Returning to No Applause, Only More of the Same

Chapter 55, Crime Man and Tutor Girl

Chapter 55, Crime Man and Tutor Girl

Ack-, Crime man!

Damn it, damn it, damn it! She should have known!

Not from the start of course, but she stared at that map for half an hour straight when she had to guide that-, that criminal here! Had she completely forgotten what the house looked like in a mere two days?!

Well, yeah, but admitting it to herself felt wrong. Instead, she decided to follow the false narrative that she had thought it couldnt possibly be about the same guy.

Totally, yup. She was not a forgetful woman, otherwise shed never be a teacher!

Ah, lost in her thoughts, she had completely forgotten where she was. After all, she wasnt just anywhere, no, she was standing outside the door of the crime man she had given directions to, clutching her heavy handbag and trembling like an aspen leaf. Thoughts racing, she stared as the crime man took a step to the side, bidding her entry.

N-, no, thats Hey, see, heh, funny coincidence! But, um, Ive got a high school kid to tutor here, and Im definitely at the wrong door, so, Erica said. -Bye! With a well-trained spin on her heel, she readily turned around, trying to ignore the immense hand that softly landed on her shoulder. She leaned her head a little, a trembling smile on her lips, yes, what is it?

Ive been expecting you. That voice again. Monotone, broad. And, somehow, against all odds unthreatening. Soft.

Erica swallowed. Damn it, she should just go! Who knew what kind of hellhole was in there? For some reason though, that old curiosity of hers pulled at her. It was a horrible idea, so uncertain it made no sense. But, still, she had to take it. Say, you, uh, wouldnt happen to be Kreig Wiedemann, would you?...

He nodded. Fuck.

It was the right address, she was staring at the right man, and according to the contract shed signed, if she didnt turn up to one of the tutorings, shed be charged on the spot. Maybe she should have spotted a few signs there, but, damn. It was a sweet deal. It even had dental! Far from the normal kind of tutoring, more of a long-term deal And shed taken it. One way to pay the rent and quell her growing student debt.

This was just another reason why she hated teaching. Shouldve never gotten into this hellhole of a profession

Is that so? Erica said, trying to smile somewhat genuinely but she really couldnt. This guy, Kreig, was just as silent and terrifying as when shed guided him through the city. High schooler her ass. Nevertheless, he waved her inside, and damn if 27 years of learning how to act polite didnt overtake her entire nervous system. She went inside, even giving Kreig a kind nod as he closed the door behind her.

But it wasnt as though she had entered his lair or anything, no, this place was Remarkably typical. A bit rough on some edges, that battery-powered lamp seemed really weird, but other parts were just plain mundane.

Even beyond that, in some ways.

The living room, connected to the kitchen, seemed as if decorated by someone who had just left home. A hideous lime-green carpet clashed horridly with the robust leather couches, and although the telly was big, it was barely modern at all, despite the PS4 sitting right next to it, alongside a wide assortment of games for it. Going by the titles, Kreig here had pretty good taste. And then, the only detail of the living room that her eyes truly fell on, that she truly stopped to look at, was a painting. Hung up above the telly.

It was excellently made, really. Erica would know, since she had once planned on just becoming an art/music teacher, but this was beyond anything she had ever so much as tried to make. It wasnt the scope of it, either. A simple portrait of three people in a warm, firelit room. Who else but Kreig in the middle, with a woman on one side and a man on the other. All three had this serene, unapologetic joy to them. Not happiness, nothing so bombastic, just the gentle joy of loving and being loved.

To portray such a complicated emotion through such a simple picture was awe-inspiring, and at a single glance, Erica knew she had to know who made it.

Tell me, crimi-, err, Kreig. Who did you commission to paint that portrait? When Erica turned to the man, her eyes were glittering like blazing stars. She had no intentions on commissioning the fantastic artist herself, she just wanted another painter to add to her to-love list. The many commissioned and ready-bought paintings in her home aside, she was one who enjoyed looking at art just on the web. Be it simple or complicated, with enough skill, she found herself loving it all.

Kreig made no changes in facial expression, but Erica knew in a second that something was strange. I painted it myself.

...Nah.

Nope. No. Nuh-uh. No way.

Erica let her head whip back and forth between the phenomenal painting and the so-called artist. He was a large, bear-like man whose hands were defined by callousness and scars. The painting was made with the softest and warmest strokes possible. Then, too, the artist of the piece must be of a similar nature. Calm. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Mysteri-, damn it, it fits! Shoot! No, no way these had anything to do with each other, she couldnt accept it!

-Its nice! she said, making the false assumption that he was either lying to her or pulling her leg. Damn students. Never a kind thought in mind. Will you show me where well be working?

Kreig stalled for just a moment, as if her off-handed compliment needed time to sink in, but once it did, he briskly turned his back to her, as if to hide some little expression of embarrassment. Follow me. What a strange man. And he was a man, too. Sure, his face seemed youthless in a false sort of way, but everything seemed to tell her that he was older than her. High schooler. Bah.

Following his back, Kreig brought her down a hallway and into a door on the right. As expected, not a canvas in sig-,

Ah, though, on the wall, she did see a few paintings. Two, to be exact.

One portraying a young, mud-stained boy raising his arms in futile defence against his aggressor, namely oneself, the observer, the point of view. There was a very strange duality to the painting. While Erica felt rightfully horrified to be seeing the situation from the eyes of the one who is likely causing the fear and pain of the young boy, there was also a strange sense of nostalgia to it. The boy seemed painted with loving, careful strokes to get almost every aspect of him right. Almost. He wasnt quite a full person, the one who painted it didnt know the entirety of him, but Enough to draw this.

The other painting was Not as intense. It was just a portrait of a man. The only odd aspect was that the man couldnt possibly be human. His skin was rendered in a non-blooded absolute white, same with his hair and eyes. There was something off about him. But with the loving, heartfelt strokes, it didnt feel wrong. He felt more divine than cursed. A beautiful man. For some reason, that phrase seemed to pop out to her. The man himself seemed far from pretty, hardly even average, and yet it felt like the right phrase to describe him.

She didnt comment on the paintings verbally. There were other paintings in the room, but they were drab landscapes of no soul. No emotion.

Kreig showed her a desk with a single chair, and while she sat down to get more comfortable, he excused himself to go get another chair from the kitchen. This gave her ample time to examine the desk itself. Or, rather, what was on it. There were lots of papers, a few envelopes, an ink pen, and, most importantly, a few solid sketches. A few were rougher, some were less so. One or two were immensely clear, showing the artists immense grasp of proper anatomy and shading.

In grim horror, Erica felt the facts of the matter sink in. Kreig was, despite everything, a fantastic artist. Even better than herself, too!

Kreig soon returned, chair in tow. He placed it by the desk, and faced her, clearly expecting her to do something.

She just pointed at the sketches. Did you do this? He nodded, flustered. She poked a blank paper over to him, curiosity once again killing the cat. -Could you show me?