An Inevitable Past

Chapter 2: The Buyer

"Just like you said, Mr. Bass, I talked with the auctioneer and managed to find the buyer. They had already fully paid for the painting. If you really want to buy it, you will need to do a lot of convincing." Chuck listened intently at his P.I, a bit disappointed at the information.

His curiosity was killing him. His hands were itching to touch the beautiful colored canvas. He would need to spend probably millions to do that. Chuck took a deep breathe, his mind set on getting that painting to himself.

"Don't worry, Andrew. I'll do the convincing. In the meantime, did you find anything about it?" Andrew looked at him for a moment before taking some paperwork out of the briefcase.

"That item is pretty interesting, Mr. Bass. According to my research, it was first seen at an abandoned mansion by a Mr. Will Brown, where it was sold for a low price. Some had eyes on it for the style and beauty it held which is why a lot of buyers approached the first buyer. Since it attracted people, Monsieur Laurent, the first buyer, raised the price for the painting in which wealthy people were more than happy to give." Andrew showed him a picture of Laurent, where he held the painting proudly.

"Is that it?" Chuck asked, still looking at the photograph.

"No." Andrew shook his head. "You might find this weird and nonsensical but. . . Mr. Dubois, the one who was able to buy the painting from Laurent, died, 2 weeks after he had his hands on it, on November 10, 1820. His family sold it to a wealthy family, the Mullers. They also. . . passed away, on the same date. The chain continued and everyone who bought it died on exactly November 10. It's been happening every time it was given to a new household, you could hardly call it a coincidence."

Chuck furrowed his eyebrows. "That's. . . impossible." His heartbeat was fast as he took in the information. He didn't want to believe it, as it was again, impossible but deep down he knew there had to be some kind of explanation.

"They say it was cursed. That the painter didn't want people to treat it as some kind of item you could use to be rich. It's hard to believe but. . . I didn't find anything else but this." His P.I waved his hands at the papers that piled on the coffee table.

It had the prices- different, raising prices of the painting.

Chuck was dumbfounded for a moment. The painting had just become more than interesting and he was certainly not gonna fail in trying to buy it. Every bone in his body told him to. His subconscious didn't betray him either. No matter the cost he needed to have it to himself.

"Where can I find this buyer, Andrew?"

***

October 02, 1800

"Beautiful as always, Miss Blair." A vendor complimented her as she walked past the little stalls that lined up.

"And as always, you are too kind to me, Mr. Brown. I see you have added more to your products. May I try this headband?" She grinned.

"Of course, Miss. I specifically picked them out for you." The old man showed her the different kinds of headwear.

She ended up trying each one. Blair had a massive love for headbands and Mr. Brown was always her supplier.

"I expect to see you on the baseball game two days from now, Mr. Brown." The man had always adored the sport and she had come to love it because of him. They really were close. Like how a father-daughter would interact.

"I would not miss it."

Before she could say anything else, she was interrupted by the little crowd of villagers formed in a circle in front of her.

"I shall go and find out what the matter is. It was nice seeing you, Mr. Brown." She flashed him a smile before walking to the crowd.

"Excuse me. . . excuse me." She politely told people to step aside, only to see a little boy crying on the arms of a well dressed man.

"He stole! Why are you defending him?" An angry vendor shouted, holding a piece of bread in his hand.

"He was hungry, Sir. If you were in his place, feeling very ravenous to the point where you would only be bones and skin who'd pass out any second now, my gut says you would do the same." The man who held the poor boy said.

That shut the vendor up. In the end, he threw the broken bread on the boy and walked away, a little embarrassed.

The crowd eventually went back to their business. Blair stared for a while before heading back to look at more headbands. What he did was very kind. She saw him ruffle the boy's hair as he smiled and wiped his tears away.

The man noticed her staring, and hid a smirk. The brunette had a kind of beauty that captivated his eyes. But then again, every man longed for Blair Waldorf. She was the town's precious diamond.

"I'm afraid I'll melt because of your stare, Miss." He smirked. Again.

"I was not staring, I was observing!" She defended herself. He shook his head and grinned.

"Sure you were." Blair widened her eyes when she realized he was teasing.

She started to take steps forward, feeling a bit annoyed at this man in front of her who was all about the jokes.

"I haven't seen you here before. Surely, you are not from here." Blair changed the topic when she saw him follow her.

"You are correct. I'm from 7 villages from here. My family moved. But I, now live here." He smiled widely.

"Oh," was all she could say as she fanned herself. The sun was shining brightly today. "I assume you are an artist?" She asked him when she noticed the canvas he was holding.

"I am, although I would like to think that it is more of a hobby than a talent." He looked down at the blank canvas, still thinking on what he was gonna fill it with.

They hear a few horses behind them, making the two look back. Before Blair could introduce her name, the boy speaks up first.

"I have to go. I will see you again, Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is." He smirked. Again. He takes one last look at her and runs fast to a corner where he disappears. Blair blushes at their little interaction and smiled to herself, taking a deep breath as she continued walking home.

She was greeted by her loyal maid, Dorota.

"Have you heard about the news, Miss?" The beautiful brunette raised her eyebrows at her maid.

"What news? If it is about my mother, Dorota, then I do not wish to hear it. Her problems do not have to be mine." She sighed as she turned the pages to the novel she was currently reading.

"It is not. I mean, it kind of is. But you have to hear this." She insisted.

Blair didn't bother looking up at her. Her eyes were fixated on the romance book in her lap.

"Miss Eleanor has now picked your husband, Miss."

That made her look up.
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