I Am Complete

CHAPTER 24

ANDY'S POV:

So, apparently mansions exist even in small towns. The guy who bought the painting, Jeremy Wester, lives in a giant house. Three stories tall, shaped hedges. The kind of house you see in movies. There's no doorbell, only a fancy metal knocker shaped like a lion. Dean bangs it against the oak door a few times, the sound echoing through the open yard. The door opens and I see a short old man, hunched over. His white hair makes a halo around his head, his face wrinkled and worn. He squints at us. He's dressed in a fancy suit, the black fabric bending as he moves.

"Hi. We're from the FBI, we'd like to talk to you about an art piece you purchased." Sam says. The man squints harder. "I'm merely the butler, sir. You'll have to talk to my boss." Dean raises an eyebrow. "Okay, Jeeves. Can you take us to see him?" Sam elbows him, scowling. "My name is Precit, sir. Please come in, I'll fetch my Mr. Wester." He holds the door open for us as we enter. I have to fight back a gasp. The inside of the house is insane, with spiraling staircases and white marble floors. Paintings adorn the walls, some looking like classic Picassos.

"Wow. Quite a place." Dean mumbles. I nod in agreement. "Isn't this where Daddy Warbux lived?" Sam looks at Dean in confusion. "Y'know, from Annie? The millionaire dude?" Dean rolls his eyes. "We need to catch you up on the classics." Sam just huffs in response. "This guy is some sort of art buff." I say. I study one of the paintings on the wall. It looks like the real deal, signature and all. "Why would some rich guy go to that crappy store?" Dean asks.

"Because this rich guy enjoys antiques." a voice says. We whirl around. A stout man stands there, wearing a blue hawainn shirt with yellow flowers. He has his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts, his feet adorned in socks and sandals. He looks like an elderly tourist. Not what I was expecting. "I am so sorry, Mr. Wester, I didn't mean it as an insult-" the man cuts him off with a laugh. "No worries, kiddo. I'm just joking." He sticks out his hand. "And please, call me Jeremy. Precit told me you three were from the FBI?"

"Yes, we're here investigating the recent deaths in town." Jeremy gives a sad smile. "Yes, very sad. They were both good people. I went to highschool with Boliver, and I shopped at Emilia's antique shop all the time. They will be missed." He heaves a sigh before asking "What can I do for you all?" Sam clears his throat, straightening his tie. "We were told that you purchased a painting from the antique shop, an old Japanese one. Is that true?" Jeremy nods. "Yes, it's a traditional painting, from 1790. Made by the talented Katsushika Hokusai, one of the most famous artists of all time. I only paid a couple thousand for it, a low price considering it's worth." Only a couple thousand? What I wouldn't give for that kind of money.

"Are you aware that the painting was sold to Emilia Jackson by Ms. Boliver?" I ask. "Yes, Leonard told me when he bought it. Ms. Boliver asked me how much she should charge for it, and when I learned that she sold it to the antique shop, I bought it from Emilia." So he knows how the painting switched hands, and he knows that both people who had it died, yet he doesn't seem worried. "So you know that both owners have died?" Dean continues. Jeremy says yes. "I expect it's some kind of curse, but all good art has it's oddities."

"We're going to need to confiscate the art, see if we can get any evidence from it." Sam tells him. He looks at us for a moment. "Your hunters, aren't you?" We deny it, insisting that we're FBI. He waves us off. "Oh, please. I know a hunter when I see one. I've dealt with quite a few of you in my time. There are more haunted paintings than you know." He turns around and gestures for us to follow him. We look at each other in shock. It's not everyday you meet someone who knows that hunters exist.

Jeremy leads us through several rooms, each one decorated with art and modern furniture. Dean reaches out to touch a glass vase, but Sam smacks his hand away. "Don't touch anything." he whispers. "DoN't tOuCh aNytHiNg." Dean mimics quietly. I roll my eyes. For two adults, they sometimes act a lot like children.

Jeremy leads us to a locked metal door. "This is my art safe, where I keep my most valuable pieces." he explains. He sticks a key in the door and unlocks it, pulling the door open. He holds it for us as we walk through. The room is small, but it is filled with art of all different styles, stacked up against each other. There are a couple statues that sit on pedestals, some made of clay and some made of stone. There must be millions of dollars worth of art in this room alone. "This is amazing." Sam says, looking around in awe. Jeremy smiles. "It's my greatest achievement. I plan to donate all the art to public museums once I pass."

He opens a small black box and pulls out a piece of white parchment, pieces stained yellow from time. He hands it to us. I study it, the lines carefully drawn by hand. The woman in the painting has snow white skin, black hair that falls around her shoulders and frames her round face. Her body is covered in a white kimono, the fabric the same shade as her skin. She has a lost look on her face, her eyes staring solemnly at the snowy ground below. On the right edge, there is some Japanese script in black, standing out against the pale hue of the painting.

"This is it?" I ask. Jeremy nods. "I expect that I won't be getting that back?" I bite my lip. "Probably not." Sam says honestly. I don't want to destroy this piece. It's beautiful, history preserved in every brush stroke. But we have no choice. A spirit is tied to the painting, it's soul mixed in with the paint on the paper. We have to destroy it. There's no other way.