I can't sleep,' she said, staring at the piece. 'He haunts me. That face... Marcus, I think I know him .' 'That's impossible. You said yourself there's no artist signature. No, not the artist. The subject.' Helena's voice cracked. 'He looks like Eduardo.' Marcus knew the story. Helena's younger brother Eduardo had drowned in a lake accident fifteen years ago.
Three sleepless days had passed since Helena's visit. Marcus found himself avoiding the piece, which now dominated his office like an unwelcome presence. When he did look at it, his original peaceful interpretation remained unchanged, but doubt gnawed at his sanity.
Helena called obsessively, her voice growing more strained with each conversation.
"I keep seeing more details," she whispered during their Tuesday morning call. "The man seems to be hypnotized by some yellow right rays. And the water, Marcus, it's getting darker. More turbulent."
What Helena Sees
"Helena, I think we should..."
"I'm not losing my mind," she cut him off. "I've shown photographs to three people. They all see what I see. A man drowning, desperate, dying."
But when Marcus showed photos to his assistant Sarah, she described the exact serene scene he witnessed. Either they were both experiencing some form of shared psychosis, or something far stranger was occurring.
On Wednesday evening, Helena arrived at his office with dark circles under her eyes and trembling hands.
"I can't sleep," she said, staring at the piece. "He haunts me. That face... Marcus, I think I know him."
"That's impossible. You said yourself there's no artist signature, no—"
"Not the artist. The subject." Helena's voice cracked. "He looks like Eduardo."
Marcus knew the story. Helena's younger brother Eduardo had drowned in a lake accident fifteen years ago. The family had been sailing; a sudden storm hit. Eduardo had been thrown overboard in the chaos, his body never recovered.
"Helena, you're projecting. Grief can..."
"Then explain why you see something completely different!" Her voice echoed in the small office. "Explain why this thing shows each of us exactly what will destroy us most!"
The accusation hung between them like a blade. Marcus felt his chest tighten as he stared at the piece. The serene figure, the peaceful boat, the gentle fish—was his vision hiding something darker? Was his mind protecting him from a truth he couldn't handle?
"There's someone we need to call," Helena said finally, pulling out her phone. "Dr. Evelyn Torres. She's a paranormal investigator, but she has a PhD in psychology. If anyone can make sense of this..."
Marcus wanted to object. His reputation, his career, his carefully constructed rational world, all of it could crumble if word got out that he was consulting paranormal investigators. But as he looked at Helena's haunted expression, then back at the artwork that had begun to feel more like a trap than a treasure, he realized his rational world was already crumbling.
"Make the call," he said.
As Helena dialed, Marcus noticed something that made his blood freeze. In the corner of the piece, where he'd always seen empty water, a small dark shadow had appeared. It could have been a reflection, a trick of the lighting, but it looked disturbingly like a child's silhouette.
A child he'd been trying not to remember for twenty-seven years.