The Painter of Souls

It was the first time in two years that the group of friends had reunited for this trip. After many cancellations and unfinished plans, everyone had made an effort to make this outing a reality.

They hadn’t spoken much during the funeral two years ago, and it almost seemed as if their friendship would dissolve soon after. But through the video game chats they frequented, nostalgia and good memories rekindled the bonds that had weakened with the loss.

They talked about how competitive Bennet had been in many of the games they played, how he would ask for rematches multiple times, failure after failure. They spoke about how he would have wanted them to spend time remembering him—just like this, with laughter and anecdotes.

The three of them went from contacting each other through video game chats to messaging on their phones and making video calls.

"We should go on the trip," Arlo had suggested one day during one of their group calls.

There was a long silence before Thiago said:

"Do you mean…?"

"Yes," Arlo confirmed. "The travel plan Bennet shared days before… before what happened."

"Are you sure?" Roman asked. "It was his idea, and he was the most excited about it. We never understood what had motivated him so much to organise this trip."

"He wanted us to meet someone," Arlo said. "That’s the only thing I remember."

"Someone in the middle of the rainforest?" Thiago inquired.

"Well, it was also a sightseeing trip around the city and a chance to visit many of the famous archaeological exhibitions in the area. The museums too," added Arlo, who had, in fact, graduated in Art History.

"And what about the person you said he wanted to find?" Roman asked.

"I suppose we don’t have enough information to look into that," Arlo observed. "That’s why I suggest we take the trip in his honour and try to enjoy it as the four of us would have."

"You know? That’s not a bad idea," Thiago said, encouraged. "I could use a holiday—I need to get out of here, an excuse to take a break from my business."

"And when was the last time we travelled together?" Roman added. "Let’s do it."

Just like that, the three of them made their preparations for the trip on the following weeks. They looked up information about their destination and its tourist attractions, paid for their plane tickets, and agreed to meet at the airport two hours before the flight.

On his way to the airport, Arlo had decided to stop by Bennet’s house.

He knocked on the door, and it was Bennet’s mother who answered. The woman looked at him in surprise, but she immediately moved to hug him once she recognised him.

"My goodness, Arlo, it’s been so long! I wasn’t expecting to see you after the funeral. Come in, come in," she invited him inside.

They entered the living room, where photos of Bennet with his siblings and parents filled every corner of the room. Arlo avoided looking at them as his mother offered him a seat.

"No, thank you," he smiled politely. "I was just passing by to let you know that I’m going on a trip. Actually, the three of us are going. It’s a plan Bennet shared with us before he… left."

The woman nodded, perfectly understanding what he meant.

"Yes, the trip. He wouldn’t stop talking about it! I’m so glad the three of you have decided to go. Bennet would be so happy to know this."

"I know…" Arlo sighed. "I know we haven’t spoken to you since the funeral. We tried to reach out, but it was very difficult."

"I understand, Arlo," she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"I just wanted to stop by to tell you about our plans in person and also to see his room one last time. I hope that’s not too intrusive a request. I just… I just needed to see the last space he was in."

The woman nodded again, understandingly.

"It’s not intrusive at all. Go ahead, you can go in. To be honest, it’s a relief to have someone else in that room, even if only for a few minutes. My husband and I are starting to feel the deep silence coming from it."

His mother remained in the living room while Arlo climbed the stairs to the room.

He opened the door, and immediately, the unmistakable scent of Bennet’s deodorant reached his nostrils, mixed with the smell of a closed-up room and the dust floating from the shelves. Most of his belongings and clothes were packed away in boxes that the family would donate to charity.

But the posters and printed images on the walls had not yet been taken down. Arlo stepped closer to observe them carefully.

Bennet used to draw a lot in his spare time. Despite having graduated in Computer Science and Cybersecurity, his true passion had been drawing and sketching, something he had dedicated himself to in his free time, both inside and outside of university.

On the wall were drawings that seemed to depict them—the group of friends—peculiarly coloured in primary colours.

In some drawings, Roman and Thiago were shaded in pink tones, in others, a slightly more purple hue. Bennet himself was shaded in grey. Arlo was always painted in red.

Arlo gazed at the drawings with resentment, holding back the urge to tear the paper from the wall.

-----

During the first two days at their destination, the three friends spent their time at the four-star hotel they had booked.

When Arlo suggested going to the city centre to explore, the other two sighed in annoyance.

"We have a week and a half to explore whatever you want," said Thiago, still wrapped in his sheets. "We won’t have the chance to enjoy this level of luxury once these holidays are over."

"You're the one finishing a PhD in History and Art, Arlo. You can go without us," added Roman as he put on his swimming trunks, getting ready to head to the pool.

Arlo irritably reminded them, "This trip is for Bennet. You know he would have wanted to see the exhibitions and museums."

"You’ve been saying that for weeks," Roman retorted, turning to face him. "What’s with the sudden interest in what he wanted to explore? If I remember correctly, you always ignored all the drawings and paintings he tried to share with us."

Now Thiago sat up on the bed, watching his friends as they confronted each other.

"What’s gotten into you, Roman?" Arlo asked.

"I don’t know, why are you making us feel like you’re the one who cares the most about his death and his final wishes? We mourn his loss too, don’t try to act like you’re above us with your false moral code."

Arlo simply pulled a small, crumpled note from his pocket and shoved it in Roman’s face.

"This is the place he wanted to visit, along with the name of the person he wanted to see."

Roman snatched the paper to read it himself. Thiago got up to take a look as well and asked, "Was this what you went to get from his house?"

Avoiding the question, Arlo said, "I’m not trying to impose some false moral code on you. It’s normal to feel guilt, but the best thing we can do is show a bit of interest in what he loved. That’s all I’m trying to do."

With that, he left the room.

Thiago and Roman exchanged uneasy glances.

"I have no idea what’s going through his head," said Roman.

Thiago shrugged, though his expression remained troubled. "You heard what he said, it’s normal to feel guilt. I’m sure he’s going through the same thing."

An hour later, the three of them made their way into the city, stopping by the tourist spots they had planned in advance. This time, however, the excitement they had initially felt for the trip was gone. A sense of impending doom loomed over them, and there was nothing they could do to dispel it.

All of a sudden, what had been a journey in memory of their friend was being exposed as the farce they had tried to mask with that ridiculous excuse.

The last place left to visit was the shop.

It was an art shop. From the outside, it had that vintage aesthetic that attracted art lovers looking for something unique and different. Something timeless, stuck in time.

The three entered cautiously. The shop was empty, and the light streaming through the glass windows fell upon the golden and bronze frames of the various paintings hanging and stacked everywhere.

All the paintings depicted people, some in groups, others alone. At first glance, they seemed like photographs edited in different colours, but upon closer inspection, one could appreciate the hand-drawn strokes and the pigment of watercolours and oil paint.

"The style of these paintings looks familiar," Thiago murmured.

Without much enthusiasm, Roman nodded. "Yeah, this is exactly how Bennet used to draw."

The characters in the paintings were painted monochromatically. Each person in each painting had a certain tone of colour assigned to them. Some colours were more intense than others. Background characters in landscapes or scenes were usually depicted in different shades of grey. In portraits, many were also coloured in grey.

The three had been so absorbed in the artwork that they hadn’t noticed the man who had approached them to greet them.

"Greetings," he said.

The group startled and turned their attention to him.

The shop owner wasn’t as old as they had expected; he was likely in his mid-thirties. He dressed just like one of them, except for the paint-stained apron he wore. His eyes were a peculiar silver colour that stood out in the dim light of the shop.

"We’re looking for Keita," Arlo stated.

"That’s me," the man confirmed, pointing to himself. His strong West African accent was evident in his words. "I’ve been expecting you."

"D-Did Bennet talk to you about us?" Thiago stammered.

With a rather calm demeanour, Keita tilted his head as if the answer was somewhat complicated.

"He spoke to me about you the first time he came here. But that was also the last time I ever saw him," he said, turning to search through a stack of paintings behind him. Carefully, he pulled one out. "Exactly two years ago, this is what I painted…"

Keita placed the painting in front of them. Roman paled at the sight of it. Thiago still couldn’t understand, and Arlo remained silent, pressing his lips together.

The painting was a reproduction of a real photo the four of them had taken three years ago on a road trip to the mountains. The picture had been taken with a camera set on a tripod. However, in this painting, only Arlo, Roman, and Thiago smiled at the camera, standing in front of a rocky landscape with waterfalls cascading into a lake. Bennet appeared as a grey shadow in the background, at the edge of the lake, a few metres away from them. Beside him, another grey figure crouched at Bennet’s feet as if crying. It looked like the figure of a woman.

In the painting, Arlo was coloured in a deep red, while Thiago and Roman were shades of maroon.

"Where did you get this from?" Arlo demanded.

"From the truth," Keita answered. "You guys remember exactly what happened that day, don’t you?"

No one answered. The silence itself was confirmation.

"I can see the colour of your souls from miles and miles away," the artist continued. "I don’t need to know you to start painting what each of you inspires in me." His tone became more accusatory as he went on. "Bennet had this gift too; he came to me because he wanted to learn more about it. And you, Arlo, you knew that."

Roman turned to Arlo, stunned by such information.

"Yet you made him self-medicate with drugs so he would lose his mind and end up taking his own life," Keita continued.

"I didn’t want Bennet to die!" Arlo protested, raising his voice. For the first time in years, he seemed to be losing his composure. "I just wanted him to forget and stop painting those damn drawings! He was going to get us in trouble!"

"You wanted him to forget her?" Keita asked. He walked over to his desk and picked up some drawings, this time on notebook paper, traced by a different hand. "Bennet gave me these during his last visit."

Thiago held them in his hands. Upon seeing the frantic sketches of a cadaverous woman in black, grey, and green colours, he gasped, "My God!" and let the sheets fall to the floor in shock.

No one bothered to pick them up.

“She was on the way,” Roman murmured, as if talking to himself, as if justifying it to himself. “She came out from between the trees like a madwoman. That’s why we hit her with the car. She fell into the lake and…”

“There was nothing else we could do!” Thiago exclaimed desperately. “Why jump into the lake to retrieve a body that was already lifeless?”

All that Arlo said to Keita was:

“What do you plan to do with all of this? Send it to the police?”

At the absurdity of his question, Keita replied:

“I am not in charge of the punishment of men. Justice will be served, but not by me,” his silver eyes gleamed as he spoke. “Just keep in mind that now two souls are tied to your fate.”

As soon as they left the place, the three of them didn’t say a word to each other until they reached the hotel. The following day, each took their flight back home.

In the following months, Thiago turned himself in to the police as an accomplice in the cover-up of the hit-and-run. He was sentenced to three years in prison. When the police interrogated Roman, he revealed that, although they were all drunk at the time of the incident, it was Arlo who was driving the car and who suggested they continue the trip. Roman was facing two years in prison.

No one knew of Arlo’s whereabouts. He seemed to have moved and changed his name. The authorities did what they could to search for him, but since the victim had been someone suffering from a mental illness and had run away from her own home (and therefore had little family who could report her disappearance, except for a sister), they were content with having two guilty individuals in prison and letting the one who escaped go free.

Months after all of this, in their respective cells, Roman and Thiago received a letter in a brown envelope. The letter consisted of a pencil-drawn illustration, showing Arlo drowning in a lake of skulls. The lake was the only part painted in a deep red, like blood.