Chapter V: Paint

The artist Melissa.

          Tristan stood in front of the easel, letting Melissa adjust the position of his body and wings. She turned him slightly to the right, and made his right wing drape across his shoulder. Then she spread out his other wing to the left. After straightening his posture, she walked behind the canvas.

          “Remember, as long as I’m here no one can harm you,” said Tristan.

          She nodded and dipped her brush into a paint she matched to the color of his skin.   

          “I’m going to dress your painting in classical clothing if you don’t mind,” she said.

          “Go ahead, although I’ve never worn anything like that. Some of the older angels still do though.”

          She gazed at him curiously, before saying, “I’ve been wondering if you have a name, and if you already know mine.”

          “My name’s Tristan, and yes, I do know your name Melissa.”

          “Tristan, do you use your wings to fly to heaven?”

          “That’s what they’re for.”

          She turned quiet and studied him. He was what you would call the tall, dark, and handsome type. His arms had lean muscles that didn’t disrupt the lines of his body. His face was smooth and mysterious, lit by striking blue eyes.

          “So what inspires you to paint people?” he asked.

          “Well, I’ve taken art lessons and classes ever since I was a little child. My parents raised me as a Catholic and I was always taught that people don’t live forever. God chooses the time when they will die and enter his kingdom. I thought that it was my job to keep them alive by painting everyone I knew.”

          “Did you paint your father?”

          She gazed down sadly, dipping her brush into the paint. “No, I didn’t. He never had any time for me, his only child. Whenever I approached him and tried to say something, he told me to go away. He never even remembered my birthday, not once.”

          “I’m sorry he was so cold to you. Was he ever nice to anyone?”

          “To the people he worked with, I’m sure.”

          “Then why didn’t he ever make time for his family?”

          “Him and Mother, they sort of had a falling out,” she said, her eyes saddening. “I don’t know why. They never talked to me about it. I started thinking it was my fault, because he didn’t love me, and I wanted to know why he didn’t. Then Mother died, and I knew I would never find out, because she was the only one who talked to me.”

          Tristan went quiet for a moment, before asking timidly, “How did she die?”

          After hearing his question, Melissa’s hand froze. She hadn’t been asked that in years, to where she had almost forgotten the answer, but now she remembered.

          Her lips formed the word, but her throat froze, unable to speak it. Until, finally she spoke in a frail voice, “Suicide.”

          A shot of guilt went through Tristan’s heart, and he instantly regretted asking her. “Forgive me. I had no idea,” he said.

          Slowly, her hand started brushing over the canvas again. “It’s fine. I got over it a long time ago. She was driving alone, and supposedly, she crashed head-on into a tree on purpose. I was seventeen. When Seth was murdered a year later, I was terrified of being close to anyone, but then I went to college and the nightmares faded away.”

          “How did your Father react?”

          “It wasn’t even a chip off his shoulder. I couldn’t believe him, and his coldness disturbed me greatly. It was like he was forcing me to get over it. His behavior tore at my open wounds. He didn’t even attend her funeral. Seth went with me instead.”

          “This Seth, do you know who killed him?” asked Tristan, although he knew the answer.

          “The same person who is watching us now,” she said quietly.

          “How? I can see, and there’s no one here.”

          “I can’t see him either.”

          “Then how do you know?”

          “I have this feeling. I’ve told you before.”

          “Have you ever seen him?”

          “Maybe. It always seems like a trick of the eye, because he disappears too quickly.”

          Tristan’s face darkened and he looked at her sullenly. “When did you first start seeing him?”

          “After I graduated from college. Four years after his death…and Seth’s.”

          “So then it’s been a year. You said you became better after going to college. What happened?”

          “Nothing. When I came home he just started appearing.”

          “That’s strange,” said Tristan, tilting his head to think a little. “If you ever see him again, tell me, ok?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Sorry if I’ve been distracting you. I just had a lot of questions.”

          “It’s fine. If you’re going to protect me, you need to know everything. That’s the reason you’re here.”

          Tristan smiled, fighting back a grimace. She had no idea why he was really here. He wanted to tell her everything, but couldn’t. All he could do was stay still and watch her paint.

Pale brown hair fell over her shoulders, and her eyes were transfixed. Her thin body seemed frail, and her fading jeans looked like they had seen better days. She wore a plain blouse, the color of lavenders. Her face was pure and beautiful, with strawberry cheeks.

When it started to get dark, he had lit the place with an unknown light, but she didn’t seem to care or notice. She painted into the night and he stood there, impervious to fatigue, but he knew she was tired. Before she missed him, he crept to her side. That was when he saw himself, a mirror image; real enough to fool the eye. She must have been serious about immortalizing everyone.

He took her brush hand softly in his, causing her to realize his movement. “One would think you painted a real angel,” he commented. “Surely you can rest now.”

“No. I must continue.”

“Why?”

“Rent. If I don’t have something to sell, I can’t stay here.”

His eyes narrowed, as he stole the brush. “I’m not letting you suffer. None of this is your fault.”

She tried to take it from him, but he dropped it and held back her arms.

“Seth died because of me!” she protested.

“Stop it. You’re making me hurt you.”

She kept fighting, but he was too strong. Soon she gave up and fled to her room.

He picked up the brush, using his powers to cleanse the blue stain from the carpet. She had been painting his eyes, the eyes of a killer.

“That was quite a tussle,” said a voice. It was Satan’s. Tristan turned and saw him opening the refrigerator.

“Looking for something?” asked Tristan, slightly annoyed.

He ignored the question. “Are you going to let her starve?”

Tristan glared at him. “What do you want me to do? Force it down her throat? Isn’t she going to hear us talking?”

“Don’t worry. Sound barriers.” Satan turned around, flashing a Black Ops 2 shirt. “So you were saying you’re going to force her to eat? How exotic.”

“No, I was saying she completely refuses to let me help her.”

Satan smirked and added, “Especially with the rent and electricity bill.”

“Exactly.”

“But now’s your chance to make some overnight renovations.”

“What?”

“While pretty Miss Melissa is asleep, you can start decorating the inside of her refrigerator. You can even sneak out in the morning and pay her rent.”

“She isn’t sleeping. She’s crying her eyes out and I can’t just leave her alone like this.”

“Let the lass go. Grief forms a lustful heart.”

Tristan fumed, rushing over to him and grabbing the collar of his shirt.  “You sick b*****d. What are you trying to turn her into?”

“You mean, what are you trying to turn her into?”

Infuriated, Tristan gripped his throat, but Satan took hold of his arm and threw him to the ground.

“You’re lucky I find you amusing,” he sneered. “Now once I’m gone, you will carry out this plan whether you like it or not. That includes giving the fridge a run of electricity until you can find the bill, and I doubt searching for it tonight could hurt.”

Then he disappeared.

Tristan rolled off his back, pain shooting through his body. He couldn’t lose control of his anger again with Sean’s soul on the line. He had to give up.

After getting up slowly, he looked through the kitchen drawers, hoping to find the bill. It showed up in a drawer, beneath an old analog clock. He set it on the counter and read the amount due, and as payment, filled the provided envelope with the right amount of cash.

As a demon, his powers were limited. Only the power of God could truly create. God was no longer working through him. He could only create things that had already been created by God.

With his work complete, he placed the bill back under the clock and stored the envelope in his treasure box, until the chance came to mail it.

  Next he approached the fridge Satan left open. Touching it with his hand, he cast a spell to provide it with an infinite supply of electricity. It turned on and cooled itself again.

This would be the hard part, considering he had never ate food in his existence. He would have to do some invisible exploring into neighboring refrigerators, then recreate his findings to decorate Melissa’s fridge.  

Reviews

[Silent Wolf]

I am really liking this book so far, but I must say, it really reminds me of one of the books I was writing on my own. I'll change it up a bit, but I don't wanna stop writing it. Lol. I'm seeing really good use of grammar and punctuation, and I like the detail, even though it is in third person, which is unusual for me. I like how you're creating Tristan's character, though he still seems quite a bit emotionless. But I'm sure he will eventually gain feelings. :3