Tag Archives: Mystery

Canvas Blues – LXXXIV: Yesteryears

13 Wednesday Oct 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXXIV: Yesteryears

The winter after Dylan’s death waxed long and painful, with a guilt by association tainting Brendon’s life at school. Casey got yanked by his mom and put into a different school, using her sister’s address in the neighboring district. Meant he just dealt with whispers rather than kids who’d been close to Dylan, their anger a flowing river through the halls.

That Dylan Westerman Memorial 5k Walk/Run was only in the eaves that season. A murmur, an idea that hadn’t solidified. The first one was the following autumn of Brendon’s senior year, the event taking place through Castlebrock, a part of the 5k winding down the roads Casey would have taken to escape from the Westerman’s garage, though no one ever pointed that out.

At least not out loud.

That winter though, while the murmurs abounded and copulated and grew in exponential size, Aunt Laurel introduced a new beau to the family. Her new man was a lean fellow by the name of Dmitri—Dmitri Smith. A man with class and glasses who could not draw to save his life, but enjoyed every sport unto man, differently than Casey’s father for Dmitri played them all rather than merely watching.

There was an attempt late spring and early summer to teach Brendon all the magical ways of the ball—the soccer ball, the basketball, the football, even the foosball got its time in the sun. Brendon proved to be a miserable student and Dmitri an even more miserable teacher, yet Brendon left those afternoons with his belly full of Aunt Laurel’s honeyed tea and rosemary cookies and his heart beating out a rhythm of contentment.

He knew, as any teen did, that his mother and Aunt Laurel had been in cahoots, that they had guided those afternoons as a way to steer Brendon’s mind away from Casey and Dylan and death and guilt. He didn’t mind though, because in some weird way, the distraction Dmitri gave worked.

It meant that Brendon’s drawings slowly eased away from Casey and Mustangs and crooked limbs and gaping maws of garages where a grim reaper stood staring at Brendon in a confusing, accusatory way.

~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter Coming October 20th

Canvas Blues – LXXXIII: Present

06 Wednesday Oct 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXXIII: Present

“It wasn’t Casey’s Mustang. The cops found no evidence of blood or…anything. No evidence of it being cleaned. They went through both Casey’s mom’s house and dad’s and they were thorough. He’d been poor enough…”

Orion and Brendon lay against the bed, Brendon staring straight up at the ceiling and its dusty fan, Orion twisted onto his side, hand propping up his head. All attentive, likely stripping Brendon’s expressions into finely-tuned blocks of information to file away.

Brendon took another long breath before continuing. “He’d been poor enough that he didn’t have resources others did. Didn’t have the ability to hide what he’d done. But without any evidence of the crime, the case only had circumstantial evidence with Casey’s word against Dylan’s death.”

“And what was Casey’s word?”

“That a completely different car came driving up and crushed Dylan.”

“What kind of car?”

“That’s the thing.” Brendon turned his head toward Orion. “He claimed, at least to the police, that he didn’t know.”

“But you said Casey loved cars. Knew them.”

“Exactly,” whispered Brendon.

Orion dragged his gaze all over Brendon’s face, like he was searching for something more. Then he twisted and lay flat on the bed, the two of them staring up at the blank ceiling like answers might pop free from the white paint.

“You think it was the Le Mans,” stated Orion. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXXII: Yesteryears

29 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXXII: Yesteryears

The cause of Dylan’s death was not revealed to Brendon; he was not kin nor friend, merely a witness who hadn’t witnessed anything. But he knew Dylan had been crushed. Slammed against the wall of the garage, shaking the foundations, the car then thrown in reverse to rev away with murder in its fender.

In the aftermath, Casey was a pariah in Castlebrock, blamed by proximity before due process took hold. Brendon’s parents forbid him from calling, at least until the situation resolved itself into some semblance of responsibility, citing many things as reason, some of them frail—such as “you need to focus on something positive”—some of them steeped in reality—such as “he’s a white boy; you’re not.”

That blue Mustang was confiscated as evidence based on Robbie and Brendon’s testimonies. Then was released from custody two months later. With no arrest.

Brendon overheard his parents talking one night, the rumor mill up and working overtime through the town.

“So they’re hunting for a different car? The one that hurt that boy?”

“Seems they can’t figure out what exactly happened.”

“But they know he was crushed.”

“Cross his torso, I’ve heard.”

Silence. Mom turning the water on to scrub out her teacup. The light chime of it hitting the counter as she set it down. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXX: Present

15 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXX: Present

Orion broke the kiss first, but kept himself close, their lips still touching, Brendon’s heart battering against his chest and his mind a wash of color that refused to take on shapes that would make sense of this moment. He resisted the moan that wanted to escape his throat. Resisted the urge to grab Orion and drag him backward on the bed. Resisted even the urge to shove his tongue back into Orion’s mouth.

Because Casey stared down at them knowingly, watching their clothing get tight.

“I’m sitting here, in your bedroom,” said Orion. “Which means you know, you believe, that this painting of this old car did something to someone you cared about.”

Brendon twisted his neck slightly, just enough he could see the wall out of the corner of his eye where Casey’s shining smile grew ever more glorious. Youth and freedom and hope. That was why he’d hidden the painting in the back of the closet, behind a dozen others. Youth and freedom and hope, all things that had felt so possible then. Impossible now.

Guilt seized him.

“You want to tell me about it. About the pain,” said Orion.

“Is this why you kissed me?” asked Brendon dryly as he set his glass down on the carpet at his feet. “Seducing the man you think powerful enough to kill through his paintings so I shed some secret?”

“I’m seducing a man I find handsome.” Orion’s hand slid up further till the crotch in Brendon’s jeans forced a stop. But there he curled his fingers so they pressed against the underside of Brendon’s balls, thumb landing casually against the base of Brendon’s cock. “Could tell you how incredibly attractive you are, especially when you get that look in your eye, the one that says you’re not quite seeing what I’m seeing. There’s a part of me that wonders… Wonders just how powerful you truly are.” Orion murmured those final words directly into Brendon’s ear, then dragged teeth against his lobe, a tongue along his neck, while his fingers massaged a gentle rhythm against his jeans. “I am sorry about your friend though.”

“My friend…” whispered Brendon. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXIX: Yesteryears

08 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXIX: Yesteryears

The inside of Dylan’s house was a mausoleum of white and ivory granite and tile. Folded tables and oak cabinetry were staples of the décor, while old, knitted rag dolls stared down from the hall shelf. One of his parents must have been military because paraphernalia dotted the walls—giant photos of airplanes, spread eagle wings, a service award.

Though Robbie’s nose leaked blood between his fingers, he held his head back in a solid attempt to keep from splashing a mess across the floor before Brendon could help him to the bathroom. There, Brendon wet down a gray washcloth and helped to wash the blood away, smearing it so much that it painted Robbie’s freckles and poured into his mouth to line his teeth when he smiled grimly.

“What set him off?”

As if Casey was a bomb with a fuse that could be lit by just any passing stranger. A fuse shrinking over time, getting tired of flaring, traveling that same, well-worn path to an inevitable explosion.

But that was Casey’s Dad. Not Casey. Casey wasn’t a bomb; he didn’t have a fuse.

“Other than you?” asked Brendon, admittedly annoyed because of course there was something to see in Casey. There was everything to see. And Robbie’ question over what Brendon saw in Casey hadn’t been one that deserved an answer.

Robbie shrugged and leaned further forward over the sink, letting fat, blood-tinged drops dribble out against the porcelain. “I’d been talking to you. Not him.”

“I know.”

“I meant it too.” Robbie turned his head sideways to look at Brendon. “Why are you with him?” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXVIII: Yesteryears

01 Wednesday Sep 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXVIII: Yesteryears

Dylan’s garage—with its nice gym equipment, with its fancy bikes on their fancy hooks on the wall, with its expensive cars that didn’t even include the one his parents were driving that wasn’t there at the moment—had this open, hollow feel to it despite the four of them taking up so much space, filling the air with intensity and riled hormones.

In the driveway, the Mustang glared them down with sun-reflecting headlights splotchy from dirt roads far from here. The gentle warmth of an autumn breeze coasted down the street ruffling HOA-controlled lawns with a hoity-toity attitude. Like the breeze had stepped up on the social ladder when it soured over Ol’ North Main.

“Your friend,” said Dylan, with an eye roll at the word “friend” as he turned to Robbie, “thinks he can just barge into my house. But, man, I don’t want lice. Mom would kill me.” But he smiled as he said it, reminding Brendon of when Dylan had pestered Donna Pierceman with idiotic questions during art class, as if art was beneath him, a useless endeavor when one could be a lawyer, a doctor, an upstanding member of society rather than playing finger-paints.

“Lice,” snapped Casey. “I’ll give you lice.” And he stepped forward, fist pulled back, but slow-like. As if Casey were thinking about punching Dylan rather than having already decided to do it.

Brendon grabbed his arm. “He’s just being a dick, trying to rile you up.”

Dylan laughed, a giggle almost, a lilting up and down sound that rankled along Brendon’s spine in a pitter-patter of condescension and classism. Robbie had hopped the steps by now, had approached with concern Ving across his forehead. He gave Dylan a light punch in the arm, one of those hey-stop-it, but hey-you’re-kind-of-right sorts of jabs.

“No one thinks you have lice, Case,” said Robbie. “But what are you doing here?”

“No one invited you,” added Dylan.

“That’s damn obvious,” said Casey. “Can’t invite the folks from the wrong end of Castlebrock, can you? Or is it just those you can use?”

Brendon rocked back, putting space between him and Casey. Use. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before, and now, with it chilling in the air between the four of them, he wondered, casting Robbie a glance as the idea of it percolated insidiously, round and round, without any real logical sense to its confines. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXVII: Present

25 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXVII: Present

“I spent so many hours on that painting,” said Brendon. “It was a birthday present. There was this old car out in the forest at a dump site that Casey found when we were kids. A bunch of old cars, actually, but that one in particular he loved playing in. I wanted to give him something of it, but make it more alive.”

“Do you try to make things alive often in your paintings?”

Brendon rubbed his thumb over the divots in his glass. “You think that’s the clue, then? That if I try to make things alive that they might become so?”

“Just another thought. Trying to solve the mystery of Brendon Kotes.” The corner of Orion’s lips tugged up and those bright blue eyes, shadowed here in Brendon’s bedroom, all but shimmered with suggestion.

With a hard, hard breath, Brendon straightened, the action pressing their thighs closer together. Yet still, Orion didn’t pull away. So Brendon didn’t either, his heart beginning a painful thud as his sticky dreams from last night came sneaking through his mind, teasing, testing things that might not come.

“I’m not really a mystery.”

That corner tug slowly gave way to a gently warm smile filled with disbelief. “Then that must mean I am a much slower man than I always give myself credit for.” He leaned in as he spoke, gaze never leaving Brendon’s, not even when Brendon flicked his tongue out to wet dry lips in instinctual anticipation.

“You think highly of your abilities.”

“I do,” agreed Orion on a rumble that pulled straight from his throat like the deep purr of an engine. Then his lips touched Brendon’s in a gentle, coaxing question. The whiskey on his breath burned a track down into Brendon’s lungs. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXVI: Yesteryears

18 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXVI: Yesteryears

Robbie wasn’t at his house, his mother giving an apologetic moue while glancing at Casey’s Mustang with a hint of disapproval. Might have been disapproval for the roaring it’d done going up the hill or might have been the fact it looked cheap in comparison to the metallic expensives sitting in the garages of this opulent zone of Castlebrock.

“He went up to Dylan’s house,” she said.

“Dylan Westerman?” asked Casey, his jaw stiffening.

“Yes. I’m not sure if they’re still there though.”

Casey spun away before Mrs. Frey could finish and was hopping down the concrete steps and crossing through the grass and mulch and gardenias while Brendon rushed a “Thank you.”

Inside the Mustang, Brendon picked the Le Mans painting back up to hold in his lap. The back seat sat laden with grocery bags bursting at the seams with Casey’s clothes. His book bag, so full it bloated, lay haphazardly on top of the mountain. But Brendon’s painting had been in the front passenger seat in a place of honor, the Le Mans not weighed down by reality, by hatred of a father to be left behind.

They pulled into Dylan’s canted driveway, the hedges trimmed to boxes, the mulch a gleaming red, the three-car garage door sitting open with both Dylan’s Audi and Robbie’s BMW in the far spots while the bay right in front of them stood starkly empty but for a few gym machines and mats.

“Robbie!” Casey shouted even before he closed the car door, before the slam rattled the Mustang, made it vibrate the painting as Brendon balanced it on the seat. “Robbie fucking Frey!”

“The whole neighborhood will hear you,” warned Brendon, trotting behind, his stomach doing flips.

“Let them,” Casey all but snarled and in that moment Brendon was just happy it wasn’t directed toward him. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXV: Yesteryears

11 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXV: Yesteryears

Saturday came with a sprinkle, leaving yellow pollen outlines to mark parked cars even long after they’d driven off. Brendon’s father decided to replace the mailbox—“Been pooling water for months ever since those stupid kids batted a three hundred down the street”—and his mother had gone off shopping with Aunt Laurel, leaving Brendon alone during that auspicious morning.

Had he been able to go back, just not answered the door, remained crossed-legged on his bed sketching out a thirty-by-thirty-inch spaceship on cheap poster board…

But he hadn’t known, had he?

Casey scowled when Brendon opened the door. “What’s this I hear about you writing comics with Robbie?”

“I—”

“Is that where you are all these nights? Not actually doing homework?”

“We only meet up like once or twice a week. I didn’t think you’d care. Aren’t the two of you friends again?”

“Friends?” Casey scoffed and tossed his hair out of his eyes distractedly. “He’s no friend of mine.”

Brendon sagged against the door frame. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Unless you mean my boyfriend is chilling at a stuck-up douche’s house when I call.” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXIV: Present

04 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXIV: Present

“This is Casey,” Orion mused. He pressed a finger against the raised paint from where a different painting had ripped the wall when Brendon had removed it. “But he’s not normally here. The lines from the frame are the wrong size, don’t match up with what was here originally.”

Brendon shoved his hands deep into his pockets and did his best not to look self-conscious.

“You were trying it.” Orion met his gaze after an unsettling glance across Brendon’s bedroom. “Did it work?”

With a slow shake of his head Brendon turned away.

“He’s young in this painting. Younger than I’d have imagined. You were friends for a long while? Had to be. First relationship. He bail on you? I can’t imagine you wanting to revisit him were it the other way around.”

Brendon cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re like a painting yourself, Brendon.” Orion moved closer, his voice going deeper, smoother. “All facing outward, your emotions like strokes across your skin. Dark, but not shadowy, yet hiding bits of yourself inside all the business of your work.”

Brendon took a step back, needing the space as his world shrank, zeroing in on Casey where he smiled on the wall and Orion’s steady, steely presence. “I wanted it to be real. I wanted to believe you. But it’s not. It didn’t work.”

Orion only nodded and turned back to Casey’s painting. “That is interesting. That had been another theory of mine. If it wasn’t the artist’s intentions, perhaps it’s the viewer’s.” He ran a finger through the air, miming stroking Casey’s cheek. Then he raised an eyebrow at Brendon. “Maybe the artist as viewer is immune.”

Brendon sank onto the edge of his bed, a visceral feeling clutching at his gut. The bed sagged as Orion sat next to him, the mattress too old to remain firm, pressing their thighs together as they dipped toward one another. Orion made no move to pull away. So Brendon didn’t either. Continue reading →