Phantom

Chapter 21

The seconds are dragging by on purpose. They know I have something to look forward to tonight and are mocking me for it. Time has a funny way of slowing down or speeding up when you least want it to.

I force myself to focus on the blank canvas in front of me, pushing down the urge to check the time again.

I’m supposed to be working on my midterm painting, the one I got an extension on, but I’m at a loss.

I don’t want to recreate the painting that Remi destroyed, and I’m far too distracted today to find inspiration for a new composition.

Releasing a frustrated breath, I pack up my painting supplies and leave the canvas on the easel untouched.

I exit the Rembrandt Building and walk back to my dorm.

Wednesdays are the only day of the week I have a free period in the late afternoon, so I’m at the mercy of Phantom’s schedule.

But since I still don’t know their real name, I have no way of looking them up or knowing what time their classes will be ending—if they’re even a student here in the first place.

When I get back to my dorm room, I find it empty.

Iris must either still be in class or spending time with Claire.

I toss my backpack and painting tote on the floor near the closet and shrug out of my coveralls.

When I enter the bathroom, I’m shocked by the reflection in the mirror.

Purple bags still frame my lower eyelids, but my forest green eyes are bright and full of life, more so than they have been in weeks.

I run my fingers through my hair and contemplate what to do with it.

Just as I’m reaching for my curling iron, my phone buzzes.

When I check it, I find a text from an unknown number.

Bring your painting stuff. We’re going to make some magic.

Phantom. It has to be.

I feel light-headed as I look back in the mirror.

I section the top half of my hair off into two messy buns and leave the lower half loose and wavy. If we’re painting tonight, I don’t need my bangs getting in the way.

I reapply my face powder but leave my eyelids and lips free of color. After so many weeks spent indoors, painting and attending classes, my freckles have receded, threatening to hibernate altogether for the winter season.

Returning to my room, I change into a comfy pair of black leggings and a thick emerald-colored sweater.

I grab my protective coveralls and throw them in my bag.

When I’m ready, I sit on my bed, leaning back against the pillows, and resolve myself to doom-scroll through social media while I wait for Phantom.

But five minutes later, my phone buzzes again.

Here.

I check the time. It’s only four in the afternoon.

How did they know I wasn’t still in class?

Shaking the thought from my head, I jump from my bed and collect my things before dashing from the room. I take the stairs, humming with too much excitement to wait for the elevator.

As I throw the front doors open, Phantom is standing over a bicycle, their hands still gripping the handles. They’re dressed in black jeans, a denim button-up shirt, and the same heavy black coat from last night. Their hair is windblown, and the mask is there as before.

Of course, I scoff internally, in addition to being an artistic genius, they’re also insanely hot. How’s that fair?

“Hi,” I say breathlessly as I approach them, tucking the useless thought away.

“Nice buns,” they compliment, making me break eye contact. “Let me see your tote.”

I hand it over and watch them strap it to the back of the bike.

“Up you go,” they say when they’re done, jerking their chin toward the two standing pegs on either side of the back wheel.

“I’ve never ridden on a bike like this before,” I admit as I climb up unsteadily.

“I’ll go slow,” they reassure me.

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Maybe you should be,” they say, barely loud enough to hear, before taking off.

I don’t have time to respond as I’m flung backward by the sudden motion. I grasp Phantom’s shoulders and pull myself in close to keep from falling off.

Peppermint.

This close, they smell like freshly picked peppermint leaves.

Without thinking, I lean in closer, closing my eyes and breathing deeply.

Warmth stirs low in my belly and my eyes snap open.

I push away, putting some much-needed space between us.

I’m used to the movement and speed of the bike now.

There’s no longer a reason for me to be so close.

But when the scent of peppermint disappears from my nose, I frown.

We don’t talk while we ride, so I watch as the small town of Rockrose passes us by. Kids play noisily on a jungle gym in the park. Couples walk their dogs. People impatiently drive home from work. It’s mundane, but there’s a quiet beauty in it, in routine and simplicity.

Eventually, we approach a thick, lush forest at the edge of town.

“Watch out for low-hanging branches,” Phantom warns over their shoulder.

I dodge a few as we continue on through the trees.

The ride grows bumpy and winding as we weave, avoiding large roots and rocks.

After a short ride, Phantom slows down as the trees grow sparser.

When they stop, we dismount and lean the bike up against the trunk of a large tree.

Phantom frees my tote from its binds and motions for me to follow them.

“Where are we?” I ask as I readjust the strap of my backpack on my shoulder.

“The first time we met, I told you the dorm roof was one of my favorite places to paint,” Phantom reminds me. “This is another one.”

I duck beneath a branch as the whoosh of rushing water meets my ears. We come upon a small clearing atop a short cliff overlooking a full, fast-flowing river. In the middle of the clearing, we find two easels and stools already set up and ready for us to use.

“We have about two hours of sunlight left,” Phantom remarks as they sit on one of the stools. “We’d better make the most of it.”

“Okay,” I agree as I stand next to the other. Glancing around the forest, I take in the golden light breaking through the tree tops and reflecting off the rushing water. “I see why you like this place. How did you find it?”

“By accident.”

“Hm,” I remark with a chuckle, still eyeing the beauty all around me. “Lucky you.”

When I can finally return my attention to the task at hand, I step into my yellow coveralls, asking, “What are you painting?” The bright cloth is covered in years’ worth of paint stains and is getting ratty with near-daily use, so I zip myself in quickly, hoping Phantom doesn’t study them too closely.

My wish doesn’t come true. As they go to answer my question, they peer around their canvas at me and laugh. Phantom actually laughs—no, wait—more like they released an amused breath, but still. It’s the first time I’ve heard them make a noise anywhere close like that. The sound is sweet as honey.

“What’s so funny?” I ask defensively. “Clothes are expensive and I don’t want to risk ruining them.”

Their eyes flash with amusement before they return their gaze to their canvas and answer my original question. “I’m painting what I see before me.”

I nod, studying the treetops again.

“And you?” they ask.

I look around aimlessly. “To be honest, I have no idea.”

“You haven’t been feeling inspired lately.” The tone of their voice makes it sound more like a statement than a question, but I answer it like one.

“No, I haven’t.”

Their gaze falls on me again, the weight of it heavy and comforting. “Let’s change that.”

I laugh, the sound hollow as I fidget with the fraying cuff of my coveralls. “Yeah, right. Like it’s that easy.”

“You’re the only one standing in your way now, Maeve. And you’re right. Sometimes it isn’t easy. Come, sit, and think for a moment.”

Though my eyes roll a little, I silently relent and do as they ask, dropping to sit on the second stool.

“What would your life be like without painting? Without art in general? Close your eyes, and think about it. Try to imagine it.”

Phantom’s voice fades away, replaced by the sounds of the forest, as my eyelids droop closed.

I see myself back at home, desperately searching for an outlet for my emotions, still trying to gain my parent’s attention in any way possible—good or bad.

I imagine myself acting out, getting in trouble, befriending the wrong people.

Without a creative outlet, I’d be a raging ball of emotions, like a meteor with destructive intent, headed straight for planet Earth.

“Do you like what you see?” they ask.

My mouth dries out. “No.”

“Is life survivable without it?”

“Possibly?” I say as I rattle my head. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“If your answer isn’t yes, then you know what you have to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Open your eyes, Maeve.”

When I do, Phantom is kneeling on the ground before me. I hadn’t even heard them move—hadn’t felt them move, like I, somehow, on some deeper instinctual level, think I should have. The incandescence of their gaze transfixes mine.

“Fight for your life. Fight for your art. Fight for inspiration. Every second of every day if you have to. Because if you don’t, you’ll wither away to nothing. And it will be no one’s fault but your own.”

My breath catches.

“Look around,” they continue, turning my face away from theirs with two gentle, slender fingers. The skin on my cheek fizzes beneath their touch, feeling as though it were dissolving into a cascade of effervescent bubbles. “What do you see here that brings you joy?”

My gaze sweeps over the scene around us before returning to its origin.

“Feel that spark?” they ask as they remove their fingers from my face, leaving it tingling and icy-hot in their wake. “Right there, in the center of your chest?” They point a steady finger toward my wildly pounding heart.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely audible over the torrent of the river. “I feel it.”

“Then pick up your brush and fight for it.”

I’m already squirting paint onto my palette when Phantom returns to their easel behind me. My hand moves like it has a mind of its own. Once the foundation brush strokes are in place, I switch to a palette knife. And as the sun sets over the horizon, the forest comes to life on my canvas.

“Almost finished?” I ask Phantom as the last of the light threatens to blink out of the sky. The shadow of night teases the wood around us, promising anonymity in its inky embrace.

“Almost.”

“Can I see?”

They nod, and I hop from my seat, walking toward them. When I round on their easel, I gasp.

I’m painting what I see before me.

It’s a painting of me, today—just now—painting the forest around us.

My back is toward the viewer and my arm is raised at an angle that makes it look like it’s moving, like you can see me painting; not just a single moment in time, but many moments, sewn together with paint.

I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s magnificent.

“Phantom—”

“My turn,” they interrupt as they walk to stand before my painting.

I painted a portrait of the forest, reveling in the late evening light, with the addition of a lone deer drinking from the river. A deer with dual-toned eyes.

Phantom doesn’t speak for several minutes as dusk descends around us.

Eventually, my nerves get the better of me. “It’s not as good as yours,” I finally say into the silence.

“It’s brilliant,” they whisper.

They turn away from me then, and I hear them breathe yet another phrase under their breath, but I must’ve heard wrong. Why would Phantom say ‘always is’?

We pack up our supplies and canvases in the dark, but we leave the easels and stools behind.

Phantom says they’ll retrieve them tomorrow.

As we ride back into town, I smell peppermint again as I lean in close to speak in Phantom’s ear.

“Thanks for tonight. I didn’t know how much I needed that. The advice, the forest . . .”

“That’s what friends are for,” they say in an amused tone. “Or so I’ve heard.”

I’m so elated I can’t stop myself.

I lean down with the intent of kissing Phantom’s cheek over their mask, but my sudden movement makes them startle and lose control of the bike for a moment, swerving off the sidewalk. I crush myself against their back, holding on tight so I don’t fall off.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have tried to move,” I apologize after they regain control.

But Phantom laughs. A real laugh this time. Deep and genuine.

It’s music to my ears.

“You sure know how to keep a person on their toes,” they say as they round on my dorm building.

After I dismount, Phantom points to the canvas bag strapped to my back. “Submit that for your midterm assignment.”

“You don’t want it?” I ask shyly. After all, I painted it for them.

“I can’t be selfish with your art like that, Maeve.”

I convince myself that the goosebumps suddenly breaking out across my skin are from the cold and not from the sound of my name on their lips.

“Okay,” I say before a beat of silence passes us by. “Can I text you tomorrow?”

They nod, and as they do, their eyes seem to smile again.

I dream of those eyes; two bright portals that transport me to a different world.

A better world.

A world with magic and art.

A world where I’m completely and utterly seen.