The Art Part First
Posted on Fri 19th Jul, 2019 @ 3:37pm by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Purulence Addams
Edited on on Sun 11th Aug, 2019 @ 12:29am
1,368 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Addams Family Home, Deck 1554
Timeline: MD-6, 1415
"Computer, connect me to Purulence Addams."
Paul Graves walked down Deck 1554 toward the Queen Anne Villas as the ghost--or whatever she was--of Lt. Dallas Briggs's wife floated alongside him. "The Addamses are a bit odd," Paul said to Victoria when he was sure no one was listening. "They do seances that actually produce results. They are familiar and comfortable with ghosts. They keep skulls in display cases. As you might imagine, they throw brilliant Halloween parties. Anyway, I think that if anyone can make better contact with you, it will be they. Purulence Addams, the lady I'm taking you to see, is a portrait artist who is unusual for working in oils instead of doing her art purely on a computer. Her work is striking for its ability to convey the essence of a person unlike anything I've ever seen before."
For the first time since the attack, Victoria felt hope and calm. She had met the doctor Addams, and the woman had sensed something about her. There couldn't be two Addams families with sensitivity to ghosts. That would be too coincidental for reality. She'd managed to get something through to the counselor, and between them, maybe she could communicate with the artist.
If she's already familiar with ghosts ... perhaps they will hold a seance for me, she thought, perhaps the tiniest bit excited at the possibility. Better if she could just talk to them, but that seemed unlikely.
At last they reached one of the larger plots in the Villas. This one was bordered with a wrought-iron fence, complete with Romeo-catchers topping the rods. The entire ambiance of the place reeked of abandonment and old cemeteries. Crows fluttered out of a dead-looking tree in the front yard as Paul opened the gate for Victoria--old habits died hard--and then walked up the front path and up the porch steps with her. He rapped the front-door knocker and waited.
The woman who opened the door had long, black hair and black skin--not chocolatey-brown, but full-on, pure black. it shone like satiny wood where light fell on it. In contrast, her tunic was a mish-mash of jungle animal prints in a riot of colors, including fuchsia, teal, bright yellow, and white.
The woman smiled. "Dr. Graves, come in! Or, as Chlamydia says, enter freely and of your own will."
"You know you can call me Paul," Paul said as he stepped over the threshold.
"Yes, but I love your last name. We all do, actually."
Paul chuckled. "It means 'gravel,' and it's a region in Burgundy, France."
"Don't be a killjoy," Purulence Addams retorted. "Come into the parlor, and have a seat."
Victoria followed the two into the designated parlor and looked around. She had never been in a room assigned that term before, and it seemed ... quaint. The room decor was different in some aspects, and like anyone else's in others. There was the usual furniture one would expect in such a place, but bookshelves held odd things, upholstery was macabre, and ... something lurked on the top of the fireplace mantle that might have been alive. She moved over for a closer look and saw a hand ... and it twitched.
They sat on a sofa where a tea tray had been set up on a low table. "I brewed up some Twining's Christmas," Purulence said. "Best tea ever."
Paul studied the tea service. The cups were white with raven feathers and the word, "Nevermore" on them; the teapot too was white and showed a raven against the backdrop of a yellow full moon. "What, no skulls?"
"Skulls are Chlamydia's thing; ravens are mine. I got this tea set because I'm a huge Baltimore Ravens fan, but they don't sell tea sets with their logo on them. Highball glasses galore; no tea sets." Purulence poured out three cups of tea--one for Paul, one for herself, and one that remained untouched.
Moving back toward the sofa, Vic puzzled over the thing on the mantle. Was it alive? Had it been a slight breeze that moved it? She wasn't sure and had no sense of it either way. Sitting next to the counselor, she examined the woman in front of her, hoping she would be able to help. There wasn't any back-up plan.
Purulence sipped from her steaming spiced tea, gave a happy sigh, and then leaned forward. "So tell me about your ghost."
"Her name is Victoria Briggs. She's right here," Paul said, indicating where Victoria was. "She's trying to draw--or have drawn for her--the person who attacked her husband."
Purulence gave Paul a puzzled look. "Are you sure this is a ghost?"
"Chlamydia said the same thing. I'll use ghost for lack of a more precise term," Paul said. "Victoria tried to show me what she saw, but it was like looking at someone as if I had facial agnosia. Everything was in flickering pieces--a nose here, a hand there. I couldn't put it together. Can you?"
"I ... don't know?" Purulence said, gazing at the empty spot that Paul had gestured to. She leaned her head to one side. "Victoria, are you astral projecting? As in, out of your body?"
The ghost laughed, amused at such a question. Of course she was out of her body. She was dead, wasn't she? She pushed amusement toward the woman, hoping she might feel something from her. It would be a start.
"She's amused at the idea of astral projection," Paul said.
"Not a believer, eh?" Purulence said in Victoria's direction. "But that's the only thing that makes sense to me, Victoria, if Paul here can sense your emotions and knows very accurately where you are, in the current moment. Dead people don't have emotions." Purulence looked at Paul. "If she's astral projecting, I should be able to get something from her if I go to sleep. I'm not all that great at psychic stuff when I'm awake," Purulence said. "My mind's usually going in a million places all at once, when I'm awake, but when I'm asleep, all I can do is concentrate on what my subconscious tells me. Being asleep helps me focus."
"Remind me to talk to you about cognitive behavior therapy and meditation," Paul said. He glanced at Victoria. "Are you amenable to communicating with Ms. Addams while she sleeps?"
Victoria was, because what choice did she have? She had to try anything that might work, but how would the woman fall asleep? Or would Vic have to wait until she fell asleep? She really needed to check on Dallas, though there was nothing she could do to help him heal. Pushing a yes toward the counselor, she still felt a little worried and dejected that this, too, wouldn't be an easy task.
"She isn't happy about it, but she seems to be thinking a yes," Paul said.
"Great. Let me get my sketchpad and an art pencil." Purulence hurried out of the room and returned a moment later with the needed items. "Paul, I need to stretch out on the couch. Can you move to one of the chairs?"
Paul snickered. "If I must." He added tea and a lump of sugar to his cup and then let Purulence have the sofa. She lay down on it full length, closed her eyes, and then, in seemingly mere seconds, began to gently snore.
"She really is asleep," Paul said, amazed. He gave Victoria a pensive look. "I'm not sure how to advise you do this, but ... I'd say just think about your husband's attacker, and let's see what Ms. Addams does."
How odd. She falls asleep on demand? Even when I was alive, I couldn't do that! Vic thought. Even so, she began once more to build a picture of the attacker in her mind. After having done it several times for the counselor, it was practiced and smooth. She imagined drawing it with chalk, blue chalk for some reason, and went over all the lines a second time, once it was complete. Holding the entire picture of the man's head in her mind, she waited to see what this Addams woman could do in her sleep ... if anything.
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