No1 - The Psycho Surrealist

Chapter 11 - Fuga

"Do you have dreams about that forest?" asked Katrina.

"Huh?" Doq asked, off-put by the question.

"That painting...in the other room. That dystopian composition in your dining room, one of the forests with the tall, strange black pillar in the background...have you dreamt of it?"

A hot Santa Ana wind through the open window, its arid texture cutting into Doq's soft palate. Coupled with the aroma of the Japanese steakhouse below, Doq started to hack. He returned to his makeshift kitchen, poured himself a coffee, and swallowed, relieving his parched throat.

Katrina followed close behind but stopped at the makeshift gallery Doq had set up across from his "kitchen". She approached an oil painting of a red forest. Her interest had been keenly on the composition for a good minute, catching Doq off guard. But Katrina said nothing about it as she felt the thick brush strokes.

Doq shivered. "I...wouldn't know."

"I've...seen this place before," admitted his daughter.

"What are you talking about?"

"The painting reminds me of a forest that my college friends and I used to go to for spring break. We'd camp up in a forest just past Boston. Magical place. I always loved to go there."

A familiar and powerful scent perfumed the heavy air of his office. A rich scent, one of much nostalgia as prestige. The rich, earthy tones of sandalwood mixed with the floral aroma of jasmine.

It's the scent of her perfume, Chanel number 5.

It was rare, even impossible, in such a gross environment as his filthy, hoarded apartment. This threw Doq off balance for a moment, lightheaded.

Katrina walked through his apartment, shaking her head. Half-used Chinese takeout boxes, pizza boxes, magazines and newspapers, beer bottles, and folders sat everywhere, haphazardly. His easel, filled with gobs of dried paint, held the half-finished forest landscape. "You don't believe you caught the killer, do you?" she asked, her eyes distant. Her hands touched the impasto surface, but she immediately jerked it back as if she had touched something hot.

Doq, unflinching, took a sip of his hot coffee but didn't react to his daughter's action. "What killer?"

"Joseph doesn't believe the killer was caught either." Katrina turned to him, her eyes still distant, looking beyond him. "I really shouldn't talk about him."

"You know, to be quite honest, it doesn't surprise me you have come back to Hollywood to become an actor. You were always a gifted child."

"You're not being serious with me, are you?"

"What exactly is this school you are attending now?" Doq walked out of his office, holding his coffee. "This Arkham Angells?"

Katrina's focus remained distant. "It's Yurian's personal studio. He developed it mainly to inspire new actors, fresh faces, mostly those disadvantaged. Yurian wanted to provide a chance to those who can't afford normal acting classes."

"What exactly does he teach?"

"Dramatic and method acting. The normal stuff, really."

"Would you say there are any strange techniques? Does this avant-garde teacher teach strangely?"

"What do you mean?"

"According to a friend, Yurian's the master of weird fiction. Does he do anything...controversial to teach his students?"

"I don't know what you mean," Katrina said.

"That boy you're with is someone from Yurian's troupe?" Doq asked.