The Artist

The Artist

In the dead of night, anything is possible. The world is a dark canvas, waiting and willing for the right mind to come in and paint the scene. What color, tonight? Red, I suppose. There’s a beauty in the combination of black and red, a miraculous beauty indeed. And tonight, yes tonight, this world will be covered in it, the world will be dripping black and red.

It's been a week since they left for that hiking trip. I remember it so clearly: the atmosphere, their happiness, everything seemed perfect. Jacqueline was so thrilled, and so was Antonio, but he had more reason to be. A last ditch effort to save their relationship, the trip was his way of apologizing (for the last time, he had said) for the countless number of girls he had been with on occasion. Jacqueline fought the idea, but seeing that he truly was the only one she loved, she was willing to give it a chance. So they left, happy and hurried, onto their next adventure. Yes, I remember that day so clearly, but who knew it would lead to this?

The officer pulls up to the curb, just at the edge of the driveway, and approaches us. He moves slow as he turns and observes the world around him, as if the answer will be somewhere in the front lawn. But once he reasons against this, he steps over to Nicolas and I, looking us up and down.

“Which one of you called?” he asks, arms folded and with poise.

“Me, I did,” I respond, soft yet nervous. This whole situation has stressed me out beyond my imagination; I'm not surprised that my voice sounds the way it does.

“What's your relationship to them, ma’am?” His voice is so stiff, his question comes off as more of a statement, as if our presence annoys him.

“I'm Jacqueline’s friend, we've been friends since we were girls.”

“And I'm her brother,” Nicolas adds, placing a gentle hand on my back.

“And your relation to the man?” the police questions again.

Nicolas and I look at each other, not really knowing what to say. Neither of us are really fond of Antonio. Antonio and I have a long, distorted history, one of those relationships where some things (everything) are better left unsaid. It’s no secret that Antonio has been unfaithful to Jacqueline, abusive to Jacqueline, hurtful to Jacqueline. At this point, it’s almost expected that he behaves this way. For this, Nicolas abhors the very sight of Antonio. He and Jacqueline have a bond that’s beyond anything comparable to that of other siblings. So watching Antonio hurt her, watching him break her heart over and over again, there’s nothing in this world that upsets Nicolas more.

As for me, I hate Antonio, for reasons no one knows but he and I, closeted secrets that have been shredding me apart since their occurrence. Soon after he and Jacqueline started dating, we all went out together. Nicolas and I had been dating for a few months then (which had been a struggle between Jacqueline and I, seeing that my new love was her brother), so this was our first real shot at a double date. I thought the whole idea was lame, but Jacqueline insisted on it being the best night of our lives, so we all succumbed to her desire.

We went to a winery not too far from where we live. I wasn’t planning on doing much drinking, I never was one for alcohol. But thirty minutes in, the four of us had practically guzzled a bottle of Chardonnay and devoured an expensive platter of assorted cheese. Everyone was laughing and having a good time, everyone except for Antonio. He sat directly beside Jacqueline, yet for the whole night his eyes were locked on me. He wore this peculiar grin, as if he was enchanted by my presence; the whole thing made me uncomfortable, so I decided to step out. Antonio followed close behind me, claiming that he forgot his wallet in the car, a lie I surely knew.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said trotting steady behind me, “I want to talk to you.”

“Okay,” I replied, “go for it.”

He turned to face me, the grin replacing his tired expression. I didn’t like this at all, talking to him in this manner, but there was no escaping. He grabbed me by my waist and kissed me, quickly and unexpected. After a moment, he pulled his face away but his hand still lingered. I wanted to reason that he was drunk, that he had no control of his actions. But I knew he did, and I know that he remembers. I pulled myself away and walked back up to the winery, terrified of what had just happened. Yet all Antonio did was laugh and light a cigarette, each drag he took a mock of my misery.

And to this day, Jacqueline has no idea. I haven’t the heart to tell her, but keeping such a secret from her kills me a little more each day. I hate Antonio for this, for making me lie to my best friend, for making a fool out of me. But in this moment, I know I can’t tell the cop any of this.

“He’s a friend of ours,” I say on behalf of the both of us.

The cop leans back a little, balancing the weight of his muscular body on his heels. “So what do you know, what can you tell me that may help?” he asks.

“Um, well, they left exactly a week ago from today, so, last thursday. They drove off in Antonio’s, the man’s, truck. It’s, um, a grey Chevy pickup, I think? But they were supposed to be back two days ago, and neither of us have heard from either one of them. We’ve called and called but no one has answered. Obviously this is very concerning for the both of us,” I can feel the lump forming in my throat, tears charging my eyes. “But, uh, we just want them home, safe.”

I break down, letting my tears hit the sizzling summer cement. Nicolas wraps his arms around me, trying to console my pain, but this only makes it worse. “Come on, Prisca. We need to do this, okay? Just for a little, alright? Just for a little.”

I nod my head yes, realizing that he’s right.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, officer; if there’s anything else you need to know, please, feel free to ask.”

He shakes his head no. “I think I have all the information I need. We’ll send a search team out first thing tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.” He flicks his wrist in what I assume to be a wave, and drives back off down the road.

“That was weird,” I say. “He seemed so annoyed.”

Nicolas shakes it off, making it seem like less of an issue. “They get calls all the time. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re okay. Let’s just see what the search party finds, okay?” He squeezes my hand trying to reassure me. I know he means well and I know he’s hiding it, but the fear he feels is mine tenfold. I feel helpless watching him, the light drained from his eyes. I know he won’t be happy, I know he won’t be himself until this is resolved. But will it ever be?

The cold air brushes against my cheek, the moon’s sweet kiss upon my barren face. The erosions of weather have carved this earth, this dark, beautiful earth into a glorious kingdom of rocky hilltops. A menagerie of trees and stone piled high, lingering just below the Heaven’s, just below the reach of God.

I roll over and groan, eager to avoid Nicolas’ calls. “Prisca, you gotta wake up now. It’s nearly seven o’clock. The search party should be coming back soon,” he whispers.

“I know, I know. I’m coming,” I respond. I wipe my eyes and crawl out of bed, the lethargy holding me back.

“What’s wrong with you?” Nicolas questions.

I cup my face in my palms and mumble, irritated. “What do you mean, Nicolas?”

“The search party will be here any minute now. They’re going to tell us if Antonio and Jacqueline are dead or alive, and you don’t even care.”

“I never said I didn’t care, Nicolas.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Prisca. Always remember that.”

He walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I laugh. To be so smart, Nicolas truly is dramatic, histrionic even. It’s quite annoying. But in a little while, this whole thing will be over. Jacqueline will return to me safe and sound and our minds can be at ease once more.

A small flicker of light burns before me, radiating heat and hate all the same. I inch forward, careful, cautious, waiting. My beautiful canvas lays before me, waiting for me to make it all it’s meant to be. My power, my freedom, rests in my hand, residing in my paintbrush. Revealing myself from the darkness of the night, I step into the glow of enmity and use tools to create the scene. Gorgeous, indeed, the red has replaced the black, coating the world in crimson. A sight anyone would be lucky to see, but I, yes I, have made it. I have been set free.

There’s a knock on the door. It must be the search party. Immediately, Nicolas arises from his spot on the couch, palms sweating, heart racing. He darts over to the door and swings it open, not sure of what to expect.

“Where are they? Are they okay? Please, officer, tell me.” He hurries through his words, his tongue tripping over every syllable.

The officer leans back, the same as he had before, and pushes his chest outwards. “We found the girl, Jacqueline. She’s in shock, hasn’t said a word since we found her. She’s at the hospital. They’re going to run a few test then they’ll release her to you.

I walk over to the door, calm and confident, unlike my significant other. “What about Anotnio?” Nicolas says.

“Prisca Walters,” the cop says, “you are under arrest for the murder of Antonio Martin.” My heart sinks to the ground. Impossible, I think, there’s no way this can happen. But, in respect to the law and my life, I remain silent as they lead me from the house to the police car. There’s nothing I can say now, what’s done is done. I chuckle a little bit, realizing my mistake. My notebook...

See you in hell, Antonio. See you in hell.