The Art Behind a Murder

Chapter Six - The Book

A small crack of light peaked out from the window that had a large cloth strewn over it to block out most of the sun. Candles were dotted about, casting an amber glow on the parchment in front of me. Smoke radiated from them, making the room hazy and warm like those opium dens that the gentlemen often go to.

I made it a policy to always practice drawing the client beforehand so that I could always ensure the best painting possible. Usually they took about fifteen minutes, but this one was much quicker.

I breathed in heavily, succumbing to the focusing scent of lavender. The warm up sketch was almost complete - and to a surprising high standard for such a rushed piece. Interrupting my focus, a sudden, strange pricking sensation began trembling in my arms and feet.

Just the eyes left... I thought to myself, ignoring the pain whilst mixing the white and blue pigments to create the angry azure that matched Lady Anastasia's eye colour. As I continued to mix, voices began to stir around my head... Deep male voices chanting in another language.

"What's going on?" I hoarsely mumbled to myself. My chest rose and fell to the rhythm of the chants - pounding harder and harder each time. Certain I was going into a cardiac arrest, I fell to my knees, clutching at my heart. Something was happening... Something that was going to change the course of my life - and potentially history.

Knives dug into my skin, gnawing at it like savage creatures, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. Letting out a piercing, distressed scream, I pushed myself up and gripped hold of the table.

Determined to finish the piece, I shakily grabbed the paintbrush and dipped it into the ink. The voices continued to chant, growing louder and louder the closer my brush was to the parchment.

With one final scream, my brush dotted the eyes, and fire seared through my veins, causing sweat to cascade down my body. To my absolute horror, the parchment started to contort, shifting around and pooling towards my skin.

"This can't be happening!" With clenched teeth, I let out some explicit words in French.

The paper stuck the my hand, and began to crawl up my arm, each millimetre causing unbearable pain. It cut at my skin, drawing blood. Its movements were slow - surreptitious, like a ghost lurking menacingly, hovering closer and closer to their prey.

With my free hand I rubbed at my eyes when I realised what was happening. Nearly my entire body was engulfed in the spread of the paper, and my usual porcelain-like skin was instead slightly tanned. The traces of blood had disappeared from my body, and I was left trembling with fear. The pain had now subsided and my hand could be lifted off the book.

When I looked back at the drawing I slammed my hands down on the table in disbelief. Instead of the portrait of Lady Anastasia, it was just a blank page with her outline. Frantically, I flicked through the pages trying to find it - unsuccessful in the attempt.

"What the..."

I sat back down and breathed heavily, trying to shake off the memory of that horrific pain. However, when I expected to sit down on the thin fabric of my painting dress, my backside felt a big ruffle of fabrics against the chair. Shooting back up, I looked down and realised the dress I was wearing was the one I painted on Lady Anastasia.

No... No... This is impossible!

Like a madman, I ran towards my full body length mirror at the end of the room and dramatically yanked away the cloth that covered it.

Instead of seeing my golden curls and flushed face, the petrified visage of Lady Anastasia Pelletier stared back at me.

"Oh my god."

"Miss LaBelle, your client is here!"