By Absinthe Disclaimers: See the Prologue! Some additions to said disclaimers: Sarah gets a theme song too: Posession, by Sarah McLachlan, on Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. Chapter 9: The blonde stood in front of a landscape painting, gnawing contemplatively on a pen. "These are all really cliched." She sighed. "They're selling in the smaller galleries." A tall, tanned man replied. "Money is all these people are after isn't it?" "Well Sarah, artists have to eat too." He smiled, unbuttoning his grey suit jacket. Sarah shot him a look over her shoulder. "And so do we." He added. "David, you're such a pragmatist." Sarah brushed past him to survey the rest of the new works stacked in various states of unpacking around the room. "I don't want any of those silly landscapes in my gallery. Have them sent to Cosmic Cactus or something, but this building is supposed to exemplify the company." The yuppie shrugged submissively. Sarah's high heels tapped softly across the oak floor. That was one of the things she liked about Ishtar Galleries' building, all the floors, even in the storage rooms were real wood. Pushing aside protective tarps and sheets of cardboard, she flipped through the canvases, making approving noises. "This bunch is interesting." She said, picking up a painting of a lake. "Thought you weren't in the landscape mood today?" David teased her. "You're missing the focal point." She turned and held the painting in front of her so that her assistant could get a better look at it. "AH, the solitary figure on the dock. Intriguing." He examined the brooding image more closely. Sarah thrust the painting into his hands and went back to looking over the rest. "Where are these from? I'd like to get in touch with the artist." Sarah called over her shoulder. "I'll check." David set the picture down gingerly. He returned a few minutes later with a printout. "I'm not sure how we wound up with them. I think Bev might have picked them up at a county auction." He shrugged. "Look at this." Sarah breathed. She slid a large canvas out of its box. It was a life size portrait of a woman painted in dramatic shadow. A pair of stunning blue eyes glittered predatorily from a tan, sculpted face. This woman was so beautiful that she could give Aphrodite a run for her money, but it was a cruel, dangerous woman that looked out of that painting. "Hmm." David replied dubiously. "Doesn't look like someone I'd care to meet." "No, but there's more to it than that. Her eyes are hungry, but her face is.... loving, almost calm." "Like the painter went back and changed something after they were finished with it." "Yeah." Sarah absently sniffled, entranced by the painting. For the briefest of moments she felt a glint of recognition. Leaning it against a wall, Sarah stepped back from the picture. The messy signature at the bottom corner might have said Sirila, but Sarah doubted that was actually anybody's name. The date was 1992. "I can't believe these were just lying around somewhere for 7 years." Sarah clucked her tongue absently. "Do you have the name of the town?" "Um...Trinity? Yeah, Trinity, it's in South Carolina." David frowned, "It's really imposing hun, I don't think it'll sell." "Who said anything about selling it?" The art dealer smiled. "Whatever floats yer boat I guess." He shrugged again. Forcing herself to turn away from the haunting woman, Sarah picked a few of the other paintings to have hung out on the floor. On her lunch break, Sarah scheduled vacation time in the most immediate available slot. She wasn't usually so spontaneous, but the woman in the painting sparked something long buried within her. Sarah didn't understand it, but she wanted to know this woman. Her long skirt, decorated with Chinese coins, jingled as she walked into the office. The woodsy interior was distinctly dated, and the patrol cars outside had definitely seen better days. "Excuse me." She trilled, leaning on the scarred counter between herself and the actual office space. "Yes Ma'am? Can I help you?" A balding deputy asked in a heavy southern accent. "I want to talk to someone about some items that were recently sold at auction here." Sarah smiled, trying to hide her amazement at the stereotypicality of this place. "Well Ma'am, can you tell me what it is that you're looking for exactly?" "I'm not looking for anything, I have a painting, I'm looking for the person who painted it." "A painting?" The deputy raised his eyebrows, "Just a minute Ma'am, I think you want to talk to the sheriff." Sarah watched him amble off in search of his superior. She drummed her fingers idly on the counter. "Ben tells me you're looking for an artist?" A deeper, throaty drawl issued from behind her. Sarah whirled around in a swish of brass coins and blue fabric. "Yes." "The name's Lucas Buck, with a B." He smiled carnivorously and extended a large, calloused hand. Sarah gripped it with her own narrow, small hands and said, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Sarah Covington, I'm with Ishtar Galleries." She led him outside to her big Volvo. In the back seat rested a carefully wrapped package. She slid the large canvas out gently, and revealed the painting to the Sheriff. "Oh yes. That would be Maia Pappas." His smile turned sour. "The artist?" Mention of the name Pappas made Sarah stand up straighter. Her great-great grandmother, Janice Covington, had once worked with a member of the Pappas family, back when the Covingtons still had a history of "working," in "archeology." "Nope, the model. Why don't we go inside?" He pressed Sarah gently out of the heat and back into the air conditioned police station. "So you know who painted this?" "Yeah. Her name was Gillian..." He seemed to fish for a last name for a moment, "Gillian Muray. They were both bad news..." "Were?" "Yes, well, Gillian was convicted of murder, she died in a prison riot three years back." Buck drawled lazily. Sarah bit her lip, "What about the model...Maia?" "Haven't heard anything about her in...oh...7 years." Lucas replied, "What's your interest in all this anyway?" "I just want to know the story behind those paintings. We have a few dozen by Gillian, they're beautiful, not exactly modern, they're too academic, but they are beautiful." Sarah smiled. "You have no idea how I might find the model?" "Sorry." He narrowed his eyes at her. Blonde hair, green eyes. Lucas never forgot a face, especially where Maia was concerned. "I wouldn't try to contact her if I were you. She's vicious, probably worse than her lover. It was only out of the kindness of my heart that I decided not to press charges." "Her lover?" "Miss Muray." Buck smiled archly, then said, "Well Ma'am, if that'll be all, I have work to do." "I'm sorry for keeping you. Thank you." Sarah stood up, gripping the painting by its frame, "Can you tell me one more thing? Where did she live?" "They had an apartment, but the house burned down last year." Sarah wound up in the county park. She immediately recognized it as the setting of the painting of the dock. There was a dim atmosphere to the town, in spite of its comic typicalness. It was pretty, but her mood was rapidly going downhill. This park especially depressed her. As she wandered back to the parking lot, Sarah shivered in the intense heat. There was a wrongness here. Sarah spent the night in a big yellow boarding house. They served dinner to all the boarders at one long table. The decorations were quaint, and the food was overcooked in typical southern fashion. The boarders were pleasant, barraging the new guest with questions. A boy, probably about 15 years old, sitting directly across from Sarah remained obtrusively silent for most of the meal. "Actually, I came here to find a painter. One of our purchasing agents picked up 13 paintings at a county auction here." "Paintings?" Miss Hale, the owner of the boarding house asked. "Yes, they're very beautiful, I came to find the artist, but the Sheriff told me that she died in a prison riot..." Sarah sighed over a forkful of string beans. "Oh. Gillian was such a darling girl. I don't believe she did what they said. Now that other woman, Maia? There was always something a little...off about her." The blonde woman shook her head ruefully, "I just don't know. And Mr. Davis was such a nice old man, he kept to himself, but he was pleasant to me whenever I saw him." "You met them?" Sarah demanded enthusiastically. "Well, yes dahlin, Maia stayed with us for a week, until she," Miss Hale lowered her voice to a loud whisper, "Moved in with Gillian. I try not to judge." She said loftily. "Ah. Did she tell you anything about herself? About where she came from?" "Oh Honey, that was 7 years ago. I don't really remember." "She tried to kill Buck." The boy announced. "What?" Sarah asked, startled by his rough voice. "Miss Pappas, she tried to kill him." Only it sounded like "Miass Peappas, shey traed to keel ‘im." "Really?" "Caleb." Miss Hale scolded, "Don't talk about that at the table." "Why did she do that?" Sarah asked, horrified. "I dunno." Caleb shrugged. Later, once the dinner crowd had dispersed, Sarah found the boy sitting outside on the front porch. "Hey Caleb." She sat down next to him on the wooden steps. "Hey." "So you were here when Miss Pappas was staying here?" She prodded. "Yes ma'am." "Can you tell me anything about her?" "I don't really remember much, it was a long time ago. ‘Cept that she tried to kill Buck." The boy shrugged his bony shoulders. "Did you meet her?" "Yeah. She was nice..." Caleb's face lit up when a lanky, long haired girl rode up into the yard on a 12-speed bicycle. "Good night Caleb." Sarah called as he stood up. "G'night Ma'am." He waved. Sarah watched him walk down the road with the girl, the two of them chattering in their matched accents. What am I doing here? This is absurd. It's just another painting. Sarah thought. But the next morning, the blonde found herself in the dusty archives of the county library, reading a faded copy of a newspaper from September, 1992. Sarah found only two other articles on the subject, one detailing the testimony of Gillian herself. The woman had nearly confessed on the stand. The second article was about the verdict, and Maia's disappearance. Sarah left with Xeroxes of the articles, her unknown questions still unanswered. Back toChapter 8 Back to the Beginning Back to the Fic Page
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