Mikel listened quietly, patiently. "I was mad with worry over you." A panicked, teary look rims the bottom of Mikel's eyes. "I nearly lost my mind fretting over you leaving, you know. The notion may still be sinking in for you, but know that I'm at your mercy in many ways." Mikel lowered his head, then spoke in pronouncement. "Kassi, I meant what I said about you being able to leave at any time. I won't chase after you again. It would break me. If you do decide to leave, please do me the favor of telling me so I don't become sick with worry." Mikel was taken with an upset temper just then, it came upon him like a southern draft and he felt distressed and jittery. He looked back to the fire, in hopes of calming himself. Kassi hadn't left, he told himself. She right here ... by choice. "You know, I wasn't kidding about the smell of iron," he tried to joke, " ... they don't smelt their ores very well in Aurendale, so the refuse goes into their road mixes." Mikel shakes his head, as if to banish an uncomfortable memory. Mikel had taken to stroking the top of Kassi's hand with his thumb, and the sensation relaxed him greatly.
He closed his eyes and listened to the rest of Kassi's thoughts, especially about the art. "Well, I'm glad you didn't toss them. They have great value, and I don't mean monetary ... and that's something if I say that. Running a Gallery is not unlike being a vulture. Many artist see my walls as a hallowed destination for their work, but in truth, they are just a stopping point for other destinations ... ones that the artist cannot imagine and not be compensated for. I do my best to be fair, to the good ones, at least."
Uton knocked on the double doors and entered once Mikel beckoned him inside. The waiter laid a silver platter with water and reddish wine in a clear carafe upon the table. The platter clinked against the tiles and hard wood, inducing all the liquids to weave back and forth in their containers. Once Uton departed, Mikel continued:
"Kassi, I don't think you fully grasp the power of your art. I'm not making a case for you to paint again, against your will. If you did, my sense is that the quality of your work would diminish, and not touch people that way it did in your earlier works. This is an important aspect ... a crucial one, in fact. I haven't seen your other works, but if they resemble the ones you gave me, they will be wonderfully useful." Mikel considered how to begin again, without sounding patronizing. "Your paintings do something to people, Kass. It's ... it's hard to describe ...
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Kate swallowed painfully as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. The ice-pack around her throat was supposed to decrease the swelling, and the doctor wrapped gauze to keep the compress in place the rest of the night. The chilled plastic chafed against her bruised, still raw neck from that afternoon. Boddi had returned and demanded to be seen, barging into Kate's therapy room while in session with another patient. Kate kindly explained she was occupied, and asked him to make an appointment, which only enraged the deranged young man. His attack came like lightning. Before Kate could react, his strong hands were wrapped around her throat, and his fingers were squeezing the life from her. Luckily, her leg had flinched upward when he raced forward, and she kicked his chest. The blow sent him back a foot, and that was when the original patient, an amateur wrestler named Ken, swept in and nearly crushed the man's skull in a savage lock.
When Kate called the police, they escorted Boddi into custody, but interrogated Kate harshly. Their records showed that Boddi, although Unmarked, belonged to a prestigious Marked family. The police verbally accosted Kate, inferring that she somehow encouraged his rash behavior and seemed irritated when she did not agree. Ken drove Kate to the local medical clinic where Kate insisted her coat remain on while being treated. She did not want to tempt fate any more that day.
The click of her low heels were muted when she left the landing and walked on the carpet of the apartment hallway. Her face grimaced as another pool of saliva was sent down her bruised throat. She felt totally alone right now, in every way possible. On most days, she could try and escape or distract herself from the reality of her absolute isolation. Boddi's attack this afternoon placed that reality into a more stark light than ever. So, it was with a heavy heart that she came to her door and noticed something unusual.
Whatever is this? she asked herself.
Kate placed her bag down and lifted the painting with both hands. It was obviously a painting, but of extraordinary quality – it was the type of painting typically found in a museum. Kate's eyes latched onto the details of the work, and when her eyes followed the curve of the petal's form, the change in chromatic tone, or delved into a detail, she felt a welling sadness caught in her throat. She began to choke as gags of sadness retched from the depths of her long-suffering misery. Kate was on the carpeted floor, kneeling, but her senses did not register where she was or what was happening. Her shoulders heaved up and down in fits, and she leaned forward until her limb body settled in a disheveled heap near her door. The tears seemed to flow on and on. A part of her wondered if she should continue her sobbing episode inside, but she did not dare move. Who was she concerned about hiding from? Kassi's painting was exorcising years of negativity, and allowed her to be touched
inside since Stephen's death. Kate was not about to jeopardize this release for something as minor as pride.
Regular breathing returned to Kate after some minutes. She did not wear make-up, but her eyes still ran liquefied down face. The breaths she now took had a clearer flavor than before. And, they came much easier. Kate reached over and unlocked her door while on the ground and swung the door open. She rose, and collected her things and entered. She removed her coat and began writing a note from her maple secretary desk. It read:
Dearest Kassi,
I assume it was you who left the painting at my door. Thank you, it was more wonderful than words can describe. Please come down and visit me when you can. I'm going to be home for some time … accident at work. Feel free to stop down day or night. I'll be here.
Much love,
Katelynn Miller
Kate placed the note on Kassi's door, and crept back downstairs with light, fleeting footsteps.
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"... They draw out the venom that life deposits over years of neglect, abuse, and misery. It cleanses the soul, like a mantra, and you are unique in being able to produce such images. I want to exhibit your work, and your work alone at my Gallery. But, it will not be for profit and they will not be sold ... even to Ms. Thaddaye. In fact, I'm coordinating with other Gallery owners to show your work as well ... all at the same time, on the same night."
The question of why might have been on Kassi's face, but Mikel didn't notice. The physical connection with her hand was running power into his spirit, and he felt invincible, and incredibly focused. "Kass, your work is apolitical ... they are works of true art. One does not need to understand what is within your paintings ... spectators just need to
feel, and if they can't or have forgotten how, your paintings are a pathway of reminding them. That is how I hope to stem the tide that you fear, that I fear as well. You were right that confronting Mr. Dullden would be dangerous, so the answer is to overwhelm this city with positivity. I'm very curious to see what happens."
