dress. “You’re just in time. I’ve set things right. It’s all done,” I told her with a smile.

Adin slowly moved her head, bone protruding from her ghastly neck wound. She stared down at the three and then looked back over to me. She said nothing, but only stared. I smiled. She couldn’t call me a murderer anymore. She couldn’t call me a monster anymore. I’d fixed my wrongdoing, set things straight. All she could do was watch as I put together my greatest masterpiece yet. And then Adin could pass over to the other side, and rid me of her foul presence.

As I took another look over to Adin, I decided to frame her out into the picture as well. Why not?! Draw her celestial form so that I’d always have a piece of her with me. She’d tortured me for over a month now, so why not keep a piece of her with me always. I traced out her figure standing near the girls, carefully stroking my brush over her form. Making sure to give her pale figure translucence in the art. I smiled, chuckling to myself. I’d need to find a good place for this painting on my wall. And I detailed out the dark shadows of Adin’s face, the scar on her neck, and the blood stained on her dress. I was just giddy with excitement. Hell, the damned spirit even smiled for me. Her smile grew and grew. I just painted and painted. So absorbed did I become with my work that I spent what felt like hours detailing out her figure in the painting, detailing out the girls, and the room. By the time I glanced back up, her spirit was gone.

“Done!” I announced, standing up and knocking the chair out behind me. “Done! Done! Done!” I screamed, over and over. I’d did it! My masterpiece! The most important work I’d ever put together, now sat complete before my very eyes! Oh how beautiful it was! I placed down my paints and brushes, and stepped back a few paces to admire the work. “My my Jadon, you really have outdone yourself this time!”

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

A slow applause grew out of the silence behind me. Every hair on my body stood with attention as I whirled around to locate the source. A lone man stood near the door; a crooked smile spread across his face. Clean, black hair trimmed down to just above his eyebrows, grew down to his shoulders in the back. A hairless chin and narrowed eyes, the man stared back at me with a daring smile as he applauded. “Very fine work Jadon. Very fine indeed.” He said. “Never before have I seen anything so beautiful. So magnificent.”

I stood in disbelief as the man in a black tunic took two large strides over to my painting. The guy was built like a barn, yet the voice that left his lips sounded more like child’s. “Tell me. What inspires the poses you use?”

Finding my tongue, I asked, “Who are you?”

The man ignored my question and stepped past me, walking over to the bed and taking his seat at the foot-end, stroking his fingers through Sabra’s hair. “You’re done, aren’t you? With your painting?” I only nodded my head.

For a moment, I considered fleeing out the door. I’d grab my things and leave. A brute his size surely couldn’t outrun me, but I also didn’t know who else might be outside. If a tree of a man could get the drop on me, then surely, others could as well. I kicked myself for indulging so gratuitously into my art. Slowly side stepping towards my bag, I nodded my head, keeping eyes on the man. “Yeah. Just finished.”

“Good.” The man said, and pulled out a large pair of sheers from his pocket. With a sharp snip-snip, he began trimming off Sabra’s hair at the scalp, balding her. “Be such a shame for all this to go to waste.” Then as if to read my mind, the man answered, “I’m an artist Jadon, just like you. But while you weave your masterpieces with paint, I weave mine with hair. It’s more personal.” He explained, that smile never leaving his face. “Your art captures memories, and beautifully so. Mine is more than that.” He said, snipping off the final locks of the woman’s hair. Tucking it into another of his pockets, the man stroked his fingers through Mia’s hair. “The tapestries I weave make the ugly beautiful again. I make the dead come to life.”

Slowly, I took my seat at the canvas. I still hadn’t figured him out, but I could see myself in him. Part of that made me smile. The other part terrified me. “So, we are the same then?” I suggested. “Like two peas in a pod.”

The man just smiled. “Exactly. I wish I could say I was here for Sabra . . . but I am not.” And then the man stood up from where he sat. The sudden movement jerked me out of me out of my chair and taking a couple steps back, I’d backed myself up against a wall.

I reached out to grab my bag, but the man reached into his tunic and threw out a knitting needle like one would throw a javelin. The needle tore through my hand like butter, out the other side and into the wall behind me. I screamed out in agony as the pain electrified my body! The knitting needle itself was of steel, making the thing appear more like a giant nail.

“Ahhhh God!” I cried out, and reached over to pull the thing out from my hand.

The man lumbered over quickly and grabbing my wrist slammed my free hand to the wall. He took another one of his knitting needles and stabbed it through my other hand. I cried out again, feeling the blood running down over my wrists, and onto my arms.

“My name is Abraham.” The man said. He turned to the painting, pausing to look it over again. “I do apologize that I could not meet you under different circumstances. I would have loved for us to work together.” He said, focusing his attention back onto me.

“Who was it?” I gasped out. The combined shock of being nailed to the wall and the blood loos scattered black spots across my vision. “How . . .How’d you find me?”

Abraham answered, “Some lil runt came and found me. Sounds like you scared the little shit stiff. He was blabbering something about you going crazy.” Abraham took another look over the three girls and nodded, “Looking like he was right too.”

“I-I had too.” I sputtered out through gritted teeth. “She . . She used me . . .and infected her daughters with her evil. Tell me I’m wrong. Surely you see it too.” If Abraham truly was like me, then he’d understand. He’d realize what monsters I’d just slayed, and the good I’d done for this damned city!

Abraham let out a soft chuckle. “I understand. Tell you the truth, I probably would’ve done the same thing.” And as he spoke, the man pulled out that pair of sheers again. Grabbing handfuls of my hair, he quickly went to snipping away. “But . . .he paid me.”

“H-He what?!” I spat. My vision clearing just enough for me to see wads of hair dropping down onto the floor.

“He showed me your ugliness. Your sin. Don’t worry Jadon. I’ll weave you and Sabra together, reconciling your pasts, and make you both beautiful again. You just have to endure a little longer.” He consoled.

I opened my eyes, unable to speak. I wanted to scream, to curse at the man. But I could not. I watched him in silence as he bent down and gathered up the hair. He tucked it away, just like he had tucked away Sabra’s. And then I saw her again. Standing behind Abraham was Adin. Her dead corpse floated behind the man, smiling. She looked ready to laugh, ready to sing to the heavens with the vengeance she’d get to witness. I scowled at her. This was her fault. If the damn bitch hadn’t distracted me, I’d have been out of this mess of a cottage long before Abraham even showed up. She did this on purpose. She knew he was coming.

“. . . That’s why they haunt you Jadon.” Apparently, he’d been talking this whole time and I wasn’t listening. Abraham noticed it with just a glance. “You’re seeing her because you made her ugly.” And then the giant of a man pulled out another pair of sheers. These ones old and rusted. “You made your paintings and your memories beautiful, but not your victims. That’s why they haunt you.”

I gulped, my lip quivering. Adin’s smile grew as Abraham sliced up shirt, exposing my bare chest. A cool, midnight breeze sliding over my bald head, sending goosebumps rippling down my spine. I felt the closed blades press up against my chest, and Abraham’s lips breathed onto my ear.

“Don’t worry Jadon. I promise to make you beautiful too.”

And with a powerful thrust, the sheers stabbed in.

The End