-CHAPTER 2-QUESTION YOUR REALITY-
Eventually, Johnny comes to the conclusion that the obvious place to find a spirit is a cemetery but… there were so many in this town. All morning, he wanders around the various graveyards. Around noon, he is drawn to a small necropolis situated in the shadow of a looming mausoleum, the likes of which are never seen in this town. Lured by the tomb, Johnny stalks through the headstones, keeping his eyes on the crypt. The mausoleum looks ancient. Mosses and ivies overrun the cracked stone, the name "Freja" is engraved in the door, a new-looking gold padlock seals it shut. Inscribed underneath it are the words: "Question your Reality, Trust only in your Dreams". Johnny takes the key from his pocket and compares the inscription. R?: Question Reality, opens the padlock and pushes the heavy door open.
Trying hard not to breathe the stagnant air, Johnny steps inside. The large cold room is empty, with the exception of a marble sarcophagus positioned in the center. He cautiously takes several steps and runs his hand over it's undecorated lid, circling it, not really knowing what he's looking for. Could this be her? He wonders, or is this all some fucked-up trick of the gods? With a hopeful breath, Johnny braces himself with his feet, closes his eyes and pushes the lid with the heels of his palms. As the dust and spores clear, he peers in to find that no body accommodates the coffin. Instead it is filled with letters, jewelry and other trinkets. His eyes are quickly drawn to a painting that lies on the headrest; the style is very familiar to him. The brushstrokes are similar to Van Gogh's: short dashes of a madman clinging to the final threads of his sanity. The portrait is of a teenage girl, her arms covering a void that had been torn in her top, all of her visible skin is covered with bruises and cartousions, long dark-blond hair frames her once beautiful face. In spite of all of this, Nny is drawn to the eyes of the masterpiece: bright blue and pleading for the beholder to console her. The artist had abandoned his technique and painted with the accuracy of da Vinci, capturing her sorrow with such love and care that mirrored the artist's own view of this pitiful girl.
Curious as to who would paint such a haunting image, Johnny pulls his eyes from the girl's and looks to the lower right-hand corner. He blinks unbelievingly: the artist's initials are JC. "Is this mine?" Johnny utters in disbelief. He looks to the date: seven years ago…
She sleeps so peacefully… why am I the one that's plagued with insomnia? It was her that was violated. Why can't I get that image from my mind? The fifteen-year-old boy releases the sleeping girl, stands up from the couch and walks quietly to the door. He stops and turns back to check on her: her chest rises and dips in her deep sleep underneath the borrowed shirt. Leaving the door open so that he will hear if she calls out to him, the young Johnny walks to his bedroom, lifts a canvas onto his easel, picks up a brush and paints like one possessed…
"It was you…" Johnny tells the portrait as he snaps out of the memory. "You came to me last night… Freja…" he adds in a whisper. Without warning, the mausoleum grows colder. Startled, Johnny turns to see her standing in the doorway.
"Indeed it was," the apparition states softly as she glides towards him. "Do you remember any more of that night?" he shakes his head and she continues: "Not to worry, it will come to you eventually. It was the same with me: my memories began coming in snippets when I found that locket," she points to a little piece of gold lying in the sarcophagus. Johnny picks up and opens the locket. Pictures of himself and Freja adorn the minute frames. "It was your face that lit my way," Freja continues before changing the subject. "Do you believe in the Great Balance, Nny? Actually, that question is insignificant – belief plays no part in it's existence. It is a theory – no, the reality – that nothing can exist without it's polar-opposite. What is light if there is no shadow to obscure it? What is pleasure if there is no pain to obliterate it? What is love if there is no hatred to eradicate it?" She moves closer to him as though to emphasize her point. "What is life… if there is no death to receive it?
"While I lived, my duty was to preserve life. Yours, was to destroy it. Do you remember the first night that you ever killed a man? I was there the night you killed your father, the night you painted that, the night everything changed. For you, for me, for this… hell hole we have called our lives thus far… and here we are." She adds in a whisper, placing a cold hand on Johnny's cheek, "Life is dead while Death lives. Life knows all that Death longs to. But as I said last night: I cannot tell you too much – how would you believe me if I did? I cannot excavate your mind for you – I can only give you clues as to the whereabouts of your artifacts. I cannot tell you where to dig."
Slowly, the walls of the mausoleum begin to fade, taking the sarcophagus with it but leaving the portrait in Johnny's hands. Eventually he finds himself in the open cemetery and the phantom drops her hand to her side.
"What is this? An illusion?"
Freja shakes her head, "A metaphor. Everything that was within my 'tomb' must be obtained through your memories. The painting is the first of many. Here is the allusion of the next. I shall leave you to your thoughts." The apparition evaporates, leaving the barbed leaf of a succulent plant on the ground. Johnny picks up the Aloe, confused for a moment, before looking at the canvas. Could she've been any more cryptic?