The Writer and The Artist: The Crystal

Chapter 6: The Crystal

 

THE CRYSTAL

 

1

 

She opened her eyes and found she was flying over purple skies towards the tower. Her dream had become reality.

            But this time the atmosphere was more alive. She could hear the screeching of creatures behind her; the echoed ring of telephones; the whooshing sound of the vortex, like a breeze through a corridor. The oncoming wind that brushed against her face cooled her cheeks.

            Laura flew for what felt like minutes. With every second she ventured deeper and deeper into the middle – the world of the vortex. She wondered exactly how deep she was going to go. And then she realised.

This vortex is the gateway into John’s mind. At the centre of this vortex is the source of all his paintings – his subconscious mind. No wonder the vortex is deep.

And then something else came into focus.

The tower’s crystal must know of the paintings. It contains the colours of all my paintings. It…it knows where my husband is…

And then she arrived; her feet landed softly onto the cyan portal.

 

2

 

She stepped forward and shuddered as her bare feet rubbed against the cold smooth base of the disc, like stepping onto kitchen tiles. She marvelled at the sight of miles and miles of purple-shaded clouds in every possible direction.

            Everything about the tower was as she remembered it: it’s sheer height; the markings on the body of the tower; the staircase that coiled its way to the head of the tower; and, of course, the head itself – the gleaming crystal of beautiful colour.

            She marvelled at its magnitude for a second time, as Ethan’s feet silently grazed the portal.

            As Ethan searched the skies, swallowing the tower and the surrounding atmosphere like legal ecstasy, Laura looked to him and smiled.

            ‘Welcome to my dream,’ he said, holding out a gesturing hand.

             Ethan exhaled the drug and followed her towards the tower.

 

3

 

As they patiently followed the curve of the staircase, each step glowed a fluorescent colour beneath Laura’s feet. Laura could feel a pulse, like a heartbeat, in the middle of her feet. It spread across the skin and tingled her toes. This tower was more alive than Laura first thought. As for Ethan, walking behind her, he already knew. As he followed, he watched with content as each step beneath his weight shone an impressive white.

            And there at the head of the tower stood the crystal in all its elegance. Colours swarmed within, as though, Laura felt, they trying to escape.

            ‘I think I understand it now,’ she said out loud as her eyes remained transfixed on the gleaming rock in front of her. ‘This crystal, this tower, it is all a part of John’s mind. It contains my colours. My colours, Ethan.’ She faced him. ‘Nobody else’s. All the colours I have selectively used. It must hold my paintings.’

            ‘And perhaps an answer?’ Ethan added.

            She nodded and looked back towards the crystal. For a split second she thought she saw a swirl of dark colour, deep within the crystal’s frame. But after a blink they had gone, a momentary fish within a sparkling sea.

But then the inside of the crystal moved.

Their eyes became fixated on the crystal’s activity. Colours of intense brightness wavered and span. They then started to weave together like fabric, creating an image before their very eyes.

            It was the colour of green. A pale green, one that Laura was not as familiar to as she could be.

            It suddenly glistened, becoming a scintillating surface. Water? Glass? Marble?

            It was marble, Laura realised, as it formed the shape of an oval.

            Laura gasped.

            ‘You recognise that vase?’ Ethan asked, seeing her expression.

            ‘Of course I do,’ she replied, ‘I painted the damn thing.’

 

4

 

‘Remember that painting with John and his friends and family sitting around in a living room: drinking; smiling; laughing?’

            ‘Cosy?’

            ‘Yeah, that’s the one. You left just after we spoke about it. On the mantelpiece of the living room above the fireplace…’

            ‘There was a load of ornaments…’

            ‘And this was one of them!’

            Ethan stepped forward to admire the vase. ‘That means that painting has some significance.’

            ‘But why the vase?’

            He looked back at her. ‘What?’

            ‘Why the vase?’ she repeated. ’There were several ornaments on that mantelpiece: a clock, a figure of an angel…why not one of them?’

            ‘And why only the vase?’

            She sighed. ‘Maybe we’re reading too much into this.’

            ‘Maybe,’ Ethan replied. ‘But you are certain this vase is in that painting?’

            ‘Completely,’ she said, as she frowned at the vase the crystal had imaged. She had never been totally happy with the vase, but it was as John had seen it. It had been one of the first details he had described of the room.

            But why was it so important?

            Why is it so important now?

            And then the image changed, rather, the vase remained and a scene was created with the vast amounts of swirling colour surrounding it. It was recreating the painting of Cosy. Every detailed stroke of paint Laura had done so long ago was being reformed in front of her very eyes.

            Only the view room and this place existed. The tower was reaching into the view room and selecting the very painting they needed.

            ‘Not only is this crystal completely amazing,’ Laura said, as the last few details of Cosy formed into place. ‘It is pretty damn clever as well.’

            ‘It saves us looking through each painting,’ Ethan replied. ‘All we need is this.’ He pointed at the crystal and then at her. ‘And that impressive memory you have.’

            She smiled. ‘Such is the way of my gift.’

            They then both looked into the image of Cosy within the crystal. The next step was clear.         

            Ethan touched the surface of the crystal, feeling a slight heat across his palm. The crystal’s hard surface suddenly began to waver and break, until it felt as though Ethan had placed his hand across the surface of water. Although this was different; it held in place beneath his hand. His skin prickled as their worlds met. The crystal was begging for his mercy.

            As Ethan placed his hand upon the crystal, Laura watched as the image flickered and wavered. Eventually the image held still again, transfixed under the weight of Ethan’s will power. But it became alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter.

Voices under an ocean.

Laura did not notice the clouds surrounding the tower brighten and turn a dark shade of lilac, forming a vortex of their own above them.

            She looked at Ethan. He looked at her and nodded.

            She ventured into the crystal’s image.

            The black void blinked at them.

5

 

For a moment, everything was clear and the sounds of the painting passed through it. But it was louder – surrounding her. She was in the painting, but she could not see it.

            ‘Laura?’

            The sound of laughter ceased.

            It was not Ethan’s voice, rather a far more distinct voice she had longed to hear again.

            ‘John?’ she called out into the neutral surrounding.

            ‘Open your eyes, Laura.’

            She did as he asked, closing her eyes and opening them again.

            And suddenly there he was, sitting in a chair, within the whiteness that surrounded them. He was smart; casual; his white shirt had one button undone with a black tie loosened below the collar. He was sitting there, smiling at her.

            ‘I was wondering if you were ever going to show,’ he said, as he rubbed his fingers along his palms. He sounded different all of a sudden.

            A distant voice echoed, drifting further and further away.

            Open your eyes, Laura…

            She at first did not know what to say. Her first instincts wanted to run to him; cuddle him; kiss him…but something was drawing her back.

            ‘I am glad you are here,’ he said, still sat within the chair as though it were glued to him, ‘we were hoping you would stop by.’

            ‘We?’

            We.

            That was when it hit her. She sighed. This was not her John, only Cosy John, sitting comfortably in a chair she had painted, alongside many other chairs that held his relatives and friends that she had drawn. She looked away from the John sitting in front of her and closed her eyes.

            The crystal was testing her, making her realise that this was not the end of the search, but merely the beginning. You’ve had your fun, she thought into the air, now let me in.

            The sounds of laughter suddenly returned.

            Laura opened her eyes and found herself within the painting.

 

6

 

She could feel the atmosphere wrapping itself around her. She counted eleven people in the room, half a dozen including herself, sitting in a circle surrounding her and a large coffee table that she found herself standing upon. Normally she would feel embarrassed, but the fact that everyone in close vicinity carried on talking as though she was not even there made her think otherwise. Now and again, one of them would say something to her, along the lines of ‘We’re so glad you came, Laura,’ or, ‘We hope you’re having a good time, Laura.’ And that was what the painting was about, comfortable, cosy laughter, yet it was also about them – the we – and not her. Not even her own husband acknowledged her as much as a normal human being would in such circumstances.

            She stepped off the table and looked towards the mantelpiece, with the clock, the angel statue and the green vase. Her position in the painting suddenly made her think. She turned around and looked behind her, at areas in the room that she had not painted. Her image only showed one corner of the room and not the other. It was as though this room actually did exist, as though she had been here at some point.

            But no, that was not it either. She had never been here before. No, this meant something else; either John had been to this room before.

            Or this room was somewhere in John’s mind; a subconscious area filled with subconscious objects and entities.

            It made Laura realise something, what if the scene in her painting was not as important as she first thought when she saw the image of the vase? What if the area she had not painted was even more important?

            And where exactly was Ethan? He could not be seen amongst the chatter. Perhaps he was afraid to step into the painting, like he was intruding a person’s mind that perhaps did not want to be intruded. But then again he had stepped into Bad Day.

            Wherever he was, she knew he was close. She could sense him somewhere; he was watching her, likely from the crystal, peering in as they had only moments before.

            Then she heard his voice like a distant echo. Try the vase. Nobody in the room averted their attention.

            She nodded to herself, making one of the room’s occupants, Gilly, John’s first cousin she thought, smile back, before continuing his conversation with the lady next to him.

            She walked over to the mantelpiece, desperately trying to ignore Cosy John when he said ‘Glad you could make it, my dear.’ Those last two words made her shudder uncomfortably.

            She hesitantly reached towards the vase. It looked so out of place, with its moody green colour against the light grey surface. The pale green was an acrylic she rarely used, but it had been the colour John had hand picked for her.

            Was that why this vase was so special, because he had chosen the colour for it? Perhaps it meant something to John that she had not realised whilst painting it.

            Her incessant curiosity forced her to grasp it. Slowly, she lifted it off the mantelpiece and examined it carefully. She had not been surprised that the vase was whole, considering she had only painted one two-dimensional side of it. The green marble vase had a matching lid that was dome-shaped with a round gold handle at the tip. She carefully held the vase in her left palm and used her thumb and index finger to clench the handle and lift up the lid. She leaned her head forward and peeked inside.

            It was empty; a deep black stared her in the face and laughed at her.

            Just another void.

She heard Ethan groan a Nothing through the air, taking the word right out of her mouth.

 

7

 

If the vase was not the clue, what else was there?

            Laura quickly scanned the room. At the other end of the room in the corner she had not painted was a closed cupboard and a wooden cabinet with glass windows attached to the wall. The cabinet contained various ornaments: figurines of animals; pictures of the room’s inhabitants in other places outside of this living room; and some decorative white china with red and gold patterns around the rim of the plates and bowls, most likely used for very special occasions. None of this seemed out of place, in fact it seemed to fit more than the empty object she held in her left hand.

            Which drew her attention back to the vase.

Could she take it with her? Instinct told her she would be unable to, as it were part of the painting she made. Removing it may cause the painting to be destroyed, which meant she could not return here in case she ever needed to. More to the point, she did not want any of her precious paintings to be ruined.

            Wanting to make sure the vase was put back exactly as it was left, she spontaneously asked the nearest gentleman, ‘Can you put this vase back where it was, please?’

            ‘Why certainly,’ the man replied, who Laura recognised as Steve, John’s best friend from high school. He took the lid and placed it neatly onto the vase. He then reached over to the mantelpiece and placed the vase back in its original position. Her suspicions were correct; everything in the painting was as one. She could not take the vase with her.

Cid then said, ‘We’re glad you got her okay, Laura.’

            ‘Unfortunately, I have to go,’ she replied, ‘my friend Ethan is picking me up.’ She looked around in hope of seeing him.

            ‘Ethan, you say?’ he said. ‘I don’t know an Ethan. Is he planning on staying for a while, do you know?’

            ‘No, sorry,’ she said, as there came a ‘Psst!’ from across the room. She turned and saw something astounding. There was a tear in the painting, filled with the whiteness that Laura had been in moments before arriving here. Ethan stood there, one foot placed within the tear and the other on the carpet of the living room. Those sitting down nearby merely turned to say ‘Oh hello,’ and carried about their business. They were not nearly as shocked as they should have been. The falsity of this room started to make Laura feel uncomfortable.

            ‘Let’s go,’ she said, as she walked over the coffee table and followed Ethan into the white light.

            The tear then closed behind them, as the sound of comfortable, cosy laughter faded away.

 

8

 

They opened their eyes and saw the void, surrounded by a fluffy beard of cloud, grinning at them. Their first trip through a painting and back had been successful.

            Laura first went to sit beside the crystal, as Ethan removed his hand from it and stood beside her. She took a moment to adjust to her surroundings. The painting had started to feel so fake – ironically counterfeit. And yet seeing the crystal atop a tower, suspended on a platform in the middle of a purple vortex…well, this was the only reality she could trust for now.

            She asked the first question: ‘Why didn’t you come inside?’

            ‘Because if I did,’ Ethan replied, ‘there would be no way out. I am the gate key, by which you need to open the gate.’

            ‘I see,’ she said, ‘so you can put one foot in, but not the other?’

            ‘Precisely.’

            ‘And they acted the exact same way to you as they did to me.’

            ‘Except they did not know me.’

            ‘Huh?’

            ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Every time somebody spoke to you, your name was mentioned. They merely said hi to me.’

            Laura thought about this for a moment. ‘That means I am a part of the painting?’

            ‘The painting is nothing if it were not for the painter.’

            ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said, feeling a little impatient. ‘What I mean is I was already there in the room. They all knew me. That room – that whole painting – has something to do with me. I was definitely meant to be there.’

            ‘But for what?’

            She paused. If it was not the vase, then what? She could not take anything from the painting, so what instead did the painting all mean. ‘I honestly don’t know right now,’ she said, frowning.

            Ethan took in a breath and looked towards the lilac horizon. He then had a thought. ‘What does the painting represent again?’

            ‘I told you,’ she said, ‘how John felt being around his whole family and friends…’

            ‘But you were not there?’

            ‘I had been called away,’ Laura replied. ‘My mother became very sick and I went to see her at the hospital. I couldn’t let John cancel his evening; he had planned it months in advance.’

            ‘So if you were never there to begin with,’ Ethan replied, ‘then why does everyone in that painting know of you?’

            She forced down a quick reply and thought about it. Whilst she was in that painting, it was only them and her. The reality of the outside world, the laws of memory, had no place within those walls. How could it when everything seemed so surreal? Ethan was right; technically they should not even know who she was.

            But they did. Not only that, each character had the same personality as Laura remembered them to be: John’s best friend from high school – Steve, John’s parents, everyone in that room, including John, felt like the person that they should be.

            They were not just paintings after all.

            ‘They’re all linked to me, as well,’ Laura said. Ethan turned his head towards her. ‘They’re linked to John, because it was his vision; it was his memory that he told to me. But it’s also linked to me. My personal feelings and memories are there too. Every person, no matter how odd they acted, they still acted as them!’

            After a moment of silence, Ethan said: ‘Count yourself lucky.’

            Before Laura could question his remark, the crystal began to shift and form another shape.

            An orange dress.

         Seconds later, Laura realised the painting.