She sat there, still, but her heart was pounding. He stood behind the easel, his expression inscrutable. She tried to relax but she was troubled. He’d painted her sister and another woman and both had turned up dead. Was he responsible or was someone else? He didn’t look like a murderer. No, it couldn’t be him. He was an artist. The greatest in Paris. It couldn’t be him. How could she be in love with a killer? Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in grave danger.
A week later, they dragged her body out of the Seine.
100 Words
This post is for the Friday’s Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find this week’s prompt Here. To read other stories or to participate, click Here.
Notes to Women 
Well done!
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Thanks, Tina 🙂
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She’ll be young and in love forever… in his painting 😉 But, no, I’m sure it was all a coincidence, and same with the next three…
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You’re unto something, Trent 🙂
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lol, maybe. For some reason, a lot of dark humor came to mind after reading your story, and the thought of Dorian Gray, whose famous (infamous) portrait picked up every stain of ever wretched act he committed.
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The Picture of Dorian Gray was a classic. I’m thrilled that you thought of it when you read my story. I’m thinking more in line that the artist could be innocent but someone else is trying to make him look guilty. A rival or jealous ex, perhaps?
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There is that possibility. He was framed, like one of his paintings.
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lol Clever pun about him being framed like one of his paintings.
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I hope you don’t mind, but I am posting a story based loosely on this 🙂
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No, I don’t mind at all. Am flattered, actually 🙂 Can’t wait to read your story.
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Thanks! It is posted.
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You’re welcome. I read it and loved it!
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Thanks! Glad you liked it 🙂
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You’re welcome 🙂 I did.
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She took a bit of a risk trusting him with that record. Good take.
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I guess she did. She was convinced of his innocence, though and maybe she was right. Thanks, Iain 🙂
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Oh my goodness, what a last line!
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
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Unfortunately for her, the last line shows that the danger she sensed was real.
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Dear Adele,
Apparently it was him. Nicely done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Dear Rochelle,
It could be him or it could be someone going to great lengths to make it look that way. Thanks 🙂
Shalom,
Adele
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The ones closest to her she could have verbalized her fears to are dead. Why oh why didn’t she trust her gut?
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She believed or wanted to believe in his innocence at the risk of listening to and following her intuition.
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Why do they never listen to their gut?
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In her case, it was love which can be blind sometimes.
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I’ll never understand that type of “love”
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Nor will I.
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Wonder if he painted the fear that must have appeared in her eyes…excellent piece.
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Perhaps he did. Thank you 🙂 I’m happy you enjoyed my story.
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He wanted his models to look forever young like in his paintings, perhaps! Well-done!
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Perhaps. Thanks, Jolly 🙂
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Women’s intuition or common sense?
Either way she should have heeded it.
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She should have but love and her conviction of his innocence blinded her to both.
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There’s that ignored intuition proving one more time that leading with your heart can get undesirable results. Good one. Enjoyed it.
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Yes. Too often people ignore their gut feeling and live to or not, in her case, to regret it. Thanks, Bill. Am happy you enjoyed it 🙂
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Should have know better I guess.
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I guess so.
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I don’t think I would have made the choice she did. Scary guy.
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She was in love with him and believed that he was innocent.
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Love really can be blind.
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Yes, it can be at times.
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Should have gone with her instincts. Good take.
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Thanks, Sandra. Love and belief in his innocence made her ignore her instincts.
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If there’s a thing a gal should heed, it is her gut.
She should’a never gone to him. She shoulda’ gotten out …
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She stayed because she loved him and believed in his innocence.
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Well, her life, her choices …
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You’re right. It was her life and her choice. And it’s possible that she was right about his innocence and that the danger wasn’t from him but from someone else.
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Possible indeed!
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Trust your intuition!!!
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Yes. Always.
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