The Last of Detroit

Chapter 5 - The Painter

The bus slowly came to a rest with a gentle stop. The doors slid open, allowing the people out of the bus. Markus stood up, waiting for the people ahead of him to get off. He picked up the paint box and put it under his arm again. He stepped off the bus. The bus drove off behind him, he looked back at it and then walked towards the house.

He moved towards the house and stood at the door; it slid open, and the security system greets him, "Alarm deactivated, welcome home, Markus." He walked in and the doors closed behind him. Markus put the paint box on the counter. He then hangs his coat up on the coat rack. Carl's room is upstairs, he went up the staircase. The carpet that was on the stairs was hand-made by his dad.

Markus grabbed the handrail and then turned the corner. Carl's paintings were all over the walls; beautiful paintings Carl had become famous for. He stood in front of Carl's bedroom door and it slid open. Carl was still in bed, Markus walked past the bed and to the window; he opened the curtains. Carl used his hand to cover his face from the light, he saw Markus.

"Good morning, Dad." He walked over to Carl and sat at the foot of his bed. "The weathers nice, but it's probably going to rain soon."

"Sounds like a good day to spend in bed." Carl responds, using his arms to help himself sit up.

"I went to pick up the paint you ordered." Markus stood up.

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten!" Carl says. Markus picks up his dad's medicine that was on top of the nightstand. "That's the difference between you and me, you never forget anything."

"Show me your arm please, dad." Markus clicks Carl's diabetes insulin shot. Carl straightened out his arm. Markus puts the device in his arm.

"I just opened my eyes and I'm already gritting my teeth." Carl smiles.

Markus puts down the insulin device. "I'll take you to the bathroom now." Carl puts up his arm and Markus picks him up. He walks to the bathroom.

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Markus gently put Carl into his wheelchair. He grabbed the handle.

"Anything special on the agenda today?" Carl asked.

"Yes, there's the opening of your retrospective at the museum of modern art." Markus spoke, rounding the corner. "The gallery director left four messages asking to confirm your attendance." He puts Carl's wheelchair against the wall along the staircase. The machine attaches itself to the wheelchair. It brings Carl down the stairs.

"I haven't decided yet. Well see about that later. Any news from Leo?"

"No, dad. I can call him if you like?"

"No. No, don't bother." Markus reaches the end of the staircase; he grabs the wheelchair handle and turns it towards the living room. They go through the living room and past it to the paint studio. He moves Carl's wheelchair in front of the painting he was working on.

Only after a few minutes, Carl grips the wheels of his wheelchair and moves himself backwards so he could face Markus.

"I have nothing left to say anymore. Each day that goes by brings me closer to the end. I'm just an old man clinging to his brushes."

"Carl..."

"Enough about me... Let's see if you have any talent. Give it a try. Try painting something."

"Paint? But, what I... Painting what?"

"Anything you want! Give it a try." Carl pointed at a blank canvas. He picked up his paint palette and handed it to Markus. He picked it up and turned towards the blank canvas.

"Do something for me, close your eyes. Trust me." Markus closed his eyes. "Try to imagine something that doesn't exist, something you've never seen. Now, concentrate... on how it makes you feel, and let your hand drift across the canvas."

Markus put the paint brush on the color palette, choosing a color at random. He then put the brush on the canvas. He made several brush strokes; some up, some down, some sideways. Then he put his brush on the color palette again, choosing another color. He put it on the canvas. He did this a few more times then opened his eyes.

"Oh my god..." Carl says in astonishment, looking at the painting Markus made. The studio's doors slide open and someone enters. It's Leo.

"Hey, Dad." Leo walks in, looking unsteady.

"Leo, I didn't hear you come in."

"I was in the neighborhood; thought I'd stop by. It's been a while, right?"

"You alright?" Carl asks, worried. "You don't look so good."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine... Hey, listen, uh... I need some cash, Dad." Leo looks around the studio then back at Carl.

"Again? What happened to the money I just gave you?"

"Uh well, it just goes, you know?"

"Yeah... Yeah, you're on it again, aren't you?"

"No, no, no, I swear it's not that."

"Don't lie to me, Leo."

"What difference does it make? I just need some cash, that's all!" Leo was starting to lose his temper.

"Sorry... The answer is no."

"What? Why?"

"You know why."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do know why. You don't care about anything except yourself and your paintings. You've never loved anyone. You've never loved me, Dad.

"You've never loved me..." Leo whispered under his breath; he walked out. Carl looked to the floor.