A Canvas of Blood and Memory
Chapter 1: Kismet
Sebastian forced himself to breathe. His eyes remained transfixed to the painting before him - a child with their back turned, prone and alone, sitting in a pool of blood. The portrait and its backdrop were devoid of color, a black and white expanse, save for the blood, which profused a deep crimson. Despair and grief seemed to overflow from the blood within the framed artwork, a consummation of the loss of innocence and death.
Tremors traversed his entire body. All he could see, all he could feel, were the memories of Lily. A permeation, a flood, an undercurrent of sorrow too powerful to resist began to flow through his veins. He gripped the gold stanchion stationed in front of the artwork to steady himself, the coolness of the metal grounding him for but a moment.
He could feel the tears starting to burn forth from his eyes when soft footsteps and then a low voice to his right finally tore his gaze away.
“I’m sorry.”
A whispered apology. A voice so warm and cloyed in understanding Sebastian could not believe it was real. His head turned involuntarily toward the cadence of that sound, almost desperate for the refuge it promised.
His eyes fell onto the visage of a man gazing back at him, brow furrowed, jaw stern, a single pale blue eye penetrating with concern. Hair framed over half his face, which only intensified the effect of the stare.
Sebastian could only swallow and nod in response.
When he eventually turned his head back to look at the work that had rendered such an emotional response from within, he couldn’t stop himself from sharing everything he was feeling with the man next to him.
“I lost my daughter, Lily, in a fire. Every day since, I have been alone with that grief and that visceral pain. This…” Sebastian made a gesture with his hand towards the artwork in front of him, “… makes that pain come alive in such an inexplicable way. It is something I have never felt before.”
The man beside him remained silent, as if he were weighing the words in his mind. Then without hesitation, he reached forward with his gloved hand and unclasped the red velvet rope from the stanchion, allowing entry to the canvas before them.
Sebastian’s eyes widened at the action, a startled expression on his face.
“What are you doing?”
“I am simply doing what is necessary. You need closure, an outlet for your grief, and having direct access to this piece will grant that for you.”
A flash of doubt crossed Sebastian’s features.
“How do you know that for sure?” Then after a pause, “And are you even allowed to do this?”
The hint of a smirk ghosted the man’s face.
“I am well aware of the impact that art can have. After all, this is my exhibition.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened further.
“So this… all of this… is your work?”
“Indeed.”
Sebastian stared at the man in disbelief for a few moments before gathering himself and returning his gaze to the painting.
The colors seemed to blend into each other the more he tried to focus on the painting’s entirety. It was such a jarring and intense sensation, a gravitational pull beckoning his body closer to the canvas. He began to move without a will of his own, stopping just as his hand was about to touch the canvas itself.
He turned back to face the man to his right, who seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation.
“May I?”
The man gave Sebastian a small nod and whispered, “Please do.”
The moment Sebastian’s hand brushed the canvas, his fingers tracing the brushstrokes with the utmost fascination and care, he felt overcome with a suffocating feeling. Anguish, repressed guilt, the very emptiness he had been avoiding for so long erupted to the surface and Sebastian began to tremble uncontrollably. He blinked back the tears that began to blur his vision and let out a shaky exhale. His sanity was slipping, memories were weaving in and out of his consciousness, and his breathing was becoming even more labored.
As his hand slipped down the painting, landing on the back of the child and then into the dark red void of blood, he could no longer suppress his sobs. Tears fell hot from his eyes and his legs began to collapse underneath him. He clung to the edge of the frame of the artwork, his knuckles white with the strain, silently pleading with his body to not succumb to the well of darkness pooling in his stomach. But he knew the fall was inevitable, that he would eventually be confronted with all the residual pain of losing his little girl and subsequently, his life partner, Myra, and the walls he fortified so carefully within himself would have no choice but to disintegrate into the ashen dust of his past. Sebastian felt his legs sink lower into the floor, his hold on the frame slipping entirely, reality falling away along with himself.
And then strong arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind, a firm, warm body pressing against his back. Sebastian felt awash with relief and steadied himself, leaning into the comforting warmth that surrounded him. Soft breaths caressed the back of his neck, and he could feel the slow rise and fall of a chest behind him. Sebastian began to mirror the movement, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to calm his heart rate down.
When he felt lips brush the top of his head, Sebastian opened his eyes again and turned his body around within the arms still embracing him.
He was met with the warm gaze of the man who had been beside him the entire time.
Sebastian returned that gaze, locking eyes with the man’s single pale blue iris that seemed to bore into his very soul. His face was still wet from crying, but his desire to be vulnerable, to be open with his pain, was viscerous, almost carnal. He embraced the man fiercely, burying his face into the man’s chest, finally letting the waves of grief overtake him. An anguished, frustrated scream tore from his body, and the tears now fell unbidden. Sebastian felt the man’s arms around him tighten, his entire body becoming enveloped in a warm shield of protection. He pressed his body even closer, unwilling to let go.
When his sobs began to dissipate into shallow breaths, Sebastian lifted his face from the man’s chest and buried it into the man’s neck. He felt a hand slip up his back and into his hair, cradling his head.
“I feel compelled to tell you something I have never told anyone,” the man whispered softly. “This painting is more than mere artistic expression. It is actually a manifestation of a memory. A violent trauma I experienced as a child that I had forgotten for years until recently.” He paused, letting out a shaky breath of his own. “It took everything out of me to create it. So it feels… prescient in the most fatefully poetic of ways that you are able to even feel the same way I do.”
Sebastian raised his head to meet the man’s eye, his face etched in pained realization.
“The child in the painting…” he began, his voice hoarse and cracked from crying, “... is you?”
The man nodded slowly, answering Sebastian with a barely audible, “Yes.”
The next action took both men by surprise. Before Sebastian could stop himself, his right hand lifted to cup the man’s left cheek, gazing up at the man with wanton compassion.
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian whispered back.
The man stared openly at Sebastian, his pale eye wide and frozen in place. A single tear escaped and trailed down his cheek. Sebastian smoothed it away tenderly with his thumb.
They continued to stare at each other in quiet silence before the man spoke again, his voice muted yet filled with emotion.
“You are truly extraordinary,” he uttered under his breath in awe. Then he looked at Sebastian in a sudden urgency, as if realizing something for the first time.
“We never introduced ourselves, did we?” he asked.
“No, we didn’t,” Sebastian replied with surprise.
“What is your name?”
“Sebastian Castellanos,” Sebastian said with a small smile. “And what is your name?”
“Stefano Valentini.”
“Well, Stefano,” Sebastian began warmly, letting the name linger on his tongue. “I think it’s safe to say we both are in need of a strong drink.”
Stefano snorted and barked out a low laugh. He closed his eye and shook his head, relishing the absurdity of it all.
“Indeed, Sebastian,” Stefano replied with a wide smile. “Indeed.”
Sebastian let go of Stefano, albeit reluctantly. He repositioned himself to stand next to Stefano, holding out his arm.
“Shall we?”
Stefano looked stunned momentarily before breaking into a grin.
“Absolutely,” Stefano breathed, eagerly locking arms with Sebastian.
The two exited through the doorway of the exhibit hall and out into the dimly lit entrance of the gallery.
When they opened the front doors to the gallery, the night air surrounded them with a slight chill. They huddled closer to each other instinctively, smiling to themselves as they began to walk down the steps and then down the street towards a small venue of shops and bars that were still open late into the evening.
“Where would you like to go?” Sebastian asked Stefano, giving his arm a slight squeeze.
Stefano pondered briefly on the question before his face lit up and he turned enthusiastically toward Sebastian.
“I know just the place,” he began, his voice taking on an assertive air to it. “It is a secluded bar not far from here. They offer complete privacy and a very tasteful selection of alcohol.”
“That sounds perfect,” Sebastian said. “I was honestly hoping that you would choose a place with as few people as possible. The thought of trying to unwind in a chaotic, noisy bar sets me on edge, especially after my… purge of grief.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Stefano replied softly.
They continued to walk down slightly crowded streets with Stefano leading the way until they reached a small establishment with a black cat on the marquee, aptly titled, The Black Cat.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Stefano, who could only chuckle in response.
“I assure you, it is a reputable place,” Stefano said. His hand closed around the door handle, pulling it open for the both of them to walk through. “You’ll see.”
Sebastian wordlessly slipped through the entrance of the bar, his arm still interlocked with Stefano’s.
Warm mahogany walls lined the length of the bar, with red-orange light cascading through the metal lampshades hanging over the red velvet booths on the left side. A vast selection of liquor lined the entire right side of the bar, bottles glittering on the shelves behind the dark mahogany counter. Empty bar stools lined the counter, and a sole bartender was polishing a glass behind it.
“Welcome to The Black Cat,” the bartender recited, not looking up from his task. His eyes remained fixated on the glass for a moment more before placing it down on the counter and glancing up. Immediate recognition crossed his face the moment he looked at Stefano, and he swiftly exited from behind the bar to greet them both.
“Stefano, what a pleasant surprise!” the bartender said, reaching out to shake Stefano’s hand. Stefano gave the man a warm smile, returning the handshake firmly.
“It is so wonderful to see you again, Fernando,” Stefano replied. “It has been too long.”
“It really has,” Fernando laughed. His eyes fell on Sebastian, who had been observing their interaction with silent interest. Fernando offered his hand in greeting, and Sebastian returned it.
“I am Fernando Blanca, the owner and bartender of The Black Cat,” Fernando said, releasing Sebastian’s hand. “Stefano is a longtime patron of this bar and has been a close friend of mine for many years. He used to come all the time,” he began, turning back to Stefano with an inquisitive look. “And always alone.”
Stefano cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his face.
Sebastian noticed this and could not restrain himself from teasing Stefano further.
“Oh, really?” Sebastian replied with a satisfied smirk. “Is this a special occasion, then?”
Stefano turned to glare at Sebastian with a warning look. His arm that was still interlocked with Sebastian’s tightened reflexively. The teasing was working.
“It must be,” Fernando continued, amused by Stefano’s reaction.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Sebastian said, bowing his head. “I’m Sebastian Castellanos.”
“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, Sebastian,” Fernando stated. “I can see why Stefano has taken such a liking towards you.”
“Fernando.”
Stefano’s stern voice echoed in the nearly empty bar, forcing them both to end their teasing rather abruptly.
“I apologize, Stefano,” Fernando sighed with a tired smile. “It is just rare to see you here, let alone with anyone, so forgive me for indulging on your behalf. What can I do for you?”
Stefano let out a sigh of his own and gave Fernando a knowing look.
“It is quite alright. I would like to reserve one of the back rooms, if possible. Along with the usual selection of drinks and menu fare.”
“Of course,” Fernando said, turning to reach behind the counter for two large menus. “Follow me.”
Fernando led them through an entryway at the far right side of the bar and down an even longer hallway, rich amber light cascading in pools along the carpeted floor. Curtained areas lined the hallway, covering entrances to individual booths and rooms. They stopped at the very back of the hallway, Fernando pulling the heavy red velvet curtains apart to reveal black sliding doors, which he immediately opened. A spacious lounge room lined with booth chairs along the walls and a coffee table in the center met their gaze. It was the epitome of comfort and privacy.
Fernando placed the two menus on the coffee table and bowed to them briefly.
“Please take all the time you need. This is the utmost privacy I can offer, and I will do my best to ensure that you both have the best experience possible.” Fernando put a hand on Stefano’s shoulder. “After all, it is the least I can do for an old friend.”
Stefano smiled warmly and bowed his head in return.
“Thank you, Fernando. This is deeply appreciated.”
“Of course,” Fernando replied, letting his arm drop to his side. He turned to Sebastian, a warm expression on his face.
“It was lovely to meet you, Sebastian. I hope Stefano treats you well.”
Stefano let out an exasperated breath, and Sebastian couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, the sound reverberating from his chest.
“He has so far,” Sebastian teased, winking at Stefano. “And I have a feeling that it will only continue from here.”
Sebastian saw Stefano’s skin flush in embarrassment, and he felt a twinge of excited satisfaction build up inside him.
Fernando looked between them both and gave them a genuine smile.
“I think you are right, Sebastian,” Fernando replied, walking through the doorway. He turned back towards them, his arms leaning on the sliding doors.
“Stefano, you’ve finally met your match.”
Before Stefano could object, the doors closed shut, and they heard the heavy curtains close back into place.
Stefano closed his eye and shook his head in exhaustion. He glanced at Sebastian then, offering him a wry smirk.
“I swear, you’ll both be the death of me,” Stefano said.
Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling as Stefano led them both to sit down on one of the couches lining the wall. He was enjoying all of this too much.
They finally released each other’s arms to peruse the menus on the coffee table, Stefano making occasional suggestions. When they each decided on what they wanted, and summoned Fernando back with their order, it only took a few minutes for him to return, laying out a tray with a vintage bottle of wine, two wine glasses, a vial of whiskey, and a couple shot glasses on the table.
When Fernando closed the doors and the curtains again, both men settled into the cushions of the couch, relaxing for the first time that night.
Stefano uncorked the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. Sebastian followed his lead, pouring whiskey into one of the shot glasses and raising it upwards towards Stefano in a toast.
Stefano returned the toast languidly and they both drank in silence.
Their eyes lingered on each other, taking in every detail. A slow calm seemed to surround them.
Sebastian took that moment to put his glass down and turn his body toward Stefano, open and relaxed.
“So,” Sebastian began, his arm resting on the edge of the couch. “What can you tell me about yourself?”
Stefano smiled into his wine glass as he took a final sip before placing it down on the table.
“What would you like to know?” he asked.
Sebastian rubbed his chin absently, then glanced back up at Stefano with renewed curiosity.
“Your art seems very personal to you. When did that inspiration start?”
Stefano looked back at Sebastian in slight surprise, but answered unperturbed.
“Art has been an obsession of mine from a very young age,” Stefano replied, his voice growing wistful. “It always has been.”
“I imagine so,” Sebastian said with a warm smile. “The depth of your skill is almost evocative of something cavernous. It’s a visceral talent that you have - to delve into the human condition so well. I am in awe of you.”
Stefano gazed back at Sebastian with his mouth agape. Never did he expect to be complimented so on his art, something so personal, so vital to his very soul.
“I am lost for words,” Stefano breathed, his response almost inaudible. “For you to describe my art in such magnitude, such reverence… it is simply unbelievable.”
“It’s true,” Sebastian insisted with a slight edge in his voice. “I’ve never been more affected by a piece of art than yours in my entire life. It is something I will never forget.”
“And I will never forget you,” Stefano whispered back, visibly trying to resist expressing his emotions too forwardly.
“Nor will I forget you.”
Silence coated the air. Stefano clasped his gloved hands together in his lap, distracting himself from the intense gaze Sebastian was giving him.
“What is the name of your painting?” Sebastian asked, his voice echoing in quiet urgency.
Stefano raised his eye to meet Sebastian’s face, his own clouded in muted misery.
“Blood Memoria,” Stefano uttered in the lowest range his voice could muster. “Creating it was a form of exposure therapy for me, carving its image into my very heart and suffocating me whole. It was clawing at me much like the rough waves of the ocean in a storm, a tortuous ebb and flow of tragedy permeating my mind. I had to release its hold on me, relinquish control, end the incessant nightmare that plagued my soul. Art was my escape - it was my way of channeling the treachery and madness I was feeling into visual, tangible form - an excision of myself and my memories from my very body.” Stefano paused, exhaling slowly. “It was true catharsis.”
“Trauma, especially repressed memories, can induce such a response,” Sebastian stated in a muted calm. “It was something I saw all the time during my days serving Krimson City as a police officer and then as a detective.”
Stefano blinked slowly, registering Sebastian’s words with effort.
“Are you no longer a detective?”
“Not for the Krimson City Police Department,” Sebastian said, his eyes casting downward. “Losing Lily in the fire completely and utterly destroyed me. And then when Myra left me, consumed by her own grief, I had no choice but to quit the force for good.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Stefano replied in a consoling tone. “You seem like a man who would wear your duty like a badge of honor.”
“I did,” Sebastian sighed. “But it just became too much for me. Nightmares of the fire plagued me every night, and it even bled into my working hours. I could no longer help the people of the city who were grieving losses and experiencing traumas of their own. I was just… broken. I couldn’t save Lily - and I couldn’t save the people I was duty-bound to serve. The devastation I felt was relentless. And it still is.”
Sebastian gulped down the rest of his whiskey, the liquid burning hot down his throat. He relished the feeling, for it dulled the ache such painful memories caused him.
Stefano drank what remained of his wine in faltered succession, the grief that Sebastian had echoed earlier becoming too palpable for his heart and mind. He wanted to offer solace, provide an assuagement to his fears, but knew from experience that that was impossible - a fever dream too unctuous to fathom.
“I miss Lily…” Sebastian breathed, his gaze becoming moored by intense lament. “I miss her… so much.”
“Could you tell me about her?” Stefano questioned with caution. “What was she like?”
Sebastian looked over at Stefano with a tired but expectant gaze, the question seeming to breathe life back into his brown eyes.
“She was the brightest, the most intelligent little girl you could ever dream of,” Sebastian spoke softly, the confidence in his voice growing by the moment. “Lily could light up a room with her smile and her boundless energy. Myra and I were left speechless by her empathy, the way her soul just emanated compassion towards everyone she met. That level of innate affinity she had for others couldn’t be learned behavior; it was truly something she was born with. As a father, I couldn’t be prouder.”
Stefano watched Sebastian give such an impassioned oratory of his daughter in silent awe. He could only imagine what it was like to be a father of such a brilliant child with the heart of an empath, bleeding in warmth and inviolable love for all the world, only to lose her in such a tragedious way. Sebastian’s very voice was a well of melancholia, emotion flooding every crevice of every word he uttered in bated breath. Stefano wasn’t a stranger to that pain - he knew it intimately, knew the horror of its visceral cling to the flesh, its memory etched into every bone in his body. He swallowed hard, using all the strength he had to push away the traumas resurfacing into his vision.
Sebastian noticed Stefano’s silence and peered closer, slowly registering the fact that Stefano was going into shock. All the residual pain he had been feeling immediately left his body, replaced by pure devotion to keep Stefano tethered to reality.
“Stefano? Can you hear me?”
Stefano didn’t answer. His pale eye was wide and dilated, frozen in stasis. His mouth was parted slightly, seemingly without any audible breath. Sebastian leaned in, focusing on any minute sound he could hear to gauge whether or not Stefano had stopped breathing entirely. He picked up on the emergence of short, cutting gasps of air from Stefano’s mouth. Sebastian realized that Stefano was not only in a state of shock, but hyperventilating simultaneously.
He had seen this response too often during his time with the KCPD, especially in the surviving victims of extreme violence. Sebastian realized that Stefano must be reliving his traumatic past, and a cloying regret started to grip around his heart. Maybe he should have been more careful with his own anecdotes of trauma, more aware of the pain he subconsciously let escape through his voice. But his desire to vocalize his pain with someone like Stefano, who ultimately shared in his experiences with trauma and grief, overpowered any semblance of caution he may have harbored before. He never felt this way with anyone, and he was not about to let remorse cloud his mind when Stefano needed him the most.
Pure instinct grounded him, and his first-aid training poured into his memory, remembering that the best way to help Stefano was to remain by his side, monitoring his every breath and every slight muscle movement, making sure he did not lose consciousness or lack a pulse. He needed to assert complete calmness in his voice, never losing control of his own breathing. Inducing Stefano into a calmer state was paramount to his recovery from the traumatic shock he was experiencing, and Sebastian needed to be that anchor, that lifeline to the emotional depths that were keeping Stefano in paralysis.
“Stefano, this is Sebastian. I am here with you,” Sebastian began in measured breaths. “You are safe here with me. The past cannot and will not break you, for it is already over and gone. It may never relinquish its hold over your memory, but you are more than capable of staving off its power over you. Stefano, you are an artist, gifted with the innate ability to transmute all your inner pain into something tangible, something whole, something alive outside of yourself. That requires deep immersion into the psyche, a strength few people possess. But you have it, you truly do, for you were able to impact me, someone with no awareness of the arts, to actually feel a real response. I’ve been numb to the world, drinking my pain away, closing off my heart to life and the goodness I know still lies within it. I know this because I met you. I finally know what it means to bare my heart to someone, to feel what it means to be human. I glimpsed that very feeling with Myra and then with Lily, but I was a young father too consumed by a duty to service to cherish those moments of happiness I had with them. I curse my own negligence, my very failure to realize that what I had was a family that needed me, a rarity of experience that had blossomed before my very eyes - the truth of which I didn’t feel the gravity of until it was shattered by fire. I am still in mourning of that loss, but meeting you has been just the catalyst I needed to awaken to reality. I am not broken anymore, and you aren’t, either. We’ve survived the traumas of our past, and are still alive with a heartbeat, blood still pulsing through our veins. We are still here, able to feel the joys and pleasures of life, because we still exist within it.”
Sebastian began to hear Stefano’s breathing slow, gasps becoming fuller and longer. His eye was less dilated, becoming more focused on Sebastian’s face as he spoke. Relieved that his approach was working, Sebastian continued on, fervent to see Stefano break free.
“Can you feel this?”
Sebastian gingerly guided Stefano’s gloved hand to his chest, right over his heart.
“I’m alive, and so are you. We bleed the same pain, awash with the same fears, hopes, and dreams. We live to serve others with our talents, to inspire others to survive and heal from their wounded pasts. It is our life’s work to do so, and we must remain alive to continue it.”
Stefano’s eye was now moving, searching Sebastian’s face, his breathing now mirroring his own heartbeat. A tear ran down Stefano’s face, and Sebastian realized that Stefano was no longer succumbed by shock.
“Stefano? Are you with me?”
“... I am.”
Sebastian breathed out in relief, clutching Stefano’s hand that remained still against his chest.
“How are you feeling?”
Stefano stared at Sebastian, another tear escaping his eye.
“Empty.”
