The Soul Painter

by Dicey Grenor

  The Soul Painter

  Title Page

  Part I

  Part II

  THE SOUL PAINTER

  A short story

  by

  Dicey Grenor

  Dicey Grenor Books

  Published by Dicey Grenor

  Independent Author

  http://www.Diceygrenorbooks.com

  Copyright © Dicey Grenor, 2017

  All rights reserved

  Smashwords Edition

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover photographer and designer: Dicey Grenor.

  Cover model: @Bootzamillion on Instagram.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This paranormal romance short story, originally published in a collaborative author anthology in 2015, has been rewritten for greatness without limitations. The characters still tell the story I want to share with the world; therefore, they have encouraged me to republish it for free. As usual, I do what my characters want. *wink* I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading and sharing.

  ~Love, Dicey Grenor

  Part I

  “He’s heeeere,” my assistant squealed as she ran back over to my booth. “The Soul Painter is here!”

  “Oh, my god. He’s here? In the flesh?” I had only seen him on TV, in magazines, and in my daydreams. If he was half the man in person he appeared to be in the media, I would faint when I met him. I rushed to finish my autograph for a new customer on my latest book release. “Thank you, ma’am. I hope you enjoy Blood Curls and Cuddles. And may the darkness seep into you and capture your soul as you read this book.” I smiled warmly after reciting the same ol’ line I recited to each fan then turned back to my assistant. “Oh, my god,” I repeated. “He’s here already? Right under the same roof with us?”

  I hadn’t expected his arrival so soon, since it was common knowledge Chaos did not like to arrive earlier than he had to for an event. He wasn’t considered the most people-friendly celeb. It was only ten o’clock. According to the schedule, he’d paint a few pre-selected Soul Portraits at one o’clock until his panel discussion at four. With the convention ending at six, I’d already calculated a small window of opportunity to meet him after his panel.

  Not that I was clocking him or anything.

  “Yes! And dig this…” My assistant lowered her voice to a whisper. “I heard he’s looking for you.”

  My eyes expanded to the size of UFOs. The Soul Painter—the sexiest man ever—is looking for me? Perhaps that explained why he had arrived early. It also explained the current avalanche in my stomach.

  For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I clutched the pearls of my high-neck collar. That last bit of information was pleasantly unexpected. Chaos was only THE celebrity crush of my dreams. Though most people were fascinated with his gift, they thought he was weird and frightful. Thus, they gave him a wide berth. I, on the other hand, thought he oozed jalapeño-level heat like no one else could or would into infinity. I only wanted to get close to him, and hot damn. That dream would come true tonight at the Pretty Horrors Goth Convention.

  How coincidental it would happen at the convention known for its magical powers of making dreams come true.

  Actually, it wasn’t coincidental at all. I’d readily accepted an invitation to come to the convention for the past four years, because it provided an opportunity to meet new and old fans and sell new and old books. With the convention’s reputation for drawing crowds interested in all things supernatural, and with my book series fitting perfectly in the genre, being in attendance had been a priority and the highlight of each year. The beautiful river and its surrounding mountains were enough to entice me, even if I didn’t make any new fans. Getting an invitation from the mysterious convention executive director was the equivalent of personally being invited to Heaven’s gates, an honor bestowed on very few. No way would I have declined…but this year would be extra special. I’d finally get to meet Chaos. In fact, it was as if the executive director had known the secret desires of my heart. My invitation miraculously listed one other special guest. And when I saw his name, I knew it was destiny. There was no other suitable answer than yes. The universe had given me exactly what I’d desired, not just fame and fortune, but an afternoon with Chaos.

  The stormy weather report threatening to close the convention early worried me though. If I waited until later, I may not get to see him at all. Chaos arriving early presented the perfect resolution.

  Smoothing down my frizzy curly hair, I addressed my assistant, “Point me in his direction, and I’ll do the rest.” Time to get what I’d really come for. No more delaying my destiny. This was my reward for playing by the rules and having good luck.

  I started walking in the direction she pointed, towards the section in the back covered by heavy black drapes. My heart raced with anticipation and anxiety. What if he didn’t live up to my expectations? What if I didn’t live up to his? Or…what if we hit it off, and one afternoon between us wasn’t nearly enough?

  It didn’t take me long to discover which category our encounter fell into. As I approached the section shrouded in black drapes and cotton spider webs, I pulled back one side of flowing fabric where a fancy sign hung the letters C-H-A-O-S and crossed the threshold. Electricity crackled in the air and a strong jolt from the stadium beam light above blew one of the bulbs. The lanky, pale man with coal-black, stringy long hair and tattooed arms for sleeves slowly turned to face me, as if he had sensed my approach. My heart stopped as I stared into his eye, the one not hidden behind a black leather patch. My feet continued on their own, until I stood right in front of his booth, and his coal-black eye drenched in eyeliner and mascara stared back at me. He’d frozen with his paintbrush in midair, his black fingernail polish standing out in stark contrast to the vibrant green on the tip of his brush.

  One afternoon with him would never be enough. I’d need an eternity.

  “Aaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeee!” his customer posing for her portrait screamed as she ventured a peek at his work in progress. “This can’t be right!” To say she was dissatisfied as she looked at the painting Chaos had been constructing for her was an understatement. She didn’t just scream. She chucked the canvas to the floor in disgust, causing paint to splash on the floor and his easel to topple over.

  Chaos did not appear fazed. His eye didn’t leave mine as he replied to her shock and horror tantrum. “It is accurate, I’m afraid.” Perhaps he was used to getting responses such as hers to his portraits. Or maybe he just didn’t give a shit how she felt. “I captured the essence of your soul. And, yes. It is horrifying.”

  I risked a break from my eye contact with Chaos to look at the grotesque portrait he’d done of the whining bitch. Everyone knew Chaos only painted what he saw. He was renowned for his Soul Portraits. People came from all over the world to experience his true telling of what
was inside a person versus the made-up version we all saw on the outside. Employers had used his paintings to determine whether to hire or fire a worker. Citizens had made judgments on who to vote for as a political candidate based on his paintings. Everyone knew his eye captured the truth…even if the customer did not agree with it.

  The offended customer began to stomp on the painting. Her high heels ripped holes through the canvas. Paint stuck to her red soles. “You’re a fraud, Chaos.” Stomp, stomp, stomp. “I’m holy and pure. I go to church every Sunday.” Stomp, stomp. “I came here for a Soul Portrait to hang on my wall. This…” she looked down at the atrocity that accurately represented the character we were all witnessing in her classless behavior, “this has snakes coming out of my eyes! I can’t hang this up.” Stomp. “I’d be the laughing stock of my congregation.”

  Chaos sighed as he adjusted the spiked black belt on his waist and began cleaning paint from the silver skull rings on each of his fingers. “I only paint what my real eye sees. Not everyone is a saint.” His voice was deep and raspy with no sign of irritation. In fact, he sounded like someone with all the time in the world. No hurry. No impatience. No worries. Chaos was the epitome of someone who took his time doing everything. He probably took his time in the sack as well.

  I imagined, as I had many times before, what he’d sound like in the throes of passion. Anyone with such a unique and creative exterior had to be unique and creative in bed. If only we could—

  “You need to fix this.” The customer had not gotten a clue yet. She shoved a piece of the destroyed canvas up to his face for him to see. “I did not pay ten thousand dollars and one hour of my time for you to butcher my character.”

  This indignant bitch was ruining my meeting with Chaos. I would not tolerate that. “I suggest you repent, if you’re concerned about your soul, and stop blaming him for showing you the truth. Chaos can’t help you find redemption or salvation.” I hadn’t said all that to gain brownie points with him. Nonetheless, I noticed a satisfied twitch on the corner of his black lipstick-covered lips. He approved.

  She had already fixed her red lips to retort something nasty, but she never got around to uttering it. The convention executive director, Mr. Montei, appeared suddenly from behind the drapes. The lights and electrical current crackled and popped as it had done earlier. Mr. Montei didn’t say a word, just held out a gloved hand from his black cape, indicating she needed to take herself and her complaints in the direction Mr. Montei pointed. She snarled as she slithered away like the snakes and rotting flesh in her portrait. Mr. Montei paused to nod at Chaos before following her through the drapes. Chaos nodded back then turned his eye back to me.

  Strange. But whatever. I had my crush’s undivided attention.

  Slimy and self-righteous made for a bad combination. Someone with such an ugly soul didn’t deserve to be in the presence of such artistic greatness. While I desired for Chaos to rub his thin, pale hands along my deep mahogany flesh and to wrap my breasts in his long hair, I couldn’t wait for him to look deep into my soul with his eye and show me what he saw. I wanted to know what my soul really looked like. Perhaps by painting me, Chaos could see how we were perfectly matched for each other.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m so excited to finally meet you. I am a huge fan of your artwork.”

  He reached for my hand and cupped it within both of his. His hands were cool and soft, just has I’d imagined. “It is an honor to meet you, Dynasty. I’m a huge fan of your books.”

  Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly, willing my heart to slow so that I would not embarrass myself and faint. I noticed him exhale at the same time. My cheeks blushed…as did his. He couldn’t be more perfect if he tried. We couldn’t be a better match. We stood there like teenagers gushing over their first crush. I was a fan of his. He was a fan of mine. The stars were aligned. Chaos and I were on the same wavelength, both excited to meet the other, both too cool to blatantly show it. But the synchronized rise and fall of our chests didn’t lie.

  Time to transition from this awkwardness.

  I’d heard he was a man of few words, so I took a stab at it. “Do you get that reaction a lot to your Soul Portraits?” I continued holding onto his hand. It felt too right.

  “Sadly, yes.” He licked the corner of his mouth, exposing a bottom row of silver-plated teeth. “I don’t take it personally.”

  “Neither do I.” When his eyebrows rose at my declaration, I realized he needed clarification. “I mean, when I get a bad review of one of my books.”

  “Ah, yes.” He patted my hand. “Interpretation of art can be so subjective. Some readers adore your work. Some don’t get it. Like my client. She saw serpents as a vile representation of her soul’s character. Someone else would have seen them as a celebration of fertility, a symbol of healing, or a guarantee of good crops. She saw evil. A different client would have seen good. Both would have been right based on their perceptions.”

  So much for him not being a man of many words. It appeared Chaos had much to say.

  And I was more than ready to listen. “What did you see the snakes as? Good or evil?”

  “Neither. I pass no judgment on what I see. That’s not my gift.” He pointed to his eye patch, indicating from whence he sees, and engulfed my hand in his again. “I told her not everyone was a saint because of her own interpretation of her portrait. Based on the degree of her reaction, the painting was a mirror of the evil she saw in herself. If she had smiled and taken the serpents to mean something good, her soul would be at peace. Either way, the portrait was an accurate representation of the condition of her soul. She recognized it as evil, and so it was.”

  “You actually saw snakes when you looked at her?”

  “Oh, yes,” he nodded. “Everywhere.”

  “Do you see them on me?” I wouldn’t be happy about snakes representing my soul either. Of course, I’d done nothing to actually have a slimy, evil soul, so…

  “No.”

  Whew. He’d answered with one word, but it was a relief.

  “What about you?” His hands moved to my shoulders as his good eye implored for a deeper understanding of my craft. Another lightbulb surged with electricity and blew upon our contact. The room continued to dim with each lightbulb that blew. Chaos didn’t seem to notice. “You write a lot about souls and the human struggle. Do you see your art as good or evil, or is it all up to your readers’ interpretations?”

  “Definitely up to each reader.”

  “Even though you begin each book with, ‘May the darkness seep into you and capture your soul as you read this book’?” His eyes were penetrative as he conducted what felt more like an interrogation than a fan meet-n-greet. “That sounds like a curse.”

  I couldn’t argue with that considering I’d felt the same way about the line and had initially been uncomfortable inserting it. The more I’d used it, the more I had gotten used to it. The implications associated with the saying had lost their bite and sting. “It’s not something I mean. I’m not intending to capture anyone’s soul. It’s something my publisher makes me add. There’s a lot I have to put in my books and take out on account of my publisher. They say it makes me mysterious. Mystery sells. I think creepy is a better word for it, but I do what I gotta do to sell books.”

  “Do you think the darkness seeps into your readers and captures their souls, even when that’s not your intent?”

  I eyed the medallions around his neck and the silver barbell in his nose. If he’d planned to make me feel guilty, he’d succeeded. “You tell me. As a reader of my books, has your soul been captured?”

  He paused before answering. “I don’t know. I’d need a soul painter to show me. I can’t see my own soul.” He smiled, his hands traveling down my arms to gather my hands in each of his. Electricity crackled wherever he touched and in the lightbulbs above. “I know you’ve captured my heart though. Blood Curls and Cuddles was absolutely brilliant.”

  What did a girl say to tha
t?

  I had no idea how long we stood holding hands, just being in each other’s company, before I realized we’d been left alone. There were only a few lightbulbs left in the stadium beams that hadn’t been busted by sporadic electrical currents. Everyone from his entourage had disappeared along with his line of customers. Chaos and I had missed a whole lot of something, and neither of us cared.

  My destiny was to meet this man and make mad, passionate love to him. Period. I wanted it. He wanted it. The universe had made that a possibility. Or maybe it was Mr. Montei by sending me the invitation. Or maybe my publisher was responsible for making my dream come true. My publisher had made other dreams come true, after all, just as promised. All I had to do was X, Y, Z…and riches and fame would be mine. I’d held my end of the bargain, writing what they wanted me to write. Saying what they wanted me to say publicly. They had held their end, marketing and promoting my works and depositing cash into my accounts and theirs. Win, win.

  I’d never told anyone other than my assistant about my crush on Chaos though, and she was sworn to secrecy. Celebrity match-ups had a way of going south before they even got started. I couldn’t risk that happening. Not on something so important. Not on something so destined. Still. I didn’t know who to credit with this stroke of luck in the crush department. And maybe that wasn’t important. Here we were. Together. I’d previously thought a one night stand would be enough. Now I wanted him as a soul mate. I suspected he wanted that too.

  I had a condom in my pocket with his name on it. But first—I reached into my other pocket with my free hand and pulled out a check for ten thousand dollars. I’d come prepared for sex and a portrait from the maestro himself. “Will you paint my Soul Portrait?”