Painted in Fate

Chapter 6: Threads of Fate

Babe sat in front of his easel, the brush hovering over the canvas, but his hand refused to move. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, all circling around the same image—the old estate that had appeared in his paintings. He hadn't been able to focus on anything else since leaving the café. It felt like his every waking moment was consumed by the need to figure out why this place seemed so familiar, even though he had never been there.

The estate wasn't just a random backdrop to the man from his dreams. It was significant. He felt it in his bones, the way an unshakable memory lingered at the edge of his consciousness. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became: the answers to his questions lay in that house.

But where was it? How could he find it?

He stared at the half-finished painting, his eyes scanning every detail, every brushstroke. The man in the portrait—Billy, as Babe had come to call him in his mind—stood with his back to a grand mansion, its tall windows and intricate architecture bathed in a soft, golden light. The painting wasn't finished, but even in its incomplete state, the building behind Billy felt alive, like it was calling to Babe, beckoning him to uncover its secrets.

He reached for his phone, searching the internet for anything that might give him a clue. He'd already spent hours combing through images of historical estates, but nothing had matched the place in his dreams. Frustration gnawed at him as he scrolled through photo after photo, but just as he was about to give up, something caught his eye.

It was a grainy, black-and-white photo in an article about historic homes. The house wasn't identical to the one in his painting, but it was close—close enough to make Babe's heart skip a beat. He clicked on the image, his breath catching in his throat as the details of the estate came into focus. The article was about an old, private mansion that belonged to a prominent family—one that had been closed to the public for years.

He scanned the article for the name of the family.

Patchanon.

The name hit Babe like a lightning bolt. He had no idea why, but it sent a chill down his spine. His fingers hovered over the screen as he stared at the name, trying to place it. Why did it feel familiar?

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump. He glanced down at the screen to see a message from Nana.

Nana: Did you just ghost me at the café? RUDE. 😒

Babe let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and typed back quickly.

Babe: Sorry, I just had to check something out. Let's talk later?

Nana: You BET we will. You owe me coffee AND an explanation. 😎

Babe smiled at Nana's message, but his mind was already drifting back to the article. He clicked on the link that led to a page about the Patchanon family, his curiosity piqued. The more he read, the more convinced he became that this was the place—the estate in his dreams, the one that had haunted him for months.

But now the question was: How could he get there?

Billy stood in his family's library, pacing back and forth as his grandfather's words echoed in his mind.

"If you don't find a way to break the cycle, you're going to end up just like him."

What the hell did that even mean?

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration coursing through him. His grandfather's cryptic warnings had done nothing but confuse him even more, leaving him with more questions than answers. What had his uncle done? What was the "debt" they owed? And why did it all seem to revolve around the boy in the painting?

Billy's eyes drifted to the rows of old books lining the shelves. He'd spent countless hours in this library growing up, but now it felt like a vault of secrets, each book hiding a piece of the puzzle that had been his family's burden for generations. He approached the shelves, his fingers brushing over the worn spines of the books, hoping something—anything—would stand out.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A leather-bound journal tucked away on a higher shelf, hidden behind a row of larger volumes. Billy reached up and carefully pulled it free, his heart racing as he opened it.

The handwriting inside was neat and precise—his grandfather's, judging by the familiar style. But what caught Billy's attention wasn't the handwriting. It was the title scrawled across the top of the first page.

The History of the Patchanon Debt

Billy's pulse quickened as he began to read.

Hours later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Babe sat in his studio, staring at the now-finished painting. He had spent the entire afternoon in a frenzy, finishing the portrait of the man—Billy—with an almost obsessive energy. But it wasn't just the man's face that had captured his attention this time. It was the house, the sprawling estate in the background, that had consumed him.

The more he painted, the more the details had come to life. He could see the tall, ornate windows, the ivy crawling up the stone walls, the ancient oak trees casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. It was beautiful, haunting, and undeniably familiar.

And now he knew where it was.

He had to go there. He had to see it for himself.

But the thought of actually finding this place, of standing in front of the house that had haunted his dreams, filled him with a strange mix of excitement and dread. What would he find there? Was it even real?

Or was he just losing his mind?

His phone buzzed again, and this time it was Nana calling. Babe hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, distracted.

"Don't 'hey' me," Nana's voice crackled through the speaker. "What the hell's going on with you? You've been acting weird for weeks now, and I swear if you tell me it's because of that dream guy again—"

Babe cut him off. "Nana, listen. I found something."

There was a pause on the other end. "Found what?"

"I think... I think I found the place from my dreams," Babe said quietly, glancing at the painting. "It's real. The house, the man—everything. I just... I don't know what it means."

Nana was silent for a moment, then he sighed. "Okay, so what's the plan?"

Babe frowned. "The plan?"

"Yeah, the plan," Nana said, his voice more serious than Babe had expected. "You're not just gonna sit there and obsess over it forever, right? If you think this place is real, if you think this guy is real, then you need to go there. See for yourself."

Babe bit his lip. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Babe, I've always thought you were a little crazy," Nana said with a snort. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't follow your gut. If this is really something important, then go. Find out what it all means."

Babe exhaled slowly, his heart pounding. Nana was right. He couldn't just sit here, painting the same man over and over, dreaming the same dream without knowing the truth.

"I'm going," Babe said finally, his voice filled with determination. "I have to."

"Good," Nana said, his tone softening. "And don't worry. I'll be here when you need backup."

Babe smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for his friend. "Thanks, Nana."

"Anytime, babe," Nana teased. "But you better bring me back something cool from wherever the hell you're going. Maybe a mysterious millionaire dreamboat of my own."

Babe chuckled, the tension in his chest easing just a little. "I'll see what I can do."