Immortal Sins (2 page)

Friday night after work, Kari hurried down Third Street, her shoulders hunched against the rising wind. People rushed past her, eager to reach the shelter of their homes before the storm broke. Kari was eager to get home, too, but first she had to prove to herself once and for all that she hadn’t seen what she thought she had seen. Otherwise, she was going to spend the rest of the weekend wondering if she really was losing her mind.

When she saw the painting again, she would prove to herself once and for all that she wasn’t crazy. She would see that the figure of the man was walking in the moonlit woods, just as he had been the first time she had seen the painting, and then she would leave the gallery and never, ever return.

Opening the door, she stepped inside, grateful to be out of the cold and the wind. She nodded at the owner’s brother, Felix Underwood, who smiled and nodded in return. Felix was looking after the shop while his sister, Janice, was on vacation. Every time Kari saw Felix, she was reminded of Walter Matthau. The two looked enough alike to be twins.

“I knew you would come again tonight,” Felix Underwood said cheerfully. “You should buy the Vilnius. I’ll make you a good deal.”

“About that painting,” Kari said, “have you ever noticed anything strange about it?”

“Strange?” Mr. Underwood looked up at the ceiling, as if he might find the answer to her question lurking there.

“Mr. Underwood?”

He shook his head. “Nothing strange comes to mind, but then, I don’t really know anything about fine art,” he admitted with an affable grin. “I’m a plumber by trade.”

“Do you know where the painting came from?”

“I believe Janice bought it at an estate sale a few weeks ago. I seem to recall her telling me that the former owner, Mrs. Amelia Van Der Hyde, had kept it in the attic.”

“In the attic? Do you know why she kept it there?”

Felix Underwood shrugged. “Perhaps she grew tired of it.”

Or perhaps it had spooked Mrs. Van Der Hyde, too, Kari thought, though she didn’t say so aloud.

“Shall I ring it up for you?”

“No, thank you.” Kari glanced only briefly at the other works of art as she made her way toward the back corner of the gallery where the Vilnius sat on a large easel.

Taking a deep breath, she stopped in front of the painting, her gaze seeking the painted figure of the man who plagued her thoughts by day and haunted her dreams at night.

Her stomach clenched when she located him. She had convinced herself that he would again be walking in the woods, where he belonged, but he wasn’t.

Tonight he was standing at the edge of the moonlit forest, one hand resting on the neck of the white horse.

A cold chill slithered down Kari’s spine. It was true, she thought, she was going out of her mind.

“Why don’t you take it home with you,” Mr. Underwood suggested, coming up behind her. “Live with it for a few days. If you don’t like it, you can bring it back. But don’t tell anyone, especially my sister! All sales are supposed to be final.”

“It’s a deal.” Kari clapped her hand over her mouth, wondering what had possessed her to say such a thing. She couldn’t afford to buy a painting, not even one by an unknown artist. Heck, until she paid off her car, she couldn’t even afford to buy a cheap print! But Mr. Underwood was already lifting the painting from the easel and carrying it to the front of the store. Besides, if she changed her mind, she could return it.

Ten minutes later, she was the owner, however temporary, of a genuine work of art.

Mr. Underwood carried the Vilnius out to her car, but it was too big to fit in the backseat, and too wide to fit in the trunk. Assuring her that it was no trouble, he put the painting in the back of his pickup truck. Returning to the gallery, he hung the “closed” sign in the front window and locked the door, then followed her home where he obligingly carried the painting into the house.

Kari thanked him profusely, then bid him good night.

After turning on the lights and the heater, she propped the painting against the living room wall. Standing in the middle of the floor, she did a slow turn, wondering where best to hang the picture. Over the sofa? No, she would have to keep looking over her shoulder to see it. Over the mantel? Maybe. Between the front windows? Another maybe. In the bedroom? No!

Over the fireplace seemed the most likely spot. She found a hammer and a couple of large nails, then dragged a chair over to the hearth. After doing some measuring and a little cussing, she figured out where to drive the nails; then, praying that she wouldn’t drop the darn thing, she wrestled the painting into place. After making sure it was straight, she hopped down off the chair, then stood in the doorway to observe her handiwork.

She had to admit, the Vilnius looked great. The painting was just the right size, the colors perfectly complemented her décor, and it added the finishing touch to the room.

Standing there with her arms crossed under her breasts, she searched for the man in the painting. Where was he?

Moving closer, she looked in all the usual places but he wasn’t walking in the woods or looking out the window of the castle. He wasn’t riding the horse or sitting on the rock near the edge of the water or reclining on the grass. Had she imagined him? Maybe she was crazier than she thought.

Standing on the chair again, she perused the painting through narrowed eyes. How could he not be there? Thirty minutes ago he had been petting the horse…but now the horse was gone, too.

She really was losing it, of that there could be no doubt. Maybe she had imagined the whole thing. Maybe there had never been a man in the landscape at all. Heck, maybe the canvas was blank…but no, what was that? Leaning closer, she stared at a dark speck on the right side of the castle. Was that him?

After jumping off the chair, Kari rummaged in her desk for her magnifying glass, then climbed back up on the chair, and looked again. A horse and rider were barely visible in the shadows alongside the castle.

Her relief at finding him warred with the renewed fear that she was losing her mind.

Paintings simply didn’t change from day to day. Painted figures of people and animals didn’t move.

Feeling horribly confused and afraid, she put on her nightgown and went to bed, only to lie there imagining a history for the man in the painting. He was a nobleman who lived alone in the castle, with only a horse, a dog, and a kitten for company. She frowned, unable to decide why he was so sad. Maybe he was nursing a broken heart, or perhaps he was grieving for a lost loved one. Or maybe he just liked living alone.

With a faint smile, she closed her eyes. Maybe the answer would come to her in her dreams.

It seemed she had been asleep for only a few moments when she woke with a start. She stared at the ceiling blankly, and then frowned. Her ceiling was sky blue, not gray. She turned her head to the left, but instead of a window, she saw a blank wall.

A shiver ran down Kari’s spine. All the walls were blank. And they were made of uneven dark gray stone.

She sat up, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Where was she? And how had she gotten here?

Slipping out of bed, she left the room and tiptoed down a narrow circular stairway. The stone floor was icy cold beneath her bare feet. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her gaze darting nervously from side to side. There wasn’t much to see save for a large, rough-hewn chair in front of an enormous fireplace. A painting of a sword hung above the mantel. She paused a moment to study the weapon. She didn’t know anything about such things, but this one was beautiful, from the long, slender blade to the intricately wrought hilt. It reminded her of Inigo Montoya’s sword in one of her favorite old movies,
The Princess Bride
.

Moving on, she passed several other rooms. All were empty. All had high ceilings, gray stone walls, enormous fireplaces, and tall, narrow windows.

She was in some kind of a castle, she thought, her trepidation growing with each moment that passed.

In the scullery, she glanced out a small, square window, felt her eyes grow wide as she found herself looking out at her living room at home.

It hit her then. She was inside the castle in the painting!

Panic rose hot and quick within her. Was this how the man had gotten into the painting? Had he bought it and then become its prisoner? Had she now taken his place?

She whirled around, her gaze flitting around the room. Where was he? And how was she going to get out?

She searched the downstairs, went back up to the second floor and then up to the third. There was no sign of him. Returning to the main floor, she opened the heavy wooden door and went outside, but he wasn’t there, either. Maybe she really had imagined him!

She hadn’t imagined the horse, though. Even now it was trotting toward her, its dainty, foxlike ears flicking back and forth, its nostrils flaring.

“Hello, you pretty thing,” she murmured.

Hesitantly, she held out her hand. The horse sniffed her palm, then whinnied softly, its breath warm against her skin. Captivated, she stroked the horse’s neck, then ran her fingers through its long, silky mane. It didn’t feel like a painting of a horse; it felt like a living, breathing creature, but how was that possible?

Kari shook her head. She was dreaming, she thought. In a dream, even the impossible was possible.

“So, where’s the man?” she wondered aloud.

If the horse knew, it wasn’t saying.

After giving the animal a last pat, Kari returned to the castle. With a sigh, she went into the scullery and sat at the table. For a kitchen, it was surprisingly unkitchenlike. There were no cupboards, no oven or stove, no sink, no food that she could see. So what was the table for?

She had to be dreaming, she thought again. That was the only plausible explanation. She would just sit here until she woke up and…was that a door?

Rising, she hurried across the room. It was, indeed, a door, a very small door. Maybe it was a way out, she thought, a way back to reality! Feeling suddenly like Alice lost in Wonderland, she reached for the brass knob. It was hard and cold beneath her hand. The portal opened with a creak and she peered down a flight of uneven stone steps. Certain she was doing the wrong thing, she nevertheless found herself carefully descending the narrow stairway.

She shivered when she reached the bottom. It was colder down here, though she saw no reason why it should be any colder than the rest of the castle. She was about to hurry back up the stairs when she felt the hair rise along her nape. Slowly, so slowly, she turned around.

At first, she didn’t see anything, and then she saw a tall shape rise up out of a dark corner. A pair of unblinking red eyes stared at her, growing larger, coming closer. Spooked as never before, Kari opened her mouth and screamed bloody murder.

She woke with the sound of her own cries ringing in her ears. A dream. Of course, she thought, relieved; that’s all it had been, just a dream.

Sliding out of bed, she pulled on her robe and went downstairs. She told herself she was going into the kitchen for a glass of grapefruit juice, but some invisible power drew her toward the living room, and the painting.

After switching on a light, she walked toward the hearth.

The man was in the castle, looking out of a tower window. He seemed to be staring at her, his deep blue eyes filled with a silent plea for help.

Kari wrapped her arms around her waist as she looked at the painting, unable to draw her gaze away from the figure in the window.

Help me
.

She heard the voice inside her head, deep and decidedly male.
His
voice.

Startled, she backed away from the hearth, a cry escaping her lips when she hit a corner of the coffee table and almost fell.

Great! Now she wasn’t just seeing things, she was hearing things as well.

Tomorrow she would call Tricia and ask her to come over, take a look at the painting, and tell her what she saw.

Tricia McPhee was Kari’s best friend. Tricia was cool, calm, and level-headed. She had the imagination of a tomato yet she attracted the strangest people; people like Mel Staffanson, who kept a hearse, complete with a full-sized coffin, in his garage. Mel drove the hearse around town on Halloween and rented it out for parties. Then there was Sheri Hunt, who only wore green and had dyed her hair to match. Sheri raised silkworms. Angie Delgado was another of Tricia’s eccentric friends. Angie had been married and divorced six times and now lived with four Pomeranians and five Siamese cats, declaring they were easier to get along with than men.

It always amazed Kari that she and Tricia were friends, because they were so different. Tricia was an only child. She had been spoiled and pampered from day one. She had gone to the best schools, graduated at the top of her class, married a surgeon, had two adorable children and lived in a big house. Kari had been poor her whole life. She had been an average student with a vivid imagination and had managed to get into college only because she won a scholarship.

Yes, Tricia was the answer.

Tricia arrived the following evening. She spent several minutes studying the painting and then she looked at Kari.

“All right,” Tricia said, her hands fisted on her slim hips. “I give up. What am I supposed to see?”

“The man in the painting.”

“I see him. He’s right there, in the woods,” Tricia said, pointing with a long, well-manicured finger. “So, what’s the big deal?”

Kari let out a sigh of resignation as Tricia confirmed her worst fears. She was losing her mind. This morning and this afternoon, there had been no sign of the man. She had searched the painting a dozen times during the day and he had been nowhere to be found. The horse had been grazing in the field, the dog had been asleep in the shade, the kitten had been playing in the flowers, but the man had been gone, as if he had never existed.

She had checked the painting just before Tricia arrived and the man had been in the castle, staring out the tower window. In the time it had taken Kari to open the front door and return to the living room with Tricia in tow, he had moved back to the woods, where he belonged.