PORTRAIT OF DEATH

By

Jen Nicholas and Samantha Storm

© copyright February 2006, Jen Nicholas and Samantha Storm

Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright February 2006

ISBN 1-58608-817-3

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Prologue

There were too many people in the room, too many bodies bumping and pushing against each other. He moved through the crowd of people like a ship cutting through water. It was the way he walked, graceful, powerful or maybe it was the look on his face, the anger blazing out of his eyes.

Whatever it was, people unconsciously gave him space and moved away from him. He made his way from one side of the room to the other, not glancing at the paintings, not stopping to talk with anyone. He walked as if with purpose until he came to rest in front of number 407. Woman Without Hope. He stood, not staring at it in appreciation, but absorbing it with utter concentration. He was as still as a statue, silent, motionless as the minutes dragged on.

Suddenly, in an explosion of movement, he spun on his heels and stalked across the room.

A blonde woman stepped in his path. She tried to get out of his way, but she didn’t move fast enough. He bumped into her, and she would have been sent sprawling to the ground if not for the powerful arms that caught her and pulled her upright.

His arms were on hers, his grip tight and possessive. “I’m very sorry. Are you all right?” he asked.

She couldn’t find her voice as she stared into his face. He was drop-dead gorgeous. She smiled at him and he began to return the smile, but suddenly his face transformed. His brows furrowed, his mouth turned down and anger blazed from his eyes. And then, before she could react, he moved, pushed past her, and stormed off into a sea of bodies.

Unconsciously she took a step as if to follow. But she was restrained.

She looked down at the long pink fingernails grasping her arm, and then up at the face of the red-headed woman laughing and sipping champagne.

“Darling, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! The couple that bought painting number 429--I can’t remember the name of it. You know the one, where the brunette woman is dead and lying across the ground with a rope around her neck? They want to talk to the artist about it. Have you seen Julia’s agent? They think it’s absolutely brilliant. And I have to agree it is. Julia is going to be famous one day.”

As the man drifted through the crowd, the woman’s words floated with him on the breeze of conversation. Oh yes, Julia Madson was definitely going to be famous, probably sooner than she expected.

Chapter 1

“No, I can’t. Look, I’m in the middle of a painting. You’re interrupting my work. I have to go. Yeah, I am. Of course I’ll be ready for the show. I promise, as soon as I’m done you’ll be the first to know.”

Julia slammed down the phone. It was the third lie she had told today. There was no painting. She hadn’t done any work for days. She was blocked, unable to do anything but stare at a blank canvas. Inspiration, creativity, whatever it was called--it was gone. Her biggest fear, the one that sent her in search of alcohol, was wondering if what was left of her talent was dried up, this time for good.

She only needed two more paintings for her show. Her show. The words were enough to send her into a panic. Julia took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, but fear poured through her body, numbing her limbs and sending her heart racing. Taking another deep breath, she wiped her sweaty palms against her jeans and looked around the room for a means of escape.

Where had she put the scotch? Alcohol had become a dangerous sedative over the last year. One glass and then another. It usually took two for the harsh edges of life to begin to blur. That’s all she needed, the edge taken off. She wasn’t an alcoholic, she kept telling herself. But deep down she knew she would be if she kept drinking daily.

No scotch tomorrow. Each day she made the same resolution and then chastised herself as she broke it. But those few moments after the second glass, as her body and mind relaxed, she could forget who she was. Ignore her life, ignore her problems, and concentrate on her paintings. Painting was the only escape she had besides alcohol.

And now that escape had been taken away. She couldn’t paint anymore.

She found the scotch and poured herself a glass. The amber liquid slid down her throat, burning as it went. Ever so slowly her stomach warmed and she began to relax. One glass and then another. How many drinks this time to quench the fear?

Tears of frustration poured down her face. She wiped them away and focused only on the bottle in front of her.

Time passed and she drank this time until she ran out of tears and scotch.

Her body slid back onto the couch and her mind gratefully floated off into oblivion. Oblivion-a place where the dreams waited, nightly images which always started out pleasant but gradually morphed themselves into nightmares. Colors began to roll across the back of her eyelids.

Blue sparkling water, mountains carpeted in pine trees. Julia sat in the canoe with her sister, Gretchen. The boat drifted slowly across the lake, as the girls occasionally splashed water into the boat and onto each other. Their screams of laughter filled the clean mountain air. It had been close to a perfect day. The pleasant images and sounds echoed in Julia’s mind, but then, ever so slowly, darkness began to edge into the picture. The images narrowed until they disappeared and were replaced by the sound of rain.

Skip to raindrops streaming down the car windows as rock-and-roll music boomed over the stereo. Loud voices teasingly argued and laughter drifted over the music, entwining with the beat until the sounds became part of the song. The rain turned into ice, and the ice began forming small pools of slush.

Julia watched the wipers push the nasty mess up and down, left and right. She watched as her sister, Gretchen, blew on the side window, fogging it, so she could glide her finger across the cold surface and draw a smiley face. Julia turned back to the road and watched the bright lights rush past in the dark, one after another.

She heard Gretchen singing along with the music on the radio, as she continued driving carefully in the icy, slushy mess that now covered the road. They’d just finished arguing over who was better--REM or U2. U2, of course, came out the victor.

Suddenly a pair of lights changed direction. Julia saw Gretchen look away from her doodling as she slammed on the breaks, barely registering in the back of her mind that it might not be the best thing to do.

Metal twisted against metal and laughter turned into screams of terror. Julia’s world became dark and cold and full of pain. A pain so intense her mind rebelled against it and sought escape into darkness.

If there was more, beyond the fact that Gretchen was dead, she couldn’t remember it.