The Haunted Painter

CW: Gore, substance abuse, mental health

The floor creaks as Cass paces the main room of her apartment. The city outside is nothing but white noise to the portrait that torments her from across the room. For days, she felt like those piercing eyes following her every move. Watching... Waiting... Slowly, she risks a glance at it. Its gaze seemed to scrutinize her very soul. Regret and shame threaten to consume her. Why did she have to uncover that painting?

As panic sets in, she pulls her eyes from its. "I can't...," Cass cries out as she rushes to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Normally she would worry that the neighbors would report her again, but that was the last thing on her mind. Slowly she sinks to the floor and forces herself to focus on her breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath...

“Shit, I need my pill."

It was the only thing that helped to numb the pain. Her eyes frantically search the room until they land on her nightstand. Cass scrambles for it. Knocking the bottle under her bed, as she reaches for it.

A shadow in her peripheral catches her attention. A scream fails to leave her throat as Cass's eyes lock onto her reflection in the mirror. The young woman who looked back at her seemed exhausted and frail. Dark circles laid under her eyes from many restless nights. Her skin pale from lack of sunlight. Her plump cheeks that used to have a natural blush to them, now were sunken and bony.

A memory tries to force its way to the surface. It's raining and she's struggling to get up. There's blood on the sidewalk and glass in her face. She absentmindedly touches the scar on her forehead then pushes the memory away. Leaving the bottle, Cass runs out of her apartment and down the stairs. She couldn’t risk seeing her reflection in the elevator.

She lived on the 3rd floor of a deteriorating apartment building. Halfway down the first flight, Cass's shoulder slams into the old man who lives five doors down from her. She gasps and tries to grab his arm.

“Whoa there, young lady!” Mr. Ballard calls out. His knuckles white from gripping the railing for support. The reality of what Cass almost did, hits her.

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright, Mr. Ballard?”

“I haven't seen you for 6 months. Then when I do, you try to throw me down the stairs," he chuckles.

Other residents walk around them, annoyed that their path is blocked. “I just...” She starts, but can’t find the words. "I'm sorry," Cass whispers. She never meant to ignore him. It was just easier to stay away and hide. He places his hand on her shoulder.

"And what did I tell you about calling me Mr. Ballard."

Cass sighs, "You're right, Henry."

“Now, why don't you come have tea with me. Unless you have something else better to do."

She gives him a small smile. "No, I can go have tea with you. I could use the distraction." She wasn’t going anywhere in particular. Cass just needed to get out of her apartment and away from that painting.

Mr. Ballard grasps her hand then leads her back to his apartment; as he did time and time before. It was laid out the same as hers. An open concept kitchen and living space with two bedrooms plus a bath to the back. The room smelled of must and had a layer of dust on almost every surface. Nothing had changed since the last time she was there. His bookshelves and TV remained untouched.

Cass walks by a bookcase and drags her finger along the edge. She has the urge to criticize him about it, but decides against it. Henry settles himself in the lone recliner that's turned towards the window. It's where he spent most of his time. He was never one to watch TV. Instead, he'd watch the people in the streets and park in the distance.

Before heading to the kitchen, Cass looks to the abandoned hospital bed that sits against the wall and is now a makeshift couch with a perfect view of that TV. Mrs. Ballard was the only one who found enjoyment in it. She died a little over two years ago from cancer. Cass never had the pleasure of meeting her, but she sounded like a kind soul.

She pulls herself from her thoughts and goes to make the tea. Cass falls into their old routine. She fills the kettle with water and turns on the stove. As she goes to grab two mugs from the cabinet, Henry says something that stops her in her tracks.

“I heard about what happened to your friend. I know that can't be easy to deal with.”

Cass unintentionally scratches her mug with her thumb as tears swell in her eyes. Of course, he heard about Sawyer. He died not two blocks from here. It was one of those things that caused the whole building to buzz. She couldn't leave her apartment for weeks after it happened. Her heart began to ache, threatening to break the dam she built around it. Henry was one of the few people that could bring her to that breaking point. If she wasn’t careful, he’d do just that today. She takes a deep breath and releases it.

“I’m fine, old man. You can stop worrying." She turns towards him with a forced smile, but he's looking out the window.

“It's hard for me not to worry when you stay trapped in that apartment all day. You don’t even visit anymore,” he grumbles.

A smile makes its way on Cass’s lips. “I’ll start coming by again. I promise,” she chuckles.

The chuckle takes her by surprise. How long has it been since the last time she laughed? It felt nice, but strange. The kettle begins to whistle, so Cass gets back to making their tea. She adds a teabag, honey, and water to their mugs. She never had much patience waiting for the tea to steep.

“Thank you. Come sit with me,” he says as she hands him a mug. Henry nods to the ottoman by the window. Cass hesitates, but then obliges. She knew she couldn't run from Henry anymore. The uncomfortable thought made her move her attention to her mug. It reminded her of the one she'd use to clean her paint brushes. Her gaze then moved to her hands that refused to pick up those very same brushes. Painting was one of few things that made her feel alive. Made her soul soar. She missed that feeling.

Ignoring the pang in her chest, Cass pulled out her tea bag and set it on a plate. She looked over to Henry, who was watching her closely. It was then she realized he was waiting for her to speak first. It was only fair since she was the one who pushed him away. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and the dam burst.

“He's dead because of me,” she finally spoke with tears streaming down her face. “If I wouldn't have started that damn argument with him then we would have been home.” Everything hurt and she felt raw.

Car horns and shouts flood her senses; Cass is shoved to the ground. Her head slams into the sidewalk while shards of glass sting at her face. She fights to open her eyes as rain and spots cloud her vision. She struggles to turn her head to look at where she was once standing. Where was Sawyer? Why was she on the ground? Cass blinks and blinks, willing the car not to be there. Is that his shoe underneath it? Am I dead? Who's blood is that? Is he… dead? Then she screams.

“If I would have just waited until we were closer to home, then he’d still be alive,” she chokes out the last words with a sob. Cass couldn't stop her tears. The shame was unbearable. The next thing she knew was Henry holding her in his arms. She just cried until there was nothing left. The old man shushed her and stroked her hair. The comfort was almost more than she could bear.

"There's nothing you could have done. You can't keep focusing on the what ifs. It won't change the past." He speaks softly once her sobs have faded.

“I just feel so empty now that he’s gone.,” she whispers once she was finally able to look at him. He hands her some tissue then sighs, “I know, dear. With time, that pain will ease. But that's only going to happen once you stop running from it. You won’t be able to move on until you do.”

Henry takes a sip of his tea then spats it out. It was now cold and bitter after steeping for too long. “Maybe more honey will save it,” he grumbles as he makes his way to the kitchen.

Cass lets out a big, belly laugh that makes her feel lighter. All that weight she’d been carrying slowly alleviates. That ache in her chest felt less hollow. She knew she needed to accept all that happened, but she wasn't there yet. Maybe a few more visits with Henry would make that possible.

Trying to find her words, Cass stares out at the street below. “He painted a portrait of me,” she admits. “I found it a few days ago in our art studio. I can't bear to look at it.”

Having come back to his chair, Henry began to stare out the window with her. “Why is that,” he asks.

Scared to reveal her truth, Cass hesitates. “I’ll never be the person in that portrait. He painted who he saw me to be, but I don't know who that woman is. When I look at it, all I see is a lie.”

“Do you remember what you told me not long after we met,” he asks.

Cass stares at him confused.

“You told me to be the person my wife would be proud of; to stop wasting away and staring at that bed,” he points to Mrs. Ballard's hospital bed.

Guilt creeps in on her, but she follows his finger. She knew he was right. Maybe one day she won't blame herself as much.

“I think it’s high time you take your own advice. Your grief doesn't dictate the person you truly are,” he spoke with a hint of sadness and patted her hand. “And come around more often.”

Cass pulls Henry into an embrace, “I promise.” She lets him go and takes in the room once more. “But, you, also, need to promise me that you'll get this place cleaned up. There are spiders literally making a home in every corner.”

He chuckles, “I know it’s gotten out of hand. Maybe I can pay that girl in 4A to do it.”

Cass shakes her head. “I’ll just come by tomorrow and do it.” She didn’t wait for an answer as she put her mug in the sink then walked to the door.

"I'll hold you to that," Henry almost shouts. She smiles and nods. The Ballards were never able to have children. Cass was pretty sure she was the closest thing Henry had to a daughter. She felt that same sentiment since she cut ties with her family a long time ago.

Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest as she walked to her apartment door. She knew she couldn’t run anymore even if it scared her. After taking a few deep breaths, Cass entered her apartment and walked up to the portrait.

The evening light was shining through the sheer curtains and made it glow. Cass could finally see the person Sawyer saw; her soft smile, kind eyes, and long flowing locks of chestnut hair. She looked carefree and at peace. Before taking it to her art studio, she gave the portrait a sad smile.

Cass knew exactly where to put it. She hung the portrait on the wall that held some of her favorite pieces. It was then she decided she would follow her own advice and use it as a reminder to be the best version of herself. The version he saw and loved.

Not far from her stood her easel. For months, she didn't dare enter this room for fear of what emotions would arise. Cass takes a seat on her stool in front of a blank canvas. Maybe this would be just what she needed to start healing. It was time to say goodbye to Sawyer and the shell of a person she had become.