Winner The Crystal Awards 2016, Best Multimedia Story (3d Place).
A spinster doctor rents her spare room to a brain-damaged patient who doesn't know he is a former undercover agent targeted for execution by a powerful criminal.
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A few days before Jean's planned debut at the Coconut Grove Arts Festival.
Jean and Hector crawled on all fours across a four- by eight-foot sheet of newsprint paper on the floor of Jean's bedroom. They held pencils and markers in their hands or mouths, sometimes wedged behind their ears, and they slid plastic rulers and wooden yardsticks from place to place on the paper. Sometimes they drew lines, sometimes they erased lines; often, they argued over conflicting lines.
Hector continued a conversation they had begun earlier. "Nah, man, I been to dozens of these things, I tell ya. They look like this." He drew a line.
Jean scribbled out Hector's new line. "It will take ten men a year to build a booth like that," Jean said. "We will have only one day to put it up and one to take it down – if we get into the festival at all."
Mitchell poked her head in at the door. "We're in!"
All three cheered and exchanged high fives.
"And, that's not all," she said. "Based on our photos, the judges think you stand a very good chance at the Best New Artist ribbon!"
More cheering and hand-slapping ensued. Jean and Hector exchanged a look and, of one mind, returned their attention to the design of their booth.
"Wow, man," Hector breathed. "The Coconut Grove Arts Festival, man! This is a really big deal, dude."
"Not if we don't have a booth to hang the pictures in," said Jean.
"We will," said Hector, working steadily. "We will."
Mitchell crossed the room and turned back the covering sheet on an easel standing in one corner. Beneath the cover was Jean's painting entitled, "Girl with Roses." The girl was the same one Jean always painted, the girl he saw in dreams. In this painting, the girl was clearly nude, but was modestly shielded by a lush garden of roses.
Of the three persons in that room, all working hard to show this painting and others to the public very soon, not one of them knew who she was. Not one knew she was the carefully guarded daughter of an extremely dangerous man. Not one knew that people had been killed for much less than displaying naked pictures of Carinne Averell.
While Mitchell admired the uncovered painting, Hector looked up from his work and made a noise of appreciation. "Okay, man," he told Jean, "you can build the booth the way you want. You can forget the five bucks you owe me. And I'll even pay for a veggie pan pizza special, if you'll just tell me one thing: Is she married?"
Naturally, none of them knew the answer.
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Ironically, Carinne was trying on a wedding gown at that very hour. The fitting must, of course, take place in her suite at home, rather than in a public bridal salon.
The face in her mirror was not a blissful fianceé's face. The reflected girl merely endured, while seamstresses fussed about, making alterations.
Trish sat close by, drinking champagne and making encouraging, flattering comments.
