by Idella Breen
"What are your views on death, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Why?”
He smiled, but something about the glint in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine and not in a good way. I got the distinct feeling of this man being dangerous in the way a flame is dangerous if I were to play with it. “Please, humor me.”
I nodded before looking back at the painting and collecting my thoughts. “I like to think something amazing happens when we die."
"Why do I feel like there is a, ‘but,' at the end of that sentence?"
I glanced at him. “Well, I guess that's because sometimes I feel like there's nothing at the end of it all."
"What makes you think that?"
I turned back to the painting. "Probably, because sometimes I feel like Heaven and Hell are already on Earth."
I could feel his heated gaze burning holes into my head, but when I turned to meet it, he was looking down at his now empty wine glass. He looked up and smiled.
"What if I told you that you might be right?"
I frowned. "About what exactly?"
"About Heaven and Hell being on Earth? What if I told you that I was a demon come to claim your soul?"
The feeling of reality slipping through my fingers engulfed me, as I studied the man next to me, trying to decide if he was crazy or telling the truth. But there was no way he was telling the truth, right? Right?
"I guess I'd have to tell you that you could only have it if you pried it from my cold fingers because I have no intention of giving my soul to a demon no matter how handsome he thinks he is."
There was a brief moment of stillness as my answer hung between. The sound of the people around us seemed to fade away as I was pulled into the darkness of his eyes. They seemed bottomless, and hypnotizing, almost smothering. I jumped as his deep laugh burst forth. He turned and swept another glass from a server's tray and held it into the air.
“A toast then. To the beginning of the end. May the best man win.”
Hesitantly, I nodded and clinked my glass against his, watching as he drank the wine in a few quick gulps.
“But I'm not a man."
He smiled. “No, you're not. Call it a figure of speech. I'm sorry to say that I must go now. I've gone past my allotted time. I may have said a little too much too. I imagine I'll get a slap on the wrist for bad sportsmanship."
I frowned. “I don't understand."
"In time you will. I’ll see you around Eliza. It was a pleasure."
“Okay?” I whispered as I watched him walk away and melt into the crowd only to disappear.
“That wasn't weird," I muttered and took a drink from my glass emptying it in the process. The sense of wrongness still lingered even after Kaleb had left and I hoped the wine would help erase it.
“There you are Eliza!” Angela pushed through the crowd, towing a small balding man behind her.
“Eliza, meet Henry." She introduced.
I shook his hand absently, still trying to process the strange encounter I had just had.
"It's a pleasure finally to meet you Ms. Trust. Angela has told me so much about you."
"The pleasure is mine."
“Eliza, Henry is the director at Philo's." Now that caught my attention. Philo's was one of the big five galleries in Seattle.
"It truly is a pleasure then.” I smiled.
“I would love to speak with you sometime about having your art shown at my gallery. I've been a fan of your’s for quite some time now."
A bubble of excitement filled my gut. "I would be truly honored, Henry."
“Good." He pulled out a business card and a pen. After scribbling on it a moment he handed it to me.
“That is the number to my office. I only give it out to promising talent. Call me, and we will work out a time to meet."
I took the card, my heart pounding in my chest. “I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just paint me something for your future show."
"Thank you."
“Don’t mention it. Now I must be going. I'm late for another meeting. Think about it Ms.Trust. And give me a call sometime next week."
“Yes, sir."
Henry paused and glanced up at the painting of June. "Truly magnificent." He seemed to say to himself before he turned back to me.
"Good night, ladies."
I watched Henry go back into the crowd; it seemed to swallow him whole, before turning to Angela who had a shit eating grin on her face.
"Am I good or what?"
“How did you…" I trailed off.
"He's been coming to the gallery for months now, and I've been dropping hints that you'd be willing to show at other galleries. When I told him about the show tonight, he said he would be here, but I didn't want to say anything and get your hopes up."
"Thank you, Ang. I don't think you know how much this means to me."
She smiled and pulled me into a hug. "Believe me when I say that I do."
We separated.
"Just promise me one thing, Eliza?"
"Anything."
"Promise me, that no matter what, you will call him."
I paused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, that when you wake up tomorrow, don't let your logical mind talk you out of this once-in-a-lifetime chance."
I nodded. “I’ll call him, I promise."
She squealed and pulled me into another hug. "Congratulations then."
I smiled. Maybe my luck was finally beginning to look up for once. I looked past Angela’s shoulder only to meet the gunmetal gaze of June, my Grim Reaper, and the feeling of foreboding settled heavily on my shoulders.
***
“Lie to me,” I demanded.
“What?” June asked even as she sat down next to me on the damp sand.
“I want you to lie to me.”
“Why?”
I gave her a small smile as I adjusted the bangles around my wrist. I seemed to be wearing strange clothing that was from another time. I was dressed in simple clothes, but I was decorated extravagantly with jewelry. I met June’s gaze. I seemed to have no control over my body or the words coming from my mouth. “Because, lies are beautiful sometimes.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you want the truth? It’s all that matters.”
I turned to look out at the ocean as the waves crashed into each other. I had the distinct knowledge that the sun would be rising soon. “You’re wrong.”
“How so?” Her brows bunched adorably.
“There is no such thing as the truth. The truth is shrouded in opinions and biases. The truth is an illusion, an ugly lie. I want you to tell me a beautiful lie, because the thing I want to hear in my last moments, is something that will remind me of the love we could have had. I know the facts. The facts tell me that I am dying. That it’s my destiny to die this way. I am the Lamb of Essence. It is my birthright to die. The facts tell us that we failed to defy fate this time. But, facts are mortal, while lies transcend time and space. Tell me something beautiful, and it may come true in my next life.”
June met my gaze; I could make out her gunmetal gray eyes belying the pain of her failure, despite being unable to discern the definite features of her face. It was like I could see her without really seeing her. I smiled sadly even as she spoke. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me you love me. That you have always loved me, and that when I’m gone, you will use that love to move forward in life. To move and find love again.”
Tears trickled down her face. She furiously wiped at them. “I’m not good at lying.”
I smiled a true smile. “That in itself is a beautiful lie. Tell me more.”
She nodded, and reached for my hand, taking it into her warm grasp. “I…I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you. I don’t think I ever stopped loving you and I don’t think I ever can. You take my breath away every time you smile. My heart flutters every time you laugh. But the greatest lie of all is that I have always be
en yours, and I always will be.”
I nodded even as my eyes stung. I took a deep breath. I had to be strong. “There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
June sobbed. “I think I hate you right now.”
I shook my head and gave a small laugh. “This is not the time for truth. You can say that when I’m gone. You can talk about all kinds of truth then, but right now, we are in the time of lies. Tell me something else.”
“I can’t live without you.” She whispered.
I nodded. “You will, though. You’ll move forward, and one day you’ll forget me. I’ll be a faded memory, a smell or a sound that you only vaguely recall for a moment before you continue with your day and that’s okay. That’s the way it should be.”
“No! That won’t happen!”
I chuckled. “You’re getting good at lying.”
She shook her head. “I don’t like this game.”
I looked back out at the ocean. The first rays of the new day were beginning to peak above the horizon. It was time. “I know. Why don’t you just hold me for a while, then? I think, I’d like that.”
June nodded and pulled me into her arms, wrapping them tightly around me, letting me settle against her soft chest.
“You can sleep for a while if you want.” She whispered.
“I think I’ll do that. Wake me up if I start snoring.”
She chuckled even as it turned into a sob. “I will.”
“I love you too by the way. Just wanted you to know that.”
June nodded. “I know.”
“Good…” I trailed off, as I felt my whole body go slack, relaxing into her strong and steady hold. I felt my heart stutter as the first rays of morning shone on my eyelids. Then, darkness claimed me. The side I had chosen this time was the demons side. I chose it to spite the light for denying me the love I so desired. June stood by my decision as she had in every lifetime, and I believed, she would continue to in the lifetimes yet to come. She was on my side no matter what side I chose, and for that, I was forever grateful because the truth was, that I would be alone if it weren't for her. She was mine even though I could never be hers.
***
I felt myself leave my body and enter June’s. Her thoughts flooded into my mind as I became one with her.
June looked out into the distance even as she felt the life leave the body held tightly in her arms. The fact was that the soul she had held in her grasp, the woman, her woman, was a victim of fate. They both were, but the beautiful lie was that they were soulmates. The truth, though, the truth was too much to bare even for her, a bone walker. The truth was that they were never meant to be. It was a biased and opinionated truth that she was determined to prove a fallacy.
June, watched the sun rise high into the sky and watched the waves crash against the sandy bank. No one was there to tell her to stop the tears from falling; no one was there to tell her beautiful lies. All she had to hold her over until the next rebirth of the Lamb of Essence, the woman of many names and lives, all of them tragic until the very end, her lover, were the lies and the memories of all the times she had failed. But most of all, she had the hope that there would be a day, a time, a moment, when she finally broke the cycle, and that would just have to be enough because the fact was, she had no other goal in her immortal death but to set her lover free.
***
“June!” I gasped as I sat up in bed. I panted heavily trying to slow my racing heart. What the fuck had that been about? What kind of dream was that? Was I losing my mind?
My thoughts continued to race, the silence of the room only interrupted by my irregular breathing, and the beating drum of my heart. Why did I have that dream? It had felt so real, almost as if I had lived it, but that was impossible. I didn’t even know what the woman looked like. Even in my dream, she was shrouded in a fog. Just an after image, the thought of an image, but not enough substance to make out anything more than the softness of her voice and the overwhelming familiarity; the fondness I would usually only feel for a loved one, all directed at a woman I didn’t even have a face to relate to.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and pushed the covers off. I just sat for a moment, with my feet touching the wooden floors of my bedroom, before I reached over and turned on the lamp on my bedside table. The soft yellowish light illuminated the familiar space that I knew as my room for the better half of six years. I was proud of it and the homeliness it supplied. It was me, and it was mine. I had never had my own room growing up. Most of the foster families I was shuffled through always had at least three to four children moving about the place. I was always forced onto the top bunk of a more loved daughter.
Most foster families balk at the idea of taking on a teenager almost done with high school. Most people wanted a baby or a small toddler. A blank slate. Teenagers in foster care had too much baggage, were too much work, and not enough time to reprogram them to fit into the new family before they were considered adults. I’m sure most were thinking, ‘Why bother?’
But there were some that had teenagers forced on them or others that simply took them in for the paychecks we brought with us. They weren’t necessarily bad people, those families. They just lacked privacy and most importantly, they lacked love. It was hard to find a family that would love a child, that wasn’t there’s, unconditionally. That’s not to say they didn’t exist, but more to say that they were hard to find. I only found one towards the end, and I was already being shipped off to college on a full academic scholarship. I lost touch with my foster family, and during my third year in college, I found out through the grapevine that they had died in a horrific house fire that year. I couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault. If it hadn’t been for Angela, I wouldn’t have pulled through and graduated. I didn’t even have any photos of the woman that had helped me through high school.
And now, here I was, in a room that I could call my own, surrounded by the essence of the things that helped define me in some way, dreaming about a woman I didn’t even know. I sighed. What was wrong with me? I had felt so much longing as I asked her to lie to me. So much pain and it had felt like my pain. Like a scar that reopened and wept anew. But, I don’t remember that ever happening to me. I think I would remember a woman like June. The Grim Reaper get up would ensure that. Besides, I had felt other things in that dream that I wasn’t quite ready to analyze.
I stood and felt my pajamas cling to me. Ugh, gross, sweat. Okay, first a shower, then a glass of water, then back to bed. I glanced at the digital clock on the table. Three in the morning? Of course, it was. I sighed and stood. My throat felt scratchy. Maybe, I should get that glass of water first. I stood but suddenly lost my balance and fell back onto the mattress. My legs felt weak.
“That dream must have affected me more than I thought,” I whispered.
I attempted to stand again and was successful. I left my bedroom and crossed into the bathroom across the hall. There was a plastic cup that I usually used to rinse my mouth with, on the sink. I filled it with water from the tap and greedily drank from it. Once I had enough, I pulled out a towel and undressed from my sweaty clothing, before climbing under the still warming spray. An hour later I was climbing back into bed feeling calmer and more relaxed. Sleep claimed me quickly, the shower having wiped away most of the lingering memories of the strange dream. There were no more strange dreams that night, just blissful darkness until the morning light of the next day woke me, but by then all thoughts of the dream were long forgotten.
Chapter 5
The rest of the week flew by without event. I called Henry, after several attempts at talking myself out of it, despite my promise to Angela. If it weren't for her endless insistent badgering, I would have never got up the nerve to call and make the appointment. I had made a few halfhearted attempts with some pencil pusher jobs but hadn't received any calls back going into the next week. Without much thought, I soon found myself being shown around Philo's on a Tuesday afternoon by Henry, and another director that was lac
kluster at best.
The gallery was large, but that was to be expected for the area it was located in. Philo's was located in Queen Anne's, one of the most affluent neighborhoods of downtown Seattle. The gallery was two stories and a basement that housed some of the more temperature sensitive art pieces. The walls were a bleached white to offer the perfect canvas for the artists to display their work and not take away from it. At the entrance, there were two options in which to proceed. If a person turned left, they were taken down a hallway of some of the most modern art Seattle had to offer. That hallway took the person in a roundabout, that would lead them through several rooms, all filled with varying works of art ranging from prosthetic leg lamps to rusty cars painted with unicorns. Going that way a person would eventually end up at a winding staircase where they were given the choice of going up or down.
Going up would lead a person to the Heaven Room. A room devoted to celestial works depicting the beauty of angels in all their benevolent light. The room itself was filled with natural light along with many ceiling lights. Just walking into it I felt like I was in someplace holy. Some of the paintings depicted the holy ranks an angel could achieve in their lifetime as well as the miracles they would bestow upon humans. It was as beautiful as it was intimidating.
Going down the staircase was something completely different. It would lead a person to the Hell Room, which was filled with demonic statues and the galleries most prized possession, a painting named, The Fall of The Morning Star. It was a painting that was as beautiful as it was vicious. The painting depicted what looked to be an angel, having his wings torn off by other angels. What made it beautiful was the care the artist took in painting the details of the wings. They were so lifelike that I felt that if I touched the painting, I would feel their softness, like touching an eagle's feathers. It was vicious because of the gruesome display the other angels were enacting. It would have been kind to say it looked like it hurt. The agonizing pain the fallen angel must have felt during the process was beyond human comprehension.
“What do you think of it Ms. Trust? Is it not amazing?” Henry asked. His voice held hints of the awe he must feel every time he laid eyes on the painting.