From Shadows to Starlight

The Artist's Retreat

Chapter Three

Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.-- Twyla Tharp

The Artist's Retreat

Alana woke to a crash of thunder and the sound of rain pouring down on the roof. She blinked, and looked around in confusion. Where am I? she wondered. She slowly came to her senses enough to take in her surroundings. She was lying on her stomach in a warm bed in a small, one-room house. It was tiny, like an old shack, but it was filled with beautiful things.

Luxurious velvet curtains covered all the windows, and candles brightly blazed on many golden candlesticks. There were pictures on all four walls: gorgeous landscapes, drawings of a horse, paintings of roses. And there were pictures of people. There were some of a woman with long braided hair, accompanied by a younger, blonde ballerina. But pictures of another girl were absolutely everywhere. It was a beautiful girl, with dark hair and porcelain skin. In one of the paintings she wore a little diamond ring on a chain around her neck, and in her hand she had a rose with black ribbon tied around it. Her eyes looked sad, afraid…haunted. The picture looked more lifelike than any painting Alana had ever seen. The artist must have been very skilled, and she could feel that he must have loved that girl very much. Perhaps it was the artist who lived here. It had to be…

Alana looked around the house. The floor was covered with books and pieces of paper, some crumpled and torn. A closer look revealed that lines of music notes were written on those sheets of paper. What kind of person lives here? Alana wasn’t sure, but she did know that she had never seen anything quite like this before.

The thunder crashed again, bringing her back to reality. She felt a stabbing, ripping pain in her back and remembered. Her drunken father beating her…the rider, the lonely figure who had sung that song, had suddenly appeared beside her. He had rescued her, and probably saved her life. But where was he now?

Suddenly the door was thrown open. The thunder roared and Alana saw a cloaked figure appear in the doorway in a flash of lightning. She cried out in fear and hid her face in her blankets.

She heard the door close, and something being set on the floor. She dared to look up again. The figure removed its dripping black cloak and threw it on the floor as well.

Alana breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a monster. It was only a man. He was a very handsome man, she noticed. Then he turned.

The other half of his face was hidden by a white mask. Why is he wearing that? She wondered. He walked slowly toward her as she stared at him feeling confused, afraid…and enchanted.

“Don’t be afraid.”

His voice was quiet and soft, but deep and dark, like velvet and like thunder.

“I won’t hurt you.” The man met Alana’s gaze. He looked so sad, like he was holding back tears. Alana had never seen eyes as sad as his. But they were beautiful, a blue-green color that reminded her of the sea, so quiet and lovely on the surface, but with the threat of danger beneath. All the sorrow and despair of the world seemed to live inside those beautiful, haunted eyes, and Alana yearned to see them bear a happier expression.

Their eyes met for but a moment. The man looked away after only a few seconds. “You’re hurt,” he said, not looking at her, “and sick. I have medicine.”

Alana was jerked back to reality again, and realized how much pain she was in, and how sick she felt. The man picked up the bag he had set on the floor, took off the black gloves he’d been wearing, and brought the bag over to the bed, along with a silver bowl of water and some fine white linen. He sat down beside Alana and took out a glass bottle of something from the bag.

“Do you…mind?” He asked, hesitantly.

Alana shook her head.

Carefully, as if he were afraid he would tear them, he pulled the blankets away. He slowly, cautiously unbuttoned the back of Alana’s nightgown, though the uppermost part of it was barely there, ripped apart by the jagged branch she’d been beaten with. He unbuttoned it just as far as the wounds went, and then he began washing the cuts with the water and linen, still slowly. He was so gentle it hardly even hurt. Next he rubbed something cool and soothing onto the horrible welts. His hands were so soft, yet his touch was electric.

Finally, he finished. Alana was sorry it was over. He buttoned what was left of the back of her nightgown again and put the blankets back over her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, shivering despite the warmth of the blankets.

He put that soft hand on her forehead. She was blazing hot. He took more linen, soaked it in the water, and dabbed it on her forehead. Alana closed her eyes and lost herself in his presence, in pain but enjoying every second nonetheless and wishing the moment would last forever…

What on earth? What am I thinking? Why do I feel like this? I don’t know this man! And that mask….why does he wear it? Is there something horrible underneath? Who is this?

Alana opened her eyes again. His sad blue-green eyes met hers for a moment, but he quickly turned away. He acted…almost as if he were afraid of her. She realized that she should be afraid of him, but for some reason, she wasn’t.

“

Do you…” he said haltingly, “…need anything?”

Alana’s throat was parched and terribly sore. “Water? Please?”

He nodded and filled a little silver cup with water, handing it to her somewhat gingerly. She raised her head and drank, then handed him the empty cup. She felt a bit better now, and she’d just realized something.

“

Oh…I’m sorry…I haven’t told you my name…I’m Alana Valjean.”

The man silently mouthed the word. “Alana.” He said nothing.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

He visibly started, looking shocked by the question. He turned and stared at the floor.

“You must have a name,” Alana coaxed. “Don’t you?” What if he didn’t? Poor thing. He looks so sad…

“Erik,” he said suddenly. He said it as if it were a foreign word he didn’t really understand. He looked back at her for a second, then back at the floor again. “My name…is Erik.”

“I’m very glad to meet you, Erik…” Alana whispered sleepily. She was exhausted, and felt herself dropping off to sleep. She closed her eyes, and fell into dreams.