Theme: Ends
One Last Breath
When Reeve first saw Vincent, he knew this man would lead him down paths that would one day destroy them both, but Reeve hadn't expect it so soon. He was like an angel, dark and vengeful and still breath taking at the same point. His skin was paler than most, perfect for the phase of painting I was experiencing. So light his skin, so dark his hair of spun obsidian, so deep the look in his crimson eyes that he was almost one born of shadows. Even now, laying with the gun man so close, his death almost come, Reeve thought of the detective's regal beauty and of the day they met.
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If the look of the day was any indicator, he could have assumed that this was a look of a good day. The sun shone down upon the world, bathing this living room turned studio golden from the light hitting the curtains. A gentle breeze played in said yellow fabric and brought the sound of song birds to him. It was all quite lovely and uplifting like the imagery of one of those romance novels the morning after the graphic part. Except, as an artist, he knew far better than to take things at face value. It was on a day like this that he'd come home from classes for spring break only to find his family dead. So it was the beautiful days he feared most. And he feared them no less today.
Once he had a warm mug of coffee in hand the young painter picked up the TV remote and with it summoned up the morning news. Well, it was afternoon news really, seeing as it was 12:03 pm. With it on he set about making breakfast.
"In other news, the opening of the new Talbert Art Gallery last night ended in tragedy. 54 year old Reynold Talbert was found dead last night an hour after the end of the premier party. The police are asking anyone who might have information call the toll-free hotline set up at…"
The youth turned off the TV, not desiring to hear more about the death of his friend. The news was as troublesome in the daylight as it had been the night before when his friend had called upon receiving the news. Carefully he placed his scrabbled eggs upon a plate and moved to the living room. Upon the low table before his old beat up couch was a sketch pad and a pencil rested upon the closed cover. He set the plate of eggs down beside the pad and took it up, flipping it to the page he desired. From it looked up the image of a man he knew not the name of, but one he'd seen arguing with Talbert the night before. He'd been an odd man, obviously not one that normally rubbed arrows with those seen at art shows, but he'd been there none the less, in Talbert's office no less.
Yes, Reeve knew he did not like the gallery owner very much, but he at least owed it to the man to tell the cops what he knew correct? Once he finished this he would head down to the police station to tell them what he knew as well as hand over the image of the only one he could think would have a reason to harm the old art lover…
There came a knock at his door, loud and demanding.
"Mister Tuesti, hello? This is Detective Valentine with the CPD, open up."
With a sigh the man rose and moved to the door, "Coming. No need to abuse my door."
Reeve was quite aware that if the cops were coming to him first that he was likely to be have been named by his dear friend Tseng, who had also attended the party that occurred the night before. He was also aware that he might have come up as a possible hostile subject for some harsh words he'd had with Talbert the night before about one of his paintings. Despite this all he still opened the door without hesitation and turned away, not even looking at the Detective.
"Come in won't you?" he said, moving back towards his couch. With slight amusement he noted that there was no sound of footfall behind him. The other man, this Valentine, was hesitating at his casualness. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"No thank you, that will not be needed Mister Tuesti," a voice said, very close behind him.
Reeve could not help but jump at the sound. The fact that anyone could sneak up behind him like that in his own house was quite disturbing. So he whirled upon his uninvited guest to reprimand him, only to freeze at the sight. First he noticed the eyes, deep, beautiful red eyes with pain and wisdom beyond their surely only thirty years of life. Then it was the skin, how it was so pale and devoid of any wrinkles or other blemishes and how it stretched so perfectly over regal features and was framed by long strains of hair blacker than any paint Reeve had ever come across, even the hand made ones. After that even the perfectly pressed navy blue suit didn't seem to matter, though it clung to the shapely and evidently strong body in all the right ways. Reeve could feel the blush slowly rising to his cheeks. How could he be checking out the man like this?
"I'm here to ask you some questions about Reynold Talbert," the man said, and Reeve noted how his voice sounded like one of those you'd expect out of a vampire in those old horror movies where the villains were always handsome and charming and more than ready to lead the unsuspecting heroine or hero down the wrong path. He was almost ready for fangs and the cliché 'I want to suck your blood'.
"Tragedy," Reeve said, finally getting a grip on himself and moving to seat himself upon the couch. With a slight gesture he indicated that the Detective should sit on a nearby chair. The polite decline was almost expected, and all the more appreciated when it came. "He wasn't the nicest guy, I'll admit I even had a few disagreements with him, but that is no reason that he should be dead when I sit here alive."
"One of the other guests at the party suggested that you might know something about the incident last night."
"Then why exactly did you not come earlier Detective Valentine?" Reeve questioned, trying to remain calm in the presence of the most perfect potential model he had ever been graced with the company of, even under such circumstances.
"Well, quite honestly, we couldn't figure out who you were. You were referred to us only as 'Camera'. It took us a few hours to find someone willing to inform us as to your real name."
He couldn't help but laugh at the slightly confused look upon the face of detective. "That is my not-so-affectionate nickname among some the more popular artists. They say it because I'm very inclined to my work. I have a photographic memory when it comes to faces."
"Very useful in one who does portraits I assume," the dark-haired detective said.
"Quite," Reeve agreed as he reached out for his sketch-pad and pencil yet again. "So, you had some questions?"
He could sense the male giving him an odd look before asking, "You had an argument with Mister Talbert a week before the party, correct? Would you mind telling me about it?"
"Not at all Detective," Reeve said, still filling in details of the image before him. "Talbert gave his word that three of my paintings would be displayed prominently at the event, and then reneged to give the places to one of my main rivals, a woman named Scarlet O'Hara. I assume it was her that told you this. Then he went and canceled the private event showing off my work to replace it with that of Miss O'Hara. To put it kindly, she's a third-rate artist with first-rate skills in bed I hear, and I believe it was this that got her in over my work. But it doesn't matter. I sell better than she does anyway."
"You didn't have a run in with him last night then?" Valentine asked, writing everything down in a notebook.
"I did not, but he did have a disagreement last night."
"Who with?" the man questioned, perking up significantly.
With a bit of a flourish I put down the pencil and the pad towards the Detective. "This man. Approximately twenty minutes before I left, which would have been around 8:30. I didn't desire to become involved, but I did think it would be fitting if someone was finally giving the man what he deserved for cheating his artists and his wife. It did not occur to me until last night that the man might have been after more."
Those crimson eyes widened suddenly. A smile touched Reeve's lips. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd just given Vincent a good image of who other guests at the party had obviously noticed was out of place.
"Would you mind if I took a copy of this down to the station?"
"You are welcome to it. I worked most of last night and a good deal of this morning to do it. I was going to come down to the station once I was done with it and my breakfast anyway to give it to you."
"Well then, that is good, because we'll need you down there to file an official report."
"Mind if I get my shoes and coat first?" the painter asked as he rose, breakfast forgotten.
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The pain in his hands was far too much, worse than death almost. Yet a smirk touched the lips of the doomed artist, amused by the poetic justice of the thing, and the fact that a murderer like this Reno character could see things like irony. Even were Reeve to live now, his whole life would be destroyed because his hands were so damaged. But maybe that was the point.
"That will teach you to draw me. And now to show you not to mess with me kiddo…" Reno's voice came from outside of Reeve's vision.
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"A suspect has been arrested in connection with last month's murder of Reynold Talbert. Police will not release details about the suspect, but do say that the investigation will soon be coming to an end…"
Reeve lifted his remote and hit mute as he heard a familiar, urgent knock at his door. Last time he'd opened his door to that sound a beautiful, dark Detective named Vincent Valentine had walked into his life, and hadn't walked out of Reeve's mind since. So while opening the door was the obvious thing to do, it didn't seem so wise at the moment. Still Reeve rose and moved to the door. It was another sunny, perfect day, so something was bound to go wrong.
Except he couldn't figure out what it was as he opened his door to be greeted by the site of the very man who had driven him to many a work of art lately, because the sight was so pleasing that he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. The man was clad in tight black jeans and an equally black shirt, with a dark, deep crimson coat covering it all and a headband of matching color sweeping long bangs back from red eyes.
"Well well, I'm not under arrest am I?" Reeve asked with a smile as his way of greeting the gorgeous detective.
"Not unless you've done something I should know about Mister Tuesti…" Vincent countered with a slight smirk.
"If I have then I need to know about it too."
"I'll tell you once I figure it out then," the older one said with a near smile.
Before Reeve could react another voice joined into the conversation. "Aren't you going to introduce me Vincent?"
The young artist could not help but be taken aback as the smile of the detective changed into a full-blown grin as he stood aside to reveal a shorter woman with long brown hair and the sweetest face he'd ever seen. Too bad Reeve had no attraction whatsoever towards women, because this one was surely one of the finest his eyes had ever laid upon.
"Lucrecia Crescent, this is Reeve Tuesti, the artist that helped us with the Talbert case. Reeve, this is Lucrecia, a criminal profiler."
Reeve could tell from Vincent's tone that she was more than that, and he smiled despite that bit of information. "Well, what a pleasure it is ma'am. How can I help you two today?"
"I was wondering if I could commission a painting of Lucrecia from you Reeve," Vincent said with a smile.
"Of course, anything for you Detective."
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He could see the light press of Reno's finger upon the trigger. He could hear the sound of his gun going off and Reno's maniacal laughter following it…
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"…Found dead in her apartment this morning. Police are doing all they can to catch the murderer, holding this case as personally as they would were this the death of one of their own…" the background noise of the TV announced as Reeve awoke one morning.
"Detective Evans had this to say about the case," the anchorwoman said, and the artist was instantly sitting up I his bed, straining his ears for the sounds of the living room.
"This is a great tragedy. It doesn't matter if she had a badge or not, Miss Crescent was one of us anyway. She was even due to be married to Detective Valentine next year. We'll get the person that did this, for her memory, and for his sake as well."
All the warmth Reeve had felt upon waking drained so quickly from his body. His fingers claws at the sheets. He was angry, confused, and hurt. This explained it all, and he wasn't sure that it was a good thing. Sure enough a glance out the window revealed it to be another perfect day.
The man rose from his bed and wrapped a robe around his boxer-clad body. Slowly, nervously, he made his way to the living room, where he'd left Vincent at 2 am the previous night, or this morning really. The Detective was still there, staring at the screen, no expression at all upon his elegant features. A mask of stone had overcome the man that Reeve had delighted in seeing so often. Now it seemed a little less weird that Vincent had come by in the middle of the night, looking drunk as all hell and asking for a place to stay for the night so that he wouldn't have to drive home. Reeve wondered what would have happened to him if he and Vincent had not become such fast friends over the past few years. Would Vincent have risked driving home? Would he too be dead right now?
"Vince?" Reeve hazarded, afraid of the reaction that he would get.
"She was a good person Reeve, you know that right?" the man asked, his voice as cold and dead as his crimson eyes.
"The best kind of person there is Vincent," he agreed, moving to sit beside the man and placing an arm around Vincent's shoulders.
"I loved her Reeve, and she went and left me like this. If I'd been there with her maybe…"
"You can't blame yourself like this Vincent, what could you have done?"
"I could have saved her Reeve! I could have done something! I could have died instead!"
The artist shook his head. He'd grown to know Lucrecia as well because of his job of sketch artist at the station to handle all those images from eye-witness testimony. Turned out that beside a photographic memory, he was also good at taking lots of conflicting testimony, taking out the BS and then sketching the suspects. Well, back to the point, he knew the woman well enough to know that what he said next was the absolute truth.
"And what would she have done then? Lord knows you are the stronger person Vince. Her heart would be broken without you around. But she sure as hell wouldn't want you sitting around here wasting away. She'd want you to bust the bitch that did this and then move on."
"How could I forget her!" he demanded.
"I didn't say that. I just said move on, live your life for her. She'd want that Vincent."
The Detective let out a sigh and leaned his head against Reeve's shoulder. And then the man did something Reeve never thought he'd see Vincent do… Cry.
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His last thoughts before the bullet stole his life away were ponderous. He wondered if this would be mentioned on the news, said to be some tragedy. He wondered if they would give him the same justice as Lucrecia had all those years ago, treating his murder like the murder of a cop. Most of all he thought about Vincent. The man would kill him for dying first, but that was something he'd have to accept. Reeve prayed his friend wouldn't go and do something stupid like he had after Lucrecia's death. Hopefully Vincent wouldn't go out and get drunk and get laid like he had with Reeve. Even with a pleasant memory like that one night of drunken touches Reeve knew it wasn't likely. Vincent would do something else, he'd matured a lot. Vince wouldn't like it though that he'd have to write the fucking eulogy and epitaph left to him as the best friend of an orphan. Yet more important than all of that, the thing that took him as the absolutely last thought in life, was that he prayed that Vincent wouldn't cry, because those tears had been the worst thing he'd ever seen in his life, and he didn't want to be the one to force them from Vincent this time.