by Idella Breen
Other times, I would mutter curses under my breath as I outlined her full-faced mask on my canvas and painted her haunting eyes that followed me into my dreams. At one point over the course of a month, I belatedly realized that I might be losing my mind. Then, I would laugh out loud and respond to my empty apartment, "I lost my mind years ago!" I would then pick up a paintbrush and begin painting the contours of the bone mask.
Somedays, I would entertain thoughts of what she looked like under the mask. Her voice had been delicate, and she had been softly spoken in the short amount of time I had spent with her; there had been an underlying strength to her voice that hinted at an authority that could be called upon when needed. So, I would trace strong lines of the mask, an angular jaw, the soft pale skin of her neck, and I would imagine that she was beautiful.
There were times that I felt like she was both my guardian angel and my tormentor, for leaving me so distressed and confused. By the end of the month, I completed my painting and cried myself to sleep for the last time. October had reached the end, and Halloween had passed. I was out of food and feeling like a caged animal trapped within the four walls of my apartment. It was time to rejoin the land of the living. After taking a quick shower, which made me feel more human, I made my way into my living room. Picking up my keys and purse, I made a last-minute decision to grab the leather jacket, on my way out the door. I'd been wearing it every day since the incident, and the unique scent of burnt cinnamon had since faded and been replaced by my own, but it still offered comfort that kept me grounded. Plus, Seattle was cold. If nothing else, it would keep the bite of the air from freezing me. I turned to lock my door.
"Going out, Eliza?" A light, airy voice asked.
I jump slightly, but covered it up with a smile, as I turned to address my neighbor, an elderly woman.
"Hello Ms. Jean, yes, I'm going shopping for groceries. How are you today?"
"Oh, I'm fine here, just getting back from my daily walk around the block. It's been a brisk morning; you might want to pick up a pair of earmuffs while you're out. I hear from Trish that it's going to be a cold one this year."
I smiled. Trish was Jean’s older sister. She lived on the third floor. They were close and would go on daily walks in the morning, where I'm sure they caught each other up on the latest gossip of Belltown. Trish was nice enough every time I bumped into her in the elevator, if not a bit nosy. Jean and Trish were Belltown natives, born and raised in the same neighborhood as the apartment building they now lived in. I once asked Jean why she never moved away. The neighborhood was rough, and although I’ve lived in it for six years, I was young, and it was cheap, as well as close to the gallery I showed my paintings at. She had simply smiled and looked off into the distance, before chuckling and saying; “Sometimes, you just can’t escape a place no matter how hard you try or how much you want to. Some places just have a way of growing on you and becoming part of your identity. I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to. It would be like ripping a chunk out of me. I just wouldn’t be the same person, I suppose.”
It had made sense in a wise way. The same way my living in the same building makes sense in an affordable way.
"It's always a cold one Ms. Jean. But I'll be sure to pick some up while I'm out."
"You do that dear." She called out as I made my way to the elevator. It was on my floor and empty as I entered it. I pushed the button for the lobby and leaned against the bar at the back. Should I take the bus? A shudder ran down my spine at the thought. The closest grocery store was more of a marketplace. I usually took the bus to get there and come back so that I wouldn't have to carry the bags the few blocks it took to get home. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
I needed the exercise anyway, and I wasn’t planning on getting much. My wallet was depleted enough, and I doubt it would allow for much past milk and eggs, and maybe a coffee on the way home. Looking up into the sky, I calculated how much time I had before it would rain. The forecast said there was going to be a light drizzle between ten and twelve. I looked at my watch. It was only eight-thirty in the morning. Just enough time in my opinion. The market was only a few blocks away.
A light but brisk breeze ruffled my hair, and I paused to let it brush against my face, and breathed the fresh air into my lungs. It was nice to be outside again. Four weeks holed up in my apartment may have been too long to be healthy. I took my time walking the few blocks to the market. About halfway there, the neighborhood turned from dilapidated grunge, into respectable grunge, entailed by the art galleries and the painted murals on the sides of buildings. I stopped at several clothing stores, to window shop and see the newest styles, taking note of the ones to stop back at once I got some fun money. I even paused for a few minutes in my favorite knick knack’s and bobble’s store and walked out with some more ideas for paintings.
By the time I reached the market, I felt refreshed, and a normal part of society again. I made quick work of the market, managing to haggle a few good prices out of the vendors allowing me to get a little bit more than expected, and began my trek back to my apartment with a small smile on my face. In fact, I was in such a good mood that when I walked passed the coffee shop at the end of the market, I backtracked and bought myself a double shot mocha latte. It wasn't until I was walking out of the café that my bad luck kicked in. Just as I pushed the doors open, and walked out onto the sidewalk, I was suddenly plowed over. I fell on my ass, dropping both my bags of groceries and my latte.
"I'm so sorry." A deep voice called out.
"It's fine. I wasn't looking where I was going." I cursed as I saw my coffee. It was all over the concrete. I would have to buy a new one or just cut my losses and try again some other time. Instead, I began collecting my scattered food only to be surprised when another hand reached for a bag of apples as well.
Finally, I looked up and was met with the profile of a handsome man. He was handsome, in the boyish good-looking kind of way and looked to be around my age, despite the baby fat still on his face. His beard gave him a few years. His light blue eyes twinkled when he smiled and handed me the bag of fruit.
"Here you go."
"Oh, thank you." I gave him a small smile as I was brought out of my thoughts. We both stood at the same time. I was surprised when he held out his hand for me to shake.
"I'm Gabriel by the way, but you can call me Gabe. Everyone does.”
Surprised by the sudden introduction, I hesitantly shook his hand, pulling mine back quickly. Gabriel glanced down before meeting my gaze again.
"Sorry about your coffee. Would you like me to buy you another one?"
I glanced at the mess that was my drink and bent over to pick up the cup. I shook my head as I tossed it into the trashcan. What a waste.
"No, that's fine. I don't need another one. Thanks for the offer, though."
I turned around only to jump back. Gabriel was too close for comfort.
"I insist."
I looked up from his broad chest and muscular arms and couldn’t help thinking, that if this guy wanted to hurt someone he could do so very easily. I shook my head and squared my shoulders despite the way my legs were beginning to turn to jello.
"Really, it's fine. I don't need another one."
"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind." Gabriel moved closer, and I began to get the distinct feeling of being caged in. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew passed and with it the faint smell of burnt cinnamon. I watched as Gabriel stiffened, and took a step back, as a tight smile spread across his face.
"Maybe some other time then, Eliza."
I nodded dumbly, and Gabriel gave a small genuine smile, turned, then walked away. I watched him retreat down the sidewalk and cross over to the other side of the street. It was several long moments after he walked out of sight before I was able to shake off the feeling of the fear that had gripped my heart.
"Thank you," I whispered, sure my Grim Reaper would hear me, then I tightened the leather jacket around my shoulders and began my tre
k back to my apartment. I might need to move to a better part of town if I continued to get threatened by men. I have lived in Belltown for over six years. I'd moved here for the convenience of the art galleries, but now I was beginning to question if it was worth being so close to the galleries if I lost my life in the process, let alone my dignity. I took a deep breath, steadied my legs, they were still a bit wobbly and walked onwards. It wasn't until I was unloading my groceries that a frightening thought crossed my mind. I had never told Gabriel what my name was.
***
"This is amazing Eliza. What do you call this piece?"
I smiled at Angela's enthusiasm. "The Grim Reaper."
The Asian lady was nodding eagerly as her eyes scanned over my painting of June.
"It's perfect! I'll add it to your other pieces for the show tonight."
"Thanks, Ang. Your excitement always makes it worth it."
Angela smiled widely at me. "You're so cute Eliza; sometimes I just want to gobble you up.”
I laughed. "What time should I show up for the show then?"
"It starts at six, so quarter till would be fine. I already set everything up over the weekend, and I have a few good people catering the event. Wine and cheese, again."
"Yum." I patted my belly.
“Oh, be quiet, you. I have to keep things up to a certain level of class, while maintaining the artsy feeling, and not being too stuffy. It's a fine line, the one I walk."
"Poor you." I smiled.
Angela laughed. "Do you need me for anything else?"
I shook my head. "No, I just wanted to drop off the painting."
"How's that corporate job you insist on keeping?"
I sighed. “I was fired."
Angela frowned sympathetically. "I'm sorry Eliza, look on the bright side. It's not like you need the money. Didn’t your parents leave you a small fortune after they passed away?”
Angela was one of the few friends I had told about the money my parents left me. The money I refused to dip into. I met her in college, and we hit it off immediately in our shared Art History class. She was a Fine Arts major while I was just taking the class to fulfill the humanities for my Business major. We shared a passion for the Arts despite the different paths we chose to take. My mom had been a lawyer, and my father, a prominent doctor, known for his research in breast cancer. It was almost an irony that the thing that took my mother’s life was the very thing my father had set out to find a cure for. I was brought out of my thoughts when Angela poked me in the arm.
“You still there space cadet?”
I laughed. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was saying not to worry about the job because you already have the big bucks in your bank.”
I sighed. "I know, but I want to make my own way in the world. I don't just want to live off the money my parents left me."
Angela leveled me with a look. "Honey, you have enough artistic talent to make it big if you just spent more time working the system."
"But I want to do a job that would make my parents proud. Being an artist has always been more of a hobby."
"Eliza, you have to get over this. Do you really think wasting away in a cubicle crunching numbers, while you let all of your artistic talent atrophy, would make your parents happy? You need to live your life for yourself."
I sighed again. "I know Ang; I just don't know what to do anymore. Maybe getting fired from this last job is just a sign that I'm not cut out for that life."
"As well as the last four corporate jobs you were fired from."
"Way to rub it in.”
“Tough love baby. If I could paint like you, I would be making it big in New York and taking some hunky man to bed with me in between shows."
"Angela!"
"What! I'm a twenty-five-year-old woman. I'm not getting any younger, and neither are you. When was the last time you got laid? A year ago?"
I know she didn't mean to, but her question brought back the memories of that night, the ones I had managed to repress. A shudder went down my back, and I instinctively grabbed my neck. Naturally, this caught Angela's attention.
"What's wrong with your neck?"
"Nothing," I said. I must have answered too quickly.
Angela frowned and grabbed my hand, pulling it back, and pushing aside the high collar of the leather jacket. Her face contorted in shock.
“What the hell happen to your neck?"
"Nothing Angela. Just let it go."
"It looks like someone tried to cut a chunk out of it. There’s no way in hell I'm going to let that go. Did your boss do this?"
"No! Mr. Crane was a good guy."
"Then who?"
"I really don't want to talk about it," I said as I glanced around at the few scattered people in the gallery. Sensing my hesitation, Angela grabbed my hand and dragged me through the employees only door, back into the storage area, shutting the door behind us.
"What happened, Eliza?"
"What if someone steals something?"
“I don't give a fuck. If you don't answer me in the next minute, I'm going to go to your office building to start tearing shit up until I get my answers."
“No! Fine, Jesus." I knew she would do it too. Once in college, a professor had made an offhanded sexist comment towards me, and Angela had tracked him down to give him a piece of her mind. She was suspended for a week for threatening a teacher, but I never forgot the feeling of having someone stand up for me for the first time.
“Well?”
Knowing there was no way out of this I decided I just needed to say it quick. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.
"A guy tried to rape me on my way home after I was fired."
Angela's face went slack in shock, and I watched in rapt fascination as it flushed from her hairline, down her neck, and covering her chest, before disappearing under her shirt. Suddenly, she broke off into a string of what I know was Japanese curse words. There were a few F-bombs, and I think at one point she threatened to castrate a man with a rusty spoon. She waved her hands around, and I had to duck out of the way a few times to prevent getting slapped in the face. I waited until she calmed down and stopped waving her hands around like a maniac. She was breathing hard when she finally began speaking in English again.
"Did he succeed? Are you okay?"
I shook my head. "Someone showed up and pulled him off of me."
Angela pulled me into a tight hug. "Thank God." She whispered.
I held her just as tightly for a few minutes before we both pulled back.
"Do you need anything? Do you want to report it or did you already?"
“It’s been taken care of," I said as I thought of the light being sucked from the man.
"Good."
I felt the sting in the corners of my eyes and was pulled into another bone crushing hug.
"I love you, Eliza, you know that, right?"
"I love you too Angela," I whispered.
She pulled back. "Do you want to stay over at my place? I know I have an annoying roommate, but I'm worried about you being alone."
"No, it's okay. I'm fine now. I've had time to process it all and I'm getting back into the swing of things."
Angela frowned. "If you're sure?"
"I am."
"Just so you know, there's always room for you at my place."
"Thank you, but I'll be fine."
"Okay."
There was a moment of silence before Angela pulled me into another quick hug then led me back into the gallery. I wiped my eyes and followed her to the front of the store.
"Are you okay going home by yourself? If you want to hang around here until I close up, I can drive you home?"
"It's okay. I don't live far from here, and I don't want it to stop me from living my life. I don’t want to live in fear."
Angela smiled. "You're a strong woman Eliza; don't let anyone tell you different."
"Thank you, Ang. I'll see you tonight."
"Be safe."
“I will, Bye.”
Chapter 4
I spent all day cleaning my apartment of the dust and dirt that had collected during my month-long vacation. By six, I was mingling with the guests and patrons at the gallery. It wasn't until an hour into the show that I had managed to get my first glass of wine, and finally got a moment to myself, where I wasn't either kissing ass or receiving praise.
Without really thinking much about it, as my mind was a jumbled mess and numb, I found myself standing in front of the painting I had done of June. I was once again caught in the gunmetal gaze, as if in a trance when I felt a presence come up next to me. I glanced to my right, only to be shocked at the beauty of the man standing next to me. When I say beauty, I mean, the man next to me was drop-dead gorgeous, in the dark knight kind of way. He had a chiseled jaw and a dark complexion that made his dark features all the more charming. His hair was black, and when his gaze met mine, I found myself staring into eyes as black as an abyss. He smiled, showing off white teeth that would make any dentist proud.
"Hello, are you the artist, Eliza Trust?” His voice was smooth as silk.
I nodded, still trying to find my voice, as my mouth was dry all of a sudden.
"I'm Kaleb Cole, and I'm honored to be here to see your artwork."
“Thank you." I murmured and blushed slightly.
“I should be thanking you. But, I'm sure you're tired of all the flattery."
He held out another glass of wine towards me, and I glanced down at my own, now empty glass.
"Thanks." I took the offered drink, he smoothly took my empty one, and placed it on one of the servers trays as they walked by.
“Would you mind my asking what inspired this painting?" He gestured to the painting of June.
I looked at it, feeling guilty for some reason, then shrugged.
"I ran into the Grim Reaper recently when I had a brush with death; this is the result."
"The Grim Reaper?" He chuckled a dark sound that reverberated from deep within his chest.
"I'm sure she would enjoy that name." I thought I heard him whisper, but before I could ask him about It, he continued.