Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Mrs. Ullen’s smile never faltered, but I caught the slight tensing around her eyes. She swept a hand toward the graying bun her hair was loosely pulled into, and she mused, “You don’t like them?”
They were beautifully done. That wasn’t my issue. I demanded, “Who did these? Who did this one specifically?”
Mrs. Ullen didn’t need to look. She knew which one I meant. “These didn’t come from a student here, Shay. I hung these two weeks ago. It’s been a while since your last visit here.”
I didn’t visit. I painted. And I knew there was a reason why Mrs. Ullen wanted me to study the paintings.
“I want you to take the last painting down.”
“Shay, really. I don’t understand…” And then her eyes caught and held on the last painting. I saw the realization before I heard the swift intake of breath.
“That last one looks like Kellan. I want it taken down, and I want to know who painted it.”
“Shay—”
“I’d like to paint, Mrs. Ullen. I’d like you to keep selling my portraits in your store, but I really don’t want that painting hung on the wall. And I really want to know who the artist is.”
Mrs. Ullen looked flabbergasted. And no wonder. I usually came into the art room, perused through the pieces she displayed that week, and then quietly went into the studio room that was kept locked. Mrs. Ullen had taken note of my talent early in elementary school. She had proclaimed my doodles as masterpieces and then introduced me to a blank painting canvas. The relationship had been cemented that day. I painted whenever I wanted, and she sold them in her private store. No one knew except the two of us. It was respected by both, but this was the first time I’d spoken against my collaborator.
“Oh dear, of course. I didn’t even notice—but then again, you always see what I cannot. I’m sure the artist didn’t intend anything by the painting. It’s a total and accidental coincidence. I’m sure of this, Shay. I’m so sure of this. Of course, I’ll take the painting down. I know how close you are with your brother.”
As she hurriedly moved forward to unhinge the painting, I tried to calm myself. I didn’t care if it was accidental or not. Something fierce and angry burned inside of me at the idea of a demonic portrait of Kellan…though it may be true at times.
“There you go, Shay. It’s down. I’ll keep it behind the desk covered until he arrives for his paintings again. I’m so sorry again, Shay honey. I’m sure your brother isn’t even…” But her voice trailed off when our eyes met. Everyone knew Kellan’s reputation, and it wasn’t an angelic one.
“Still.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry again, Shay. Did you come in to paint this evening?”
I nodded, mutely, still a little shaken from the fierceness I’d felt over the painting.
“I’ll unlock the door for you, Shay honey. You know how to leave the school if you stay late. And with that, I’ll leave you alone.” She hustled out of the room, and I heard the click of the studio door unlocking a moment later. When I heard her approach, I quickly moved to the second door and timed it so that I exited the room as she re-entered.
And then I was in the empty hallway, still shaken, but the tingle urged me ahead. It was stronger than it had ever been before, and I quickly moved to the studio door. I swished through and breathed in freedom as it locked shut behind me. That was when I turned to survey the room.
Three empty canvases were perched on easels.
I forgot everything else.
It never ceased to amaze me how the world went away when I painted. It was like everything clicked off the second my hand picked up that brush. And then I’d blink awake, maybe four hours later, and stare, befuddled, at a finished product.
This time wasn’t anything different.
I caught my breath as I stared at my handiwork. The general background was a brown color, almost sand-like. There was a mass of clouds, a beautiful storm that looked like it had just started, and three angels that hung in the air, mesmerizing. They seemed to pierce through me as I stared at each of them. Their wings were folded in, white with long feathers, and their robes sparkled from some unseen light.
I didn’t know what prompted this painting out of me. And to be honest, I never understood why I painted what I did, but this one took my breath away. It was like someone else had used me to paint it. I didn’t feel like I could take credit, but it didn’t matter.
I bent and pulled the masking cover over it. I made sure each of the prominent tacks was pointed out so that the cover wouldn’t rest on the painting, just around it. And then I glanced at the clock.