By Stoney M. Setzer
“You have so much beautiful art here, Dorian,” she said between kisses, running her fingers through his golden hair. “It must have taken you a long time to acquire it all.”
If you only knew. He pressed his lips against hers again. “A long time and a lot of money. But none of it is as beautiful as you, Victoria.”
“Valerie.” She leaned in for another kiss. When their lips parted again, she said, “Goulash.”
“What?” Dorian asked, perplexed.
Suddenly the door burst open. Two ski-masked men clad entirely in black stormed in. “Hands up!” one of them commanded.
Dorian immediately obeyed, his blood pounding in his ears. It took him a moment to realize that Valerie wasn’t complying. Instead, she stood, adjusting her little black dress. “All right, boys, you know the drill. Tie him up, then grab every piece of art that looks valuable.”
“Veronica! What are you doing?” Dorian asked as they bound his wrists and ankles.
“It’s Valerie. You really should be more careful of the girls you bring home, Dorian. Especially if you can’t even keep their names straight.” She smirked. “You really do have so much beautiful art here—valuable art. We’re just trying to redistribute the wealth a little bit.”
Art thieves. Immediately Dorian thought of one piece in particular—the portrait that Basil had painted for him well over a century ago. If they found it…
“So… you had this planned all along?” he asked.
“We’ve been watching you, Darrin—sorry, Dorian,” she taunted. “Remember the girl you brought here the night before last? She cased the place for us while you were more interested in… well, other things.”
Basil had tried to warn him, how many times? One day your obsession with beauty—especially beautiful girls—will be the death of you. But Dorian had always scoffed. Basil’s portrait shielded him from most consequences that might come from his indulgences, but he had never anticipated something like this…
The thieves’ footsteps thumped toward the hall closet where Dorian kept his portrait hidden. If they damaged it in any way, he was dead. And if they found it, they might destroy it out of utter revulsion. His sins had made it quite hideous by now.
Unless…
Dorian raised his chin arrogantly. “You know I’ll call the police when you leave.”
Valerie shrugged. “You can’t see their faces; you don’t know their names.”
“But I know yours. You’ve corrected me enough times on it. You wouldn’t have bothered unless your name really is Valerie and being called otherwise is a pet peeve of yours.” He grinned smugly, hoping it hid his apprehension. Gambling was one vice he had never fully embraced, and now he was gambling with his life. “I can identify you easily enough.”
She winced. Clearly, she hadn’t thought about that detail. “I should have drugged you while we were kissing, pretty boy.” She produced a tiny derringer and aimed it at Dorian. “Then again, you should have kept your mouth shut until we got out of here.”
Dorian shrugged, faking a confidence he didn’t feel. “Do what you must, then, just as I will.” He reached for his phone with exaggerated slowness, bluffing.
“Stop!” she commanded.
“Why don’t you stop me?”
Flustered, Valerie squeezed the trigger. Dorian felt the bullet hit his chest and bounce off as harmlessly as a pebble. It didn’t even hurt. His gamble was working.
Valerie’s face twitched. Stepping forward, she fired again without result. Her accomplices rushed back into the room. “What happened?” one cried.
“I didn’t miss! Why aren’t you dead?” Valerie screamed. She emptied the derringer, but none of the rounds pierced his skin. Valerie kept pulling the trigger as if she didn’t hear the empty clicks.
One of the thieves grabbed Dorian from behind and put him in a chokehold. Although he scolded himself for not anticipating it, he didn’t struggle, assured certain that it wasn’t necessary.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said mockingly.
Now the third thief stepped in front of Dorian, switchblade in hand. He stabbed Dorian in the stomach—or tried to. The blade slipped back, cutting the thief’s hand instead. Valerie was laughing now—hysterical, insane laughter.
“What are you, some kind of a spook?” asked the second thief, dropping his chokehold and standing next to his comrades, as if looking for safety in numbers.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Dorian sneered. Was there anything as beautiful as an unexpected opportunity? “And you have no idea what sorts of fiendish things I’m capable of.”
The two men took a step back, one of them guiding Valerie along. “Forget it! We’re sorry!” the knife-wielder cried.
“I might have mercy on you, if you do as I command.”
“Anything! Please!”
“Leave everything here, never come back, and never breathe a word of this to anyone. If you do, I’ll know.” Dorian smirked ominously.
They fled, dragging incoherent Valerie with them. Dorian lamented having to deal with the zip ties himself, but there was nothing for it. Had he asked them to cut him free, the illusion would have been lost. Besides, they had left the switchblade, bloodied but still sharp enough to cut his bonds with a little work.
Once he was finally free, he went to the closet, looked at the portrait, and shuddered. As always, new offenses marked the image. His dalliance with the girl from the other night—he couldn’t remember her name at all now—and the lies he’d woven to the thieves made their marks. Even his intentions toward Valerie and his role in her breakdown were reflected in hideous detail. Somehow, the bullet and knife wounds didn’t show up at all, on his body or on the portrait.
As always, he closed the door and did his best to forget what he had just seen. There was still plenty of evening left. Maybe he could call Ashley from the coffee shop—or was it Amy?
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Ooooh, good one. No, a great one! Terrific twist on the Dorian story. Or is it a twist? I can definitely see it happening to him “for real.” I always like your stories but this one is superb.
Thank you! I really appreciate that!
Dorian is the kind of guy that isn’t harmed when he’s shot, but he’ll prosecute the shooter and walk in to court with a neckbrace.
Oh yes, most definitely!