Work of a Genius

"Fuck, John!" Kevin said finally. He ran his manicured hand through his dark hair and sighed deeply. John's stomach sank. "I don't know what to say, man." He said, his face somber and yet astonished. "You're a genius, man. That's all I can say."

John laughed out loud, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

"No, no," hurried Kevin. "I mean it! This is a masterpiece." He pointed towards one of the paintings. "They all are." He stood next to John and crossed his hands over his chest as if that helped him to admire the art before him better. "What is it? A mixture of Dadaism and Impressionism?"

Now it was John's turn to be impressed. It was the combination of the two, as incredible as it sounded. With some of John's own touch as he liked to think. He said nothing, caressing his own work with his eyes and yet feeling as if it hadn't been him who was the creator, almost jealous of his own ability as he was afraid it would never surface again.

Suddenly Kevin jerked out of his trans-like state and grabbed John's empty glass. "We need another drink. We need to celebrate; we've created something beautiful here. You and I."

John felt another shiver snaking down his spine.

"So," he continued Kevin while pouring. "How much will you charge me for them?"

Unprepared for the question, John shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't really thought about it. I mean, I don't really sell stuff before I display it." Kevin paused and his face ceased radiating content that was evident in it a moment ago. "You know," John continued, "like an exhibition."

"Yeah, yeah," Kevin offered the glass and dismissed John's explanation with a wave of his hand. "But this is different, John. You can't exhibit this. I told you I wanted you to paint it for me. It's private. You've done that before, right?"

John shrugged his shoulders again. Standing next to Kevin he felt like a Neanderthal, unsophisticated and awkwardly clumsy. The feeling of discomfort returned.

"Well, I suppose I have..." he said and gulped. "But never with the paintings. I do commission work on pottery and china, not on paintings. Never on paintings."

"Hm. That's a problem, then." Said Kevin, returning his gaze to the makeshift display. "I don't want you to show them to anyone. I'll pay well, whatever you want."

John could have sworn that the apartment was air-conditioned, he felt the coolness of it when he first entered, but now it seemed to be boiling hot. His head swam and he began perspiring. The feeling of inadequacy deepened.

"What did you do with Isabella?" he asked suddenly, remembering the events of the previous morning.

"I didn't touch her." Said Kevin and a mischievous smile played across his face. No explanations were needed. "I didn't do anything, I thought you wouldn't appreciate it. At least, I figured I should check with you first. She'll come back if I ask her to."

The self-confidence of the man hit John hard. Isabella probably wouldn't have come back to him if he begged her on his hands and knees, and here's this...this...freak! And she'll be running back?

"Don't touch her. Leave her alone." Said John and felt as if his knees were just about to give out. The warmth that he felt in his head became a headache. Sudden and powerful pounding entered his head and he closed his eyes for a moment, unable to understand its origins.

"Hm..." he heard Kevin's voice floating somewhere in the distance. "I figured you'd say that. She's not all that, if you truly want to be honest, John."

John tried to will the headache to disappear and clear his head enough to show the other man that he couldn't talk any kind of way about someone that he used to hold dear to his heart. He might not have trusted her, but he did love her. That sudden realization hit him hard.

"But I have to have someone, John. I have to feed my hunger with another human being."

John tried to respond but couldn't. He felt like his mouth had been glued together, his limbs suddenly felt heavy, pried together like the sensual lips on the ancient masterpieces of Greek stone statues. He tried to figure out how could he even remain standing. He felt as if he was about to pass out.

"You saved her, man. You saved her for now." Kevin's voice was very close to his ear. He could feel the other man's breath on his cheek and it smelled sour, just like the wine. "You're the one taking her place."

John felt as if he was aware of the outcome all along, but didn't really allow it to sink in. He tried hard not to close his eyes, as he believed that should he do that, he wouldn't be able to open them again.

"You're taking her place, buddy." Kevin repeated and John could feel his strong arms hooking him under the armpits and dragging him out of the kitchen. "See," he continued, bumping John's shoulder against the doorframe. "If you were a wine drinker, you'd know that no good wine is this sour. And you can tell I only love the best, right?"

John's mind seemed clouded in some respect. He couldn't speak or move, and yet, the fogginess didn't affect the comprehension and most of all fear. He was terrified. He would have thrown up if he could.

"Isabella knew what I do long before you did. She used to watch me late at night while you slept. Like you, the propriety of having me turned in to the authorities was overpowered by the greed for the unknown. She was the one who suggested you'd be glad to paint for me."

John tried to convince himself this was all an invention of his drunken mind, although, he couldn't find a rational explanation of how a grown man could become inebriated in two minutes.

"This was all her idea, John, I'm sad to say. You saw her coming out of my place yesterday and she decided you had to go. Just like the rest."

Now, the horror was beyond anything John had ever felt. His Isabella? Surely not.

"You drank a tranquilizer. You won't be able to move or talk and most importantly..." Kevin's face popped in front of John's eyes and it wasn't handsome anymore. It had become a mask of perverse and decadent pleasure. "...Most importantly, you won't be able to scream."

John felt himself being thrown onto the bed and his legs lifted off the floor.

"Your heart and brain are on their way out, too." Said Kevin and ripped John's shirt wide open. "But I still have enough time to work on you and keep everything alive until needed."

John could barely feel his pants being unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled off. His socks and underwear followed.

"Of course, you'll feel everything." Said Kevin and smiled, waving a pair of familiar scissors, brown with the rust and caked blood from the previous victims. "You'll feel everything at least for a while, and you'll hope for it to be finished soon." He stabbed the point of one blade into John's chest, just deep enough to puncture the skin and the pain was not as bad as John had expected. Not yet, anyway.

"But don't you worry, my man." Kevin slowly cut his way down his victim's chest and stomach and this time, the pain had become excruciating. John's entire body tingled with ache and terror, but he couldn't move or make a sound. He believed that he would die of fear long before Kevin was to hold his still beating heart in his hands. "I'm a master, you see. Just like you, I'm a genius, only of a different kind. I could do this for hours and you wouldn't die if that's how I liked it."

He dug deeper and farther down. John could feel his skin being cut and torn, the pain waving through his limbs like a thousand razorblades traveling through his veins. It was the feeling he had never known before. If it hadn't been so painful, he would have thought it beautifully astounding.

As if only just remembering something very important, Kevin lifted his finger and waved it in the air like a conductor's stick. "This wouldn't be complete without an audience, would it?" He walked to the window and lifted the blinds.

In the window that John knew belonged to his studio stood a figure and for a moment he wasn't certain he had really seen it or whether it was just his imagination. To his surprise, he could still roll his eyes despite the paralysis of everything else. The silhouette in the window removed something from its face and he recognized Isabella. She had been watching him with his own binoculars, just like he used to watch others.

"And now..." said Kevin and waved the huge butcher knife, which had been his tool in all of his performances. "Now... We being." He whispered.

As long as I can see it, he's not hurting me, was John's last rational thought. The pain and madness flooded his failing brain and as the knife slowly sunk out of his view.