Helenmollybooks

Anna sifted through her things at her desk. A client stood in front of the desk, waiting rather impatiently. He constantly looked at his watch, as if he were late. Anna threw a bunch of things off her desk, feeling absolutely flustered. This was the third time this week that she hadn’t found something important. Usually, she was so organized and knew where everything was. But recently, she’d been forgetful, agitated, and didn’t sleep. Anna didn’t know why. Finally, she found what she was looking for. It was a sticky note with important call information scribbled on it. The client looked even angrier than he had been five minutes ago when he first walked in the door. Seeing the sticky note, he snatched it from her hand.

“I’ll be talking to the manager about this lack of first-class service that this firm promises. You can’t even find me what I’m looking for when I walk in.” Anna didn’t reply; she didn’t know what to say. I can’t get fired. This is the second time I’ve been turned over in six months. Get it together. But before she mustered any more words, the client walked out without another word. Anna slunk down in her seat, looking down at the mess that was her desk. I should get this cleaned up before Robert walks in. She got up and began putting everything away methodically. As she did so, a stab of cold fear went through her. If my boss finds out about this, I’ll be done for. He’s covered up my mistakes before, but this is too much. She sat up, feeling a pounding headache rising. The headaches had been over the past week. Getting up, she went back to her desk and sat sluggishly before looking at the clock.

It was a quarter to 5. Anna sighed and collected her things before walking out of the office. She’d forgotten what time it was. Maybe I’ll feel better after I do some painting today, she thought.

Anna slowly trudged her way out of the office, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody. She just clocked out and left. The late evening sun was hurting her eyes, and her headache worsened. I just need to get home, Anna thought miserably. I just want to go to sleep. Then something jolted her awake. No, I can’t sleep. I have that picture for that client due tomorrow. It hit her hard that she hadn’t even started painting it. Anna shook her head and hurried to her car before driving home.  Driving home was a mess. as Anna’s head was foggy, her memory was blurry, and everything seemed to go in slow motion. But somehow she managed to make it home safely.

Pulling up to the driveway, she looked at her house for a moment. Broken dreams and just a shell of everything I want to be. No husband, not even a pet. Just myself, my artwork, and no one else. How I wish for company. Anna dragged herself out of the car. She got halfway to the front door before going back to close the door. It took another minute to remember to lock the doors.

Getting inside, Anna threw her stuff down and was about to just collapse into bed. Then she remembered that she had that picture due for the client. So, she went to the kitchen to make coffee before going down to the basement. It was going to be a long night. These things tended to take a while. Especially since she had waited until the last minute. Anna trudged her way downstairs, feeling more hopeless. One more client letdown, and it’s all over. I just have to finish this painting today. No matter what, it has to be perfect. Even if it kills me. Anna closed the door. Then she changed into her painting clothes and set out a fresh stack of paints and an easel. A printed picture held what her client wanted painted. Clumsily, Anna set her coffee next to her and started working.

More than an hour later, three crumbled white pages sat next to her. Nothing was looking right. Nothing was sounding right in her head, either. Worse, the client wanted to be here first thing tomorrow morning to see this painting. Anna hadn’t gone out to get what she needed for the piece either. Work and time got away from her that week. Or at least that’s what she told herself. Briefly, she checked her watch. It was a quarter to 7. Still time. Getting up, Anna headed to her bathroom to wash up and get ready to go out. She was going to find the inspiration for the piece today. Even if that meant going outside of her comfort zone. Anna pulled on a nice dress and put on some earrings. Then makeup. Can’t have anyone knowing that I look like shit. She then grabbed her cell phone before heading out the door. After a few attempts, she was finally in the car with her keys, purse, and phone. Most places were still open this time, but Anna was searching for a specific type of place. Her inspiration was there.

Finding the place was easier said than done. It took so long that Anna worried that she would be letting down yet another person. But then, she spotted it. There was a dusty, older-looking building with a worn-out neon sign. Half the lights didn’t work, but Anna saw that it said open. She pulled into the empty parking lot. She poofed herself up once more before walking inside, this time remembering to lock the car doors. Anna checked her purse. She had everything she needed. Perfect. She walked in and sat down at a table. The place was almost falling apart at the seams, with few customers and only one bartender. He looked as old as the place around him. His hair was dirty, gray, and he wore a permanent frown.

He didn’t even smile when Anna sat down. That didn’t matter. She wasn’t there to get a drink. She sat and waited. A few minutes went by, and then another. An hour soon went by, and then another. Anna tapped her fingers on the wooden table, growing impatient. The client said he usually comes here. But where is he? But then he walked in. The inspiration for her work. Anna polished up her lips before waving her hand. The man walked over, looking confused.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Anna took a breath before speaking.

“Hello, sir. I’m looking for someone to be an art model. Would you model for me?”

The man crinkled his nose before crossing his arms.

“What’s in it for me?”  Anna told him to come closer before whispering in his ear.

The man’s eyes widened before narrowing, and then his face transformed into a Cheshire cat.

“Well then, let’s go. Let’s not waste time.”

Anna rose from the table and waited for the man to walk outside. Then she ordered a drink to go before leaving.

A few minutes later, she walked outside. The man rolled his eyes.

“Can you not take so long? Let’s go already. I’m a busy man this time of night, and I don’t have a lot of time.”

Back at the house, Anna unlocked the door, and the man walked inside. He frowned at the house and looked disgusted as Anna led him downstairs to her painting room. Halfway down, she realized she forgot to lock the door. But then decided to not mention it. Holding the brown paper-covered bottle to the side, she had the man sit on a sofa with the bottle next to him. The man looked around warily, looking bored. Anna closed the basement door before going to her easels.  She gave him instructions.

“Sit there, with your arms apart and one leg over the other, holding your hand over your cheek.”

The man complied, although with annoyance.

“This is so boring, just to get to the good stuff after,”  Anna promised that she would.

“That bottle is to stay there for the portrait,” she said. “Don’t move it or this will be for naught. It’ll all be ruined.”

The man rolled his eyes, but got into position. Anna began painting. This is going to look perfect for the portrait, she thought. Two hours in, Anna’s headache and foggy vision were clouding over, but she continued on. Another half hour later, she went upstairs for a moment. Locking the front door, she crept back downstairs. The man had moved the bottle and was now drinking from it. Whatever. I have a picture. Anna pretended she didn’t notice. Moving closer with her paint/easels, she got a good close-up of the man.

He was tapping his foot, impatiently waiting for what he had asked for.

Anna continued painting for another 30 minutes. The man began to yawn, growing pale and sweaty. He nervously fidgeted, looking around the room as if something were there.

“It’s getting real late, sweetheart. Why don’t we stop for a second? You promised me a good time. It’s almost 11 at night.”

Anna stayed where she was, not moving an inch.

“I already told you. After we’re done with this painting.” The man took another swig of the drink. He stood up.

“Well, I’m getting mighty impatient. Hurry up. A man’s only got so much time. And I want you, sweetheart, you’re a dime in a rock.”

Again, Anna didn’t move.

“I’ll give you your good time once my work is done. Just wait another half hour,” she said. Fifteen minutes in, the man continued to yawn. He almost started to slump over. He took another drink from the bottle.

“This is real good stuff,” he said, with a slurred drawl. “Real good.”

Anna continued to paint. Twenty minutes in, the man barely spoke a comprehensible word, growing more sweaty. After thirty minutes, he slumped on the couch, asleep.

Once the man fell asleep, Anna took out her phone to look at the picture she had taken of the man while he was in position. More than an hour later, she finished her work. Anna hung the painting to dry. Then she wiped her hands before going upstairs. The basement door locked with a click.

Anna’s headache was worse than ever, so she lay down in bed. I hope my client is happy. She said she’d wanted this painting for a long time. I hope it works out.  She drifted off to sleep.

Anna woke up early. Rubbing her eyes, she got up and returned to the basement. She was exhausted but made herself walk down the stairs.

Anna picked up the painting and brought it back upstairs to be showcased for her client. Then she went back downstairs to retrieve the bottle. She shrugged at the man still on her couch.

It wasn’t alcohol at all. It was a lot of deadly nightshade mixed with alcohol and sugar. “I need the dose to work, but not too fast. Just fast enough, for you to get the picture,” Anna’s client had said. Anna told the bartender last night about the man and what he’d done to her client. His grumpy face suddenly turned serious, and he said yes. But on one condition. He wanted to see the painting after it was finished. So, Anna took a picture of it and saved it. She picked up the bottle. It was still more than half full. Didn’t need much to kill. He only needed the prompt. Stupid bastard. She took the bottle to her station, deciding to work with it later.

And now to deal with this disgusting fleabag on my couch. Anna went upstairs to grab black bags before wrapping him with them. She opened the side door of the garage, dragging the man out. It was dark outside, and Anna nodded to herself. She dragged the man further to the backyard before beginning the work. Two hours later, Anna smoothed the dirt on top with her hands. Briefly returning inside, she grabbed a bottle before walking back out. Anna poured a large bottle of acid on the mound of dirt. It hissed as it ate through the dirt and black bag. Anna made a mental note to retrieve the remnants of the black bag in the morning to use as compost.

Her client arrived on time to see the painting the next morning. Tears of relief covered her face when Anna told her everything in detail, as she requested.

“Thank you,” she said, hugging Anna tightly. “Nobody would believe me about what happened; justice was never served. Now that monster is gone forever, and I can live my life in peace. You’ve done me a great service.”

The client collected the piece and left.

Anna nodded and waved as she walked away.

A month later, the news was splashed with headlines.

Michael Hayes, a thirty-three-year-old man, was reported missing by his coworkers on August 1, 2005. Authorities have done a major sweep, but so far have not located him. The Shawta Police Department is offering a reward for his safe return.

Anna put down the newspaper, smiling to herself.