I'm an artist. It's in my blood. So far I've only drawn people I know or have seen on at least a weekly basis. So, why was I suddenly drawing people I'd never seen before? My best friends said it was fate trying to tell me to track down these people, that they were part of some plan I was supposed to be a part of.
I thought maybe it was my overactive imagination. Except I couldn't draw anything or anyone else. It was like my hands wouldn't let me. I tried over and over again to draw someone else, anybody else, but it just wasn't happening. I was becoming frustrated for the eighth day in a row when the doorbell went off. I took my sketchbook with me when I went to answer the door.
"Hello. Are you Miss Evans?" a man closely resembling one of my drawings asked. He had long dark brown hair, hazel green color eyes, and he was really tall. A shorter man resembling another one of my drawings stood next to him. He had really green eyes and short light brown hair.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Agents Smith and Wesson. We'd like to ask you a couple questions."
"Uh, sure. Come on in." I stepped aside to let them in. "If this is about my mother, I already talked to the police. I don't have anything else to say."
"Well, there were just some parts of your story that didn't quite make sense," Agent Smith said, sitting on my couch with Agent Wesson. I sat in the chair across from them, and continued my drawing. With the real people in front of me, it was a lot easier to speed up my drawing.
"When was the last time you visited your mother?"
"Last Thursday."
"Okay. Did she seem off at all?" I thought back to my visit.
"Well, she did say she'd been seeing my dad a couple times. That's probably because we just cleaned out an old storage locker of his, though."
"And that just started after you cleaned out his storage locker?"
"She claimed she saw him while we were cleaning it out, but she was delusional."
"So you didn't see him at all?" Agent Wesson asked.
"Of course not. He's been dead for a little over a year now. Um, how does this help you?"
"We just need all the facts."
"Was your mother depressed?" Agent Smith said before Agent Wesson could ask me something.
"Well, she had to be to take her own life, but I never saw any signs. She wasn't on antidepressants, seeing a therapist, or anything."
"Okay. Did you notice anything odd in the house when you visited her?"
"Like what?"
"Cold spots, maybe a smell?"
"Old lady perfume." I went back to my visit. "Rotten eggs, maybe." They exchanged a look.
"I think that's all we need. Thank you for your time." I nodded.
"We're sorry for your loss," Agent Smith added, getting up.
"Can you just… stay there for a minute?" I asked. He looked at me like I was crazy.
"Uh, sure."
"Thanks." I rushed through the drawing as much as I could, glancing up at Agent Smith a couple times. "How long are you gonna be in town?"
"Maybe a couple days. Why?"
"It's nothing." I finished the scruff, and smiled up at him. "Thank you." He nodded, and they left.