Stephen Craig: Trapped in a Broken Mind

‘Hello Richard, I wasn’t sure if you would still be here’.

The paintbrush moved with silent vigour across the canvas. He was painting from memory and at this moment his eyes were ablaze. All things come from something he thought to himself. Blood had soaked through the towel and dripped a little from his upturned elbow. He finished for a moment and stood back to admire his progression. This work of art was coming alive from life itself. Ironic then that the life that he had used so far was now dead. The forms were all there, his vision was being created as he went along, but he wasn’t quite sure about something. It was a small irk and he could not quite put his finger on what it needed, what he wanted. He walked over to a chair near the table and sat down. Here, he closed his eyes and began to remember, to think about his artistic progression. In this place he could remember the voices, the screams, the smells and the silence of death. Lifeless forms that had become his inspiration, that had given him the materials to produce. He could see the skin on the table and picked it up again.

‘Materials’ he spoke with a smile.

‘I didn’t think you were going to turn up’. Richard spoke.

‘I almost didn’t, the weather is awful and my cab was late’.

‘But you did’. He smiled

‘But I did’. She reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand with a tender finger.

‘I’m sorry, Joanna’ he looked up from the finger on his hand to her face. ‘I wish we hadn’t argued. It’s just…work. I felt so stressed. I have been working non-stop trying to…’

‘I know’ she interrupted him and touched the finger to his lips. ‘Let us not talk about it now’.

‘I miss you’. He closed his eyes.

‘I miss you too’. She gripped his hand in hers.

The waitress walked over.

‘Would you like a drink’?

‘Yes. I’ll have a coffee please’ Joanna said, ‘black’.

‘Any food’?

‘No thanks’. She smiled at the woman.

After the waitress had poured her coffee and returned to her work behind the counter, Joanna turned to Richard and spoke.

‘I want you to come back home’.

‘What’? He was a little surprised.

‘I need you to come back home’.

‘Are you sure’? he looked into her eyes.

‘Never more so. Like I say, I miss you’. She smiled.

He leant across the table and they kissed. The passion was still there and he had missed the warmth of her lips. He tasted salt.

‘Don’t cry’.

‘I’m sorry’.

‘Don’t be sorry’. He smiled.

She looked at him. ‘Can we go’?

‘Sure, I will just pay the bill’. He waved at the waitress and made eye contact before pretending to write in his hand. The universally understood signal for getting your bill. The waitress left the bill on the table and Richard paid up, leaving a small tip.

‘I’m hungry’. She spoke the words.

‘You didn’t want anything’. He looked at her

‘Not for food. For you’. She gripped his hand tightly.

Collecting her umbrella, they left the café together. Although the rain was still falling, Richard had a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart that he had not felt in a while. Tomorrow would be a new day and things were beginning to look up.

As the door closed behind them and the hypnotic tone of the bell rang out into nothingness, Mary Poole walked to the door. There was nobody else in the café and it was closing time. She flicked the bolt on the lock so that nobody could come in and turned the sign to read closed. Reaching downwards to the plug, she turned the switch off and the neon light for the sign went out.

At the counter, she cashed up the till and made sure that the takings for the day were put in in the safe in the office. She put her head inside the kitchen, which had already been cleaned down. They had stopped serving food an hour ago and Bob had already tided up in here. Mary was the only one left on the premises, but this was not unusual.

Back in the dining area, she collected up the menu’s from the tables along with the salt and pepper shakers, which she topped up ready for the next morning. She wiped down the tables and walked back through the kitchen and down the corridor past the office to the changing room where she collected her coat and umbrella from her locker. She then headed to the rear exit of the building and out to the poorly lit car park at the back of the building.

Outside, the rain was still falling heavily and the wind had picked up. She struggled to keep her umbrella upright and covering her head. At the car, she reached down to her handbag and wrestled to find her keys. The water droplets were loud upon the metal roof of her battered Ford but she eventually found them, unfortunately dropping her umbrella as she tried to put it down.

She bent down to pick it up from a puddle on the floor and the wind whistled. She was not aware that she had been watched from the moment she had come out of the building. She had been watched walking across the car park and fumbling for her keys. She had not been aware that this person had walked, unheard through the weather, across the car park and now lingered behind her.

As she stood up she became aware of something, but it was too late. Gloved hands held a chloroformed rag to her mouth and nose. She did not struggle for too long before panic gave way to unconsciousness.

His head was slowly turning from side to side admiring his work. He had left the table quite a while ago and was now staring with a solemn understanding at the canvas. Whilst he had been cutting the skin, he had been struck with an inspiration. In the background of the picture there had been something missing, something that would be beautiful. A rainbow.

In the silence of the room, he looked out of the window and was aware that the rain had stopped. The night was at its richest now. The clouds had gone and the clear sky was pure black.

Copyright 2013 Stephen Craig

Smashwords Edition

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All characters in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental