My Darkest Rose

Chapter Two

The Man in Sandals

The show was hosted by a local gallery that transformed an abandoned warehouse into a steampunk showroom just for the occasion. Hours before the doors opened, a line of people, mostly in black with t-shirts that read ROSE LIVES, and JACKIE, snaked around the entire block.

Jack hated crowds, and even worse, he hated attention. He thought about not showing up at all, or near the end of the show, like some sort of drugged out rock star, but had to weigh his discomfort against the wrath of two women in his life. He chose the former.

He took a cab, which wasn't the best plan he ever had, considering how much traffic there was and that he was spotted long before the driver ever reached the front door. By the time he got out of the car, about a hundred people had already snapped his picture and security guards had to clear a path for him to get inside.

The entrance to the gallery was like the waiting line to a haunted amusement park. The brick walls were draped with what looked like black fishing nets, and behind the security desk was a massive fish tank with foot-long silver fish swimming among reeds.

Red velvet rope and brass stands formed a maze through the space leading to a set of double doors on casters. Two large posters hung on each announcing the title of the show: DARKER, featuring new work by Jack Channing.

The title had been Andrea's idea. She said it was the perfect companion to last year's publication of his book, DARK: Creatures From the Art World's Most Twisted Mind.

He wasn't the only artist featured that night. There were others from around the world whose macabre works suited the taste and style of Jack's fans and collectors. There was a taxidermist from Spain, a jewelry-maker from New York, and a sculptor from Germany. Jack had spent most of the day researching each of them online and was especially interested in meeting Martin, the taxidermist.

When he walked into the gallery, the first thing he saw was a wreath made of fish. It was large enough that he could have stood inside it, and each writing fish was as thick as his bicep. They were eating each other, one gaping mouth swallowing a tail, after another, after another.

Jack stood in front of the wreath, fascinated by the taxidermist's ability to preserve such creatures, to tangle their dead bodies into something beautiful. And yet there was something repulsive about it, something that made a shiver course up his spin.

"What do you think?" Fauna said as she walked up beside him. His sister had surprised him by saying she thought the new painting of Rose was important to show and that he needed to "get it out of his system" and "move on." He didn't tell her that painting Rose had felt more like an opening up than a letting go, but how could he? It would only worry her, and Fauna worried enough already.

He stared at the fish and wished he could reach out and touch the glistening scales of a fat black fish near the bottom of the wreath. "Maybe I should get into taxidermy," he said.

"Please don't," she said, making a gagging sound.

"I thought you liked fish," he said. When they were kids and he'd shown her a drawing of the fish he thought lived in the bottom of the lake, she'd teased him about it. Once, she found a dead fish in the lake and chased him around the house with it. He'd been terrified, afraid that if she caught him she'd put the fish down the back of his shirt like she sometimes did with ice cubes.

"I do," she said, "I just mean I don't think I could handle you making any weirder shit than you already do."

He forced a smile as she smoothed the collar of his jacket and tucked his hair behind his ears. He waited for whatever criticism she was about to say.