VAN HELSING - A Short Story

Part Four, Chapter Twenty: The Picture of Dorian Gray

AMBRA 

Panic hit me. I wanted to scream – I tried to do so – but the canvas did not allow me to. I could no longer feel my own presence. I felt myself as the canvas itself. And I felt the firm grip of Collinwood's hand against my frame.

The sound of gentle knocks against the mansion's entrance caught mine and his attention, for I felt movement as he exited the room and ascended the steps from the kitchen to the entrée.

I could hear Collinwood unlock the heavy chains that he always puts on, even during the day. I could also hear heavy puffs coming from him as he did so.

"Ah...!"

A young-sounding, gentle and melodic male voice began, the moment that the doors were open. I felt the grip tighten around me until Collinwood had me wrapped around his chest with both arms.

"...Lord Ian Collinwood. Such a pleasure to be finally meeting you!"

The man finished his sentence. The way he was talking was educated. That was the only thing that I could take in from him and my surroundings. That and Collinwood's grip.

"Do I know you?"

The latter snapped and I felt him shift his weight from one foot to the other. The visitor only chuckled in return.

"I certainly doubt that. But it would be a shame for anyone to not know you."

"Oh..."

Now, Collinwood's voice had lost a great portion of its spite and the higher pitch had replaced it with interest and curiosity.

"...Is that so?"

He asked and I heard the visitor step closer. He must be wearing small heels by the sound of his shoes.

"Naturally. The extraordinary taste in art and subsequently overly eloquent collection of such can only bear the name Collinwood. You are known throughout every corner of this continent and beyond!"

The stranger finished off that last part by strengthening his voice from his core to make it appear louder. By the way that Collinwood loosened his grip on me, I could tell that he was intrigued.

"I am flattered, kind sir. With whom do I have the pleasure?"

The bitterness had now fully left his voice. The one thing with what one could catch my warden off-guard was to nourish his ego. Collinwood's arrogance was a part too essential to his personality for him to ignore such obsequiousness.

"My name is as useless as a hump of dry paint while conducting art. Especially beside the name of the great Ian Collinwood."

Now it was Collinwood who let out a soft chuckle. The visitor really knew how to apply to his ego. Had he truly come here for the art or perhaps even for me?

"Please, come in kind sir. I would be pleased to show you the collection that you are swooning over. Perhaps also a cup of tea?"

The stranger gave out an over-exaggerated sigh and I imagined his knees bending in slightly as he placed the back of his hand against his forehead with a wide movement of his arm.

"That's all I could have asked of you, oh noble Collinwood."

"Ian is just fine, mister..."

The latter returned, rather amused.

"...and perhaps we'll swap out the tea for something stronger. I believe the occasion is more than suitable."

This was met with agreement from the visitor. We ascended the stair further up, along the corridors and most likely to Collinwood's secret study. That was where he had his paintings after all.