two pictures by next tuesday part 2

13.

When night fell on Monday I tried to hide. I made sure that my window was closed and locked. I kept the lights out in my room, except for a small flashlight that I hid with me under the blanket.

I felt sort of foolish as I covered my head beneath my blue Dallas Cowboys blanket, but only for a moment. It was better to hide than feel like a child.

At around 9:00 pm, the voice of the bird—not Phillip—began to haunt me. It squawked the usual "draw me," and I ignored it the best that I could. I stuck my nose into a Batman comic book, and that worked for a while.

Soon the chanting became more frequent, and more intense. Threats were now being spoken. "Draw me, or the cops will find out that it was your fault Adam died."

"Leave me alone,” I said. This brought a chorus of laughter.

"Draw me or everyone will know that you killed Adam,” the bird repeated itself.

"I didn't kill him."

"But you did, you did. And they will all die, if you don't draw me—your mother, your father, all of your classmates…Pauline."

"Don't you lay a fucking finger on her,” I screamed.

Again the bird cackled, "Draw me." This was followed by a sharp knock on my window.

I gasped. "Leave me alone, I’m not drawing you! I'm never drawing again."

"Dave, are you ok?"

I could hear the faint, lovely voice of Pauline outside of my window.

I did not want to leave the protection of my blanket. I knew that as soon as I poked my head out, Pauline would not be there. No, instead I would see the crow, maybe all three of them, there, staring at me with red eyes, their mouths wide open, tongues wagging like an excited dog’s tail.

"What are you doing under your blanket?" the voice of Pauline asked, which was followed by her charming giggle. Slowly I pulled my head out from the blanket. I couldn’t see nothing in the dark. I pointed the flashlight ahead towards the window, my heart pounding, my palms sweating. My head was hot. My stomach hurt. The room felt cramped, I felt exposed. I squinted as the window came into view, ready to scream, ready to hide again, ready to cry. But there she was, my Pauline, smiling and waving at me.

I kicked the remainder of the blankets off of me, turned on the lamp on my desk and waltzed to the window. I unlocked the latch and lifted it.

"What are you doing here? It’s late. Shouldn't you be home writing?" I asked as she reached through and hugged me. I hugged back, holding her tight.

"Your heart’s beating fast, Dave. Is everything ok."

"Yes,” I lied. "I was just really into this comic and your knock kind of spooked me is all."

"Well put the comic down. You have to draw tonight. I just finished my second page. See." She held up a piece of white loose-leaf paper and giggled. "This is the scariest thing I've ever written, ever."

She was so excited. I was feeling dizzy.

"What is it about?"

"Oh you will find out tomorrow. Look I can't stay long. Momma will have a cow if she knew I was out at this time. I just wanted to tell you that no matter what you draw, I will love it. And I really like you Dave."

Just when I thought that I would never smile again in my life, my queer grin resurfaced.

"I really like you too Pauline."

"No I mean I really like you." She grabbed my hand and slowly dragged the tips of my fingers on her neck. Her skin felt like velvet. She guided my fingers lower, down her collarbones into the skin of her chest. "I really like you a lot, a lot.” She let out a soft moan as my fingers felt the fullness of her breast. My palms slipped across the front of her chest. Her nipple was hard, and so was my cock. "Now draw David, no pressure. Just remember, if this drawing is as good as the first one, then tomorrow ... well, tomorrow we will celebrate our accomplishment…in a special way."

"We will?” I asked in a daze.

"Yes, we will David, because I like you. Don't you want me, David? I want you, I want you bad."

"Yes” was all I could say.

"Good, so what are you going to do now?” she asked.

"I will draw."

"That's a good boy."

And with that she turned and headed towards her house, disappearing into the darkness. I watched her, faintly making out her vague outline.

"I will draw,” I said again out into the cool night air.

"You're damned right you will,” the crow said, as it flew through my window and landed on my bed, staring at me. "Draw me."



14.

At the end of the long dark road was a house. The house was huge, with five floors. There was a steel fence in front of the building and the gate was propped open. I am drawing the same house. That's how I started this picture.

I walked through the gate, and it closed behind me. The front door was open. I could not see into the house, it was dark. Everything was oh so dark here.

"Good, good,” the demented bird shrieked with near climax. The house was complete. The roof protruded out from the water. Nestled on the point, of course, was a nest.

I walked into the house. It was cool and dry. Something familiar lingered in the air. I knew that smell but I could not readily identify it.

After the house was complete, my fingers, with a mind of their own began to draw orange flames. They were shooting out from a window, the smoke rising up towards the water’s surface.

Inside the house I saw a mirror and was greatly relieved to find that I was indeed myself. But what if I died? What if whatever happened to Adam happens to me?

That's when I realized what the familiar smell was. It was smoke. Boom, a loud crash broke my concentration. A burning piece of lumber fell two feet behind me. It looked orange as the embers entwined inside made it illuminate. Smoke was rapidly filling the room. Another loud crash! A piece of the roof fell. I had to jump to get out of the way. Tumbling on the floor, I realized I had to get out. I had to escape this burning house or meet my fate.

Next to the house, I drew an old swing set. Two rusty swings were in mid-stride. One seat was empty, and an invisible force caused the swing to move. The second swing was not.

"Draw me there.” The bird pecked at the empty swing set. My fingers obeyed. The bird was shrieking in joy as it began to see its form on the empty swing, the swing that was next to the seat filled by a slim girl with blonde pigtails.

I jumped to my feet. The smoke was thick now, burning my nose. My throat felt tight. Coughing I turned to go out the way I came. I passed a set of stairs.

"Help me,” a voice cried out. My heart stopped. I would know that voice anywhere, Pauline's voice!



15.

"Leave her alone.” I threw the pad, snapping the pencil in half with my fingers and thumb.

"Draw me Now!!!" the bird bellowed, its eyes full of Hell’s fury. Without warning, it soared through the air, like a perfectly thrown ball. Its claws dug into the nape of my neck.

"Let me go,” I yelled. It responded by digging his talons in deeper. Blood began to drip all over my white shirt.

"You will draw me or I will kill you."

Reaching with all the strength my hands could muster (which was pretty impressive I may add), I placed my hands on the bird’s belly and back and lifted. It would not budge.

He responded by throwing his claws in deeper.

"Draw me or I'll fucking kill you, I'll destroy you, I'll rip your neck out and piss in your blood stream."

It was getting pretty serious. I could not lift him. And my neck was beginning to feel like a fire.

The room was filled with flames. Everywhere was totally covered. Except for the stairs. Except for the landing. Pauline was calling, "Help me David."

I heard her from within the picture. I heard her inside my room.

"Let go, let go. I'll draw.”

I wanted to return to that dream. I needed to get to Pauline before the flames did.

"You will draw what, you punk?" it demanded. Its claws added more pressure to emphasize the question.

"I will draw you,” I said as I ran up the stairs.

The crow released its hold, its claws dyed with my blood, circled my bed where the pad lay, and finally took rest on my desk. Lowering his head, yet keeping his eyes on me, he began to lick his talons clean.

My hand grabbed the pencil.

The second floor was a maze of fire, empty desks and rats. They were crawling by my feet—swarms of them.

"I'm coming Pauline," I yelled.

"Hurry David, it's dark. It's hot."

I found the second landing’s staircase.

The bird sat on the swing. Its eyes and head looked at the girl beside him. You could still see his eyes, even though his head was turned.

My leg crashed through the floor. The third floor was filled with smoke. I couldn't see any fire but I knew it was coming. Quick.

"You want to help her? Draw faster, draw faster."

A single black rose stood at the corner of the rusted fence. It was holding an umbrella.

I reached the fifth floor. The room was dark…really dark.

I screamed for her. "Pauline!"

There was no immediate response. What if I was too late? What if the fire got her? I imagined her beautiful skin engulfed with flames, her neck getting burnt, her joyous eyes being burnt out of her beautiful face.

Next to the swing set was a blue slide, a nest sitting on the top.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her lovely voice broke the darkness. "I'm in here David.”

A small brown door, a yellow handle. I found the door. "Pauline are you in here?"

"Yes I am,” the bird said from within the room.

I opened the door. There was the large glass window that I had added to the house to finish the drawing.

"Oh, you saved me David!" the crow laughed as he sat in front of the window.

I walked up, feeling dizzy. I looked out of the window and my heart sank. Sitting on the swing was Pauline, staring up at me, her brown eyes wide and full of terror.

"What have you done?"

There I was in my room. The bird was gone. The picture sat on my bed. I studied it.

If the first picture was beautiful, then this picture was immaculate. The swing, the house, the flower, the slide, the huge glass window, it all meshed and formed perfectly.

At the top, written by the smoke clouds was the word "Benjamin."

"I'll kill you Benjamin, if you touch her. If you lay one finger on her I will kill you."

I kicked the wall in anger, feeling totally dejected and utterly hopeless.

"Oh God what have I done?"



16.

Walking into the small classroom in the library, I felt dizzy. Pauline did not meet me by the large tree on Potters Pike like she always had. She was not in the class. There were two empty chairs. Two empty seats. Pauline was absent, as was Adam.

I took my seat and took out the two pieces of paper. Nervously handling them, I made up my mind. As soon as Mr. Ford was seated I would simply walk up, hand him the pages and go to the bathroom. I had no idea what I would use, although I was sure that if I swallowed enough hand soap I would die. Either way I was done, sick of life. I knew Pauline was dead. I just knew it.

"David Gregory."

I solemnly walked up to the desk, handed him the papers and turned to leave.

"Pauline told me that I would be very impressed by these,” he said as he began to unfold the paper.

"You spoke to Pauline?"

Mr. Ford did not answer right away. I could see it on his face. He was simply engulfed by the pictures.

"Yes, she came in about an hour ago, she handed me her writing. She didn't feel well and left. Her story was amazing. But these pictures, these are something else."

I did not care. He could keep those pictures. I ran out towards the door. Happy. Excited. Pauline was alive. Sure, she was sick but she was fine. She would be ok.

I ran through the lobby, ignoring the librarian’s loud calls to stop running. I wouldn't stop. I would never stop, not until I got to Pauline's house, touched her face and knew she was alive. Then I would stop running, only then.

I ran past a barking dog, I ran past an open fire hydrant. Kids were gathered splashing each other. The water felt great. My legs kept pumping full speed as fast as I could. I ran past a long white fence, took a right at sunshine market, a left at summer street, straight for .5 miles then finally a left onto Macy Ave.

My legs were heavy, my chest was heaving. I felt tired, I felt dizzy. I felt hot. But I had made it. I paused a second and waited until I could breathe normal again. Then I opened her brown wood fence and hurried up her three cement steps.

Her door was blue, with a gold knocker. I grabbed it and knocked three times. Knock, knock, knock.

After what seemed like a lifetime the door finally opened.

Pauline's mother, Angeline opened the door with a towel on her head. She wore a red robe. "I'm sorry David, but Pauline does not feel well.”

"I have to see her,” I said franticly in between big breaths.

"Come back tomorrow." She went to close the door when I heard Pauline's voice coming from within the living room.

"Who’s at the door, Mom?"

"Pauline!" I shouted.

"David is that you?"

"Its me, its me!”

She walked towards me. She looked great, as always. Her hair was not in her usual pigtails. It hung lazily over her shoulders and it looked excellent.

"I finished the drawings,” I said, fighting back tears.

"I'm sure it's wonderful. I’m sorry that we can't celebrate. Maybe tomorrow if I feel better." She winked.

"Come on hunny, back to the couch with you,” Angeline said, eying me with contempt.

"Its ok. Go, I'll see you tomorrow. I'm so glad that you're okay." This time I didn't bother fighting back the tears. My voice cracked when I said ‘tomorrow.’ Inside I was so joyous, there would be a tomorrow.

"Of course I am okay, silly. Why wouldn't I be?" She bent forward to catch my tear. But she must have reached to far. She stumbled over. I caught her in my arms. Laughing.

"Watch it young lady, don't go falling on me.” I stared at her brown eyes. They did not stare back. They looked somewhere else, somewhere far away, somewhere in the clouds. A small stream of blood trickled down her lips onto the ground. They met my tears.

Pauline died. There in my arms, she took her last breath. She was gone.

Her mother screamed like a wolf into the air. I held her tightly refusing to let go. A crow flew overhead.



17.

No I did not kill myself. I did cry for a long time.

I always remember her. Even today at age 25, I can tell you what she smelled like—a mix of limes, vanilla and a small hint of mint. I can even picture how she walked, with her head held high, without a care in the world. Sometimes when I sleep, I hear her giggle. It makes me happy. It keeps me going.

Mr. Ford sold my pictures to one Albert Author Crow, a wealthy oil salesman who purchased the two sketches for 125,000 big ones.

I never saw a penny of that. Three days after I turned in the sketches, I received a call from Mr. Ford. He asked me to set up a meeting with the local news. They wanted to interview me. I declined. Instead I went to Pauline's funeral.

It was there that I first met Vernon. He said that he would return. That he would make this right.

He too was a crow. In fact he was always there, the third unseen crow who merely flew with Phillip and Benjamin.

He left me that day with promises to return and make my life whole again. I listened.

After the funeral I received another call from Mr. Ford.

There, he informed me that another news team wished to speak with me. It was urgent, and about my two "works of exquisite art."

I again said no. This time he said that he felt that it was in my best interest. I hung up.

I did not want to go to the news, because as Vernon warned, I could never draw again. The news would try to make me draw. I never wanted to draw again.

Mr. Ford tried again and again, but I always refused. Finally one day he called me and said that he would sell the pictures.

"Who are you selling them to?” I asked.

"Albert Author Crow,” he said.

"Where does he live?"

"Florida."

"Good. Get them far away from me.” I hung up on Mr. Ford for the last time. He never again tried to contact me.

My family and I moved to Minnesota in ‘98. I returned here in 2009 as a young 26-year-old.

Why did I choose to come back here, a place full of so much hurt and darkness?

Well, that's simple really. I felt the wind again, that special wind, the kind that I only felt once, that June day 12 years ago when the first crow, Phillip arrived.



18.

This time the recycle bin hit me…right on my ass.

"Far out Dave, the bin crushed you," Pauline's voice called to me as I dropped off my black bag in the garbage bin.

I laughed. Vernon landed on the lid of the garbage bin.

"You look good, and from what I can gather you have not aged a bit." He laughed as he curiously eyed me.

"Well you got fat,” I retorted.

He nodded his head and laughed. "You have followed my one rule, right Dave?”

"The only drawing I've done was with my gun. I can draw that and shoot fast."

"Good. Then we can proceed. Are you ready to go?"

I smiled. "Where are we going?"

I laughed as I asked. I knew what he would say. Pauline told me. She tells me every night. She giggles, and teases me to the point of madness when she says, "Time for us to celebrate. Proper this time."

Then Vernon said what I have heard him say in my dreams ever since I was 15 years old.

"We are going to set things right, my good friend. Of course."

That sentence soaked in. It was like Billy Joel to my ears, such a sweet, sweet lyric.

"Now that's a reason to draw,” I said calmly.



If you looked out your window on Sunny Drive that night, this is what your silent, wide eyes would see: A 26-year-old man who was in a bit of a laughing fit, carrying on and talking to himself like a fifteen-year-old boy.

Then you would see him running with each hand full. In his left arm, he would be holding a black pad, with a box of colored pencils.

In his right hand you would see a shovel dragging on the ground.

Then you would see nothing, as he disappeared over the dark hill that leads to the cemetery, three crows circling—one right by his side.

The other two slipped in…under the cover of night.



The end.