Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

he’d found the second lock. She had a floor lock. Ordinarily, it would be impossible to get around the lock without cutting the glass or going in through a window. He glanced at the bank of windows used strictly for ventilation. No one could slip inside those narrow openings. There were dozens of windows, long and narrow, opening to allow air through, but impossible for a child, let alone a grown man, to slip through. She’d planned this studio meticulously, making certain no one could get inside without her knowledge or consent.
    He crouched low and laid his palm over that slight resistance. Patience mattered. Concentration and focus were essential. He felt familiar warmth travel down his arm and once again he flexed his fingers. His hand warmed, went perfectly still, hovering over the spot a moment before slowly descending to rest over the lower frame. Still the lock remained stubborn. Judith’s will was strong, at work here. Stefan pushed the thought away and focused wholly on the mechanics of the lock. It was a simple enough lock, but very effective. A small slider turned the metal clasp, preventing the door from movement. Once he “felt” the mechanism, he could maneuver it open.
    Once again, before he slid the French door open, he checked for an alarm system that would alert Judith that someone had invaded her secured studio. Using extreme caution, he turned the handle and opened the door. The heavy drapes, as black as midnight, blocked his view, but he could feel the blast of rage, an explosive energy that leapt toward him. Again, every cell in his body rebelled. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, his pen light in his teeth, the only relief in the darkness of the room.
    Stefan drew the drapes aside enough to allow him entrance. He found breathing difficult, the air so thick with rage it was impossible to draw a full breath. He moved the light around the room for a quick inspection to assure himself that he was alone, although his radar had already told him of that. Nevertheless, he always double–and triple-checked when it came to preparation and safety. Attention to detail, no matter how small, was the one thing that kept him alive over the years.
    Every other room in Judith’s house was painted white or cream, a foil for the joyful colors she splashed through her home and into the walls. Here, there was only unrelenting darkness. True, there was a mural running from floor to ceiling, great, thick tree trunks, broken and shattered limbs that twisted grotesquely, creating the illusion of a dark, forbidding forest.
    This was what she no longer allowed into her paintings. She kept her emotions compartmentalized. This was a room housing all destructive emotions. She didn’t realize one couldn’t possibly live the way she was trying. Darker emotions often got one through the most difficult circumstances. There was a balance to life and Judith had tried to get away from that balance fearing the darker side of her mind.
    Even here, in this studio of rage, he could see the artist in her. Above his head the ceiling was painted in deep purples and swirling darker, nearly bloodred black slashes. The effect was astonishing. The ceiling looked as if it was weeping dark tears. Looking at it, he felt sorrow creeping into his heart, an insidious tendril of emotion winding its way into his mind. He pulled his gaze away from the fascinating montage of color and inspected the walls.
    The colors were more mottled on the walls, great ropes, twisted into vines of hatred and anger. Sorrow dripped through the black forest of rage. The blood drops were more vivid, the knife slashing through the paint in quick bursts of anger, while that deep purple wept over all of it. Candles were on the tables and shelves, many burned down to nothing, the wax pooled around the bottoms of the candles, becoming part of the macabre atmosphere. A creepy oily smell permeated the room adding to the morbid, almost gruesome feeling emanating from the walls.
    He was surrounded by her once again, her darkest moments, her most intimate, chilling thoughts. As joyful and bright as her kaleidoscope studio was, as beautiful and soothing as her painting studio, this was the complete and utter opposite, although, he found there was still a kind of beauty in the unrelenting darkness, mostly because no matter what her emotion, the artist that was Judith always came through.
    “Oh, moi padshii angel , you’re so lost,” he murmured