The challenge here was to use the words Chiaroscuro, Evanesce and Lachrymose. Apparently I was almost given Nictitating, so I decided to treat that as a stretch goal. Gavin walked into the room and was immediately surprised by the darkness, the only light coming from the doorway behind him and from a small table lamp at the opposite end of the room. It illuminated little other than his wife, Caroline, and an old portrait that she appeared to be using the light to study. He walked over.
She started as she heard his approach and looked round at him with a smile. “What is it?” she asked as he navigated the dark room. “Nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to check on you. It’s not like you to miss lunch.” “Have I?” She looked at her watch, incredulity on her face. “My word, you’re right. I suppose I got carried away.” He looked at the picture. It was old and had been very expensive. However, Caroline had studied the artist, Vangbaldi, for her PhD and so it had been an obvious present when he had come across it at auction. It showed a woman, in black and white like all of Vangbaldi’s work. She was seated, with hair that came to her shoulders. Even though it was all in shades of grey, he imagined her as being blonde. Her eyes twinkled, showing a life that had been lived many years ago, and a humour that the artist had captured perfectly. “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Oh, I do,” she replied. “But it’s more than that. Look closely at her eyes.” He pulled her face towards his. “I’d rather look at yours.” He lowered his head to kiss her and then noticed the tears in the light of the table lamp. “You’re crying?” “Oh, I’m fine. It’s just the bright light sometimes makes me lachrymose, and you know how I love Vangbaldi’s work. But seriously – look at her.” He did as his wife bade him, not seeing whatever was so significant. “You’re going to have to help me.” She pointed at the portrait’s eyes. “Look – she has nictitating membranes on her eyes. They’re difficult to see, but the chiaroscuro makes it easier to see than it might be if the portrait was in colour.” “Nictitating membranes?” “Yes – thin extra eyelids, usually translucent which is why they’re hard to see. Without the exquisite shading that Vangbaldi uses, we wouldn’t be able to see it.” He looked closely and, if he squinted, he could make out something. He picked up the magnifying glass from the desk and used that, which made it clearer. It looked like she was right. “OK,” he said. “That’s odd, but why so interesting?” “Don’t you remember my thesis – you had to read it twice. In humans these are vestigial – they don’t work anymore - but Vangbaldi always painted true to life, other than the black and white. I’ve looked at dozens of his portraits in my work, and that has always been true. This is the only time I’ve ever seen anything like this.” Gavin cocked his head. “But, if humans don’t have these, how can he have painted true?” “That’s the question. Either he broke his usual habit for this one picture, or he found a woman with nictitating membranes. If it’s the latter, it means he found somebody who wasn’t completely human!” “You’re talking science fiction! Comic book stuff. Mutants?” She shook her head at him. “Vangbaldi always had an interest in the occult and his writings claimed that he thought that his art was a way to explore that. It’s never really made much sense, except for the way that art can be a way to explore anything. But what if he actually made contact with something else? We don’t know what happened to him at the end of his life – he just disappeared. Evanesced.” Gavin drew back a little and gave his wife a look to suggest that she might need a rest, but as he saw the portrait again over her shoulder he jumped back, banging the backs of his legs into a chair. He was sure that the woman had winked at him. With her nictitating membrane.
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