Shelly set about to write her play, which she would perform, until the grand opening was old, and the staff were eager to hear another voice tell the tale.
The Studio
was created for intimate dinner, and the family history would be its theater. The lovers’ tale would be told, as much as was found out, and no play more woeful, and no theater more desperate than their flight, their hiding and their death in the beautiful old building. She hoped her guests would be weep and be terrified.
Evan quietly took his leave of the place, some small errand, which would keep him but a few hours, it was the day before the opening, and every Reisman in the city would be gathering that evening to see what Shelly created. They would fill it until they could find no seat, and she would share what she dreamed, and what she made. The staff was beyond nervous. This was the only crowd they must please. The public would be easy. This was truly a dangerous event. What none of them knew, as they readied the tables, and Shelly checked the lights, and Evan walked into the pit under the stoop - what he might find, what he might hold, might stop them all, and crash the world about their heads. Evan had a heavy heart as he walked into the darkness under the stoop.
The smell of that day, still in the air, hurt his nose, the dust stung his eyes, and he trod the loose boards on the floor, alone. A single officer stood in the door at the stair, and would not come in; he had been there that day and did not like the return. Evan began his slow walk, he knew where to go, and he did not want to see what might watch him from the corners of the rooms.
His light fell upon the wasted bed and it did not waver as he made his way back. There was no light from the door. There were only the edges of gloom all too near and all too black beyond. But Evan had been touched by this filth and he did not perish. It could not harm him. His heart was not heavy with any fear for himself, but for his Shelly to learn what he suspected, after his time with the papers from under the window. Some of them receipts.
Evan stood at the pile of rust and decay, which one time was a bed for a starving girl, and the cruel man who kept her. The bit of blue tin in the midst of that filth startled him, when he stood there last, ignorant of the tomb just beyond the wall at his left. That bit of blue tin had no place in such a defiled hole, but it was there, and he remembered it. It had not been a piece of tin, but the lid to a tin box. As Evan kicked at the crust, which had been a mattress, it parted as he moved it, and the box was more revealed. He would have to remove it, but he was prepared. A plastic grocery bag helped him gather it and what little filth he could not help but bring with it.
The box was in his hands; he was ready to leave, and was thankful to do it. He knew the evil man was buried and his soul in other torments he could not escape. Evan was safe from him, but a murderer once lived in this place, and tormented a young woman, almost until she died. He hoped never to see the place again. As he walked into the light, the officer was at the top of the stair.
“
You know you have to show me what you pulled out of there,” Evan was told. He nodded his head, and put the box on the back of the police car, as two city workers replaced the grate and set the bolts. Evan took a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and moved the plastic aside so he could expose the box for the officer.
“
Cigars? You went in there for those? What, are they like wine?”
Evan shook his head and pried the lid. It did not resist much and he was not surprised to see a ring with three large keys.
“
This is what I went in there for.”
“
So why are those keys so important?” Evan looked at the man and gave him a simple answer.
“
They open the past.”
Evan felt like washing up a few times before he went back into
The Studio.
He hated that hole, and did not want to take any of its dust back into the shop; the spirit in there did not need the torment. So he drove home to shower, and get ready for the evening Shelly waited her whole life to enjoy. He put the Ritmeester cigar tin on his seat next to him and listened to the keys slide around a bit as he headed home. Ritmeester were Dutch cigars. He saw the receipts for them in Papa’s hidden papers. Receipts for the cigars purchased in 1917, in Amsterdam, they were brought back for him.
Also in the receipts for that year, a bed, purchased by Papa, and delivered across the street to his property manager, Tobias Hoath. Papa employed a rent collector, who probably took whatever cash he wanted from the rents, and delivered the rest of the filthy money to his employer, who would have nothing to do with the place otherwise. Papa had a rent collector, who collected a little girl on that trip to Amsterdam.
With no other possible reason the brute was buried behind the shop; Evan wondered if there had been a revenge murder, after the loss of the two lovers upstairs. He wondered if there would be any way ever to know. Papa seemed to have many reasons to flee the truths in his soul, and he gave up his mind instead, to escape them. Evan was numb, and wanted very hot water on his skin.
Shelly was stunning. She very rarely wore a dress and Evan was delighted it would become part of her regular wardrobe; she planned on being in
The Studio
five nights a week. She was greeting her family at the front door as they arrived, the heavy paper still tantalizingly up on the new window and everyone crowding the door to finally get inside. Nothing was said to the public about this pre-opening of hers. It was another surprise, no one but the clan was present. Evan stopped counting when the number reached about sixty people. Surely a hundred came to see if Shelly was going to create another disaster for them to endure, but she won them over the instant they walked into the room. There was no finer display of early 1900s New York outside of a museum, and the Reismans wholly owned this one.
It took nearly an hour to get the family inside, and the door closed with a security guard outside, before the evening could formally begin. It was an impeccable restoration, she designed the kitchen entrance to virtually disappear, and the bar appeared little more than the sales counter it had been in the past. As family milled about, greeting one another, Evan overheard more than once, family members were sure Shelly pulled off a stunning success. There was quite a contest taking place, as people studied the shop images she placed on the walls, to see if she replaced or forgot any items Papa used every day. But for the lack of cameras to sell, she had not missed a single detail they could find. The elders were delighted, their care and safekeeping of heirlooms preserved the Reisman Portraits so perfectly.
Shelly was congratulated, and embraced, by a constant crowd of enchanted relatives. Of particular interest to everyone, in the studio, on silk covered tables, sat the entire collection of Papa’s hidden plates, likely the last time it would be together for many years, as so many institutions wanted their pieces. The clan heard all about the discovery, and the studio was almost impossible to navigate as people gathered there, nearly as soon as they walked in the door. Shelly began gathering everyone into the great room, telling them the bar was open and there would be massive amounts of food circulating within a few minutes.
Her wait staff, in period clothing, was easily spotted as they circulated around with their trays of appetizers. Shelly announced she prepared nearly all her menu for guests to sample and judge at their leisure, and they would be welcome to continue to view the entire place, but the darkroom closet and the upstairs were strictly off limits. The titter running through the crowd indicated they did not need explanation. She also warned them, any dining table with a red rose in the centerpiece, might likely be in for a fright before the evening was complete. The people already parked in those places were delighted.
The family was milling in a very orderly manner, and the great room filling up as expected as the food began to arrive. It was crowded and boisterous, but it was family and very comfortable. Evan stood in the doorway of the forbidden darkroom closet with a view out over the entire room, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself in Shelly’s arms. She smiled and pinched his sides and spoke loudly enough to be heard above the din before he could tell what she was up to.
“
I want my ring, NOW!”
A tremendous roar of applause and cheers went up as Evan reached into his pocket, and presented her with the box. As she put her engagement ring on, and noticed which one it was, she shuddered with delight and bowled him nearly into the closet with an excited embrace, the room erupted again, and they enjoyed the loudest ovation of the night. While the food was being passed and placed where it could be sampled, Shelly made her way to the end of the bar under the wonderful mirror and the lights began to dim throughout the shop. It began to quiet and every head turned. The last of the guests in the studio hurried to join the rest of the crowd in the front to hear Shelly speak at last. She made a small gesture, removed the blue velvet cover, and Yousep’s story came to life.
“
I want to welcome you back into the Reisman Portraits, to enjoy its new life as The Studio.”
She beamed back at the clan as they applauded her. And she began to tell them why it existed, and how her dreams made it so important to her, even when it seemed impossible. But there was a reason the place was still vibrant and alive, after so many years, and it was not necessarily because of ill rested spirits, but they were such a part of the history, they must be included. She silenced the room. The Reismans were about to hear about their family ghosts. The lights dimmed a bit further and Evan almost laughed, but held his breath instead.
We have two new family members to welcome. They have been with us seventy-five years, and they have never been called family at any time in our legends. That cannot continue, because they have become family, through love and tears and grief. It is as much their story as it is ours. Yousep, and his angel, Caraliza.”
And the mirror brightened behind her, a hidden image appeared, Caraliza stood in the glow of her new place, and the hundred people gasped as one. Shelly forbid Dannie to alter the image in any way, and she was compassionate enough to lower the lights after a brief moment and the image became a mirror again. The affect was eerie and magical. There was no doubt of the exquisite beauty of the young woman in the frame, and the audience seemed eager to have her shown again. Shelly explained why she could not.
Evan stood in the doorway of the closet, and did not move for an hour. She forced them all to stand utterly still with the story she wove into the air all about them, and into their hearts. While she spoke and told of the lovers forging a bond across the street, lovers hidden in secret, and the awful danger it brought them, the light in the mirror rose, too slowly to be noticed. She told her family how they found the clues to the grave in the back, the clues to the horrors across the street. Yet, no clue could be found why the murderer haunted there, or what had become of Yousep, or of Caraliza, that she could put her spirit so woefully into every camera Papa would hold. They could find no answer to the sorrowful question, where were Yousep and Caraliza?
As Shelly neared the end of her tale, and recounted the awful night of murder, which had broken Papa’s mind, Caraliza was blazing behind her as if the sun had entered the room. Shelly stepped away, and the crowd took in the beauty, until their eyes cleared and the illusion parted. As the light in the frame began slowly to fade once more, family realized what had been done to the poor girl; there was silence.
Many were weeping.
Shelly returned to the spot under the mirror where she began the tale, and told the family the horrible ghost in the attic seemed to have been forced to leave them forever, but she hoped Caraliza and Yousep might remain with them, to be loved until the family utterly faded away. Papa - it was certain, still haunted with vigor, and the family seemed relieved to have some smiles cross their faces.
The affect of the image was profound, and they did not recover for some time. But time they had, the rest of the evening was for visiting and walking the building. Many times, Evan saw someone walk to the great mirror, and simply touch the frame. Below it, they reverently beheld the images, and the notebook, which gave life to the tale. They saw something there they could not lose again, but they hoped could be healed; it was legend no more - loved ones had died. Shelly brought the family a triumph, and they loved it. Every time her eyes met his, she beamed at Evan, and told him she loved him.
It would be hours before the door would open and Reismans would begin to find their way to their homes. Shelly and Evan would spend much of the time in small groups, prevented from getting very close to one another, answering endless questions. The wait staff was eagerly sought; nearly to a person they all knew some terrifying event to recount. Mostly, they told about encounters with Papa. His family was terribly amused he did not bother them at all, but the staff was genuinely haunted. As Evan would overhear these tales and discussions he wondered, what would change if the keys from the cigar tin could open the locks in the shop? What would Papa do if his secret were discovered? Who would be haunted then? It was time for Evan to find out.