《IMMORTAL SOLD》 1. Selling Out Chapter 1 Selling Out Makia winced at her reflection and wished the mirror could show her what she wanted to see, instead of the horrible truth. She looked respectable¡­too respectable. The black baby-doll dress her roommate lent her looked cute. She needed to be more edgy for tonight. And the hot-pink, stiletto pumps Agatha had lent her looked pretty awesome, actually. Except. Except, when you¡¯re at an art event, aren¡¯t you supposed to be able to move without wiping out? She held a hand out and turned to one side slowly, trying not to fall. I mean, I could pretend I¡¯m one of those ¡°living art pieces¡± art events do, but if I collapse on the floor in a heap, I think it would hinder my art sales¡­.she thought, as she considered her profile, and wobbled a little. Fuck it. Makia let herself fall back to sit on her bed and grappled with the accursed, sexy, wonderful, terrible shoes. Off they go. I¡¯ll get Ags to take a picture of me in them later to post online instead. She padded in her bare feet to her side of the closet. She had two pairs of her own shoes to choose from; sneakers and combat boots. She glanced at the other side of the closet¡ªAgatha owned maybe 40 pairs, which lay in a multifarious heap of footwear on the floor under her clothing rack. Pretty much all of them had high heels. Yeah¡­nope. I came over here to escape all that. Makia considered her own shoes again and grabbed the Doc Martens. She shut the closet door. It swung open again. Makia craned her head around to see no one, as usual. Why does it always do that? She and Agatha had noticed a lot of odd things in their old, run down apartment since moving there. The rent was cheap, but rumor had it that this was because more than one tenant had committed suicide in the building. Agatha joked that the old tenants probably killed themselves because the hot water would always cut out just when they needed to rinse their hair, which was one of the many ¡°perks¡± the place. It all made Makia nervous, though; she was afraid of ghosts. Agatha suggested they name the ghost, which made Makia warm to the idea of having an invisible roommate. They hadn¡¯t decided if it should be a boy or a girl, so their imaginary friend was dubbed Ellie or Elliott, depending on their mood. Makia shook her finger at the closed closet door. ¡°Quit it, Elliott. No funny business tonight.¡± Back at the mirror, she struggled to come to terms with the inevitable disappointment that awaited her there. She sighed. Makia considered herself to be the most nondescript human she''d ever met. A short, black dress and bulky, military boots couldn¡¯t help that. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was black, too, as if she were the subject of a monochromatic portrait. She scowled at her innocent pixie cut and butt-white complexion. She might look trendy to some, but for an artist, this was the most obvious fashion choice. Pass¨¦, even. Makia flopped on the bed again, face in palms, and wailed, ¡°I knew I should¡¯ve dyed my hair teal!¡± In art school, the only thing that was considered original about her was her name: Makia Praxis. And she didn¡¯t even make that up. Her art was good, but it was¡­What did her teacher call it? Pedestrian. I should be looking forward to a solo show opening. But¡­ She remembered the Gallery Director¡¯s comment when he decided to give her a trial exhibition before officially representing her work long term. ¡°We¡¯ll try it. It¡¯s skilled work, yet, so¡­commonplace.¡± He had smiled at her then, as if that weren¡¯t just about the worst thing you could say to an artist. ¡°But a good landscape piece can appeal to the masses, so I think we should give it a go.¡± He typed on his laptop while he talked. ¡°After all, people don¡¯t like what they don¡¯t understand. That¡¯s why so many geniuses don¡¯t sell in their lifetime. Sometimes simple is better.¡± He smiled, as if this were a comfort. It was universally acknowledged that Makia¡¯s paintings were very well executed, but boring. She could paint the heck out of a mountain range, a forest or a lake, but her work seemed like something out of another time. It wasn¡¯t contemporary or modern in any way imaginative. In art school, this was death. But Makia couldn¡¯t help it; she couldn¡¯t paint a figure worth a damn, and she just didn¡¯t have it in her to hang an actual doughnut from a fishing hook and call it art, like one of her classmates had done. She remembered coming home distraught after her painting was upstaged by the ¡°found art¡± doughnut piece in a class critique. Agatha gave her the only compliment she heard that day: ¡°Your paintings are amazing! They¡¯re so precise, it¡¯s like the scenery is an entire world you can get lost in.¡± Ags always knew what to say to cheer her on. Makia sat up, hands on bare knees and trudged, somehow elegantly, to the living room to fetch her coat. She found it under her cat on The Comfy Chair. (There was only one.) She lifted the plump feline up and kissed his nose before setting him on the floor. Then she set to work brushing the abundance of gray cat hair off of her motorcycle jacket. A student loan bill fell out of the pocket. It was overdue again. Great. Like I needed to be reminded of yet another way I¡¯ve failed at life. She grabbed it off the floor away from the tubby cat, who stared at her expectantly. ¡°No, Pooka, you aren¡¯t coming with me. And your hair isn¡¯t either¡­not if I can help it.¡± She looked up at the clock. Time to go. One more awful look in the mirror to check for any rogue Pooka fur and she was off to the most wonderful, miserable night of her life. * A short walk and a bus ride later, Makia stood outside Gallery Apraxia. She could see the paintings through the windows. Easy to see when no one is there, she thought. But it was early yet. Hopefully, she¡¯ll get a crowd soon. Or ever. Makia hovered in the portico outside of the coffee shop across the street as she tried to muster the courage to walk into an empty room filled with her paintings and wait, hoping for someone to come in. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. A bell rang as the coffee shop door opened behind her. Makia stepped to the side, not turning around, and was surprised to hear an old woman addressing her, ¡°Are you coming in or not, Dearie?¡± She swiveled to face the woman, a waitress in a retro-looking pink uniform. Or maybe it¡¯s not retro for her¡ªshe could have bought it 50 years ago herself, Makia thought. She was glad she could just wear black when she waitressed at Enzo''s cafe to make ends meet. She glanced briefly at the empty, over-lit gallery across the street and made up her mind. ¡°Yeh, ok, thanks. I¡¯ll come in for just a minute.¡± Makia followed the matronly waitress inside and slid into a booth to hide out of sight. Makia was good. Or so she thought. She only had one cup of coffee, and resolutely did not peek over the booth seat behind her to look at the gallery. She had resigned herself to striding into the gallery to greet no one, or perhaps the one or two art students who might come to drink free wine and eat everything on the cheese plate without even looking at the art, but criticizing it nonetheless, because, hey: art students. The waitress sailed by with a carafe of coffee and held it poised over Makia¡¯s empty cup. ¡°Another cuppa joe?¡± ¡°No, thanks, I¡¯ve got to go,¡± Makia said, wishing she hadn¡¯t. As she handed Makia the check, the old woman looked out the window. ¡°Well, now. They look right busy for once,¡± she nodded to the gallery. ¡°You goin¡¯ there, hun?¡± She nodded her head in the direction of Makia¡¯s motorcycle jacket, as if that made it a certainty. Makia swung around and peeked over the back of the booth like a 3-year-old. It was busy. ¡°Oh. Yes¡­yes, I am!¡± She slapped a 10 on the top of the check on the counter and ran out. ¡°Keep the change!¡± * The gallery was full. Amazingly, oddly full. Especially since Makia hadn¡¯t actually invited anyone, really. But it looks like Agatha did; she was in a corner laughing with a gaggle of marketing majors. They looked like they were mostly seniors in their last year¡ªlike Ags herself¡ªMakia guessed. The room was filled with strangers. It looked like the gallery was as good at promoting events as they promised. Makia resisted the urge to run and hide in the bathroom. She really didn¡¯t know how to deal with all of them. The Gallery Director stepped in front of her, wine in hand and spread his arms out to her as if they could hug at a distance. ¡°There you are! Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± He put on a fake pout. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m thrilled, but I could have promoted this even better if I knew!¡± ¡°Knew what, Mr. Pomposo?¡± Makia looked around, as if she would find the answer in the crowd. ¡°Oh, Rex, please. Call me Rex.¡± He put his plastic wine cup down on the nearby desk, apparently to free up his hands, because he placed them on each of her shoulders and held her at arm¡¯s length. ¡°The ghost figures in the paintings, of course! They are such a big hit!¡± He looked around and whispered, ¡°I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t notice them in your portfolio! We didn¡¯t see them until we were lighting the show, then¡ªpow!¡± He raised his hands in the air like his mind was literally blown, and grinned. ¡°Good thing, too. I just had time to get a press release out and send an eblast to draw people in! Whatever made you think of it?¡± Makia strained to see her paintings through the crowd. She hadn¡¯t added any figures to her work. But it seemed like a bad idea to point that out just yet¡­¡°Um, I don¡¯t know. Artistic inspiration, I guess?¡± She rubbed her neck and blushed a little. He frowned. ¡°Well, I think we can come up with something better then that to say¡ªbut, no matter¡ª¡° The smile returned. ¡°Did you see how many red dots there are out there? We might sell everything by the end of the night!¡± Makia gulped. ¡°Really? Tha-that¡¯s amazing.¡± She felt an odd combination of exultant joy and dread. Were the paintings on the wall all hers? Did the gallery make a mistake? She had to see what Rex was talking about. ¡°Wow¡ªthat¡¯s a lot to take in. Let me take a look¡­¡± Rex thrust a cup of red wine into her hand. ¡°Here, take this. And don¡¯t talk to anyone until you have a good story about your inspiration for the paintings.¡± He winked. ¡°Drink up. Believe me, it helps.¡± Makia wandered through the crowd and up to one of the paintings on the wall closest to her. It was her painting all right. The painting looked like a normal landscape. What is all the fuss? What the hell is he talking about? I didn¡¯t paint any figures in this series! As she stared at the large painting of a field near a copse of trees, she overheard a couple discussing the piece. A woman with large rings and a trendy jacket pulled a tall man almost on top of Makia in her excitement. ¡°Honey, I have to show you this one! It¡¯s just so haunting.¡± She tugged at his sleeve like a child. ¡°And beautiful! I think I can almost hear it calling out my name¡­¡± The man stared at the painting with weighty unenthusiasm. ¡°Ok. It¡¯s a lot though.¡± He took a sip of white wine from a small, plastic cup. ¡°Also, I think my cousin could paint that.¡± The woman slapped his arm. ¡°What? Are you crazy? She¡¯s only six! Be quiet, if she¡¯s here, the artist might hear you.¡± Then she leaned on his shoulder and pointed. ¡°Honey, please. Just look at it more closely. The girl is right there.¡± She pointed to the right side of the painting. ¡°If you don¡¯t see it, move a little. It¡¯s like a trick of the light.¡± The man swayed obediently and squinted. ¡°Oh. Yeah. I do see it now.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But look, babe.¡± He pointed to the title card next to the painting. Under the painting¡¯s name and price there was a red dot. ¡°Someone¡¯s beat you to it. It¡¯s sold.¡± He ate one of the crackers he apparently snagged from the cheese plate. Makia ignored them to inspect the painting more closely. She leaned closer to look at the righthand side of the composition. She shifted side to side with her wine in hand, feeling like an idiot. Then she saw it peeking out between the trees; there was a figure. She jumped back a little. What the¡ªI didn¡¯t paint that! How did that get there? Makia glared around the room, as if the culprit might be hiding in the crowd. She stepped close again. The figure of a ghostly looking girl stood with one hand on a tree trunk. Her face was haunted, and beautiful, like the ache of unattainable love. She was transparent and was only visible when the light hit the varnish just right. Makia stepped back again and looked around the room. It was getting late; the crowd was thinning a little now and she could see the paintings more easily from a distance. And red dots. Lots of them, just like Rex said. Suddenly she felt like a fraud. All these people liked these paintings for the part that wasn¡¯t hers¡­But if she told anyone, for sure she¡¯d either lose everything or be labeled as crazy. But it¡¯s ok for artists to be crazy, right? She shook her head. No, it wasn¡¯t right to take credit for someone else¡¯s artwork. But whose was it? And why? She had to know. But then again, the paintings were hers too. And she needed the cash. Rex half-danced up to her, took away her wine, and traded it for a glass of champagne. ¡°We have sold all but two of your paintings tonight!¡± He clinked her glass with his. ¡°I¡¯ve got a contract in the back with your name on it. I hope you¡¯re ready to paint up a storm. We¡¯re going to need some more like these. And fast.¡± 2. Seeking Jazz and Sex and Soup Chapter 2 Seeking Jazz and Sex and Soup When they got back to their apartment, Makia knew it was a bad idea to let Agatha pop open a bottle of champagne. She¡¯d had enough to drink, and had mixed feelings about celebrating her mystifying success. Plus, Ags was known to be dangerous with anything she could aim and shoot. But the upside was, they would get drunk enough to stray from serious conversation. Makia wasn¡¯t ready for that yet. She tried to focus on the joy of having money to pay her bills once the gallery issued her a check. So she pushed her nagging worries aside as they laughed and sang badly before passing out for a deep night¡¯s sleep. When morning came, Makia still wasn¡¯t ready to talk about the mysterious figures in her paintings. She held her head in one hand, and a large cup of coffee with the other, each with equal force. It didn¡¯t help. Her head pounded, anyway. Ags, on the other hand, was more chipper than ever. Mornings were her favorite time of day. If she wasn¡¯t such a good friend, Makia would have been inclined to hate her for it. ¡°So,¡± Agatha said, leaning forward in her chair as she took a sip from her In Godzilla We Trust coffee mug. She was actually religious, but somehow it was bearable, probably because she had a sense of humor about it. About everything, really. ¡°You must be over the moon right now¡ªat least I would be!¡± Makia mumbled something incomprehensible into her own, nondescript cup. ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Ags said, lifting Pooka into her lap for a head scratch. He gave a typical feline stretch and settled into her lap comfortably. ¡°You even did something new you¡¯ve never done before¡ªand look how it paid off! You should be proud.¡± Makia avoided her gaze. She looked out the window at the apartments across the street. She looked at the artwork on the walls. Not hers. Never hers. She preferred to live with other people¡¯s artwork. Then she stared at the threadbare oriental rug they rescued from an alley. Yep. The pattern¡¯s still there. Sort of. ¡°Earth to Makia¡­¡± Ags rapped on the turquoise painted side table. ¡°Did you even hear me?¡± Makia snapped back to the conversation and made herself focus on her well-meaning roommate in between the painful throbs that racked her temple. Why doesn¡¯t Ags ever get hangovers? Life is so not fair. ¡°I asked you when you managed to crack how to paint figures? I know you always had trouble with that.¡± Legs crossed, Ags swung a pedicured foot up and down impatiently. Pooka looked impatient, too. But that was probably because he wasn¡¯t getting enough pets. ¡°Anyway,¡± she looked at Makia closely, ¡°I thought you¡¯d be happier about all this. What¡¯s up? Is that gallery screwing you over or something?¡± Makia sighed. She really wasn¡¯t sure how to explain everything without sounding like a total lunatic. ¡°Well, I¡ª¡° That¡¯s when their neighbor started to howl loudly. Speaking of lunatics. For once, though, Makia was grateful for his loud antics. She was glad to have someone she could easily look sane in comparison to, since she wasn¡¯t very sure she was all there right now. ¡°AWOOOOOO!¡± The random howl continued from the next unit for much longer than seemed possible. That guy has good lungs for a smoker. Happy for the diversion, Makia stood up to pound on wall they shared with apartment 405 next door. ¡°Shut up! Who do you think you are? Allen Ginsberg?¡± Next door became quiet. ¡°Allen who?¡± Agatha tilted her head. In answer, Makia searched the nearby bookshelf for a paperback and tossed it to Ags, who thunked her coffee mug down and capsized Pooka from her lap as she caught it. ¡°I had to read this for a class.¡± Agatha looked it over. ¡°Howl. By Allen Ginsberg. Hmmm.¡± She opened it, read a page or two briefly and snapped the book shut. ¡°O God.¡± She placed the offending tome gingerly far away from her on the worn coffee table. ¡°You had to read the whole thing? Lucky you..?¡± The neighbor began yelling again. ¡°I want jazz! Sssex!¡± Pause. ¡°And soup! SOUP!¡± Makia pointed her thumb at the wall. ¡°See, he¡¯s read it, too.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°You¡¯re both crazy.¡± Ags was the one holding her head now. Her afternoon schedule was 2nd shift at the cafe. Makia still managed to make it on time, but she didn''t quite feel like she had fully arrived; her mind was definitely elsewhere. She was staring out the cafe window as she poured coffee into a regular¡¯s mug when he grabbed the hand holding the carafe to stop her. She jolted back to reality and looked down to see she was missing the cup and had begun to pour coffee on the floor instead. ¡°Wha¡ªOh, thanks, Matthew!¡± ¡°Matty, please.¡± He took his napkin and knelt on the floor to wipe up the mess. He always looked so¡­ casually crisp and put together, she was shocked to see him get himself dirty. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t¡ªI¡¯ll get that! Sorry, I don¡¯t know where my head is today.¡± But she did. She couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the opening, the mysterious figures in the paintings and how in the world she was supposed to make more. Who added them? I still can¡¯t paint figures! I wonder when the gallery expects new work¡­Rex didn¡¯t say when, just that he wanted more. Matty looked up at her with his terribly blue eyes. He wasn¡¯t bad looking. Why hadn¡¯t I noticed before? She shook herself out of it again. ¡°Please, sit!¡± Makia said, looking over her shoulder to see if her boss had caught her. ¡°I¡¯ll clean this up. It is my job.¡± She smiled at Matty, filled his cup for real this time and half-ran back to the storeroom to get a mop. She wasn¡¯t worried about getting yelled at, her boss was the best; Enzo was almost like a second father to her, even. He¡¯d given her a job when no one else would; she was horrible at interviews. All the more reason to do good work, she thought. She wanted to repay his kindness with excellence. Too bad I¡¯m such a terrible waitress. After the floor was clean again, Enzo caught her in the back as she put away the mop. ¡°How are you, my dear?¡± The middle-aged man gently put his hand on her shoulders, and gave her a hard look. ¡°Whatsamatterferyou? I thought you¡¯d be dancing after your show¡­how do you call it¡­¡¯Starting Day¡¯ or whatsit called?¡± ¡°Opening Night.¡± Makia smiled. She always found Enzo¡¯s ¡°Brooklyn-ese¡± and accent endearing. ¡°This was only a one night show to try me out, though, so I suppose it¡¯s weird to call it that.¡± ¡°Ah yeh. Dat thing.¡± Enzo smiled back. ¡°Der we go. Hey, cheer up, you. I have a soorprize I want you t¡¯ see. Howzabout you follow me, eh?¡± His accent was always more noticable when he was happy, and he laid it on thick now, so Makia knew he had something good in store. He spun her around and shooed her to his office in the back. The room was its usual mishmash of paperwork and New York memorabilia, but leaned against the wall was a package wrapped in paper. Makia recognized the logo on the label attached: Gallery Apraxia. ¡°Is¡­is that what I think it is?¡± She pointed at the parcel and looked up at Enzo¡¯s beaming face. ¡°Yeh, I got wunna dem paintings you had inna show from dat Dah-TEE-dah guy who runs da place.¡± ¡°Rex?¡± ¡°Yeh, dat¡¯s him. Dat guy¡¯s so cheap, I bet he¡¯s still got the first two cents he ever made.¡± Enzo began to take off the brown paper from the parcel. ¡°But it was worth it. Look at dis beauty¡­¡± He held the painting up. Makia recognized it as one of her earlier pieces. It depicted a large field under a clear, blue sky, cut in half by a small stream. Leaning to catch the light, she saw a ghostly figure peeking over a hill near a bottom corner of the piece. Where the hell did those figures come from? ¡°I thought dis place could use some class, and who better dan you to add some, eh?¡± Makia blushed. Enzo was like family she never had. That is, not like her family at all, thank God. ¡°Thanks, Enzo.¡± She mumbled, as she stared at her shoes. ¡°That means a lot.¡± He laughed. ¡°It aint nuthin¡¯, kid.¡± Then the cafe door bell rang, announcing a new customer¡¯s arrival. ¡°Don¡¯ just stand dere, now, get goin¡¯ you!¡± Makia greeted the newcomer and seated her at a table far away from Matty. She told herself it was because he needed space to write, but she felt like she had a small, ulterior motive. Trying to keep him to yourself? Just because he¡¯s nice to you, doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s interested, she chided herself as she left the woman to look over the menu. Enzo hung up the painting quickly. She was proud he wanted to have it in the small restaurant, but as she went about her shift helping the scattered tables that filled that day, she couldn¡¯t help but feel that the thing¡ªthe figure¡ª was watching her. She finished work at 8, and remembered to check her phone. For once. Ags was always on her for not paying attention to messages. When she pulled it out of her coat pocket, and looked at her notifications, she saw she had 12 missed calls. Twelve? I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ve had that many calls in the last 6 months! She unlocked it, and looked. Six texts from Agatha. Nothing special there. The call log was surprising, though. All of the calls were from Rex. He left her a couple of voice messages, too. She listened the first one. Rex sounded a little irritated, which was a change from his good mood from yesterday. Good thing I signed that contract last night¡­ Makia thought. She wondered if he was always so moody. The recording was brief: Hello. Makia, darling. Rex here. Again, wonderful show¡­but we need to talk. I¡¯m getting some, shall we say¡­unusal feedback about the pieces we sent home with buyers last night. Ta Ta for now. His voice sounded like he was trying to sound light, but was obviously strained. What¡¯s up with that? Did he find out I didn¡¯t paint everything in artwork? Makia tilted her head upward and closed her eyes. Does that make my work a liability to the gallery as fraud or something? Why didn¡¯t I think of that before? She threw on her motorcycle jacket and strode towards the door, but not without a quick glance at the painting Enzo hung on the wall. She couldn¡¯t but help look for the weird, ghost figure, but it was gone. Makia stopped in her tracks and looked again. No, it¡¯s still there. But it moved. It wasn¡¯t hiding in the corner of the piece anymore; it stood tall in the center of the field, vacant eyes fixed back at her. 3. The Ghost F*cker Chapter 3 The Ghost Fucker Makia made it home, but she honestly couldn¡¯t remember how. She only snapped back into the present when she ran into Agatha in the lobby of the apartment building. Ags was getting mail out of their mailbox. Makia watched as her friend opened the metal mailbox door marked 404 and took out the mail to sort it. ¡°All junk again. And a few bills.¡± Ags looked like she wanted to shove it all back in the mailbox and lock it shut again to keep the bills from chasing them home. Then she looked up. ¡°Hey. Makia. You¡¯re even quieter than usual today. If that¡¯s even possible.¡± Agatha nudged her with an elbow. Makia nodded her head solemnly and managed a half smile. Her friend looked concerned now. ¡°Oh, wow. Sorry! Is something wrong?¡± She grabbed Makia by the arm and gently tugged to lead her up the stairs to their unit. ¡°C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s go home and talk. I¡¯ll make you some tea. Or something.¡± They were halfway down the hallway to their apartment when the crazy neighbor spotted them. ¡°Oh, boy. Crazy sighted at 12 o¡¯clock,¡± Agatha muttered. They picked up speed. The older man looked a wreck. His balding, gray-red hair was askew and coated in cobwebs. The over-worn, corduroy blazer with the elbow patches looked like it had even more stains than usual. He spotted Makia, and hollered down the hall, ¡°You got somethin¡¯ to answer for. Hold up there!¡± He pointed to Makia, who hid behind Agatha. He carried a ragtag parcel covered in twine, which he swung with a bellicose air as he marched up to them. ¡°What¡¯s with those fucking paintings of yours?¡± Makia stepped back. ¡°What do you mean? The ones in the storage area?¡± The shared storage area in the basement was a common source of contention between tenants. Many of them used more space than they were allotted per unit. ¡°I didn¡¯t take up more space than I¡¯m allowed. So what¡¯s the problem?¡± He calmed down a bit and looked over his shoulder. ¡°Theys was staring at me!¡± ¡°They¡¯re landscapes.¡± Makia replied, holding her hands up for emphasis and staying behind her taller, more composed friend. ¡°Yeh, well, yeah, but,¡± He looked over his shoulder again. ¡°They¡¯re more n¡¯ that. The face in one of ¡®em had eyes that seemed like they followed me around the room, for Chrissake!¡± Makia saw Ags tense a little at that. ¡°Um¡­no need to swear.¡± As he glanced behind him, she looked down the hall now, too. His paranoia was contagious. ¡°Ok¡­so they ¡®looked¡¯ at you,¡± she said in her most reasonable voice. ¡°Sometimes paintings can seem like that. No harm done, right?¡± He ran a hand through his stubble and over his dusty hair. ¡°Yeah, no. Because when I brought down some o¡¯ these¡ªhe held up a bundle of magazines by the knot of rope¡ªwhen I brought these down to put in my spot right next to it, the ghost fucker reached out an¡¯ tried to grab me.¡± He threw the bundle on the floor, apparently for emphasis. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. He held a finger up and pointed it at Makia. ¡°You made the damn thing. You call it off!¡± He stormed into his apartment and slammed the door shut. They heard him yell through the door as he locked it from inside. ¡°An¡¯ put those down there while you¡¯re at it!¡± Agatha and Makia looked at each other, speechless. Then Makia looked at the bundle of magazines more closely. The top one, a Field & Stream, was dated 1983. Those are older than me¡­What the hell is he saving those for? ¡°C¡¯Mon. Let¡¯s leave those there.¡± Ags toed the bundle aside with a red, high-heeled shoe. I¡¯m not dealing with his crazy anymore than I have to,¡± she muttered, and dragged Makia inside their own place. Makia looked shaken enough that her friend put off interrogating her about her sullen mood, and she was able to escape to her bedroom/studio to be alone. She locked the door behind her and sat on her unmade bed with a thump. She still had her coat on, but before she took it off, she fished her cellphone from one of the motorcycle jacket¡¯s many pockets and stared at it. She sat on the unmade bed to listen to the rest of Rex¡¯s messages. A bunch of calls from Rex. Lots of messages, too. She braced herself as she listened to the barrage of voicemail. Makia, it¡¯s Rex again. Call me back. Hey Makia. It¡¯s Rex. I keep getting calls from a crazy collector who has your work. He¡¯s insisting there¡¯s something off about the painting he bought. Hoping to get some information from you to placate him. Thanks. Call me back. Makia. It¡¯s Rex. A few of the buyers have called and emailed the gallery since last night. They all say the close to same thing: they think the paintings are¡­how did that one put it? ¡°Out to get them.¡± One even said it tried to¡ªOh, incoming call, got to go. Makia, that was a call from Pi¨¦ Gruenwald. He just threatened to return his painting to the gallery. Luckily, we¡¯ll be closed for a few days. Did you use pigment with hallucinogenic properties or something? That would mean a breach of contract. But let¡¯s talk. I¡¯m in the storeroom now. I started putting away the we paintings we had left. But it..it..no, wait NO¡ª Makia dropped the phone on the bed. Suddenly she felt cold enough to keep her jacket on. She stared at the ¡°studio¡± part of her bedroom, which was really just an easel, a small cabinet that had the top crammed with jars full of brushes, and a messy palette. Its drawers were filled with tubes of oil paint, painting medium and rags. The easel itself was empty at the moment. The last piece Makia had finished painting was leaning at an angle to face the wall, so that the dust would stay out of the varnish as it dried. She crept up to it, grabbed the wire on the back and turned the canvas around as fast as she could. She dropped it against the wall so it faced her again and jumped back, just in case. No ghost figure. Thank God! She crouched and looked at it more closely to make sure. Is there anything hiding in the trees? No. Good. Anything spooky weird in the tall grass or flowers? No. The clouds? No. Nothing odd here. Makia stood up again, and, fear gone, realized she was so concerned about the damn painting in the room, she didn¡¯t even think to call 911 to send help to Rex, in case he needed it. God, I¡¯m the worst! She spun around to grab her phone off of the bed and froze in place mid-reach. An eerie, white figure stood in the far corner of the room. It looked like it was watching her, judging her, even, but really, if she looked harder, the eyes were empty circles of nothingness. Its mouth, that was not a mouth, exactly, spoke in what sounded like a tinny echo of itself. ¡°Tanith knows.¡± The figure tilted its head, and moved closer. Its long, thin, ghastly arm reached for Makia, and she screamed. 4. Immortality is a Myth Chapter 4 Immortality is a Myth The ghost spirit demon whatever thing leaned forward, hand outstretched. Makia screamed again. She backed up, stumbled and crashed into her bedroom door. It felt like the doorknob punched her in the kidney. ¡°Augh!¡± Keeping her eyes on the approaching ghost thing, she fumbled for the knob behind her back. She wrenched open the door, scurried into the adjoining living room and slammed the door shut. Agatha hurried towards her to see what was wrong. Makia stood, wheezing, as she held the door closed. ¡°What happened? It looks like you saw Ellie or something.¡± Ellie/Elliot was the name for their imaginary ghost roommate. Except, maybe she isn¡¯t so imaginary, after all, Makia thought. ¡°Yes! I mean, I did!¡± She pointed at the door. ¡°I mean¡ªthere IS a ghost¡­or something¡ªin there!¡± She backed away from the door. ¡°O God, it probably doesn¡¯t care about doors. It¡¯s coming to get me, Ags!¡± Agatha grabbed Makia by the arms and moved her away from the door. ¡°Don¡¯t worry; I know what to do.¡± She cracked her knuckles. ¡°I don¡¯t think you can beat up a ghost, Ags¡­¡± ¡°No, I can¡¯t. But I know someone who can.¡± She winked. ¡°I¡¯ve got back-up.¡± ¡°I¡¯m serious, Agatha¡ªthis isn¡¯t a joke! It¡¯s real!¡± Makia tried to pull her friend back. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here!¡± ¡°Ok. Ok.¡± Agatha tried to calm her friend down. ¡°Just let me do this one thing, first. I¡¯ve always wanted to try this.¡± Agatha lifted both arms up in the air and shouted in a commanding voice, ¡°In the name of Jesus, I banish you. Demon, leave this place!¡± Makia gaped at her. ¡°Are you serious right now?¡± Agatha smiled. ¡°Yes! It¡¯s best to fight spirits with spiritual means, right?¡± Makia shifted her gaze to the door. ¡°I suppose that makes sense. But can we just¡­leave now?¡± Agatha cracked open the door. ¡°Not yet, I want to make sure it worked!¡± She opened it slowly at first, then swung the door open wide. No ghost spirit demon whatever thing to be found. ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± Makia said. ¡°It actually worked. I¡¯d still like to get out of here, though.¡± She leaned through the doorframe and peeked into her bedroom. Yep. Definitely empty. Her heart still raced, though. What if it comes back? Then she thought of something. ¡°Hey Ags¡ªdid you really believe me? I mean, you didn¡¯t see the ghost or anything.¡± Agatha frowned a little. ¡°I don¡¯t think that matters. What¡¯s important is that you believed it, and you were terrified.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m still scared.¡± She put a hand to her collarbone. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of this building for a while.¡± Then she remembered. ¡°Dammit, Rex sounded like he was in trouble! We should check on him!¡± She hesitated. ¡°Can you grab my phone?¡± Not moving, she pointed to her things on the bed. Agatha grabbed the cell phone, and righted the fallen painting, which had fallen. ¡°Hey, no figure in this painting yet¡ª¡° She looked with concern at Makia, who looked fearfully around her as she stood dead center in the middle of the living room. ¡°Makia, do you think all that painting is getting to you? I worry about you with all those paint fumes in there.¡± She shut the bedroom door, as if to keep said fumes contained. ¡°I think we should air this place out when we get back.¡± Makia shook her head. ¡°You heard the crazy in 405. He saw the same thing!¡± Agatha put a forefinger to her chin. ¡°So¡­you saw the same thing the crazy guy did¡­I don¡¯t think that helps your argument.¡± She put an arm around her nervous friend. ¡°Just saying.¡± Makia looked up at her. She felt like a permanent lost cause. Why is Ags always saving me from myself? She looked at the floor and nodded. ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. But, still, let¡¯s go.¡± Agatha squeezed her shoulder before letting go. ¡°Ok, you got it.¡± She looked around the apartment. ¡°But, hey, my exorcism worked! Look, no baddies lurking in the corners now.¡± She knew Ags was kidding, but her friend looked a little overly proud at this; Makia figured she was half-joking. Well, it seems to be gone for now anyway. Thank God for that. Honestly, Makia couldn¡¯t get out of that place soon enough. She grabbed her purse, keys and swung open the front door to leave. But...there, just on the other side of the doorframe, stood a handful of the ghost spirit demon whatever things. Ags didn¡¯t get rid of the spirits, they just moved. Fuck! Makia slammed the door shut again. This time, Agatha screamed. ¡°What was that?¡± Agatha stepped back and grabbed at the cross pendant she always wore. ¡°I told you,¡± Makia said. The image of the ghosts burned in her head. ¡°I know you didn¡¯t believe me, but I think whatever you did, actually worked. At least they¡¯re staying out.¡± ¡°For now.¡± Agatha added. ¡°Who knows how long exorcisms last? Do you think they wear out?¡± Makia shouted, ¡°You tell me! I¡¯ve never done one before!¡± Agatha bit her lip. ¡°Me, either. Until now, that is.¡± She tapped a manicured nail to her chin. Makia felt a rush of relief that Agatha was with her. Then she felt a rush of guilt. I hate that she¡¯s going through this, too, but¡­I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do on my own. O, wait, sure I do: I¡¯d collapse in a corner, curl up in a ball and rock myself into oblivion. Her friend¡¯s voice broke through Makia¡¯s reverie. ¡°No, it¡¯s not your fault. And no, don¡¯t self-destruct. We¡¯ll get out of this, somehow¡­¡± She knows me so well, Makia thought, and not for the first time. She remembered when they met at college orientation; Makia had been her usual, awkward, anxiety-ridden self, which meant she mingled by standing alone in the corner with a complimentary cookie and a cranberry Tropicana. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Agatha was the one to notice she was all alone. Makia still remembered her surprise when the tall, well-coiffed blonde strode over to her to reach out her hand. At first, Makia thought they¡¯d have nothing in common, but their shared love of Anime and dark humor soon made them fast friends. ¡°Earth to Makia.¡± Agatha¡¯s voice pulled her out of the past. ¡°Snap out of it.¡± Makia covered her face. ¡°What do we do? God, it¡¯s all my fault! I think.¡± ¡°Why do you think everything¡¯s your fault?¡± Agatha snapped. ¡°Instead of blaming yourself, use that super-bright brain of yours to get us out of here. There¡¯s only one door out, and I, for one, don¡¯t want to walk through ghost demon whatever things to escape, do you?¡± Makia shook her head, no. She felt guilty again. That¡¯s right; I haven¡¯t told Ags about the voice messages or anything. She doesn¡¯t know my paintings are somehow the cause of all this¡­¡°Do you think they¡¯re still there? Maybe they moved on.¡± ¡°Only one way to find out. I guess they can¡¯t come in to hurt us anyway, or they would have by now.¡± Agatha strode to the apartment door and opened it, then reflexively jumped back before she could close it again. There were three white ghost spirit demon whatever things on the other side of the doorway, peering in with empty eyes. The ghost spirit demon whatever thing on the left fixed its non-eyes at Agatha. ¡°That was hurtful.¡± Another spirit thing chimed in with a static-like rasp. ¡°We¡¯re not demons. We have feelings, too, you know.¡± Wow. They¡¯re oddly polite for monsters that sneak out of the darkness to maul people, Makia thought. She stepped behind Agatha a little. Damn it, why do I always make her do everything first? Makia spoke up. Time to stop hiding. ¡°Why are you doing this? Why are you in my paintings?¡± She demanded, as she peered from behind her friend. Makia saw Agatha register this in her face. Ok, now she knows. I hope she doesn¡¯t hate me for this. The ghost spirit thing with the terrible, sweet voice that sounded like cursed chimes answered. ¡°We need a way out.¡± ¡°Of the building?¡± ¡°Yes. We are dying again.¡± The ghost spirit thing said, flickering a little. What are they? Makia thought. It was hard to define, somehow, or even focus on. ¡°I thought ghosts were immortal.¡± ¡°Immortality is a myth.¡± The static-voiced figure replied. Makia could not get over how¡­empty they looked. ¡°Immortality is a myth,¡± It repeated. ¡°Even if the body lives forever, the soul wears down, fades.¡± Agatha spoke up now. ¡°Ok, so why are you all here? What do you want from us?¡± The first ghost chimed in. Makia thought she sensed a smile, even though it didn¡¯t seem to have a mouth. ¡°We have been trapped in the building because we died here. Tanith promised us immortality¡­and at first gave it, but¡ªeven when the when the body lives on, the soul withers and dies.¡± ¡°So we ended what we sought to preserve,¡± added the ghost spirit in the middle. ¡°Now,¡± the static-voiced one continued, ¡°Our souls continue on without bodies to support, but they, still, need nourishment, or they will thin beyond repair.¡± The sweet voice chimed back in, ¡°Touching the living restores some of our energy, and memory, too. But there is a cost. Do you have a memory to spare?¡± It held a white hand up to the doorway, and rested it, palm out, like it was pressed against glass that wasn¡¯t there. The one in the center tried to reach through the doorway, but was blocked. ¡°Just a little one will help. You won¡¯t miss it.¡± Agatha stepped back, shoving Makia farther behind her. ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t think so. This isn¡¯t like asking your neighbor for a cup of sugar. I like my memories¡­most of them, anyway.¡± Makia thought about what they said. They were dying, again. And since her paintings were a part of all this, she felt responsible, somehow. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± ¡°What?¡± Agatha whirled to face her. ¡°Are you nuts? We don¡¯t know what those things are!¡± She positioned herself between Makia and the doorway. ¡°You don¡¯t wan¡¯t to lose part of your brain, do you?¡± ¡°Actually, I do.¡± Makia looked down at the tattered rug on the floor. ¡°I mean, not my brain, no. But a a memory? Yes. I have a few I¡¯d like to part with.¡± Agatha, for once, was at a loss for words. Makia slipped past her and pressed her palm against the ghost¡¯s. ¡°You can take the one I¡¯m thinking of now.¡± She stared into its empty eyes. ¡°Please. Take it now, and go.¡± She felt like she had been struck by lightening, and in a flash, she was back in the one place she didn¡¯t want to be: the past. At the age of six, it was hard to hide somewhere she couldn¡¯t be found, but she tried. There was a special place in the church no one could find her. She hoped. She ran up the stairs to the choir loft and circled around the large pipe organ to the other side. In the back, she knew she could find a small, utility door. It was her secret spot. Or so she hoped. Cracking the door open, she crawled in, and shut the small panel behind her. Mom wouldn¡¯t know. She wondered how long she could make herself stay in the cramped, dark space. It was comforting, if not comfortable. She was pretty sure no one would find her in there. In the dark, she felt for a box of things she had hidden away. Blindly fingering the edges, she found the lid and dove her hand inside¡ªthere¡­she found it: a candle for mass. She took it out and placed it in her lap. Then she rummaged again until she found a box of matches. Once she had that in hand, she struck one, ruined it. Struck another¡ªit blazed instantly. She lit the thin taper and balanced it against a small block of wood a corner of the tight space. There, that¡¯s better. She stayed in there for hours. No need to come out, ever come out. No one would believe her, so what was the point? The candle burned, and dripped, burned, dripped and diminished. The air was heavy in there. She closed her eyes and fell into darkness¡­and awoke to heat, screaming and light. The screaming was her, she thought. The candle was gone, or rather the world was a candle and everything around her was its flame. She lay low, but the smoke stifled her breath, singed her eyes, tainted her skin. She crawled, crawled and found the little door, the door that always provided escape from the outside in¡ªwould it let her escape the other way, too? She needed air. It seemed unfair to be trapped in here, her only haven. Was this the anger of God? Would He save her? They always said you had to call out to be saved, so she did¡­¡± O God¡­¡± She kicked the door open and crawled out. The majestic pipe organ was ablaze and keened in painful notes as it breathed its last. I¡¯ve killed it, I¡¯ve destroyed the refuge, my castle of dreams, how can I manage now¡­.she coughed, and staggered down the stairs. Her mom found her. She always did. There was no going back now. ¡°Makia,¡± her mom said, cradling her in her arms as the fire trucks came. ¡°It¡¯s all right. No one has to know.¡± She led her away to the old sedan, to home. ¡°It¡¯s all right. We¡¯ll go home now. You won¡¯t have to leave again. I¡¯ll keep you safe. So safe.¡± And she knew she was going back. This time, it would be for a long time. It would be harder to get out, harder to convince her mother to let her out. She closed her eyes from the thought of the windowless room where anyone could come in and out but her, where the only windows were framed pictures of landscapes, where¡­ ¡°Makia? O God, Makia, are you all right? Please be all right¡­¡± Agatha called out her, shaking her hard. Makia opened her eyes. The ghost spirit demon things were gone. She had the feeling she had the most awful dream, but she couldn¡¯t remember what it was about. She felt lighter, but somehow, robbed, too. ¡°Makia¡ªthank goodness! I¡¯m getting you out of here now.¡± Agatha pulled her upright and standing. Makia wobbled a little. I finally did it. I was finally the brave one. For once. Then her phone rang. Rex! She yanked it from her pocket and answered it breathlessly, ¡°Rex? Are you ok?¡± But it was Enzo. ¡°Makia, dear, I have to ask you about that painting of yours. I was working late, and well, I noticed it looked different now. Did you add to it today when I wasn¡¯t looking somehow? I swear there was only one figure in it when I bought it. But now the ghost has a friend, I think.¡± Oh, no¡­not Enzo¡­ She struggled to remain calm, but managed to talk somewhat normally. ¡°Enzo, are you still at work? Home? good, stay there¡ª-I¡¯m going to stop by work tonight. Yes, I know it¡¯s late. I forgot something. I¡¯ll tell you about the painting later ok?¡± She hung up. ¡°Ags, before we go¡­I know you gave up smoking, but do you still have your lighter? I think I¡¯m gonna need it.¡±