Portrait of Shade

by Benjamin Ford

  Constance looks at the man who hovers slightly behind her sister. She frowns, for he seems peculiarly familiar. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  Justine beckons to the sandy haired man with the prominent chin and aquiline nose.

  As he steps forward through the intangible haze, Constance is struck by the cold blackness of his eyes.

  ‘This is Constantine. It is he whose spirit occupies your body and inhabits your mind.’

  Constance chokes back a muted moan of despair. ‘Are you telling me I’m possessed?’ In this place, she can recall more than she had in the waking world, and a possession would explain her previously inexplicable blackouts.

  Justine nods. ‘Have no fear, Constance. You have nothing to fear. Constantine is not here to harm you. Let us be seated, and I shall endeavour to explain everything to you.’

  Suddenly there are three chairs before them, each identical to that on which Constance was seated in the real world: inviting, welcoming, comfortable.

  The trio sit as one.

  ‘So explain,’ murmurs Constance, intrigued and strangely unafraid, perhaps because of the oddly welcoming tone and words used by her deceased sister. ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘Constantine was the first Emperor of Byzantium. He founded Constantinople. One of the previous emperors of the Roman Empire, Diocletian, persecuted the Christians. He was particularly cruel to a priest named Spiridon, who was a very good friend of Constantine.’

  Constantine speaks for the first time, interrupting Justine. ‘We lived originally in a time long before all this started, but each new lifetime leads us down the same path. I wanted Diocletian executed for his evil deeds, but Spiridon, being the man he was, would not hear of it. He wanted to offer Diocletian forgiveness, so we went to Salona, where Diocletian had a castle. When we arrived, we found Diocletian was dying. He begged Spiridon to forgive him. He wanted to be admitted to the Kingdom of Heaven rather than Hell, and needed forgiveness from those he wronged. I saw through his charade though, and I persuaded Spiridon that Diocletian’s crimes were so severe he could only atone for them in Hell. He would have to pay for them like any other sinner.’

  ‘Diocletian died an embittered old man, consumed with rage right to the end,’ Justine continues, ‘and his vengeful spirit drifts on from one host body to another, awaiting the return of those who would not grant him forgiveness.’

  ‘Why are you still here, Constantine?’ asks Constance.

  ‘I was wrong to prevent Spiridon from forgiving Diocletian. Forgiveness is not something anyone can dictate to someone else. I am being punished for my own crime, until such time as all three of our spirits are reunited at the same time.’

  ‘So Spiridon’s spirit lingers on as well?’

  ‘Indeed it does, Constance, though not in the same manner as Diocletian and Constantine.’

  ‘I don’t follow, Justine.’

  ‘All in good time, Constance,’ interjects Constantine. ‘Diocletian, or rather his original spirit, has had certain memories erased from his mind. He knows not of our origins, and for good reason. He believes that he will win his own personal freedom from Heaven and Hell should he successfully destroy the souls of the two men he despises most. As far as he knows, if Spiridon and I can atone for our sins, and Diocletian accepts our profound apologies and forgiveness, we might all finally rest in peace, but it seems that Diocletian is unwilling to accept forgiveness from either Spiridon or myself.’

  ‘When he killed me, he believed he had killed Constantine’s spirit,’ says Justine. ‘But he has misjudged. He believes the soul of a person resides within the heart, but it does not. It is contained within the mind’s eye.’

  ‘Was that why he cut out your heart when he killed you?’ Constance gasps.

  Justine nods her head solemnly. ‘When you found my body and tearfully kissed my eyes, you opened up a psychic channel and Constantine’s spirit was transferred to your own mind. Only Diocletian doesn’t know this, and for your own safety, that is how it must remain.’

  ‘Okay, so what about the spirit of Spiridon?’

  ‘His spirit lives on as a physical entity,’ says Constantine. ‘Periodically he can cross the boundary into your world, but only for a limited time. He is effectively trapped in another realm, and it is only in that realm that he can be killed.’

  ‘What is this other realm you’re talking about? Is it like where we are now, in someone’s mind?’

  Constantine shakes his head. ‘Not in someone’s mind. The painting is his realm. His spirit resides there, trapped by a curse. Should the painting be destroyed then Spiridon dies.’

  ‘This painting you speak of… it’s the one at the Donat Gallery?’

  Justine nods her head. ‘You must help Eudora guard the painting, but you must tell her nothing of this. She must not learn anything from you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It is best you do not ask that,’ Constantine sighs. ‘There is much that I have not revealed to you here; much that Justine does not know. They are secrets you will be safer not knowing.’

  ‘All right, I shall trust you on that, but I shall need to know who Diocletian’s spirit inhabits if I’m to protect the painting and Eudora from him.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d have guessed that by now,’ says Justine, unsmiling. ‘It’s my husband… Dino!’

  Chapter Nine

  Eudora allowed Nathan to give her a couple of tablets to aid her sleep that night. Whilst she did not want to sleep, she was too exhausted to remain awake, but knew nightmare visions of what she had seen at the gallery would prevent peaceful slumber, and so she took the tablets with little resistance and was asleep within half an hour.

  Nathan sat on the edge of the bed, regarding her for a long while after she drifted off. He did not want to leave her; he did not want to fall asleep in case the tablets wore off and she awoke, crying out her pain. As he was a very heavy sleeper, he seldom heard his alarm clock, and most likely would have slept through a devastating earthquake, but eventually he succumbed to the steely clutches of fatigue.

  When he awoke to torrential rain the next day, Eudora was still sleeping soundly beside him, so he slipped from the bed and showered to rid himself of the previous day’s grime, and then with just a towel wrapped around his waist, he went down to his kitchen and began to prepare breakfast.

  Waking somewhat groggily in a strange bedroom, Eudora quickly recalled the previous day’s chilling events and as she remembered that Nathan had brought her back to his home, she burst into tears for Gaia. Hearing clattering noises coming from downstairs, she wrapped the sheet around her body and slowly descended the stairs.

  ‘Morning, Dora.’ Nathan’s greeting lacked his usual cheeriness, and his strained expression matched Eudora’s own. He threw open his arms and she almost ran to him, welcoming his comforting embrace. ‘Did you have a restful sleep?’

  Eudora nodded. ‘I guess so, though now I’m awake I feel almost as bad as I did last night.’

  ‘Well, you’ve had possibly the most traumatic week imaginable, so it’s hardly surprising.’ He passed a plate of toast and a steaming mug of tea across to her as she settled onto the stool at the breakfast bar. ‘I don’t think it’ll be a good idea to get too used to the tablets though.’ He could not help but scrutinise her as she sipped the tea. Despite the tears, she appeared a lot calmer than he might have expected under the circumstances. She obviously came from sterner stock than he did, which was just as well since there was now the unpleasant business of sorting out the funeral arrangements – providing the police would allow the arrangements to be made. There was the possibility there would be an inquest or post-mortem, though Nathan hoped this would not be the case. Any lingering would make the healing process tougher.

  When Nathan offered to make the funeral arrangements for her, Eudora shook her head. ‘No. Thanks for the offer, Nate, but it’s something I have to do myself.’

  Nathan nodded understandingly. ‘Would you like me to a
ccompany you, though?’

  ‘Yes please, I’d really appreciate that. I’m not even going to think about it until Monday though. I want to go back to the gallery this morning.’

  Nathan looked alarmed. ‘Is that wise?’

  Eudora fixed him with a sad penetrating stare. ‘Perhaps not, but there are things I need to do, even under such awful circumstances. I know it sounds a bit callous, but the world doesn’t stop because Gaia has been murdered.’

  ‘All right. I expect the police will have moved her by now. Do you want me to come with you?’

  Eudora nodded as she sipped her tea. Having ignored the toast, claiming she had no appetite, she announced she was going to take a shower, and after she disappeared, Nathan telephoned his mother’s house. His sister answered.

  ‘Morning, Cassie, is Mother there?’

  ‘No!’ came back the curt reply.

  Nathan sighed loudly. He wished his mother and sister would settle their differences as it was beginning to put a terrible strain on the family, and he always felt like he was caught in the middle of their battles. One or other of them always wanted him to choose sides, though his pragmatism always prevented him from doing so. Cassie always fell out with him because of this, though he always made her see his reasoning… until the next time. Now it was just getting tiresome.

  ‘Do you know where she is, Cassie?’

  ‘How should I know? I’m her daughter, not her keeper!’

  ‘So you’ve no idea when she’ll be back either?’ There was an exasperated tone to Nathan’s voice.

  ‘Didn’t I just say I’m not her fucking keeper?’ yelled Cassie, slamming the telephone down and cutting him off before he had the chance to ask her to get Constance to call him when she returned.

  ‘Charming as ever, Cassie,’ Nathan mumbled, replacing the receiver. He was concerned for his mother’s well-being. He had been quite perturbed to find his mother gone when he and Eudora came out of the gallery, but Eudora had been so distraught at the time that he had not mentioned it. It was also unlike her to be out all night and not let someone know where she was – although it was possible that she had left a message at the house, which Cassie, in her obstinacy, had chosen not to read.

  With both Isadora and Gaia dead, there was a very real probability that Eudora might be next. He wanted to seek his mother’s advice on the matter, but instead now found himself worried about her as well. The similarities between their murders and that of his Aunt Justine had not gone unnoticed by Nathan, and if there was a connection between the deaths, that also meant there was the possibility that his mother might also be in danger.

  He was about to call the police and inform them of his concerns for his mother’s safety when he thought it might be prudent to confirm his spiteful sister’s implication. It would not do for him to go wasting police time searching for Constance if she was safely tucked up in bed. It was quite early, after all, and she seldom rose before nine on a Saturday. His mother had always been a creature of habit, right up until Aunt Justine’s murder last year… but her Saturday routine remained unaffected.

  A few minutes later, Eudora came down the stairs looking much refreshed. She wore a pair of his jeans with the legs rolled up, one of his tee shirts that was several sizes too large, and an equally too-big jacket, but she wore them with flair and somehow made the ensemble look oddly stylish. She had scraped her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with one of his seldom worn ties.

  ‘You realise, of course, that I’m probably the murderer’s next victim!’

  Shocked by Eudora’s statement, Nathan knew her well enough to avoid mollycoddling her. It was senseless to deny that it was a very real probability, but he decided not to mention his mother’s apparent disappearance for the moment, not wishing to alarm her further. ‘Perhaps we should ask the police for protection?’ he said.

  Eudora shook her head. ‘No way, Nate, I have no intention of losing my freedom! I’m not afraid of dying, you know.’

  ‘Well you should be!’ Nathan snapped. The last thing he wanted was to see Eudora in the same condition as her sister and cousin. ‘I don’t want you to die, Eudora. I love you.’

  Eudora touched his cheek tenderly. ‘Don’t worry, Nate,’ she breathed, ‘I have no intention of dying just yet!’

  Nathan wanted to know how she could remain so calm in the face of almost certain death, but he refrained from asking, mainly because he did not want her to know how afraid he was of death, and how terrified he was at the thought of her being murdered. Instead, he merely asked if she was ready to go to the gallery.

  She nodded solemnly. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

  * * *

  When Storm Delamare heard on the early morning news that Gaia had been found murdered at the Donat Gallery, the first thing he did was telephone Eudora at her home, and since there was no reply he tried both the gallery and its apartment, but obtained no reply from either.

  He was devastated at Gaia’s murder, because he had always loved her from afar, with only his marriage preventing him from acting upon his feelings for her. Then when his marriage had fallen apart due to his wife’s terrible infidelity, he had been unable to bring himself to trust another woman, not even his beloved Gaia. However, for nearly two years now he had slowly fallen more deeply in love with her than ever, and had been gradually working up the courage to ask her out on a date. The notion that she might fall for another man whilst he dithered simply had not occurred to him, and the thought that she might die had certainly never remotely crossed his mind.

  Now it was too late.

  Even though it was complete nonsense, for some reason he experienced a sensation of guilt surrounding her death, as though he in some way felt partly responsible. Had he and Gaia been a couple she might have been with him at his flat instead of in the apartment above the gallery. She might still be alive. But then again she might still be dead, in which case he would probably be dead too.

  ‘Oh stop thinking of what might have been,’ he muttered as he pulled up opposite the gallery. Having run out of telephone numbers to try in his search for Eudora, Storm had decided to try the gallery in person, but when he turned off the engine and looked across the street, he saw a policeman standing guard at the entrance to the alley, so made no attempt to approach.

  Storm felt sorry for the constable. Not only did he have to guard the scene of such a horrific crime, but was also forced to contend with the appalling weather. After the gloriously hot weather of the past few weeks, the heavens had opened during the night, and the rain was still relentlessly beating down, drumming on the roof of his car like a thousand irritating fingers, crashing into the already enormous puddles, which now swamped the asphalt. The fierce elemental winds, which accompanied the driving rain, whipped at the yellow tape that barred the way into the alleyway, its tendrils somehow managed to snake around the constable’s body no matter where he stood.

  Storm sat in the car for only a few minutes before Eudora and Nathan arrived in Nathan’s car, and he watched silently as they made a dash through the downpour, entering the premises through the front entrance. Eudora stood in the doorway, conversing with the police constable as he came to speak to her, and even through the rain and from this distance, the relief on the constable’s face was unmistakeable. He took flight, running to his own car parked a little way down the street. Storm waited until the police car turned the corner and disappeared before leaving his car and dashing across the street to the gallery. He could see Eudora and Nathan standing near the desk at the rear of the gallery, and he tapped lightly on the window, not wishing to alarm them.

  Nathan came and opened the door. ‘Hello, Storm.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nathan, I heard it on the news this morning and had to come and see her. How’s she holding up?’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘Pretty well I guess, considering everything she’s been through.’

  It was obvious Storm wanted to come into the gallery, but as far as Nathan was concerned n
obody was above suspicion, so he was not about to allow the art expert in. If, as seemed increasingly likely, the painting and the murders were connected, then someone who knew the painting’s true value was a potential prime suspect. Storm had identified the painting, and Nola knew of its existence, as did the deliveryman called Derek, whom Eudora had mentioned on the drive over.

  Of course, there were bound to be others who knew about the painting, most notably the original owner – who might have discovered its true value after the sale – and the mysterious rival bidder from the auction – whose identity was still unknown, but who was the chief suspect. The very fact that so many people knew of the portrait’s true value was the precise reason that nobody was above suspicion, not even old friends, though Nathan was forced to concede that Storm was the least likely suspect – he had, after all, valued priceless artefacts for the gallery in the past.

  ‘Eudora wants to be alone right now, Storm,’ he said by way of explanation for his reticence at allowing Storm access to the gallery. ‘Besides, she needs to check on the stock; find out if anything was stolen.’

  ‘Of course,’ muttered Storm, trying to shelter as best he could from the deluge. ‘What about Taine’s Trinity?’

  Storm seemed agitated, almost too interested in the painting, but Nathan gave nothing away and merely shrugged. ‘We’ve only just got here, so we’ve not checked on the stock yet. If you’ll excuse me, I think Eudora’s calling me.’ He closed the door in Storm’s face and stood looking menacing until the art expert got the message and returned to his car.

  Eudora, who had asked Nathan to get rid of Storm, came over and they watched the car disappear. ‘Do you think it could possibly be Storm?’ she asked.

  Nathan shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know, even though he’s a good friend. He did seem oddly eager to know if the painting was missing, though.’