LOGINHer accent was thick, she spoke with a twang. But she was a very articulate French woman, you could tell by the way she carried herself.
"c'est scandaleux." Her yellow hat twitched.
"This gallery is uh—" she clicked her fingers then remembered the words. "A monument to Paris." She carried on her spout with the journalists and Dona managed to squish my way through them.
Outside the gallery, reporters scurried about in groups-annoying fellow patrons. A smaller group, of not more than three people, weren't reporters. A salvation group, maybe. A flaccid woman was handing out flyers; missing person posters that seemed blurred to Dona. A missing person poster of a little girl, with pigtails and a smile like a morning gold, would later be plastered all over the surrounding area.
"Madame Alice," Dona called out. She was heading into the gallery, which was closed until further notice. She was a redhead, a quiet one. She turned, lowered her sunglasses and eyed the blogger. "I'm Dona, Dona Claire." She was on the other side of the tape. Alice just nodded to the guards and went about her way. Instead of leaving Dona to the crowd, the guards let her in. She shook the rain from her jacket and tied her umbrella.
" Thank you." She was apparently talking to the walls because nobody noticed.
Alice was standing in front of a particular artwork. Dona thought she was alone until she noticed Detective Zoe, with her arms crossed. She looked as unpleased with the situation as the painting beside her.
"Madame Alice, Detective Zoe." She nodded towards them. Detective Zoe acknowledged her but Alice didn't. She seems transfixed by the painting.
Detective Zoe pulled Dona to the side. "Because this all involves art, we will be using the museum as assistance."
"Meaning?"
"Call it our own little studio." Zoe smiled. She was called by one of her men and had to attend to something.
" I hear you're an art historian."
Dona looked to Madame Alice, who was twirling one of her red locks in her finger. She didn't turn to her. "They're trying to decipher the meanings behind the artworks in the other room."
"Here in the hallway, I'm trying to figure him out."
Dona stood next to her, watched as her lips continued," He is an odd character."She turned to Dona, her green eyes glimmered. " But then again, all artists have their problems." She walked away but Dona replied," Are you an admirer?"
She stopped and turned with the tilt of her hat." I am curious." She then walked away.
When Dona entered the room, it was spacious and busy. Cops were marking certain areas with theories and hypothesis's and Detective Zoe was in the middle of it all. Dona noticed her professor talking with a few patrons of the arts. She didn't want to bother him and instead walked towards Detective Zoe. She was chewing on a pencil.
"He has the characteristics of a psychopath." One of the males stated. Pointing to a board with a picture marked with a photograph.
"From the little that we know, but from the evidence we have. I can conclude that he does have at least three common traits of a psychopath."
Zoe nodded and he continued.
"How is he able to get these women? Who are standard citizens, not impoverished, who are of high social standing? To willingly become part of his art? At first, its willingly, but later is it? How did this happen?"
Detective Zoe's partner got involved. "He must be a charmer. Cunning enough to get these women to submit peacefully."
"Exactly." The man raised his voice. "He manipulated them to use them for his dubious activities."
Zoe pointed the chewed pencil at him." And?"
"Another trait is lack of empathy," he continued. He took out a few photos and placed them on the board, crime scenes. The three photos' showcased woman being splayed out in a display case like a doll.
"His second victim. Anya Dion. Who did not die immediately, because on the scene she was still alive? But. Was tied up, incapable of communicating and was about to be pulled apart from her limbs. And that's what happened."
He spaced out. "It was timed. For when the police entered the room, that the contraption she was strapped to was to go off."
"And before our eyes, she got pulled apart. Dressed up like a doll, and painted like the Christ on a stake."
"The art critics are in controversy towards this. Some say it links to Paul Gaugin, others say it speaks of feminism. A few points out the male gaze."
Nobody noticed but Alice entered the room. She was leaning on the wall in the back, in her yellow jumpsuit.
"He is doing a twisted kind of performance art." Everybody looked at her as if stunned.
"That glass." She pointed to the picture." Was it soundproof?"
Detective Zoe nodded, seemingly amused by Alice.
"Then it was not your arrival that triggered it, but her own scream". She walked towards the board." Let me explain."
" I've noticed that this so-called psychopath has a very morbid obsession with Edvard Munch, how do I know?"
"Because each and every one of his victims was left with a gruesome eternal scream on their faces."
"I'm going to call him." She took a marker and wrote on top of the picture." The Anguished man."
She was wearing a classic trench coat, with a fedora and that hid most of her red hair. Sitting across from a concerned family, she stated."Like any private detective, I have seen many things in my years, even previously as a former agent."She took her hat off and entwined her fingers. "But nothing could have prepared me for what was to come." As the husband held his wife in his arms, she wailed as the detective continued. "I am sorry for your loss."
There she was. As a lusting satyr grabbed at a feminine figure, Dona was now the sleeping Hermaphrodite artwork. Approaching her from the rear, Harry thought she represented Venus, but, the front side revealed something unexpected.Why had she been represented as Aphrodite's son and not Aphrodite herself? She was stark naked, posing like a doll with no expression. He wanted to touch her, to stroke her cheek and feel the urgency of the scene in front of him. His chest was caving in, and he found it hard to breathe. The tears st
The doorknob twisted and a light twinkling of metal came from outside. With murderous intent, Harry flung open the door, clinging onto the arch in need for support. Like a cunning serpent, he entered the garden of artworks. Grabbing his phone torch; he lit his way through the gallery.The air was dry, and his sinuses gnawed at him. He sneezed so hard he stumbled into something near the wall. It was wet paint. The gallery was still in the making, the interior design was incomplete, but there were
No matter the room, the smell of rotting flesh followed him like a shadow. He had to steady himself on the walls, trying to escape the voices. Fervent wailing and inaudible speech vibrated all around him. He staggered his way to an unassuming door at the far end of the house.He turned his back to it as soon as he fell, rolling down the door with his stomach clenched. He held his head in his hands, shaken and confused he looked up. Looking down the hallway, the paintings and all their tumult ceased. He was now able to breathe,
*Trigger Warning* This chapter contains graphic contents.Breathless, he stood outside of Tony's residence. His throat was dry, as he swallowed in the sultry rage bobbing around his apple. He kept flicking his forefingers together. It was the witching hour, and he didn't care.
His ribs convulsed with every breath as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. Sweating profusely he tried to stand but rocked his way back to the bed. He felt groggy, a headache, was waiting for him along with the clutter of a new day. He stood and stretched his shoulders, twisted his neck and walked towards the studio.He'd find himself wandering around like a desert wind, without a place to rest. He tried to stay busy with something other than work- he knew that it was a bad idea to be enthralled by the