all the rest.”
“Damn it.” He had trouble swearing around a woman, but this time he let it out.
“We are what we are because your kind made us what we are. We are survivors. We are stronger and smarter because you murdered us for thousands of years. You have done everything to destroy us. You are the hunters. You chased us to the ends of the earth. We came here because we thought it was the last safe place. But it isn’t. There’s nowhere left to hide.”
“Alexandra, look.” He reached for his jacket, realizing it was time to go. “I didn’t come here to argue. I need help, okay?”
The bell on the microwave rang. It startled him. “It’s just the evidence. They were killed at night, teeth marks all over their necks.”
“And none of us has any sensible reason to do it!”
He left.
She drifted quietly into the gallery the next evening while he was trying to deal with an irritating customer. To hide herself she looked at the pastel sketches of flowers in the darkened corner of the shop, pretending to see them, pretending to be interested in them.
He watched her, but the older lady demanded his full attention. “Well, madam, if you insist our prices are a bit too high, then come back in the morning to see the owner. We cannot accept fifty dollars for this painting; it is not a cheap print or a copy. You might certainly pay fifty dollars for a copy of an original work.”
“Young man! This shop is never open during the day. I have been trying to get in all week long!”
“Well, gosh lady, I guess Snake went out on another one of his drug binges again. Last time lasted about a month. You know, he’s a great artist though. He does produce his very best work when he’s high. Want to see an example? I’ll show you some of his really great stuff.”
She placed the small framed painting quietly down on the counter top in front of him and left. “Thank you. Please come again. Have a nice evening.”
Laura was trying very hard to kill a laugh. “I thought you owned the place?”
“I do. This place never really does open during daylight hours. And I was just kidding about the dope stuff. Promise.”
“I hope so. I was beginning to think you were almost like a normal person.” She continued then to look at the pastels, which she found to be very good.
And he looked at her.
“Who did these?”
“I did them.”
“Flowers?”
“Yeah. It’s not beyond my capacity, you know.” Again, he was sarcastic, as if he could not help it.
“But they’re so pretty, so soft. And bright. They almost look happy.”
“I suppose that’s what flowers look like. I buy them before the florist closes, take them home and do a rough sketch and start working before they droop.”
Laura imagined him sleeping alone in his dark lonely room, surrounded by beautiful fragrant flowers of all types, then she imagined herself dead, at her own funeral, surrounded by the same flowers, her casket in his dark home, alone with no one to mourn her passing. And for the first time the thought of death chilled her, instead of bringing her comfort.
She began speaking to calm herself. “Somehow, I just sort of imagined you would do something more, you know, dark.”
“Want to see something else?” he reached down behind the counter. “I was thinking about this one, maybe keeping it. I drove out to the desert one night, to start this, finished it from memory.” It was the desert landscape, in the night’s darkness. The sky was a deep silken blue, the stars were so bright they nearly seemed to flash off the canvas.
“I think I meant...” She hesitated. “By dark I meant moody.”
“Moody?”
“Because of what you are, I thought...”
“No,” he said simply. “It really isn’t true that we go stalking around brooding and all that garbage, although I know one of us who definitely is a grouch. Oh well.” He considered giving the painting to her but she did not seem interested in it.
She warily remained in
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes