Massage Mat Pt. 02 Ch. 01

She remembered that as the daylight faded to darkness she could see a new light. Angie's light. The light that shined in the darkness.

Of course. The light. Sunlight. Points of light. Light in the darkness.

Then she recalled Marie-Ange. How her lustrous eyes shined brightly in the Parisian moonlight.

Beth closed her eyes as she had the night before. She relaxed and breathed deeply, allowing Marie-Ange to be present with her.

"Please help me, Marie-Ange," she pleaded in her thoughts. "I am lost, and I need you very badly." She listened vainly for a reply. She repeated her plea more urgently.

"Of course I am here, mon chérie," she heard Marie-Ange reply at last. "Let me help you as I did before."

Beth felt a hand rest on hers. Startled, she withdrew from the contact.

"No, no, mon chérie," she heard Marie-Ange say, "do not be frightened. I will help you if you allow me. I would give my life for your happiness and for your art. Please let me guide you once more."

Beth again relaxed and felt the pressure of the imagined hand on hers.

She relaxed her hand completely and marveled as it began to move seemingly of its own accord. Hesitantly at first, but then with more certainty. Then with urgency. Finally with fierceness.

"...a beautiful and passionate woman..."

Her hand danced now, firmly in rapport with Marie-Ange's. Images and colors danced and played across the canvas as Beth's ideas came more rapidly. Several times she had to pause to collect herself and her ideas, sometimes scribbling ideas for other paintings on a note pad.

"...You are The God. The Creator..."

Marie-Ange removed her hand and sat watching Beth, silent. Beth was now the creator. The power was hers. And, as if conjured up by some mysterious force, the picture she had seen in her dreams began to emerge on the canvas.

And then she saw it—she knew exactly what the finished work would look like. It was now only a matter of using her technique to apply paint to canvas.

"...who one day will make great art..."

"She's been in there for over 12 hours." Angie was concerned.

"She's not done yet," Myles answered.

"How do you know?" Angie asked, challenging him.

"Because I know how to paint," he told her firmly. "She's not done. I know it."

"How much longer?" Angie asked more softly. For the first time, she understood that her sixth sense had a limit that Myles could transcend.

"Until she's done. How long does it take to give birth?" Myles took Angie's arm and led her out the door.

"What the hell—," she exclaimed.

"This is too important to fuck up by having us hanging around here," he told her, suddenly feeling very protective of Beth. "Let's go for a drive. How about some dinner?"

Beth was spent, exhausted. But she was also satisfied, fulfilled, completed. It was not a moment of ecstasy or triumph or exhilaration. It was a time of quiet and peace. She began humming the song to herself.

"Turn, turn, turn...a time to every purpose under Heaven...a time for peace..."

She sat back and looked at her work. For the first time, she was happy with what she saw and with what she felt. And, through this painting, she was one with Marie-Ange.

"I hope you are happy with it, my love," she said in her thoughts. "It is for you." In her heart of hearts, she knew that Marie-Ange would be very happy with it. It was the picture that had moved her to tears.

She sat, regarding this new work of art she had created, loving Marie-Ange, feeling at one with the world and at peace in her soul. And in the bottom right-hand corner she signed, simply, "Beth Miller."

"...a sign that you can sign..."

Myles and Angie entered, cautiously. They were silent, not wanting to break the spell of the moment of creation. Then they saw it and gasped.

The painting.

It was compelling, riveting, beautiful.

They could not bear the thought of looking away from it. It held all of the joy and all of the anguish of their lives, swirling together in a way that completed them. Without knowing why, they both began to cry. And then they embraced, lost in a sea of forgotten and never-known emotions.

Through her tears, Angie felt herself being hypnotized by it. Drawn in. For her, it was Beth's gaze come to life on canvas. And it revealed Myles, the only man she had ever loved. The man who could see and understand things that were beyond her comprehension.

Myles felt the tears running down his cheeks. For him, the painting was the beautiful Angie he'd always loved. And it revealed the artist he had dreamed of seeing. He turned toward Beth.

Just sitting there, exhausted from her labors, she was beautiful. He had been right. She was the one. She knew. She could see. He turned again to the painting.

It was brilliant. Magnificent.

And it was just the beginning...