Clarity 4

by Loretta Lost

  “Helen,” I say, grasping his outstretched hand for a shake.

  “What are you doing out here in my neck of the woods?” he asks me curiously. “I don't get many visitors out here.”

  “Your neck of the woods?” I ask in surprise. “But this is mine. I own a cabin only a few minutes away.”

  “Oh, that’s right—you’re the new girl, Helen Winters. My cozy cottage is just beyond those trees. Less than a minute away.”

  Peering through the trees, I try to look in the direction he is pointing, but my vision is too blurry. “I didn't realize that there was someone else so close.”

  “Sure! Let's face it: we city-slickers only come out here for the illusion of solitude. You're never actually alone, anywhere you go, as much as you try to be. This continent is just teeming with human beings. Every miserable inch of it.”

  “Well, you're just a bundle of positivity and good cheer,” I tell him teasingly. “Are you like this during the Christmas season? I bet everyone calls you a grinch.”

  “Nonsense. I'm the merriest, jolliest person I know, especially around Christmas. Everyone always loves my presents. Especially when I'm not around to actually hand deliver them, and just send them in the mail! That's a lot less awkward than actually having to see me.”

  This coaxes a smile out of me.

  “So what are you doing in these parts?” David asks. “What’s your drama?”

  “My drama?” I ask him in surprise. “What makes you think I must have drama?”

  David shrugs. “This is the type of place people only visit to escape. Personally, I just went through a really bad divorce, and my wife took my house. I had to move back in with my parents, and it was fucking humiliating. So, here I am, trying to get away from it all.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell him softly.

  “That isn’t the worst of it,” David says as he looks down at Snowball with sad eyes. “The bitch took my damn dog.”

  Snowball wags her tail as she looks up at David inquisitively. She moves closer to him with cautious steps, sniffing around at his ankles. When David crouches down to offer Snowball his hand, she starts licking him with enthusiastic excitement.

  “You have a beautiful puppy,” David says softly as he pets her. “This really makes me miss Macaroni.”

  “Macaroni,” I repeat with a smile.

  “It’s because her golden fur was curly like pasta,” David says mournfully.

  “That’s a really clever name. My dog’s called Snowball.”

  I am grateful to have my canine friend with me to help gauge whether or not David is to be trusted, but I already have a good feeling about him. It is kind of refreshing to meet someone new, who is actually offering new information about himself to me. Someone who actually has zero information about me. My natural instinct to tell a story takes over.

  “I was driving out here to escape from something when I sent my car off a cliff and crashed into a tree,” I explain. “As you can imagine, the tree won.”

  “Ouch,” David says as he stands up and looks over my body with concern. “You don’t seem much worse for wear. Did you sustain any injuries?”

  “Head trauma,” I explain with a frown. “I lost a couple years’ worth of memories. So I’m staying out here at my cabin to recuperate and recover, and hopefully I’ll remember.”

  “My dad was in a pretty bad car accident a few years ago,” David says. “He’s a pianist, and he couldn’t play for a while. It took him a couple months before he was back to normal, but now he’s perfectly fine.”

  “That’s reassuring to hear,” I tell him softly. It blows my mind that we can actually have a conversation in the manner that people are supposed to. Since my accident, I've mostly been around individuals who felt they already knew me, and expected me to know them just as well. I don’t know anything about Liam’s father. He never talks about his family. I have a hunch that Liam was just as closed up before I lost my memories, and that’s probably what we fought about. I already feel like I know more about David than I do about my own boyfriend.

  “Can I join you for your walk?” David asks. “Or would you like to climb over this ridge and check out my cabin? I’m a painter, and I would love to show you some of my artwork.”

  “A painter? That sounds like a stupid job,” I tell him playfully. “Do you actually manage to make any money from that?”

  David laughs softly. “It was hard at first, but things are a lot better now. I do a lot of art shows, and sell to galleries. You'll have to come take a look at my paintings and let me know what you think.”

  “I wouldn't be able to judge,” I tell him with a smirk. “I never took any art history classes due to the fact that I was blind for most of my life.”

  “Even better! You get to experience my work as a tabula rasa, a completely blank slate. You are an artist’s dream.”

  “Is that so?” I ask him shyly.

  “Absolutely. You don’t have to judge based on anything else but your first impression. You get to experience the art from the naked state of a child. You just need to tell me how the painting makes you feel.”

  Something about this man makes me continuously smile, and I find myself nodding. “Okay,” I respond with genuine interest. “Show me your paintings, David.”

  Snowball barks in agreement as she runs around his feet in excited circles. We both laugh at her antics.

  “She’s adorable,” David says, bending down to scoop Snowball up in his arms. “What breed is she? A Pomeranian?”

  “Honestly,” I tell him with a shrug of my shoulders. “I have no earthly idea. I can’t remember.”

  “You’re a strange one, Helen Winters,” he says with a suspicious glance of appraisal. “Are you sure you’re not a wood nymph who lives in a tree, and assumed human form just to seduce me to my death?”

  This makes me laugh. “Are all artists as weird as you are?”

  “That depends on the type of artist. Painters are idealistic, musicians are self-destructive, and writers are just insane.”

  I flinch slightly at his last comment, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s probably accurate.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a writer?” he asks in surprise when he sees the look on my face.

  “Guilty as charged,” I tell him lightly, letting him lead me back to his cabin.

  “And do you manage to make any money doing that?” he asks me curiously as we walk uphill.

  “I wish I knew,” I say honestly with a little smile. “I can’t remember any of my banking passwords.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “This one is so sensual,” I tell him softly as I stand below the canvas. It’s a painting of a naked woman reclining on a sofa and looking back over her shoulder. “She’s beautiful.”

  “That’s my ex-wife, Sarah,” he says sadly. “Honestly, it’s taking all of my willpower not to grab a knife and slash some of these paintings to shreds. After what she did to me? But I couldn’t do it. I still love her, and I like to think I’ve captured a little bit of her soul on the canvas. Even if she’s gone, I can still look at them and feel close to her.”

  “She looks a bit like a snob,” I say as I glance at the other paintings in the room of the same woman. In almost all of them, she is turning her nose down at the artist or acting oblivious to him. She never seems inviting or warm, only cold and standoffish.

  One painting catches my eye. It is all done in a single color, and it depicts the back of a woman stepping into a stream. I enjoy the movement of the water’s ripples as her foot sinks beneath the surface. “What color is this?” I ask him softly. “Blue?”

  “You don’t know the names of colors?” he asks in surprise. “You really were blind. Actually, I’m sticking by my wood nymph theory.”

  I shake my head with a smile. “It’s stunning. The way the moonlight reflects on the water and causes her white dress to glow. I feel like I’m right there in the painting.”

  “That’s my favorite, too
,” he tells me with a distant look in his eyes. He turns to me with a smile. “Now that I’ve shown you mine, you should show me yours. What books do you write, Helen Winters?”

  I lower my chin shyly. “I write thrillers under the name Winter Rose.”

  “No way! Blind Rage?”

  “Yes,” I murmur, surprised that he recognizes the title.

  “My wife loves those books! Especially since they’re about a wife really fucking up her husband’s life. In fact, I think you might have inspired her to take all my stuff.”

  “Woops,” I say softly. “My bad.”

  “It’s okay,” David says with a sigh. “I probably deserved it! I’m trying to think of how to win her back, but I’m struggling to find ideas. Maybe you could write a book about a handsome artist named David who reconciles with his old lady? Maybe she’ll read it and get the hint.”

  “I’ll consider it,” I tell him lightly. Honestly, though, I have been really getting an itch to do some writing. Seeing the way David’s cabin is covered in dozens of paintings reminds me that the key to success as an artist is hard work. I can see how proud he is of his art, and I can see the splotches of paint everywhere, on his clothes and shoes and tablecloths.

  I think his work is his life, and that’s beautiful.

  “Did your wife leave you because you were working too hard?” I ask him. “Or painting so many nude models that it made her jealous?”

  “I’m sure that factored into it, but mainly we just grew apart. We stopped communicating, and we just began to feel like strangers.”

  “I know how that feels,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Hey,” David says, holding up his hands to make a square. His thumb and forefinger are at two ninety-degree angles that touch the opposing thumb and forefinger. He looks at me through this square, as if imagining me through a picture frame. “I’m going to paint you,” he decides.

  “What? No way,” I say with a frown.

  “I didn’t ask permission,” David says as he rushes around, grabbing the canvas and necessary paints. “You’re going to pose nude for me.”

  “Nude?!” I shriek. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

  “I could see the way you were looking at my paintings,” David explains as he begins mixing paints together. “I know you were imagining yourself in the paintings.”

  “But doesn’t everyone?”

  “Not like that,” David says as he studies my face and body carefully. “I think I want you outside. Up against a tree. Completely nude. Like a wood nymph.”

  “Oh my god,” I say, blushing hotly. “I have a boyfriend.”

  “I thought you lost your memories. How do you know he’s even your boyfriend?”

  “My family said he was, and he knows a lot of things about me. I don’t really remember him, but...”

  “Ask him for permission,” David urges. “Heck, he can even come supervise if he wants. We could have you model nude against the tree, and take a photograph if you prefer. But I’d rather you just stand there naked for a few hours, so I can watch the way the light changes on your skin throughout the day, as the sunlight changes.”

  Glancing around the cabin at the beautiful paintings, I can’t help feeling excited at the idea of imagining my body in one of those provocative and elegant poses. I have never been able to see any form of art. I have run my hands over sculptures, listened to music, and read thousands of books. But being able to see is stimulating in a startling way. These are the first paintings I have beheld, and after a lifetime of hearing about the beauty of art, I have finally gotten to experience it.

  Could I also get the chance to participate in it?

  Looking into David’s sweet blue eyes, I find myself blushing with heat from head to toe. I am thrilled by the idea. By the opportunity to do something like this, something that I’ve never done. I could actually see a painting of myself!

  “Let me think about it,” I tell David quietly, trying to suppress my smile. “I’ll mention it to my boyfriend and see if it bothers him first.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Helen Winters,” David says with a wink. “I can tell that you’re the type of girl who likes to do whatever she wants, regardless of what anyone else thinks. I look forward to painting your curves on my canvas. The curve of your cheek, your bottom, your shoulders, your hair.” David lets his eyes drift over me, drinking in my shape as he paints a phantom outline in the air. “I can’t wait to have the curve of your breasts under my brush.”

  I am not sure why, but I am suddenly so overwhelmed by anxiety that I can’t breathe. There is pleasure and arousal, but it is also mixed with fear. My vision suddenly begins to falter as I stumble backward. It takes me a second to regain balance as I am suddenly very aware of the pain in my legs and body. I am afraid that I am going to knock over David’s paints and beer bottles as I swivel rapidly on my heel and begin to run. I push open his cabin door and begin pounding the grass as I sprint across his property.

  The world is spinning all around me, and I see flashes of light and noise. Once, twice, I nearly stumble over rocks that I was unable to see in the fading evening light. My heart is pounding rapidly in my ears, and my head is beginning to ache.

  Flashes of violence dance through my mind again. I see a hand clamping over a woman’s mouth, and a pair of sinister grey eyes. I see a man gripping a handful of a woman’s hair and slamming her face into a wall. I see a trickle of blood sliding down her chin as her lip splits open. I keep running, panting for breath as I try to navigate the rocky forest path. I look behind me in fear to see if anyone’s following, but there is no one.

  I keep running.

  Shadows dance between the trees on either side of me, making me gasp in fear. At least three times, I think I see a human figure ready to pounce on me. The images keep playing in my head in flashes of scenes more vivid than any movie. I see a man’s hand closing in around a woman’s neck, and squeezing so hard that she cannot breathe. I can feel the crushing, suffocating sensation in my own neck. My long strides carry me swiftly over the ground as I run, pushing my body to the limit until I feel like my legs and lungs are close to the point of collapse.

  I do not stop until I reach the porch of my cabin, and I grasp the railing, unable to go a step further. I let my body slump against some of the patio furniture, and I lie on my side against the lawn chair, wheezing and gasping for breath.

  Snowball joins me a second later, barking frantically and licking at my legs with concern. Her barking alerts Liam, and a light goes on inside the house before he comes to the glass sliding doors.

  “Helen?” he says softly. Seeing my state, he rushes to my side. “Helen! What happened?”

  I try to respond, but I am panting too hard. “I met a guy,” I say between gasping breaths. “A painter.” I wheeze several more times as Liam presses his hand against my neck to check my pulse, and pulls me into his arms, holding me soothingly.

  “Did he hurt you?” Liam asks me softly. “I’ll kill him.”

  “No,” I say with a gasp and guffaw. “He was nice,” I explain as my breathing begins to slow down. “He asked to paint me. Nude.”

  “Nude?” Liam repeats angrily, his face contorted in jealousy. “Did you tell him to shove it?”

  “No,” I whisper weakly. Reaching out, I wrap my arms around Liam’s neck and pull him close, hugging him against me. “I liked his paintings. They were good. I liked the idea.”

  “Then why do you look like you ran three miles to get away from this freak?” Liam demands.

  Hugging him gently, I press my forehead against his shoulder. “I started freaking out. He spoke about my body, and something just snapped. Memories? My imagination?” I pull away slightly to look into Liam’s eyes. “Did... did something really bad ever happen to me?”

  The look on Liam’s face is the only answer I need. He slides onto my lawn chair to hold me closer, and cradles me gently against him, like a child. I know one thing is for certain; he would never hurt m
e.

  “You do have a very active imagination,” Liam says softly. “You wrote about some horrible things in your books, and you did a lot of psychological research on the worst kind of scumbags. I’m sure that you were just remembering a scene from one of your novels.”

  “It was so real,” I tell him hoarsely, clinging to his shirt. “Everything he did to her. It was happening in the dark, and there was no color, but I could feel everything. I could feel her terror.”

  Liam strokes his fingers across my hair, combing it down my back in a soothing fashion. “Maybe you can use it as inspiration,” he suggests. “The same way that painter wanted to use your body, you can use these images in your mind. Write about it. Maybe you would feel better once the story is where it belongs, on the outside of your head, instead of taking up space on the inside and screaming to be let out.”

  “Maybe then I’ll be able to get my memories back?” I ask him softly.

  He nods and kisses my temple. “I hope so.”

  “Okay,” I say with a nod. “That’s a good idea. I’ll write this down.”

  “But not right away,” he says softly, tightening his arms around me. “Just stay here with me a little longer, and let’s look at the moon.”

  Glancing up to the sky in wonder, my breath catches in my throat. “I can see the moon?” I whisper.

  “You certainly can. Just over there,” he says, pointing down over the little lake to the south.

  There is a globular shape that has just risen over the horizon. Looking at the gentle glow immediately soothes my mind. I rest my head on Liam’s chest and stare at it with amazement, basking in its beauty. My own heart begins to grow calm, and my thoughts begin to grow still. Liam strokes my hair as I lie against him, and I let my eyes soak up the moonlight until they will no longer stay open.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’ve been pounding away at my keyboard all day, and I am starting to feel like myself again. At first, I found myself staring at the blank screen and unsure of how to begin my story, but after a few hours of slugging away at it, the words started flowing. Liam has been bringing me meals periodically and forcing me to eat, but I am so into the story that it’s been difficult to pull myself away for food. He’s been working on his own research papers nearby, and we’ve been spending time comfortably in the same room without bothering each other.