1 A Dying Man Meets Fate (1)

Rize didn't expect his last paper to be written at the request of a dying man who refused to be interviewed by anyone but him. His coworkers all encouraged him to take the job even though Rize himself was hesitant about the credibility of his paper. "It'll just be a short interview." Yaakov had explained. "If your so scared to do it than remember, a small story will get covered up by the bigger one." Brushing off his concerns, Rize took his notebook and waited for Uriel outside the office building.

Looking at the setting sun, Rize took out a cigarette and twirled it around his finger. At 27 years old, Rize was going to leave journalism and go back to see his sister. Sure, the agency would always be willing to take him back but Rize knew that there was only a very small chance he would return. Rize heard Uriel slam the door open and returned his cigarette back to it's pack as the poor girl was tripping over herself trying to catch her breathe. Uriel's blond straight hair was tied into a messy bun with her white shirt wrinkled and her bag slipping off her shoulder. "I'm… I'm sorry I was late I just- just lost the camera and needed to find a replacement but Nicole was the only one who had one and she was using it so I went to Jason who told me there was one in storage but that one was broken. It's ok though because I finally found mine!"

Uriel had a big smile on her face as she babbled on about how she found her camera and how careless she was as they walked to the clients house. "Oh the papers! Yaakov told me about the guy we were meeting, he said his name was… Francis!" Uriel looked through her bag until she found a manila folder that had "Rize Junior" written in blue. "Francis Foster: mostly known for his commissions little is known about his personal life other than his oldest brother who refuses to speak to him and his younger sister has cut ties with him. His parents are both dead and it's said that his older brother raised him until he became a painter." Uriel shuffled through and her smile slightly widened. "Do you know why he's famous?"

Rize shook his head and took out the pack of cigarettes, choosing to light one instead of just staring at it. "Apparently he can paint people's death. Everyone who has commissioned a work of his have gone mad and seen their death." Uriel bit her lip and looked at the ground. "Hey… Rize, you're leaving the agency. I know I shouldn't be asking but I heard you talking to Yaakov and getting your things ready like Pansy." Uriel looked at Rize as she asked, "Are you going to die?"

This time, Rize didn't answer. He decided to take his time to look at the setting sun as he continued to smoke. After a few seconds of silence Rize decided to answer Uriel. "Yes, I'm dying," Rize took his cigarette and smother it against the brick wall of a store. "Maybe three months- six at most." Uriel just stared at Rize who pretended to not see the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. "Are you going to ask him?" Uriel whispered as she tried to stop the knot at her throat from forming.

"Ask who what?"

"The painter, Francis. Are you going to ask him to paint you?"

"And why would I do that? I already know how I'm going to die."

"I heard people's death can change when he paints them."

Rize only rolled his eyes as he finally saw said painter's house in sight, choosing to ignore Uriel's advice. "Oh, we're here. Do you think Mr. Foster would want us to come in? It's pretty late after all…" Rize took the manila folder from Uriel and looked under the notes Yaakov usually leaves when he had to interview people. 'Client requests to be contacted after five. Don't fuck this up Rize.' With those words of encouragement, Rize checked his watch to find that it was 5:12. He opened the fence and made his way to the door. "Knock on his door."

Three knocks. Uriel took a step back and Rize took a minute to examine the house of the allegedly cursed painter. It wasn't anything special, in fact it seemed to fit in with the other houses in the neighborhood. It had a short black steel fence with brick posts on the corners and grass as green as the neighbors but more flowers were decorating the estate. Mums and sunflowers covered the black mulch which made Uriel swoon as she enjoyed Fosters efforts to keep up with the season. The house itself was a creamy white with a green roof and windows.

After five minutes of waiting, Uriel was about to knock again but heard somebody scurrying in the house. There was a tall man with black hair in a ponytail who wore glasses that had the same prescription as a glass coke bottle and barely noticeable bags under his eyes. "Hello, you must be the reporter I scheduled." Mr. Foster put his hand out and shook Rize's hand. "And you are?" Uriel took out her camera and shook Mr. Foster's hand. "I'm the photographer, Uriel Hyndermier. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Foster." Foster smiled and took a step back into his home.

"Excuse my manners, please come in. I haven't had company in a while." Again, Rize could see how ordinary Foster's home was as he followed Uriel into the living room. There was a small hallway that led straight to the living room where a piano was standing in the middle. There was a couch where Uriel and Rize ended up sitting in while Foster went to prepare tea. The wallpaper was an ugly yellow with a green design reminiscent of the Rorschach Inkblot test. There wasn't any drawings or painting hung around the house which gave Rize an uneasiness. 'This house is so ordinary.' Rize thought as he examined the grand piano that stood alone in the middle of the living room. 'If this is so ordinary than why do I feel such wrongness in this house.'

Foster came in with a tray of tea and honey though he had no where to put it so he ended up holding it. "I made ginger tea though it came out slightly strong. I haven't made tea in such a long time so please forgive me if it's not to your liking." "No, thank you for even making this Mr. Foster." Uriel chimed in. "She's right, we shouldn't impose on you after all, we're grateful of you for even accepting this interview." Rize took a sip of ginger tea which was something he had deeply enjoyed drinking in his youth. "Mr. Junior, I was curious if you played the piano." At Mr. Foster's remark, Rize felt himself choke a little. "I used to play it when I was young but I've grown rusty with age and please, just call me Rize."

Foster nodded and Uriel looked at Rize with stars in her eyes. "You can actually play that? That's amazing! You have to show me that one day!" Rize than saw Uriel's eyes dim as she realized what she said. "Oh, of course you don't have to I was just… that was careless of me." Mr. Foster seemed interested and added, "Rize, you can use my piano if you would like and you can call me Francis." Having the permission of Foster, Rize handed his now empty cup of tea to Foster and sat down. He uncovered the piano and took a second to just look at the row of black and white keys.

The last time he had played the piano was a month ago when he was practicing for his sister. That was when he felt his hands ache to much to continue playing and he felt a heavy burden in his chest. Taking one last sigh he started playing, letting his finger land on two keys. It didn't take long for Uriel to whisper "Clair de Lune" to no one in particular. He had to shorten it as he didn't want to waste time when Francis had already agreed to an interview and he didn't want to make many mistakes. So as he hit that final note, he started coughing and instead of applauding, Uriel rushed to his side. Francis had clapped instead and walked over the hunched Rize and the panicking Uriel. He handed Rize a black handkerchief and went back to the couch to pick up the tray he had left behind.

"That was an excellent performance Rize, when did you learn to play?" Rize took a minute to recover and answered Francis as calmly as he could. "When I was little my parents told me that it was either piano or violin." He managed to answer through his coughing fit. The coughing slowly ceased and Francis guided the pair to his art studio.

It was a room upstairs at the end of the hallway with it's door painted red, unlike the others. It was the first room Rize found to be peculiar. The inside was covered by stains of paint of all kinds and the smell of the room was unbearable making Rize wonder how he hadn't noticed it before. "Apologies for the mess, I haven't had time to clean up since my previous client."

Both Rize and Uriel stayed silent as they had no knowledge of anyone coming in before them or of Francis having been busy. Rize examined paint that had been left out and brushed displayed on the sides of an empty canvas. "Are you planning on continuing to paint?" Uriel asked as she had finally prepared her camera and started recording. "Unfortunately, my last muse went insane and no other volunteers have caught my eye. I have a policy not to paint people uninterested in their fate." Francis sighed as he sat besides the blank canvas. "However, I am willing to make exceptions." Uriel looked up at Rize and almost elbowed him but stayed steady for the camera while Rize took out a small notebook.

"How long have you been painting Mr. Foster?"

"Ever since I could hold a brush but I officially started to sell my services at age 15."

"Is there any reason you chose to paint such rumored angels of death?"

"This has been my career for as long as I can remember. It brings me money while giving people the closure they need to move on with their lives."

"Do you truly believe your paintings tell the future?"

"… I believe that it's ultimately up to the muse to decide what they believe."

"Have you ever painted your own death?"

"That would be impossible."

The questions continued until night when the sun had just started to fall and their time was officially over. "Thank you for your time Francis." They both thanked Francis who remained seated next to his canvas. "It was my pleasure. However, I'm afraid I must ask a favor from you." Francis calmly spoke and Rize raised an eyebrow. "A favor? You didn't ask for money before the interview nor anything besides who would the interviewer would be." Uriel said baffled at what Francis would want.

"My apologizes but I'm afraid I feel like painting one final person." Francis explained and Rize felt a chill go down his spine. "If Rize could do me the honor," Francis spoke softer, as if he were explaining this to a child. "I would prefer if he could amuse me for just tonight and be the model of my final painting."