Wrapped in Color and Light

Chapter 4

David Cooper closed the image of The Raven's Ring on his computer, wishing he never had to see it again. Despite protesting its inclusion in the show, the painting had arrived earlier in the month, and Craig was ecstatic. But seeing this piece and thinking about its artist gave David the feeling of bony hands creeping up his back. Thanks to Craig, a ghost David had wished never to see came to haunt him. 

He sighed and reached into his drawer to pull out a legal-size envelope. He'd done this so often that parts of the paper were soft from the oils on his hands. There was no return address, and the label displaying his name had been typed. 

He needn't remove the letter. With only a few words, he had it memorized. 

Beware. They are unlocked.
R.D.

Despite David wanting to forget him, Roman Dulac lived forever in the darkest layers of David's memory. It was Roman who'd invited David and his wife, Liz, for a picnic. It was Roman who had poured too many shots of tequila into her glass, and it was Roman who had encouraged their walk across the bridge. When Liz had fallen and hit her head on a rock, David had cradled her in his arms while Roman ran for help—help which had come too late. Because of Roman, David was left without a partner and Joel without a mother, which was the biggest tragedy of all. 

The letter made David sick, and though he'd thought to burn it the moment he first read it, something about the cryptic message stopped him. What the hell could it mean? Was it about the exhibit? About Craig? 

He considered opening the letter again, hoping the initials would change. Instead, he stuffed the envelope back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

David shook his head, trying to concentrate on work. "Come on," he implored himself. "This is what you do best. Focus, and tell the story."

He pulled up an image of a sculpture. Barely eight inches tall, it was a blue drum piled high with small ceramic figurines, the kind Joel had collected so many years ago. The artist had interpreted the fairy tale by thinking like a child, by thinking like Joel. 

David reminded himself that Joel was no longer a boy. He'd grown into a talented, self-assured young man who found solace in an old guitar and torn jeans. David must have done something right, for Joel was just down the hall, starting his first day on the job. 

He clicked on another image, also a sculpture. A book was splayed open to show an Alice cutout standing upright, like a pop-up. She looked terrified, holding her hands above her head, while leaning away from an apparition, trying in vain to protect herself. 

But from what? One's imagination could run wild. 

David struggled with what to write about these pieces. When he closed his eyes, he saw two vibrant and unique works. In that darkness, they were clear. Then, as quickly as they'd appeared, they faded, Roman Dulac's The Raven's Ring taking center stage. 

In that image, the bird winced with pain, like the ring was bound too tight, its eyes making it appear as if something more than a raven lived within. With irises the color of wheat and dilated pupils, the raven showed fear. And its talons, which Roman had painted as fleshy long fingers clinging a perch, made David's stomach turn and his mind twist in knots. The terrifying retelling was so distracting that he could barely get anything else done. 

"Damn Roman." David slammed his hands upon his desk and jumped irritably to his feet, his chair nearly toppling over behind him. 

"No," David muttered. "Damn Craig." For Craig had brought Roman back to life. 

Working with Craig hadn't been David's first choice. He'd distanced himself from the sullen curator years ago when Craig's erratic behavior began to raise questions. But they'd been friends once, all of them—David, Craig, Celio, Roman.