Portrait of Shade

by Benjamin Ford

  The paints and brush cleaning liquid, which she could hear fizzing and bubbling above the hissing and crackling of the flames, made the choking smoke all the more acrid. Her clothes began to smoulder in the heat. She could smell the singed hairs on her forearms, could feel the stinging of her eyebrows and eyelashes as they slowly started to smoke.

  The atmosphere was unbearable, making her eyes water, and she coughed and choked constantly. She bent lower as the acrid smoke filled the room, and then the elevator doors opened and she staggered in, somehow finding the strength to drag Constance’s body behind her. She stabbed frantically at the buttons inside to shut the doors.

  When the doors closed against the raging fire and she felt the lift start its descent, Eudora gasped for breath and staggered unsteadily to her feet, wiping her smarting eyes. As her vision swam back into view, the first thing she saw was the notice on the back wall, warning against using the lift in the event of a fire, and in spite of herself, she found herself chuckling mirthlessly. In all the time that she had been visiting the studio she had never once bothered to check where the fire exit was. She would not make such a mistake again.

  Suddenly the elevator stopped its downward motion with a sharp jarring wrench that jolted her off her feet, sending her sprawling onto Constance’s body. The lights went out, and in the darkness, she could hear the unmistakable sound of crackling flames, while somewhere above she heard the unnerving sound of the lift cables twanging. She could smell smoke as it drifted almost lazily down the lift shaft, knowing the flames would not be far behind; they had no need to hurry, for she was not going anywhere.

  ‘Shit!’ she muttered as she uselessly jabbed at the buttons in the vain hope that they might make the lift move once more.

  The twanging of the cables increased in volume, and then with a grinding of metal and an almighty gut-wrenching lurch, the lift plummeted downwards for all of three seconds – though it felt conspicuously longer to Eudora – and came to a thundering rest with a crash, throwing her clean off her feet.

  In a moment of lucid contemplation, she thanked God that the lift had been so close to the ground floor. Gasping for breath once more, she struggled to her feet, fumbling in the gloom once more for the buttons, no longer illuminated by their internal lights. She had no idea which button opened the door, so she systematically pushed them all. However, nothing worked. There was no power to the lift.

  She was trapped.

  She hammered relentlessly on the obstinately closed doors. She scraped her fingers some more, breaking her remaining nails as she tried to forcibly wrench open the firmly sealed doors. But it was no use.

  ‘Help me!’ she screamed, hammering on the doors once again. ‘For God’s sake, someone, please – help me!’

  She knew the painting was safe, and she wished she were safe too.

  If she were with the painting, she would be!

  * * *

  Nathan pulled his car to a halt outside his mother’s studio building, staring in horror as the flames spluttered and licked at all the windows from the second floor upwards. An explosion on the third floor shattered several windows, showering glass onto the gathered crowd of mawkish onlookers.

  Seated beside him in the passenger seat, Dorothea shook her head sadly. ‘We are too late here,’ she said, but Nathan was already out of the car, bounding towards the burning building. Showing astonishing agility for someone of advancing years, Dorothea leapt from the car. ‘Nathan, come back here!’ she shouted as she stumbled after him. In the distance could be heard the unmistakable wailing sirens of the emergency services. She pushed her way through the crowd and followed Nathan as he disappeared into the building.

  She found him struggling furiously to open the elevator doors, which were hot to the touch, and she laid a gently restraining hand on his arm. ‘Leave it, Nate. Let the firemen deal with it. They’re on their way.’

  Tearfully, Nathan rounded on the old woman. ‘But my mother and Eudora are in there!’

  ‘You don’t know that. They might have left before the fire started.’

  ‘Eudora’s note said Mother asked to meet her here. That couldn’t have been more than half an hour ago. They must still be in here!’

  Four brawny firemen suddenly appeared beside them and advised them to move back to a safe distance.

  ‘Is there another way up there?’ asked one when told that two women might still be trapped up on the top floor.

  Nathan shook his head. ‘I warned my mother this place was a death trap, but she would never listen.

  The fireman looked furious. Like Nathan, he clearly realised the building contravened several fire regulations. Two of his colleagues managed to wrestle the elevator doors open, causing acrid smoke to billow out, choking Dorothea and Nathan, who resolutely refused to budge.

  ‘Mother!’ yelled Nathan as two of the firemen cautiously pulled Constance’s inert body into the lobby area. He saw the blood and the bullet wound, and clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘God,’ he gasped, ‘she’s been shot!’

  There was no sign of Eudora. The firemen seemed concerned that she might still be up in the studio, which Nathan informed them was on the top floor, but Dorothea tugged on Nathan’s sleeve. ‘Eudora isn’t in the building, Nate,’ she whispered as the firemen once more tried to usher them from the building.

  ‘How do you know that?’ demanded Nathan.

  ‘I can’t tell you, not yet. But she’s definitely not in the building.’

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘Get in the car and I’ll give you directions.’

  None of the firemen noticed them leave.

  * * *

  Eudora blinked incredulously. One moment she had been in the elevator, crouched beside Constance’s corpse, struggling to breathe as smoke drifted down the lift shaft, the next she was crouching beside a bed in a hotel room. She slowly stood, and found herself face to face with an impossibly good looking blond haired man whom she had never met before, yet who curiously felt like a lifelong friend. He had the friendliest face she had ever seen, with eyes that sparkled like the Aegean, made even more comforting when he smiled a beautiful smile, which revealed a set of perfect pearlescent teeth.

  She self-consciously fingered the pendant around her neck, and the glow of the ring, which adorned her wedding finger, caught her eye. At the same moment, the amulet around her upper arm began to pinch her skin slightly, almost as if it had shrunk. Several pieces of an inconceivable puzzle slid slowly into place.

  ‘Hello, Eudora,’ intoned the man in a richly accented voice. ‘I have been awaiting your arrival.’

  Through tears, Eudora looked at him properly for the first time. He was dressed in clothes so oversized and outdated that they had to belong to someone else, and they looked curiously familiar to her. With a start, Eudora realised the clothes belonged to her father.

  ‘You must be Don Dusan… Spiridon.’

  He nodded, scratching his neck. The clothes he wore irritated his skin more than his rough-hewn robes had. ‘I am very sorry for all your recent terrible losses,’ he murmured gently. ‘I wish I had been able to save any one of them.’

  Eudora fixed him with an unwavering glare. ‘Were all their deaths really necessary?’ she demanded.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Spiridon sighed. ‘None of this has been of my design. All could have been prevented many, many years ago, but for the unrelenting hatred of one man.’

  * * *

  Seated beside her father in the rear of the car driven by one of his gloating henchmen, Nola was in tears as they crossed Waterloo Bridge, heading for the hotel off Blackfriars Road. Dino chose to ignore his daughter’s distress. Her tears no longer merely bored him, he instead grew increasing annoyed with her whining, and he knew he was close to throttling her. Nevertheless, he still needed her assistance, so he held in his rage.

  ‘Stop your snivelling,’ he growled a few minutes later as the car pulled up outside the hotel. ‘Just keep your mouth shut when we get in the
re, and perhaps no one else need get hurt!’

  Nola decided it might be prudent to comply with her father’s request if it meant no one else would die. She still did not know who was up in the hotel room, but whoever it was deserved to live.

  All four climbed from the car and entered the hotel lobby.

  * * *

  ‘Are you going to explain what’s been going on, and how it’s connected to this?’ Eudora snapped, indicating the painting she had noticed propped against the opposite wall. ‘This is the key to it all, isn’t it?’ She nodded in response to her own question. ‘The portrait and these trinkets I’m wearing connect me in some way to you and the two emperors.’

  ‘Constantine and Diocletian, you mean?’ Spiridon sighed. ‘Yes, in a way they do.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Eudora.

  Before Spiridon could answer, the door to the room burst open and the two heavyset men who had attacked Eudora earlier that night rushed in, closely followed by Nola and Dino Clayton.

  When Eudora saw the pair, she gasped in shock. It confirmed her growing suspicions about the trainee.

  Her shock was nothing compared with Dino and Nola’s at seeing her, but while Nola showed her shock and delight that Eudora was alive, Dino hid his behind a mask of spite.

  ‘So, Spiridon, we meet again at last!’

  ‘Indeed we do, Diocletian. But one way or another, this will be our last meeting.’

  ‘I am glad you think so. This is the end for you, Spiridon.’

  Spiridon smiled. ‘Oh no, Diocletian, you are mistaken. This is just the beginning.’

  Spiridon grabbed Eudora’s hand and started sprinting across the room towards the painting. He took a flying leap at the painting just as Dino pulled out his gun.

  ‘No!’ screamed Nola, knocking her father’s hand aside as he pulled the trigger. ‘You promised!’

  The bullet whizzed through the air and struck one of the henchmen in the head. He was dead before he hit the floor, but nobody noticed. All other eyes were on Spiridon and Eudora as they sailed through the air.

  Spiridon’s hand touched the painting and the picture seemed to shimmer around him; his arm slid into it as though it were a pool of water. Dragged by the inertia of his flying leap, propelled into the portrait by their momentum, Eudora screamed, not sure what was happening. She thought they were going to impact with the canvas, rip it and collide with the wall. But Spiridon still tightly held onto her hand, and as he dissolved into the painting, so too did she. As she crossed the threshold, a burning dizziness engulfed her and Eudora passed out.

  Nola watched mesmerised as the portrait swallowed the pair, and when the shimmering paint steadied and settled, the painting was as it had been before. It was the last thing she saw before her father shot her for meddling and allowing Spiridon to escape once more.

  Dino watched dispassionately as his daughter’s dead body crumpled to the floor before him, and he kicked her contemptuously. ‘Foolish child!’ He moved over to the portrait, staring at it closely. It was the first time he had set eyes on it for more years than he cared to think about, and it was as exquisite as he remembered it. ‘Constantine, Spiridon and me,’ he murmured softly, ignoring the urgent mumblings of his remaining henchman. ‘Us, in another lifetime.’ Then he chuckled. ‘Ah, Spiridon, you fool. This is the end for you, and it is my salvation. You should have faced me in the flesh. This is too easy. I wanted a challenge!’

  As he reached into his pocket and produced a lighter, as he flicked it and watched the flame flicker in his hand, as he torched the portrait and watched the paint crackle and burn, disintegrating into embers as the frame began to smoulder and smoke, all Dino Clayton could feel was disappointment. He did not feel the satisfaction he had longed for since long before he became known as Dino Clayton, nor the glory of the revenge he had prayed for a lifetime ago, when he was called Diocletian. It was time to reclaim that name.

  He jumped at the sound of a female voice, sighing from the doorway. ‘Oh, Dino, you fool. You blind stupid fool; don’t you know what you have done?’

  Recognising his mother’s voice, Dino turned, angered at the presence of Nathan Bosporus behind her as she stepped into the room. ‘What are you doing here, Mother? You don’t seem surprised to see me!’

  There was a look of sadness in Dorothea’s face. ‘Of course I’m not surprised to see you. I knew perfectly well that you faked your suicide, as I know perfectly well the true nature of the voices in your head.’

  Dino growled at her, clutching his head as the voices, as though spurred on by Dorothea’s presence, exploded into life once more. ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ Dorothea whispered. ‘Don’t you know who Spiridon really is?’

  Dino frowned, the gun still waving in a threatening manner. Having just killed his daughter, on top of all the other blood on his hands, what was one more death? ‘What do you mean, Mother? Stop talking in riddles!’

  ‘Look at me, Dino. Look at me as closely as you were looking at the portrait. Take a good, long hard look at me. Look beyond the white hair and wrinkles and age. See me as a young woman. Look hard, and tell me who I am. Tell me, who do you see?’

  Dino stared, and in a moment of insight, the layers of age rolled back from his mother’s face, and she was no longer Dorothea Clayton. ‘Oh my God,’ he whispered as he realised the truth.

  Dorothea faced her son, a sad gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

  Dino, Diocletian, whatever else he chose to call himself, sank to his knees beside his daughter’s blood splattered body. The gun fell from his hand as he shook his head uncomprehendingly. ‘No,’ he gasped, looking into his mother’s eyes fearfully. ‘It cannot be!’

  But he knew what he feared to be true was real. He only had to look into her eyes to see she was more than merely his mother.

  Dorothea laughed without humour. ‘Oh but it is, my darling son!’

  Hovering anxiously near the burning painting, wondering whether perhaps he should extinguish the flames, Nathan stared at Dorothea uncertainly. He had not noticed it before, but there was a peculiar familiarity to her voice. Grabbing a fire extinguisher from its wall mounting by the door, he put out the flames that licked at the curtains, and then returned his gaze to Dorothea and Dino, who still cowered on the floor before his mother.

  ‘Will one of you please tell me what’s going on?’ Nathan demanded.

  Dorothea turned her attention to him, and she smiled. ‘It’s time for the truth, Nate,’ she said. ‘My son has finally recognised me. Do you recognise me too?’

  Still shocked to find that his uncle was still alive, having apparently faked his suicide eighteen months ago for some hitherto unknown nefarious reason, Nathan wanted to know what Dino had been up to but could not focus his thoughts into a cohesive question.

  And now Dorothea was asking for more concentration. His head began to hurt as much as his heart did.

  Dorothea stepped closer to him and reached out a bony old hand. Despite her age, when Dorothea touched his cheek Nathan felt a bolt of electricity jolt through his body. He looked up and stared into the eyes of the old woman, his jaw slack with recognition.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eudora kept her eyes shut tight, feeling dizzy and disoriented, and the rumbling in her stomach made her seriously queasy. Possessed by a curious sense of weightlessness and a strange belief that she was floating in mid air, she could feel nothing substantial beneath her feet. Her feet in turn felt as though they were somewhere above her head, twisted somehow in a mind- and body-bending contortion. She was neither hot nor cold, but rather pleasantly comfortable. Wherever she was, the air was crisp and clean, and she perceived no discernible aroma.

  Then she smelled the unmistakable scent of rosewood, and a hint of freshly applied paint – the smell peculiar to newly painted canvas. However, she was familiar with the smells of paints, and these were neither oils nor acrylics nor watercolours, but rather something altogether different
. Something she had not encountered before… yet oddly familiar. The mixture of paint and rosewood filled the whole of her mind, infiltrating her entire being.

  It was gone in an instant, and the smell of nothingness returned.

  She wanted to open her eyes, to see where she was, but she was too terrified to do so. It was more palpable than any fear she had known. It consumed her.

  Could this be what is termed an out of body experience, she wondered? Whatever it was, she was convinced she was dead and that should she open her eyes she would see her own body lying before her, or worse still, witness her death itself.

  Eudora struggled against the tide of tangible terror, unable to recall exactly what had happened. All she could recall was that Izzy and Gaia were dead. Their fate must also have befallen her. She had a sense of others close to her being killed too, but could form no cohesive thoughts, and so could not recall who might be dead.

  Experimentally she moved her arms. At least she supposed she moved them. With her eyes still tightly shut, she lacked coordination, and in her apparently weightless environment could feel nothing, aware only that she had successfully moved her arms when she hit herself in the face.

  ‘Ouch!’ she exclaimed, leaving her hand where it was to rub her jaw. In spite of her fear, she marvelled at the acoustics of her environment. Her voice echoed three times, and then silence returned.

  Her tongue had not been ripped out, which was a blessing. ‘Perhaps I’m not dead after all!’

  ‘Of course you are not dead!’

  The sudden resonant masculine voice would have startled her had it not been such a warm and friendly, welcoming voice. It was as strangely comforting as the embrace of a best friend.

  Slowly she opened her eyes.

  And instantly closed them again. ‘My God, it’s so bright!’

  Through her eyelids, she became aware of the light receding, and the redness she perceived dissipated into ochre.