Meet again

“A flower, mademoiselle?”

The sudden question forced Nicole to turn around. However, a the stranger’s look surprised her more. The young man was dressed in a long dark dress coat,grey checked vest andwhite silk shirt. In his left hand he kept held a top hat and an elegant walking stick, and with the other offered her the flower.

She accepted the gift, sniffed it, put it behind her ear and said with a smile:

“Funny. A flax. You know how to intrigue.”

“It fits to your dress and hair.”

“Well, a man who is good with colors! What other assets do you have?”

“For example, I’m good with art.”

“Hm, a useful skill in a museum! Will you give me a tour?”

“Only if the mademoiselle says tells me her name.”

“Nicole.”

“I’m Mark. Let’s go, I’ll show you everything.”

It’s had to admit Nicole got to the museum almost casually. Though the word “spontaneously” would be more accurate. Derek, this the stupid American, disregarded her a long time ago, disappearing in his band’s rehearsals. Girls The girls went to a regular party, which Nicole couldn’t stand at all. As well as the girls themselves too. And that’s not much of a choice – to kill another one evening with a book or finally leave her room. She even didn’t even remember who told her about nobody knows Xavier Lachance, who nobody knows, but why not after all.

“Do you work here?”

The girl was absolutely sure in the positive answer. Who else would roam the museum in the dress of a bygone era?

“Sort of,” – the cavalier grinned slyly.

Got it, they hired a student part time to entertain audiences. This guy at least was original and not bad-looking.

“How much do they pay you?” – Nicole asked and gasped immediately, realizing how not comme il faut her question sounds.

But this didn’t embarrass the young man. He turned to her and said frankly:

“Not one coin. My reward is dialogue (speaking) with you.”

Yep, a volunteer. Nicole didn’t like volunteers. Or liked. She always wasn’t always good in determining her sympathies.

“Okay, then tell me anything. Who is Lachance?”

Mark looked serious and answered shortly:

“Lachance? The genius.”

The girl didn’t like this apparently. The word “genius” is almost always a label, and she didn’t like labels.

“You are dogmatic.”

“I’m just stating the fact. Let me show you,” – he gave his hand to the girl gallantly.

There weren’t a lot of people in the museum, and those who came, dispersing among halls. But what’s the use of talking, even the artist himself didn’t pay attention to the exhibition. No advertising at all. Just one day the works of the new genius ousted the permanent collection. Here is a two-story mansion, the old one, rickety, needing a maintenance. Here is a road, broken by wheels and spring rains, leading to the mansion. Here is a slope to a rivulet and footbridge, from which you could fish. And no one around.

“These are places where Lachance had grown up. He hasn’t been living there long time, relocated to the city.”

“Nicely,” – Nicole answered fairly, but quite cold.

“You are not impressed, I understand,” – the cavalier nodded. – “But these are only beginning. The necessary prologue.”

He led her further. Buildings was replaced by landscapes. An edge of a forest, as empty as previous pictures. The same rivulet, but from another angle – along the current, where stream jumped through stones – it even seemed to the girl that she heard lapping water. Sown field, shown like you look to it below, from the ground – stalks with blue flowers leaned slightly, like someone walked past and passed his hand over the plants.

“You like symbolic gifts, aren’t you?”

Mark smiled, glancing to the flower behind the girl’s ear.

“Yes, you are right. Lachance liked flax always. I got it from him.”

"Do you know each other?"

The young man frowned a little.

“That is the long and strange story.”

“Will you tell me?”

“One day. If you would to further our acquaintance.”

“You weasel,” – Nicole smiled. – “But works are really talent.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Then lead me, my prince!” – Nicole exclaimed playfully, wondering her mood, and pulled Mark to the nearest door of unusual for a museum orange color. But he waved his head slightly and went righter.

He answered Nicole’s inquiring glance.

“You will not like there. I want to show you something else.”

Mark guided the girl to the next hall. Even not a hall, but actually, a little room, in which there was only one picture. The difference was striking – light dimmed until the late dusk level, walls are grey, there are not visitors at all. When the door slammed behind them, Nicole gasped of surprise and, looking to the picture, pressed against her companion.

That was the same mansion on the picture. Now it seemed not old or even not mysterious, but just scary. A blue-black cloud thickened above the roof; day became night; wind chased leaves, little twigs and drops of a thunder shower, falling from the sky. Nicole fancied electrified air and ozone smell. She wanted to hide from the storm gust. She took Mark down with her and squeaked:

“Let’s leave, please!”

He obediently followed her out and looked to the girl expectantly.

“This… This…”

“I know. You can say nothing.”

“Unbelievable!”

“I know. Do you still want to continue?”

“I… Listen, I should probably go.”

Nicole suddenly wanted to be as far as possible from the museum. And Mark didn’t keep her – smiled knowingly, bowed elegantly and offered to take her to the exit. She nodded absently, unable to object, but was already home in her mind. Alone.

No, it’d be false to say that meeting with Mark was unpleasant, but people like her feel tough getting out from a comfort zone. And maybe not the museum as a whole, but that picture emotionally exhausted her certainly.

“I’ll wait you tomorrow!” – called Mark after her.

She nodded again, agreeing almost automatically.

“Yes, yes.”

But she realized this only afterwards, on the next day. Nothing out of the ordinary didn’t happen tonight. Derek called. She answered because couldn’t do another way. If someone call – you must answer and moodily sniff, listening unnecessary words. He called not for her, but for himself. He couldn’t do another way too. He couldn’t keep quite. She didn’t remember what he said.

Ling dropped in – the most sensible of her friends. The Chinese girl chattered something funnily, but quickly perceived the friend’s condition and, of course, began to elicit, but was satisfied of lame excuses. Nicole liked people who satisfy of lame excuses. Or didn’t like. It depends on circumstances.

The friend left, Nicole did all evening things, despite the early hour, and went to a bed. She felt asleep almost instantly, but nightmares tormented her till the morning. She saw a storm – thunder and lightnings; hurricane, threatened to carry her away, like Dorothy from Kansas. And Mark yelled something, but could nothing to do.

Nicole woke up suddenly rested and calm. Chided herself for excess emotionality, she began to think, what she want to do. She immediately remembered about the promise given to Mark. Of course, it’s hard to call that “yes” a real promise, but the girl always kept her word. Even such word, given in a state of passion. In addition, she want a new meeting. She liked Mark, there was nothing to hide. He was open, sociable, but not obtrusive. Even during their short rendezvous, she understood he can not only speak, but keep silence too. It’s an amazing trait.

Else she wanted to see Lachance’s works again. To encounter somewhat frightening her yesterday. To understand, why Lachance is the genius. Even if only one person calls him such way. So Nicole call a taxi.

But the sense of time let her down. The was just an early morning. Fortunately, ten minutes left till the museum’s opening. Considering there still wasn’t agiotage at all, the girl entered inside first and only, looking around for Mark. She thought if he work there, he should be in place.

“Mademoiselle, you lost my flower.”

She turned around sharply, shyly laughed, but hushed immediately. And not at once she chose words.

“Mark, you… Hi! I was hoping you are here. I… Yeah, I lost the flower,” – She giggled again, trying to understand her feelings.

“I waited you too, my dear,” – He bowed gracefully and gave her a hand. – “Don’t worry, I stored the new one for you.”

Mark himself hid the blue flower behind the girl’s ear – the complete copy of the last one.

“Where have you been taking these?”

“Everyone has to have their own secrets.” – The young man smiled. – “What do you want to see today?”

Nicole mused and said undefined:

“Let’s something less… real. Yesterday was too…”

He understood her.

“Less real? Well, fine. Come with me.”

Mark went to the right, going through an arch. This hall was big, light enough and full of unbelievable contorted abstractions. These pictures evoke not a fear, but subconscious wish to run away, to hide. But this wish stood somewhere inside, not betraying itself either words or gestures. Nicole shared the observation with Mark.

“Yes, you’re right.” – He nodded. – “There are a lot of pictures. They counterbalance emotions of each other. If you heed to each of them, you will understand the difference. This is the reason, why the atmosphere of this place is little depressing, but nothing more. The main thing – don’t stay with every of these pictures alone.

“What are these?”

“Fears. Fears of Lachance.”

“He was afraid a lot.”

“We are all afraid. But the most part hide their fears, seeking not to face with them.”

“And others try to fight them, don’t they?”

“They fight. And they win.”

“And all these paintings…”

“…Are battles. Won battles.”

Nicole came closer to an image. There was a tiny man among the huge empty space. Not completely empty. The figure was surrounded by lines, symbols, even sounds, as strange as it seems. But black color prevailed. It took some time to notice that all patterns add up to a jaw striving to gobble the man.

“Loneliness,” – Mark stated.

“He ceased to be alone? Because of the paintings?”

“He ceased to afraid loneliness. It's not the same.”

“It’s cowardice.”

The young man frowned.

“Maybe.”

On another painting was a man’s face, crying, suffering, encircling by long serpentine hands. They didn’t touch him, but snooped around – weird, alien. Nicole suggested:

“Society’s fear?”

“A mother’s death.”

“It doesn't look like it.”

“Who knows how death echoed inside us?”

She nodded without a word and continued to view the hall. Images, different for the first look, anyway were close to each other. Nicole could agree with it – fears generally are similar. But one picture surprised her. The girl turned to Mark and clarified:

“What’s it? The fear of nothingness?

The young man glanced perplexedly where she pointed.

“The fear of being surpassed,” – he uttered slowly, almost syllable by syllable.

The girl scowled misunderstanding. And she saw that the question took Mark by surprise too. Both of them looked to an absolutely empty black canvas.

“It’s hard to explain,” – Mark murmured. – “Time to go.”

“But I didn’t examine the hall!”

“That’s enough for this time.”

Mark was changed, his voice became tense, he turned around nervously, like looking out for visitors, who still weren’t here. The museum, as well as people, relaxing because of Sunday, just had been waking up. Mark returned the smile to his face and said:

“Let’s go. There are a lot of amazing paintings.

Nicole squinted to her companion. He was normal again, but moved a little faster and spoke a little colder. And the courteous formality vanished from his words.

“Mark, is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course!” – she almost believed him. – “I just remembered that didn’t show you one interesting hall.”

Nicole went behind him, involuntarily turning around too. They went the same way, but backwards – away from the hall of the thunderstorm landscape, near the orange door. Mark stepped further, but the girl noticed, that the door opened this time, and peered inside, couldn’t overcome her curiosity. The result discouraged.

“I see, Lachance like to exhibit empty paintings.”

In a hall, as small as the “thunderstorm” one, only one image was. But vertical. And blank. Just a black canvas, like in the Fears’ hall.

Now Mark’s face expressed not anxiety, but melancholy.

“This is another image. Though they are similar somehow.

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain everything later.”

Steps sounded behind them. Mark glanced around sharply and took Nicole with him.

“We have to hurry!”

He pulled the girl to a corridor she wasn’t before. This was another wing of the museum, hanging by paintings too.

“What’s going on?!”

“Later, Nicole!”

There, on the walls, still-lifes of Lachance were. Not the most interesting works, but it’s need to admit, Nicole didn’t has enough time to examine them. Fruits, flowers, dishes. Mark passed his hand across one picture, but said nothing. He just hurried the girl waving her.

A new corridor. A lateral one. Without images in this time. Nicole still heard steps behind her back, Mark was nervous apparently.

“This way!”

That already was exactly a service facility. Nicole wanted to cry out something like “Unhand me!”, but suddenly noticed a knife in Mark’s hand. From where did it appear there? The girl didn’t have time to ask a question. The young man put a finger to his lips and pushed another dooropen, looking around dumbfounded.

“Damn! Where did I go wrong?”

They were in the main hall again, jumping out from an inconspicuous door near the landscape – the flax field. Maybe it seemed to her, but the persecutor swore and ran faster.

“This way!”

In this time Nicole firmly decided to rebel, but Mark’s action shocked her. He grabbed the frame and jumped into the painting. The girl perceived a wind gust, the smell of fields and nearby water.

“Follow me!”

Mark held out his hand. Someone hit the door behind her. The girl seized his hand, and Mark pulled her with himself. Not keeping her balance, Nicole fell to flax.

The young man helped her to stand up, but she recoiled forthwith, looking around with dread. Almost on all sides, as far as the eye could see, the flax field stretched. Tiny flowers blossomed already. There in the distance was the house imaged on Lachance’s paintings. From it to the field a copse, descending to a gully, reached out.

“Where are we?”

“I told you about this place.”

“I remember what you told me!” – Panic was in her voice, but Nicole still kept it together. – “Where are we in fact?”

“It’s hard to explain. Let’s go further. We can’t hide in the field, but there in the trees is safer.”

“I will go nowhere. I will go nowhere, while you tell me everything.”

Mark sighed.

“Nicole, listen. We are in danger. I can escape myself, but afraid, he’ll not leave you alone. And here it is easier for me to defend you.”

“Who is he?”

“Nicole, please. I’ll tell you everything. But he can appear here in any minute and interrupt my explanations.”

The girl obeyed. Didn’t go out to the road, they walked through the field directly to the skirt. Air was cold and humid. Clouds thickened on the horizon. And Mark nonetheless started to talk.

“Do you remember the empty painting in the Fear’s hall? Its occupant chased us. I don’t know how he released, but now he is dangerous both in the real world and here, in the Sanctuary.”

“The Sanctuary?”

“That is how I call this place. This is Lachance’s house, as I tell you. But not real, of course. This is his painting. Paintings. The world of the artist. His eidos, if you will.”

“How could we delve here? How is it possible at all?”

“Lachance is the genius. Don’t grimace, I know, you don’t like this definition, but you can see everything yourself. He reached that level of the mastery, his paintings became too realistic, that they created their own world. We were… close at one time. Very close. In some way. This is my world too.”

Nicole didn’t elicit. She asked something else:

“Who is our persecutor?”

“A fear. To be more precise – an incarnation of a fear.”

“You said – the fear of being surpassed, didn’t you?”

“I believe, all creators know him. Not everyone confesses, of course. Though I talk not only about creators, but about people in general.”

“And now we’re escaping from a fear, aren’t we?”

“I remember, you called this “cowardice”. But we’re not escaping. No one can escape from him. We can only to find a place for the battle. Let's go to the house. All roads lead there.

They reached woods and then went on the edge of the gully, in which’s bottom a wide spring or a narrow river ran. It wasn’t comfortable for walking there, but Nicole didn’t protest. One thing, when someone without asking pulls you through the museum halls, and another when you don’t need already any proofs of the event’s supernaturalism. And the fact of the pursue too. Yes, she would to ask Mark a lot of questions, but it clearly could wait.

The young man was nervous noticeably. And if earlier he looked back to the road and field, then now – to the girl. He bit his lips, like picking up words, got Nicole’s hand and only then asked:

“Can I…”

This simple action and awkward question instantly made all his ostentatious politeness ridiculous. Mark was patently embarrassed, but Nicole didn’t try to help him. Her thoughts were about other think – the forthcoming battle. This word was completely alien for her, but now the girl almost reconciled with the situation.

“Do you have… anyone?” – Mark asked.

His words pulled her out from her thoughts. She stopped and didn’t even understand at once, about what he asked. And didn’t find out quickly, what to answer.

“No. I mean, yes. But no.”

“So yes or no?”

“I don’t know! I have a relationship, but they have been breaking down a long time. Why are you asking?”

“Because… Because I like you, from the first moment. Is it an insufficient reason?

“Okay. Why are you asking me right now?”

“Why not?” – Mark’s face reflected more and more excitement and emotional struggle. His decisiveness vanished without a trace. She took her palm from his.

“Why?” – Nicole repeated insistently. – “You said yourself that the battle awaits us. Some mythical Fear pursue us. And we are inside either the picture or the artist’s mind at all! I even don’t know whether we get out of here alive.

“Maybe this is the reason why now is the time.”

“Mark, I…”

Nicole didn’t like the word “love”. Or liked. But she treated to it with caution. This feeling was too undetermined, but too at the same time. She and Derek had been dated about a year, but she still didn’t say she loved him. Just because it’s not true. Could she say something like that on the second day of the meeting?

“Listen. I like you.”

Mark bowed his head. He more and more looked like unexperienced teenager than like the man who she met earlier.

“This what people say when don’t want to offend by refusing.”

“I like you. Really. And I want to be with you. Would I have come today if it had been different?”

“Frankly?”

“Of course! Oh Lord, what’s wrong with you? I don’t understand what's come over you?”

Suddenly Mark became the same again. Like he came roundin a flash. His sight became meaningful, his face – resolute. He looked to the girl and answered shortly:

“The fear. He is here.”

“The fear? Stop. The fear of being surpassed? You were afraid I prefer Derek over you? You even don’t know him!”

Mark shook his head.

“Fears are irrational and strong. You’ll not leave me now, will you?”

“I’ll not leave.”

“I don’t know why, but I feel myself confident with you. I need you support.”

“And I need your protect. Come,” – she gave him her hand again. – “Together. And no one fear overpower us.”

The house was nearby already. They headed there when suddenly everything went dark. The cloud hung far away reached them and covered the sun.

“Is a storm coming?”

The young man nodded with all his certain.

“Don’t doubt. You saw it already.”

Nicole nestled against Mark and glanced to the sky. It became lead in a few seconds.

“Hurry up!”

But they didn,t make it. The wind blew, instantly turning from breeze to hurricane. The heavy rain welled. The lightning sparked, simultaneously beating to ears by thunder.

They ran, but anyway soaked through. Mark swung the door open and held it for Nicole. The young man looked around and pulled out the knife to be ready in the case of attack.

“We need to be careful. I don’t sure even inside the house we are in safe, but at least we can find some weapon. This trifle I got from the still-life can be not enough.”

“You are absolutely right.”

They sharply turned out to the voice. Towards them, from the house, to the wide anteroom the Fear came. Nicole yelled. She was ready for any image, but not for this. Mark looked right to them. Mark or his complete copy. 

But he was dressed differently. There were a white raincoat, under it – black shirt and trousers. And a walking stick – black too, but with flames painted all over the surface. That was Mark and not Mark – visually the same man, but with arrogant, unprincipled, mocking face.

“Go away to your jail, to other fears,” – Mark’s voice was tense, but confident. – “There is no place for you.”

“Oh, really?” – the Fear spoke caustically, unpleasantly. – “But I like it. However yours big world I like much more. When I saw you in the museum, it gave me a power to release. And now I beat you, just to no one disturb me. And then I’ll return for the daddy Lachance.”

“I cannot let you this.”

“Oh, can you? I’m stronger than you. Don’t look at the appearance, you are not me.”

Nicole stepped back; the space of the anteroom allowed her this. But what to do? She can’t help Mark in the battle, no one taught her to fight. All that remains is staying with him. How did he say? Support? She’ll support him, even by the fact of her presence. Maybe it’ll become the most significant deed in her boring life. And the beginning of something new.

Mark kept silence. Nicole didn’t know about what he thought, but she surmised – he dreaded. But he didn’t retreat. Mark raised the walking stick, his foe did the same.

But the Fear had an advantage. One smooth movement, he pulled the lower part of his stick, which turned out a scabbard, and it came off, unsheathing an epee. A strike followed instantly, the weapon went up, slashing Mark’s cheek. He recoiled, but not enough fast – the blood streak emerged on his cheek.

The walking stick slammed to the blade, removing the weapon aside. Mark made one more step back, giving himself time to prepare. He didn’t has an epee, but to take the knife was a good idea. And now – the epee against the walking stick and knife.

Mark apparently wasn’t going to attack – he took a defend position, aiming the tip of the walking stick to the Fear’s face. The Fear designated pare of pricks, but they didn't achieve the goal of course. A little pause, one more prick, then a wide blow and a strike to the right shoulder. Mark beat that by the stick and promptly stepped forward, striking by the knife. The length of the blade was barely enough – the spike touched the Fear, even punctured his skin, but he recoiled quickly.

Now Mark attempted to hit, hoping the weight of the walking stick, but the Fear retreated a little laterally, just controlling the strike by the epee. Foes stayed face to face, trying to understand how to take over in the battle.

“Do you think we are equal?” – the Fear asked.

“I think you can’t surpass me despite your nature,” – Mark even found the strength to smile, but this didn’t look confident.

“Do you know what the difference between us is?”

Mark kept silence.

“I don’t fight fairly.”

The Fear rushed to the right, where Nicole still had been staying, just a little stepping back, and pierced the girl’s chest. More exactly – tried to pierce. Mark, let out a scream of terror, saw the blade cut Nicole’s wear, curved, but not a millimeter penetrated to her flesh. Mercifully, he came back first – slammed his walking stick down hard on the epee, knocking it out of the Fear’s hand. Then there was new hits – to the hand and to the body. The dumbfounded foe didn’t even tried to resist. He opened himself at all and got a new hit to his stomach, falling to the opposite wall.

“How?” – the Fear coughed and wheezed. – “How?”

Nicole approached him closely.

“I’m not afraid of you, that’s all. I’m afraid a lot of things. A thunderstorm, for example. But being surpassed? Oh. Come on. I’m a regular person, a mousy, to be honest. I live among people who better and nobler than me. I admit it. And I never was competitive, never want to reach any top. This is the reason why you did me nothing. And will not do.

The Fear looked her and slowly bowed his head.

“So what’s now?”

“Nothing. Mark?”

He shrugged.

“What changed? I told you – get out to you jail. Even if you release again, I’m not afraid of you now either.”

The Fear answered nothing. He glanced to his sibling and vanished. Disappeared into thin air. No one surprised this.

There was still loudly behind the window. The nature howled and moaned. Nicole shivered.

“Can you take us back, not leaving outside?”

“Yes, but I need to do something.”

He went inside the house, to the kitchen. There was a table, exact the same as in the still-lifes in the museum’s corridor. Nicole didn’t have enough time to view that, but could has sworn it’s that – a bowl with apples, glasses, a wine bottle. Mark placed the knife there too.

“I suppose it was like this. Hope they will not notice the difference in the museum. Take my hand.”

The girl obeyed with a smile. Everything became dark, and after a second they appeared in the middle of the street, near the museum’s entrance. Some man recoiled from them, rubbing his eyes, but the soaking wet couple, popped up from nowhere, didn’t vanish. Mark and Nicole laughed, and the man ran away.

“How?” – the Fear coughed and wheezed. – “How?”

Nicole approached him closely.

“I’m not afraid of you, that’s all. I’m afraid a lot of things. A thunderstorm, for example. But being surpassed? Oh. Come on. I’m a regular person, a mousy, to be honest. I live among people who better and nobler than me. I admit it. And I never was competitive, never want to reach any top. This is the reason why you did me nothing. And will not do.

The Fear looked her and slowly bowed his head.

“So what’s now?”

“Nothing. Mark?”

He shrugged.

“What changed? I told you – get out to you jail. Even if you release again, I’m not afraid of you now either.”

The Fear answered nothing. He glanced to his sibling and vanished. Disappeared into thin air. No one surprised this.

There was still loudly behind the window. The nature howled and moaned. Nicole shivered.

“Can you take us back, not leaving outside?”

“Yes, but I need to do something.”

He went inside the house, to the kitchen. There was a table, exact the same as in the still-lifes in the museum’s corridor. Nicole didn’t has enough time to view that, but could has sworn it’s that – a bowl with apples, glasses, a wine bottle. Mark placed the knife there too.

“I suppose it was like this. Hope they will not notice the difference in the museum. Take my hand.”

The girl obeyed with a smile. Everything became dark, and after a second they appeared in the middle of the street, near the museum’s entrance. Some man recoiled from them, rubbing his eyes, but the soaking wet couple, popped up from nowhere, didn’t vanish. Mark and Nicole laughed, and the man ran away.

“I want to care your wound.” – Nicole said.

“It’s nothing. He barely scratched me.”

Mark passed the hand across across his cheek – fingers was in blood.

“I see your “barely”. Anyway, we need to dry off. I live not far away. Or,” – Nicole smiled slyly. – “You can invite me over.”

He bowed his head.

“We can’t get my home now.”

“Well, let’s come with me. Three blocks forward and then to the right. I’ll give you a pair of Derek’s cloth, I sure he forgot about it a long time ago.”

Mark nodded. Fortunately, it was quite warm on the street to not freeze over, and two soaked people is a rare occasion, but not enough to become a point of interest. The young man mused about something, but Nicole didn’t want to keep silent. She want to know everything.

“Why is he look like you so much? As if your sibling. No – your antipode. How are you connected?”

“It’s not hard to realise. You have all clues. Lachance, the fear of being surpassed, me.”

“You are an artist too!”

“Lachance was my teacher. I suppose, he was the closest person I had. He is the genius. I am just a talent man. But in some moment he decided that the pupil will surpass his teacher.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s hard to admit for some people. Lachance wished my success, but his self-esteem was equally strong. And in that time he had been painting his fears actually. This one – too.”

“Was it your portrait?”

“It’s hard to call those “portraits”, you saw. It’s rather an abstraction, but it takes the form of mine.”

“And he want to destroy you.”

“He want to surpass me. But in his mind destroying is the best way for this.”

“And what’s next? There will not be you; there will not be Lachance. Only the Fear will be.”

“We call him the Fear, but he sees himself differently. The inversion of mine. The inversion surpassed the original. Sometimes I think Lachance by his painting casted out not only his fear, but all dark sides of me. I changed ever since, became a kind, a little naive man. There is no place for such man in art. I didn’t paint from that time.”

“But why?”

“Art demands excitement. I lost that too. I could paint for myself, but for what?”

“You are fool! Oh, just wait, when we’ll figure it out, I’ll take you seriously. You’ll paint again.”

Mark smiled.

“Well, I’m ready for it, my dear.”

Nicole clung to Mark, but frowned and pulled away.

“There were two paintings.”

“What?”

“Two empty paintings. We won the Fear, but someone else ran away!”

“Whatever it is, it's not scary.”

“Why?”

“Everything what you need to be afraid were gathered in the Fear’s Hall.”

Nicole turned to face Mark, still walking backwards. She suspected he was hiding something, but she couldn't figure out what. She stared into his eyes and didn't notice when she stepped out into the roadway.

Luc Morin, the driver of the “Voyage Rouge” transport company, woken up on the wrong side of the bed, had a slight hangover, and definitely did not have time to deliver the cargo. He already had a warning from his superiors, so he responded to the yellow traffic light with a pedal to the floor. When the frivolous young girl appeared right in front of him, looking anywhere but at the road, he had no time to turn or slow down. Nicole's body, like a rag doll, flew several meters away and hit the asphalt.

"No!"

Out of the corner of her mind, she caught the cry, but her body couldn't do anything, it was shutting down. There wasn't even any pain. Nothingness seemed like something close and familiar. Someone leaned over her and whispered:

"My life for yours, my life for yours. Just live.”

Mark pressed his lips to hers, but she didn't feel it anymore. The darkness came.

***

“Oh, you scared me, girl!”

Consciousness returned slowly, but Nicole recognized this voice. Ling. Scared, yeah. If she would there… Actually, it’s strange. Nicole remembered that before she was out, a thought came – that’s the end. Death. She’ll never see the light.

“I were right there! I walked towards you, you and a guy… Not Derek!”

A guy? Mark! He was there, ran up to her, said something. Kissed. And then there was nothing.

“Whe…”

Her lips barely moved. But even this is better than death. How she even could survive?

“Where… ugh… did he go?”

“Who?”

Oh, this stupid fool.

“Mark.”

“Who is it? Ah! That guy! I don’t know. Looks like he came up to you and then just disappeared somewhere. I didn’t look! It was terror! That jerk hit you! I was insane, went to the hospital with you.”

“He wasn’t here?”

“Who?”

“Mark.”

“He wasn’t, I told you. Who is he?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Conscious left Nicole again, but now the girl felt relief. There were dreams, visions, but no nightmares. She awakened much later. Instead of Ling, a doctor was in the ward. Nicole tried to speak, and she could.

“What's wrong with me?”

The doctor turned and answered, it seemed, absolutely calm:

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean – completely nothing. No one fracture, no one organ rapture, bruises have been healing already. Who are you, mademoiselle?”

“Who am I?”

“That's exactly the question I asked.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“What's not clear here? I can still believe that you survived in the crash. The fact that you don't have any injuries – no. You need to be not a human to withstanding this.”

Nicole shook her head.

“I don’t know. I remember just a little.”

“Okay. Get some rest.”

“When I can leave?”

“Leave? You’re insane. You must understand, we don’t know what’s wrong with you. And we’ll let you go not earlier then we’ve examined you up and down.”

Nicole didn’t argue anymore, and the doctor left. But the girl wasn’t going to listen to him. It doesn’t matter what’s happened with her in fact. She felt herself good enough to get out of bed. And to find Mark, wherever he’s gone. She believed he would visit her in the hospital if he could. But the girl supposed where he’s now. And she needed to check this.

To wait the night was a most tough thing. Nicole didn’t like to wait. More than anything in her life. But when dark covered the city, there were not more obstacles. A charge nurse was nodding off, a security snored openly. She slipped out unnoticed and went home.

A girl in a hospital gown, running through the night street, maybe was something more unusual then a wet couple in the city which didn’t see rain a week, but now there was much less witnesses. No one stopped her. In her flat she was about a five at the morning, got a quick shower, changed clothes and went to the museum. However, she realized in time that it was about three hours till the opening. And a waiting again. A hateful waiting. It’s over too.

Nicole came to the museum third day in a row. The second day – right to the opening. A ticket collector even recognized her and smiled amiably, noticing that she doesn’t remember how Nicole left yesterday. But there was no time for polite conversation now.

She knew these halls by heart. Here is the view of the house, here is the field of flax, here is the orange door. Nicole pulled the door handle and entered. Yes. This time the painting was not empty. Mark was looking at her from the canvas. Similarly dressed, with the same expression on his face. Even the fresh cut on his cheek looked real. She whispered almost inaudibly:

"Mark. You sacrificed your life to save me, didn't you? And I didn’t tell you. I was afraid, I was too careful. Fool. I love you. Can you hear me? Whatever world you're in right now, can you hear me? Please, come back."

She touched the canvas with her fingers. Whether because she wanted to touch Mark’s image or try to enter inside the painting.

“Don’t do this.”

Nicole turned back sharply, but that wasn’t another Fear, just a woman – the museum’s employee. She pursed her lips, but didn’t seem irritated.

“Don’t touch the canvas. It’s not good for paintings.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s an excellent work. I’ve not seen this earlier.”

The woman confused. Clearly, she herself didn’t understand metamorphoses of the painting, but she found what to answer:

“It arrived yesterday from the restoration.”

“”Who is he?”

“Mark Lachance. The son of the artist. But he was an artist too. A very talented one. Till his death fifteen years ago.”

Nicole held his breath, trying to hide her real emotions.

“How did he die?”

“No one knows. Technically, he’s still considered missing, but there is no hope to find him. I was at his exhibition, the one and only, when I was a child. He was communicative, public. And he was dressed exact as on the painting. The great future had waited him. But everything was broken. Xavier haven’t been painting from that time too.”

“Where can I find him?”

“Whom? Xavier? I suppose, he’ll not talk to you. We barely persuaded him to give us the paintings, but he himself didn’t come.”

“But that is not the privileged information, is that?”

“That’s not,” – the woman shrugged. – “Come with me, I’ll find that.”

Lachance’s address was amidst the museum’s papers, and the house of the artist was not so far. But before leaving, Nicole took a look another hall. The fear’s hall. The painting of the Fear, defeated by them, wasn’t empty, either. She saw bursts of flame, silver stroke, reminding of the epee hit, little red drops. Nicole never liked abstractions. Or liked. It doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters. She called a taxi and said the address.

The artist lived in a suburb, where urban buildings reluctantly turned into private ones. Lachance had his own house, but without a yard – it was clamped on both sides by the same houses. Nicole knocked on the door several times before steps and rude voice sounded.

“What do you want?”

“Monsieur Lachance, I want to talk about your paintings.”

“Nothing to talk about. Ask in the museum.”

“But monsieur Lachance, it’s very important!”

“I told you – get out!”

Steps began to recede deeper into the house. Nicole beat the door by her fists:

“Monsieur Lachance, I spoke to your son! I met Mark!”

Silence. The artist wasn’t answering, but wasn’t leaving too. Then he said:

“You are too young to meet him.”

“I saw him yesterday.”

“It’s impossible. You are either mad or liar. Get out of here!”

“Liars know how you had overwhelmed your fears? I sure they will not tell me how you had envied of your own son’s talent; how you had fought; how you won!”

“Won?!” – Lachance ran up and threw open the door, staring at Nicole with wild eyes. – “Won?! I killed him with my own hands!”

The girl recoiled and squeaked frightenedly.

“No! I don’t think it’s true.”

“And why?”

“Because Mark doesn’t blame you. He loves you. He calls you the genius.”

“The genius? Maybe. But you don’t need love to call someone the genius.”

“Monsieur Lachance, listen to me! I glanced right into his eyes, when he told about you. He didn’t lie!”

The artist wilted at once, rage turned to despair, but simultaneously – to hope.

“Did you see him in reality?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me everything. Tell me – and I’ll answer all your questions.”

“And you’ll fulfill my request.”

“Which one?”

“It depends on your answers. Do you agree?”

Lachance stepped back and pointed inside, welcoming Nicole to come in. The house seemed rich, but neglected. Obviously, the owner lived alone and barely concerned about the interior. However, the artist himself looked neat and didn’t gave the impression of a man gone from the world.

They sat in the living room, in front of an electric fireplace. Lachance cought the eye of the guest and explained:

“There was a real one in our house, but it’s hard to build it here.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“You saw? There wasn’t the fireplace on the paintings.”

“Not on the paintings. I was in your house with Mark.”

Lachance nodded, but it was still possible to see mistrust in his eyes.

“Tell me everything.”

And Nicole told. The artist listened thoroughly, without interrupting, and she didn’t reduce or hide anything. It was the most important conversation in her life. When she finished, Lachance leaned back in his chair.

“So… did he just vanished?”

“I didn’t see that. But he sacrificed himself to save my life somehow.”

“Not himself, I believe. But that power, personified him in the world. I don’t know, how it works, don’t look at me such way. But you said the portrait is still exist, and the scratch appeared there, didn’t you?”

“Indeed.”

Lachance looked down.

“Well, now I’ll tell you my story, as promised. And you think for yourself. Of course, I will not start from the very birth, you don’t need it. I'll start with Mark.

When he started painting, I was already a fairly well-known artist. In narrow circles, I guess. I was not, as it is called now, a media person. I'm sure you haven't heard of me before this exhibition. But I think my work was good. Very good. The critics vied praising me and predicting world fame. I don't know how much flattery there was, or how much truth, but I believed them.

So I started teaching Mark, thinking I was a new star. The boy was gorgeous. He worked delicately, catching the smallest details. At some point, I realized that he could surpass me. And I was afraid of it.

That was just one of my fears. I was working on myself. I was aware of my fears, I tried to fight. Those paintings, the abstractions, were part of a kind of therapy. I drew a fear establishing my will over it. And it worked! I felt lighter, freer. I didn't understand what was really going on.

My relationship with Mark began to get worse. On my side, of course. I was almost openly envious of him, my own son. And I decided to deal with this envy as I had done before. I painted it. Everything changed instantly! It was as if I had been released, as if I had believed in the miraculous power of psychotherapy and personal growth. And my relationship with Mark was no longer overshadowed. More than that, I wanted him to surpass me. To make him a master.

The time of his first exhibition had come. Mark worked not only on the paintings, but also on his own image. He picked up a costume from some bygone era – it was the way, in his opinion, how a real artist should look. And then he went out to the public.

It was a sensation. The moment of his – and my! – triumph. I raised Mark, taught him everything. And when he got home, I asked him to pose, right in that suit. He couldn't refuse.

I worked hard. His portrait should have been my best work. But when I finished, Mark was gone. He just disappeared from his own room without a trace right the moment I applied the last brushstroke.

Of course, I didn't understand what was going on immediately. I went to the police, then to the psychics. But all of them were charlatans. Only I began to guess and experiment.

My friends saw that something was wrong with me, but they couldn't do anything. I became obsessed. The disappearance of my son, my power. Now I saw what had happened to my fears – I really had just removed them from this world. Them... and Mark.

Of course, it didn't start right away. I have painted many ordinary pictures. I don't know at what point everything changed. Whether I developed my talent or just got cursed. I became like King Midas, whose magic power brought him only grief instead of wealth. Only Midas, they say, got rid of his gift. But I couldn't.

In desperation, I ran away from my own home. The one where you and Mark were. There was a thunderstorm. I drew it, making it my last picture. To be honest, I was sure that all my other work had disappeared along with the house. But it turned out that my friends took them out as soon as I left there. Apparently, they were afraid that I would do something stupid.

I haven't painted since that time. And I’ve seen almost no one. About the exhibition… I don't know how they talked me into it.

Well. That's the end. You've heard my story. I don't think it explains anything.”

“I don’t understand only one thing. Mark spent fifteen years in his portrait, in that world. Why now? Is it because of the exhibition?”

Lachance grinned.

“The exhibition? Maybe. But I'm sure it's something else. You need talent to create a world. To revive a world, you need love. He saw you, me dear. That was enough.”

Nicole stared at Lachance, afraid to admit herself how much she wanted it’s true. But the artist did not develop the topic. He asked:

“So what do you want, mademoiselle…”

“Doesn’t matter. My name doesn’t matter now too.”

“That's your privilege. So what do you want?”

"Paint my portrait, Monsieur Lachance."

The artist looked at her in surprise.

“Do you understand…”

“Your story is quite definite. But I have no one to regret in this world. And if I can't bring Mark back here, then I have to follow him myself.”

“I must admit, I did not think about this possibility. But right now, it's hard for me to help you. I don't have any materials left. You will have to buy and bring everything here. Canvas, brushes…”

He found a piece of paper and a pen, and began to make a list by a neat handwriting. Then he gave it to her.

“If you will not change your mind…”

“I won't change my mind, and I'll be back soon."

Nicole turned and started to leave, but Lachance called out to her at the door.:

"Mademoiselle, tell me…”

He paused, as if he was having trouble getting the question out, but she waited patiently.

“Tell me, if I write a self-portrait…”

"If you decide to,” - Nicole allowed herself a smile, - “Mark and I will be waiting for you there."