The Art in Death

I looked from my ragged boss Simon to the blonde twit he just introduced me to as Adele Pennington. She wasn’t much younger than I; about 22, skinny with blue eyes. She smiled brightly and stretched out her hand. I shook it forcefully. Her smile faded as I gave her a piercing look.

I was the ruler of this roost; I can’t believe Simon hired a new girl. This art gallery was one of the most successful in San Francisco because of me. I didn’t go to a prestigious art school such as The Academy of Art University to be replaced by a bimbo.

“You think we need more clients, Simon?” I asked, sneering at Adele.

“Yes. Plus we can always use another genius artist. She’s had her paintings shown in some of the top galleries in New York.”

“Wait,” I could barely hear Adele’s meek voice, “You’re that Judith Treadwell? The one who studied under the great Stravalos? The lady who sculpted Hope? I studied your art when I was in Pratt. I always thought it was too dark.” She giggled.

“Well if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot of work to do.” I said in a scathing tone.

They left me in peace. The fact that Simon hired Adele must mean he thinks I’m slipping. I work as an agent bringing in talent now because I haven’t been inspired to paint or sculpt for a while. It’s true that I studied under one of the world renowned artists in the country; Benedikte Stravalos. He taught me that great art came from the heart and to always ‘dare’. Before long I became his apprentice and one of his closest friends. He showered me with attention and spoke very highly of me to all his influential friends until he saw my last sculpture, Hope.

I sculpted a naked man getting his flesh torn from him by demons while he held his own heart out of their reach. My teacher was appalled and denounced me as his apprentice. He never told me why my sculpture bothered him so much. I was heartbroken because I sat in awe of him.

I lost my will to sculpt after that and began to paint but nobody seemed interested in my work after having been shunned by the great Benedikte. I felt betrayed by him and I was at a loss of what to do.

After I graduated I got a job here in San Francisco at Advent Art and began bringing in new artists right away but as a few years passed I began losing interest in mainstream art. It was boring to me; no raw emotion. I saw the same paintings over and over. I was hungry for something new and surely I couldn’t be the only one. But on my way home I decided that I was going to be the one to bring this world something new.

I dropped the mail and groaned as I forced open the decrepit door to my studio apartment. I picked up the mail only to drop it again when I tripped on the loose floorboard I’d been asking my boyfriend Chester to fix for weeks. And there he was; slouching on the couch, beer in hand, shaggy brown hair a mess and still in his pajamas.

“Hey babe, where’re my Playboys?”

I scoffed, “I don’t have money to spend on that shit.”

As I walked toward the kitchen I heard a clutter. I turned to see what seemed almost to be an endless amount of beer cans fall off the coffee table as Chester pulled my July issue of Gothic Beauty from under them.

“You’ve money for this freaky shit.” He wagged the magazine up and down.

I walked briskly over to him and snatched it from his grimy hands.

“It’s inspiration for my paintings, which produces income to pay for this pigsty. What contributions to this household do you make, keeping the fridge stocked with beer? Oh that’s right I pay for that too.” I gripped my slender hips. His brown eyes held daggers. “Yeah I didn’t think so.”

“God, you’re such a bitch.” He pulled on a pair of jeans and ran out of the apartment slamming the door behind him.

As I cleaned up his mess I wondered why I was still with him. When we first got together he was so loving and supportive. Our nights were filled with moonlit passions as we made love on the beach. We used to share everything. Now all he seemed to do was take my money. I guess his true self came out. Although we’ve been together for five years it seems like I don’t know him at all.

I stood up, breathing heavy with watery eyes and threw the beer can I was holding. I looked around the apartment and the more I looked the angrier I got. It was partly his fault I hadn’t painted in a while. How could I get any inspiration in a place like this? The carpets were still filthy from the dog he babysat for his friend. The kitchen looked like a biohazard zone that needed to be quarantined and don’t even get me started on the bathroom. The mood was so depressing. I realized just how much I hated Chester. He was so lazy; he never did anything I asked him to. He’d forgotten my birthday last year and he hasn’t had a job in six months. The only thing that might calm me down now was watching one of my favorite movies, Saw. It made me feel better knowing that someone was getting their comeuppance. After a few shots of vodka I realized somebody had to kick start the karma. Chester needed to get his.

I fell asleep right before the movie ended but was awoken by a loud bang. I looked at the clock, two-thirteen am. Chester was in front of me yelling about something. I could smell the beer on his breath. I stood up to go to bed. As I pushed past Chester he grabbed my arm, knocking my half empty bottle of Smirnoff over that I paid for. I freaked out. I couldn’t stand him anymore. I pushed him off of me and ran to my work area; I heard him fall in his drunken stupor.

“Oh, you c…you wait ‘till I get up. I’m gonna fuckin’…”

I slammed my rubber mallet against his head before he had a chance to get up.

He looked up at me, blood dripping from his temple, blue eyes glazing over. At that moment, gazing into his eyes, I wasn’t overcome with regret or fear. No memories of the wonderful times we had where we loved each other and connected on that different level came to me. The only scenes that played through my head were the ones where we fought and he abused me. I felt my eyes getting narrower the more I became disgusted with him. I smashed the heavy mallet onto his head repeatedly; temple, forehead, jaw. Temple, forehead, jaw. Temple, forehead, jaw. Temple. Forehead. Jaw. A couple cracks sounded between my heaving. Dropping the mallet, I realized I was kneeling down in his blood. Slumping over his inert form, I took this moment to catch my breath. My head was hanging and my fingers played tentatively with his warm sticky blood. Silence. No.

He was still breathing! Scoffing and looking around, I saw the paper cutter not too far away. In this moment I was terrified because I realized I would have to kill him. If I let him live he would seriously hurt me, or I’d have charges pressed against me. He had it coming. He had it coming. He had it coming. Chester was light enough for me to drag his limp body over to where the cutter stood on a table. I couldn’t let this waste of flesh ruin my career…I pushed the giant machine onto his head. Crunch. To make sure the deed was done, I watched him convulse until all life left him.

Standing over him, blood dripping slowly from my hands, I studied the scene. Blood almost black in the middle of the night. Spatter all over the floor and some furniture. There seemed to be a haze about the room, I wasn’t sure if that was real or just my eyes. The inert body like a mannequin or doll. My headed tilted. What a beautiful picture this made.

Inspiration.

I readied my paints and canvas. I dipped my brush in Alizarin Crimson and sighed while studying Chester’s dead body. I started painting the pool of blood surrounding him but the more I looked at it the more it didn’t look right. Adding a touch of black into the red I tried again. No. I looked at his blood. This time I added a bit of brown. Still not right. I looked at his blood. Then my canvas. I paused and washed off my paintbrush. I dipped it in his blood instead. It worked well.

It took me all next day to thoroughly clean my mess. I threw out or reupholstered furniture that had blood stains. Wrapping him up in an old tarp, I used the kiln at my sculpting studio to dispose of the body. The studio wasn’t too far from my crappy apartment and, incidentally, not too far from the gallery. It was also private.

The next day at work I brought my painting of Chester with me and hung it up on the wall behind my desk. Adele’s eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of it. It also caught Simon’s attention.

“Shouldn’t you be bringing clients for me instead of paintings?”

I ignored his comment, “What do you think?”

“I like it but I doubt it will sell. People don’t like that sort of gruesome stuff. Adele has brought in two new talents so far. How about you?”

I remained calm as I glared, although I know a capillary must’ve popped in my forehead. He left. How dare he threaten me like that? But I supposed he was right; nobody was into this sort of dark art that I liked to do. I would have to keep trying, and Adele was getting in the way. I caught her attention and motioned for her to come over.

“Adele, would you like to come by my studio tonight? Maybe you could give me some advice on reeling in new clients.” I feigned innocence.

She smiled brightly and agreed to ride with me there right after work. I was surprised at how stupid she was. Trusting? Gullible? Stupid.

So at the end of the day we rode in my green ’69 Volkswagen bug over to my studio. I rolled the windows down so we could feel the cool breeze coming off the bay. It was a pleasant ride as I amused her with idle chat. Everything she said I agreed to and everything she liked I pretended to like. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, stupid.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at my studio. I locked the door behind me and switched on the lights.

“Wow! Look at all this…” I cringed at her tacky flip flops slapping against my hardwood floor.

I watched her with distaste as she studied my artwork. Gasping as she ran her slender fingers over my sculptures, I had offered the excuse of a bee attacking me.

“Why aren’t you successful? You have so many awesome works of art here.” She seemed dumbfounded. I scoffed.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? People who have talent, like me, hardly ever get recognized until after they die. Do you think you have talent?”

The expression on her face was blank, just as I suspected it would be.

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m successful.” My tone hadn’t fazed her.

I smirked, “That was rhetorical. It’s a moot point for you anyway.”

I was done wasting my time. I picked up my stylus and walked calmly toward her, my black stilettos resounding throughout my studio. My eyes were trained on her neck. It was too pale, too plain, it needed some color…dimension…depth.

She ran of course. I knew there was no way out of here except the way we entered, but she didn’t, so I took my time. When I caught up to her she was standing beside the kiln with my ex-boyfriends ash. I rested one hand on my hip and ran my thumb gently along the silver sharpness. She was shivering in fear and a chill went up my spine. Excitement coursed through my veins. I kicked off my heels as I put my long black hair up in a loose bun. It was hard to move in my black pencil skirt and although she tried to escape I managed to close the gap between us before she could get away. She was backed up against the wall and I held her delicate jaw in my hand as I ran the sharp edge of the stylus along her cheek. As I did so I noticed a tear fall and I impulsively licked it off her cheek. She cringed so I took a step back. She made as if to move so I grabbed her neck in a vice grip. I was surprised with how strong I was and how passive she seemed but I dared not let my guard down.

“Why are you doing this?” Adele managed to choke out between gasps.

I smiled and slammed her head against the wall behind her. Quickly I let go of her neck and raised my hand high in the air. I swept it across her neck. Her dark blood spurted out onto my face. I blinked. In one fluid movement I took a life. I watched as her eyes widened then became dull. She slumped to the floor, blood still silently gushing from the wound.

“Because I want to,” I licked her blood from my lips, “and I don’t appreciate you pawing my art.”

I wasted no time in painting another masterpiece. This one I took home with me after cleaning thoroughly and disposing of her body.

I’d been worrying for the past couple days at work but started getting my confidence back after no one made much of a fuss about Adele being absent. That is until I saw Simon walk toward me with a grave face.

He looked more horrible than usual. His face was grey and grisly while his clothing emulated a bum’s. I pretended to be interested in some documents faxed over.

“Judy,” I grimaced. “You haven’t seen Adele, have you?”

“It’s Judith and why would I know where she is? It’s not like we’re friends.” I stared at him through the veil of my bangs. He looked like he was going to say something but left in a hurry.

I threw the blank sheets of paper in a nearby bin and stalked back to my desk.

Later that day I heard the doorbell tinkle and looked up to see a black-haired man enter. I couldn’t see him well from across the room but I did see him talking intently with

Simon. Studying them from under my bangs, I strained to hear them. Suddenly the man looked my way and I froze. We locked eyes and I felt an instant connection. And not a good one. Simon followed his gaze and frowned. He turned to the man and said something that made the man smile wryly. They walked over; hopefully he wasn’t what I feared he was.

I let out the breath I’d been holding in as an exasperated sigh as they reached my desk. Now I could get a better look at this man. He had large steely blue eyes and shaggy black hair. His grey suit fit very well but looked slovenly and his black shoes were tattered. He wasn’t that bad looking actually except for the circles under his eyes. He was definitely over six feet tall and had a strong build. He didn’t seem like a bodybuilder but I could tell he’d be able to hold his own. The graying stubble on his sharp jawline and full cheeks suggested a certain masculinity.

“Judy this is Detective Portuo.”

My eye twitched at the word ‘detective’. He looked at me indifferently with his hand out. I obliged yet kept a stern face.

“I called the cops this morning about Adele; he’s come to ask a few questions.”

Why he wanted to ask me questions about that bitch, I hadn’t the slightest but chocked it up to protocol. As long as I stuck to my story everything would be fine.

“Judy, is it?”

I looked at Simon, “Judith, actually.”

Detective Portuo raised his thick dark eyebrows lazily and continued while I glared at Simon as he walked away.

“I understand you were the last one to see her at the gallery?”

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Oh, yes. I invited her to my studio a couple days ago to get some advice from her.”

“And how long did she stay?”

“For a while. We talked for a long time. I’d say she left about eleven.”

He scribbled something in his notepad, he had thick fingers.

I smirked.

“And that’s the last time you saw her?”

He was pretty obvious for someone who seemed to be always looking down. I could see he suspected me but I stayed calm. We stared at each other for a while until he finally broke the silence.

“Can I tell you something? This may sound kind of strange but I love your work.”

Now that was a surprise. He wanted to dangle that hook? Fine. I leaned back in my chair, causing my blouse to tightened around my cleavage and I feigned a debate of whether or not to put my hair up in a bun.

“Well, you’re welcome to visit my studio where all my really great work is.”

He saw right through me. I liked talking to him though, it was a delicate dance.

He leaned over my desk, “How about tonight then?”

“Meet me back up here at six.”

After another staring contest he left. I was no longer just a suspect. He knew I was guilty but I was proud of myself, willing to take on someone who oozed danger.

At six o’clock I was outside the gallery, waiting. When he arrived he wore a suit in all black except no jacket and his tie was red.

“Well aren’t we looking handsome this evening? What’s the occasion? I hope it’s not me.”

“I’m originally from Louisiana and in the south we respect women, at least that’s what my mama taught me. Always dress nice around a lady even if it’ll just last for five minutes.” He smiled wolfishly.

Lie. But I smiled anyway.

Except for a few flirtatious glances, we exchanged nothing else on our walk. The silence would be deafening to most or uncomfortable at best but I reveled in it. We both knew.

When we arrived I noticed he studied the location. I unlocked the door and he grabbed it letting me enter first. I smirked as I switched on the light. He entered and walked around faking interest in my work. I wasn’t stupid. He loosened his tie as he turned to me.

“Extraordinary.”

“…yeah.” I smiled playing into his game.

As he turned around I picked up a paintbrush, twirling it through my fingers, I watched him explore my studio; studying, touching and making silent gestures. I was getting tired. I was halfway to him when he turned quickly with his finger held up.

“This is blood, Judy.”

Judy?

“Oh, is it?” I smirked as I feigned interest.

“Don’t play dumb with me, girl.”

I sighed.

“Listen, I don’t like to play games.”

I could hear the cold rattle of handcuffs as he put his hand in his pocket. I waited as he came toward me. When he was within reach, I swung my arm out. “But I do.”

I stabbed him in the shoulder with the paintbrush, missing my desired target.

Immediately, he threw me to the ground. The floor was hard and unforgiving. Even though the slam to the floor elicited a yelp from me, I was still having fun. I looked up at him with coquettish eyes. He was straddling me, and I could feel the heat start to rise but I started to panic and kicked at him while trying to reach for the paintbrush. In one fluid movement he removed the brush, turned me on my stomach while straddling me and put me in handcuffs.

“Ooh, if we were lovers this would be a most enjoyable position.” I purred.

He turned me over forcefully and grabbed my jaw, “Yeah, too bad though, you turned out to be a murderer.”

We had another staring contest before I smiled at him.

His lips looked so soft…the curvature…

He leaned in, our lips very close, so I took advantage. He kissed back passionately and before his mouth could escape mine I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Grunting, he got up with me in tow, “Fuck,” he touched his lips and pulled away looking at the blood.

Everything after that was a blur of police and paramedics as he read me my rights.

Simon sat across from me in the white room as I scribbled on a sheet of paper.

“Why did you do it Judy?”

I twisted my head to the side as I looked up at him through the black curtain of my bangs, “Everyone always asks why. Why don’t you ask how it feels?”

I stared at him, “It’s your fault you know. You never should have hired Adele. You should have just believed in me.” I accused.

“I did believe in you, but now….what happened?”

“Remember when Benedikte disappeared?”

“What?” Simon looked puzzled.

“He betrayed me too…just like you.” My smile faded as I stared at him.

“Guard!”

I heard the footsteps of the fat man that guarded my cell in the asylum. The keys clinked together as he let Simon out. He didn’t look back.

They all thought I was crazy. That was better for me. As long as they thought I could be rehabilitated I would stay here and show them my very best behavior so I could get out.

No one could keep me in here. Simon had told me my art was selling on EBay. I had to get out. I had work to do.