My Darkest Rose

Chapter Three

Self Portrait

The following day, Chicago Tribune ran a story with the title: LOCAL ARTIST ONCE ACCUSED OF MURDER NOW HAS CULT FOLLOWING

Two days later, Jack left his apartment to meet a Vox reporter at a downtown cafe. He dreaded the interview, but Fauna insisted it was necessary to "solidify public opinion," as she put it. The press had been relentless in the past two days, digging up every article from seven years ago they could find in reaction to the huge success of his opening.

The reporter, Annie, waited at a corner table. She looked more like an NFL cheerleader than an art critic, and she smelled like the perfume counter at the mall.

"Let's talk about your new work first," she said as he settled into his seat. She sat her phone in the center of the table and hit the record button. Something about it put Jack on edge. Maybe it was the choking scent of her perfume or the little red light on the phone, he wasn't sure.

"Your work is very dark," she said. "Beautiful and amazing, but dark. And your fans are insane," she laughed, "I mean, seriously, the Jackies at your opening were literally in tears. If I were you, I would have stayed home."

"I tried that but my agent said no," he said, hoping he sounded more relaxed than he felt.

She laughed, displaying very white and straight teeth.

"But yeah," he added, glancing down at the phone, "My fans are really passionate."

Annie took a fast drink of her latte. "And when did that fan base begin? What was your first big success?"

He crossed his legs. "After my first commission. It was for a video game, not very popular with mainstream gamers, but the studio that created it has a very loyal fan base."

That was when the fan site appeared and when he started getting regular requests for paid work.

"And have you always drawn monsters and scary creatures?"

He'd been drawing monsters since he was a child, but how much should he tell her? It was only a matter of time before she segued to Rose. "I guess so."

"Most artists have a much longer road to fame than you. What do you think stood out about your work?" she asked.

"Luck?" he said. What else was there, really? There were many artists every bit as talented as him.

"Luck?" she said. "In your book you said you work up to ten hours every day? Is that true?"

"Most days," he said. But so do factory workers, it didn't make him special.

She smiled like she'd figured something out, like she'd proven a point about him that he couldn't see for himself. He didn't have the energy to argue.

"And your sister's an art publicist, that has to help," she said.

"It does, though she started that after I was working on commissions full time."

Circling back, she said, "But why monsters? In the beginning, take us back."

Here it was, he thought. Her subtle turn toward Rose.

"It actually started with fish," he said, deciding there was no way around the question. He'd also told this story in his book, so it wasn't like he was saying anything she didn't already know. "My mother told me, jokingly, that there were fish at the bottom of the lake behind our house that were bigger than I was. That scared me, and I started having nightmares about these monstrous fish. The lake near our house was actually a sinkhole, so it's really, really deep. I started drawing them, maybe to explain to my mom why I didn't want to learn to swim. I don't know."