Painted in Fate

Chapter 2: The Painting That Haunts

Billy Patchanon leaned back in his office chair, the sound of papers shuffling around him barely registering in his mind. His eyes were glued to his computer screen, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Lately, things hadn't felt right. It was like living with a faint echo—moments that played out exactly as they had before, leaving him unsettled.

Conversations with his business associates felt rehearsed, as if he had already spoken the words he was about to say. The streets of the city seemed too familiar, as if he had walked them a thousand times in another life. But most disturbing of all was the old painting in the east wing of his family's ancestral estate. It tugged at his mind, nagging at him like an unsolved puzzle.

Billy's family home was vast, filled with old rooms and even older secrets. As a child, the east wing had been the most mysterious part of the house, always locked and off-limits. But that had never stopped Billy. When he was ten, curiosity got the better of him, and he found a hidden key in the attic. That's when he first saw it—the painting.

The boy in the painting couldn't have been much older than Billy had been at the time. His face was beautiful but haunted, with eyes that seemed to look right through him. Even back then, Billy had felt it—a strange, unshakable connection to the boy in the painting. The sense of déjà vu had hit him hard, leaving him disoriented.

He'd gone to his grandfather for answers, but the old man had been cryptic, as he often was when it came to family history. "We owe him more than you'll ever know," his grandfather had said, his voice heavy with meaning. But he wouldn't explain further. Billy had stopped asking after that, but the boy's face never left his mind.

Now, years later, the same feeling was creeping back into his life. The déjà vu had intensified, seeping into his daily routine. He would have entire conversations that felt like they had happened before, even though they hadn't. The dreams had also started again—brief flashes of moments that didn't make sense but left him feeling restless.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned forward, trying to shake off the eerie feeling. His phone buzzed on the desk. It was a message from Pete, his business partner and long-time friend.

Pete: Lunch today? Don't flake on me again.

Billy stared at the message, forcing himself to focus. Lunch. Right. He needed to clear his head, get out of this house and away from the ghostly feeling that clung to him like a second skin. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, pausing only for a moment as his eyes flickered toward the window that overlooked the east wing of the estate.

The pull toward the painting had grown stronger recently, like something was calling him back to that room. He hadn't stepped foot in there in years, yet it had been on his mind almost every day. The sense of familiarity was so strong, it was starting to feel less like a memory and more like a warning.

It didn't help that his grandfather had started acting strange again. The older man had been mentioning debts and family history more often, his words laced with a kind of regret that Billy couldn't understand. It was always vague, as if the old man was hiding something important—but what?

There were no clear answers. Not yet.

Billy's hand tightened around the doorknob, hesitating for just a moment. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He couldn't afford to get distracted, not when his family's business relied on him now. But as he left his office, the unsettling feeling lingered, gnawing at him from the back of his mind.

As Billy walked out of the estate and into the sunlight, he couldn't shake the strange pull from the painting. His mind wandered back to that hidden room, to the boy in the painting, and to the gnawing suspicion that whatever was happening to him was far from over.

There was something in his family's history—something hidden beneath layers of time—that he was getting closer to, even if he didn't know it yet.