"Helen?" I asked, my eyes widening as I turned around.
Well, that was a girlish name, I must say. I watched as his eyes narrowed, appearing to not like the sound of it either. "Yeah, that's my name," he replied, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat, standing from the chair.
"Helen," I whispered, under my breath, smiling slightly as I said it. "I like it," I giggled, then quickly shut up. Why'd I say that for? Oh well, it didn't matter.
He looked over at me, his sapphire eyes seeming less hard than usual. I knew he noticed it as well. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was warming up to me. For whatever reason, that caused a certain sense of pride to swell within me. Why be happy you're accepted by a killer? That isn't necessarily something people strive to accomplish. Yet I felt as though I have nearly reached the top of Mount Everest. I walked over, sitting next to him once more. My eyes swept over the painting, my hand reaching out towards it. My fingers nearly grazed the surface as they trailed over it. Such amazing work...
"Why did you start killing people?" I asked, looking up at him. "Why didn't you just become an artist with regular paint? You would have had a wonderful career, I'm sure," I whispered, my eyes dropping to the ground.
"I wouldn't have nearly the same amount of satisfaction. I don't do this for others enjoyment. I could care less if others were to ever see my work. It's all for my happiness alone. Although, I must say..." he mumbled. "Having you compliment work does feel nice, Jovey," he added, shrugging slightly.
I smiled, slightly, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. I pursed my lips, meeting his eyes once more.
"Could I ask you some questions?" My brown eyes were wide and persistent as I stared up at him, his expression unreadable as always.
"What's stopped you from asking them before?" he chuckled, shaking his head.
A light blush heated my cheeks as I bit my lip, dropping my eyes once more. "Well, those were mainly about what you-we do. This is more... just about you," I replied, trying to think of how to word this exactly. Either way, it sounded strange in my opinion.
He was silent for a moment, as I waited, not wanting to look up once more. "Okay," he finally replied, sounding hesitant but willing.
"Alright. Well, for starters, how old are you?" I asked.
"Nineteen," he replied, almost instantly. "I started painting with blood when I was fourteen. So, it's been around five years," he added, providing more information than I had originally expected.
I nodded to myself, picking up a paint brush and fumbling with it between my fingers. "And what exactly gave you that idea?" I asked, peeking up at him once more.
There was a proceeded silence, then a loaded sigh. "You could say... I cracked, I suppose? On some level, that would be correct," he murmured. "I was just like you, Jovey. Nearly identical. With that said, I assume you understand what I'm getting at," he stated, cracking his knuckles.
I stared up at him in shock, nearly dropping the paint brush. "You... people were? Oh my god," I breathed, fumbling over my words.
"Why do you sound so shocked?" he chuckled.
"Because you're so... you," I replied, exasperated. "You're interesting. Badass, creative. Smart, passionate and a gentleman, in my opinion. Although, I highly doubt others would see that while you're killing them," I chuckled. "I just don't see how that makes any sense," I mumbled, shaking my head.
"I could say the same," Helen scoffed, leaning back on his half of the chair. "You have gone through the same thing I had, years ago. Only not enough to make you lose yourself. Plus, I wish there had been someone there to guide me," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What... happened?" I whispered, wondering if I was pushing too far. I didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, or to get angry at me for asking so many questions.
He looked at me, a new, slightly vulnerable glaze over his eyes. I could tell without asking, I was the first to ask, or care what had happened to him. But, honestly, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to share.
"It wasn't always like that, when I was younger," he began, his voice low and even. "I was relatively quiet. Not very open with those around me. More of a loner so to speak, but I was never bothered. But one day... this girl. Judy, I believe her name was, although it was so long ago it's hard to be sure. Her watch was somehow placed in my bag. Ban... he found it. No matter how much I convinced them, they wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't take it. Although, looking back, it's hard to see a reason why they should have believed me," he chuckled. "I was simply a nonsocial child with an expensive watch in my bag that I had no earthly idea how got there. Why believe me? Afterward, I was the subject of ridicule. The jester, the clown that everyone got their kicks by terrorizing each day.
"When they touched my drawings, though... I couldn't take much anymore. Watching Ban grab my notebook, tearing the pages out one by one," he growled, his eyes narrowed, full of hatred. "That was the first day I fought back. But back then... a young boy... I was as threatening as a chihuahua," he chuckled. "Not to mention how everyone joined in. Not much of a fair fight. Afterward, I just decided to accept my fate, for there didn't appear to be anything that could change it. Until one night, I got a message from a boy named Tom. He seemed to feel my pain, going through nearly the same torment beforehand. So, I finally thought I had someone; that I was no longer alone. Not too soon after, he wanted to meet on the roof of the school building. Shortly after I met him up there, he confessed that he had placed Judy's watch into my bag, so I would be the target of the trash of the school," he growled, shaking his head in anger. "But then... Tom had slipped on the edge, and fell from the roof. I tried... I tried to help him back up. But I wasn't strong enough to..." his voice trailed off, dead silence following after.
"People blamed me, of course. That just made the ridicule all the more amusing for them, and painful for me. And then, like I told you, I snapped. I broke. I shattered. And I was done with every last one of them. Much sloppier than I do today, I slaughtered each one, one at a time. By a months time, I had gotten rid of every last one of my enemies. I had discovered how to avoid the police, how to hide in the shadows. How to kill. But the thing is, none knew who it was. They thought that Helen Otis had run away in shame over what he had done. This 'Bloody Painter' was just a serial killer on the run, gutting each person throughout the town that he found fit. Never was he found for five years. And as the time passes, the more know of me. Not to mention how many more will die in my hands," he finished, his voice trailing off, seeming to melt away in the air.
I stared at him, my heart thumping painfully hard in my chest. I ached to reach out, and comfort this broken man in front of me. But... I wasn't too sure how well he would react to that. So I stayed still, his words still ringing in my head. It felt like they were swirling around my brain like a tornado as I tried to take it all in.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my eyes glued to the floor, refusing to move. "They got what they deserved," I nodded, mainly speaking to myself. "But still. You shouldn't have had to go through all of that. Especially at a young age... you know I understand," I whispered, pursing my lips.
"Of course I do. Why else would I be here, reciting my story to you? I saw you. I saw you through that window, and I just knew I couldn't kill you. There was something different. Then, the next day, watching you at school... it brought back so many memories. So many feelings that had been covered up and forgotten for years. So why should I make you a victim, when you were just like me? Such potential. Only now, I believe it's not just for the potential in you. In a way... I believe we are helping each other, don't you agree?" he asked, folding his fingers over his lap.
I nodded in agreement, laying down the paint brush. "Yes, I agree. I'm glad you found me, Helen," I whispered, looking up at him once more.
I offered a small smile, and I knew, even though I couldn't see it... he smiled back.
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