The Painting, the Artist, and the Mushroom Patch

It was unusual to be left waiting at Jesse’s door. He was almost always home—an artist who used his living space as a studio—and he was always happy to receive visitors, especially Billie and Elijah. But today, even as Billie raised her hand to knock on the door’s thick wood for a third time, the house remained still and quiet. There was no Jesse in sight.

“Maybe we should come back,” Elijah said.

Billie shook her head, knocking again, harder this time. “It’s not like he didn’t know we were coming.”

“Maybe he forgot.”

“He never forgets.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Billie didn’t believe it. Elijah could be forgetful—he had forgotten about their plans the last time the three friends had tried to spend time together—and so could she, but not Jesse. Never Jesse. He was too reliable; if she was ever going to be stuck in a situation where her life was at stake, he was the one she would want there to help get her out of it. 

So she reached into the flower box below the window directly beside the door. She stood on the tips of her toes as she dug for the spare key, finding the curtains drawn as she tried to peer inside. The house was in the middle of nowhere, hidden in a small forest clearing. Odds were that Jesse could leave his key chained to the doorknob where everyone could see it, and he still wouldn’t have any unwanted visitors. Even so, though he kept it close to the door, it was out of sight, just in case. 

“I feel like that’s not necessary,” Elijah said as she closed her hand around the small silver key and yanked it out of the flower box. “Like I said, we can come back. Maybe he doesn’t feel well, and he’s trying to sleep.”

“No, even if that is the case, we can at least see if he needs anything, but I don’t think that’s the problem,” she said, inserting the key into the lock and turning the doorknob. The door opened with a soft creak. “Something feels off.”

Elijah sighed, rolling his eyes, but followed her as she ducked into the house, making sure the door was firmly shut behind them. She knew he thought she was being ridiculous, but she didn’t care. He could think what he wanted. This wasn’t like Jesse.

The house was small. There were only two rooms—Jesse’s bedroom and the entrance that doubled as a small kitchen and living space—and all of the windows were covered by carefully shut curtains, save for the window above the sink. It was wide open, afternoon light spilling through it across the floor. Billie could see tiny specks of dust floating in the sunlight, as she crossed the room. 

Blank canvases and finished paintings alike were stacked up everywhere, most of them against the walls with a few lined up on Jesse’s coffee table. Beside them, his paints were out, some of them dried onto his wooden palette and his brushes. She had never known him to leave the paint sitting long enough to crust onto the brushes—he was usually very particular about how he cleaned up—but she supposed he might have organized his work process differently when he was alone. 

One painting, a landscape of the nearby lake and its surrounding trees under the moonlight, had been left on his easel. Paint stained the white cloth protecting the floor beneath it. It must have been a new painting, left out to dry.

Billie wandered through the open bedroom door. Clothes were thrown across the bed, but there was no sign of Jesse. 

She sighed and turned to see Elijah standing in the doorway, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “We should just come back later. He probably went out.”

Billie didn’t say anything. As far as she was concerned, leaving was the last thing they should do. She couldn’t go anywhere until she knew that Jesse was safe. 

She pushed past him, back into the main room. There had to be something that would tell them where Jesse was. Anything. Maybe she was wrong, and Elijah was right. She could only hope.

Elijah humored her, following her as she looked around, the floor creaking with each of his heavy footfalls. He always had been the more grounded one, wrapped up only in what he could see with his own two eyes. They needed each other.

She kept looking, going back and forth across the room and scanning the same things over and over again with her eyes. Nothing clued her in—not the half-full glass of water beside the sink, not the mushrooms left sitting out on the counter, not the shoes on the floor, not the paint brush that had fallen to the ground and created a dark green spot on the sitting area’s red rug. Nothing. Until, finally, she saw it.

“It’s not finished,” she muttered, lips barely moving.

Elijah came up behind her, so close that she could feel the heat of his body radiating onto her. “What?”

“It’s not finished,” she said, pointing at the painting on the easel before them. She had seen it earlier, the lake surrounded by trees, but she hadn’t noticed that a key detail was missing. Jesse, who loved his paintings to be as real as possible, would never forget to include the reflections of the trees on the surface of the water. Yet, he had. 

Elijah frowned. He was standing beside her now, hands in the pockets of his dark jacket. “Okay?”

“It’s not finished.”

“You’ve mentioned,” he said, his voice sharp. “It’s not finished. And?”

“Why isn’t it finished?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he got bored. Sometimes people don’t follow through with their art projects.”

“Not Jesse.” Billie looked up at Elijah, her hands growing clammy as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You know how he is.”

At that, Elijah hesitated. He knew just as well as she did how particular Jesse was, especially when it came to his art. When he started something, he had to finish it as soon as possible, almost always managing to finish paintings in a single sitting as long as they didn’t need much drying time. He never seemed to care how many hours it took, especially when it came to his landscapes.

“Never?”

“Never.”

Billie turned on her heel and marched back into the bedroom without a word to Elijah, who she imagined must have been looking at her with an expression anywhere from irritated to worried. She riffled through the drawers of Jesse’s dresser and ripped the sheets off the bed without a clue as to what she was looking for. Elijah’s voice was a dull buzz in her ear, as he tried in a voice that was half a whisper and half a yell to reason with her. 

Eventually, he got through to her. “What do you think you’re going to find?” he asked. He had grabbed her arm, his fingers, long and dark, digging into her skin. “He’s not here. What could you possibly find in his drawers or under his sheets that will tell us where he is?”

Out of breath, Billie stopped, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re panicking,” Elijah said.

“Thank you; that’s so helpful.” 

“I’m serious.” Billie didn’t fight him as he started to move back into the living area, his grip still firm on her arm. “You’re right that Jesse not being here is weird, but not weird enough to warrant tearing apart his whole house.”

Unable to meet his eyes, Billie stared at her toes. “I know. You think we should go?”

Elijah gave her a look that said, That’s what I’ve been saying, but the words that came out of his mouth were much less blunt. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“We should look outside first, though,” Billie said, and then added, “Just in case.”

Elijah sighed but didn’t try to argue with her, as he released his grip on her and followed her out the front door, back into the light of day. 

Clouds had moved over the sun, and the sky was gray. Birds rustled in the trees around them, their chirps sharp and urgent. They pierced through Billie’s head, as she circled the house, Elijah following frantically after her. She knew the birds were only signalling that a storm was coming—she could smell the rain, sweet and earthy—but she couldn’t help but feel like they were screaming at her, telling her that she was close to discovering the truth. 

“Billie, stop.”

At his alarmed tone of voice, she turned to face Elijah. “What?”

He was staring at the ground near some trees at the side of the house. At his feet was a small patch of mushrooms. “He likes to eat mushrooms, right?”

“Yeah,” Billie said, as she slowly approached Elijah. “He said they’re easy to find around here. I saw some sitting out on his counter, actually. Why does that matter?”

Elijah scoffed and looked up at the sky. “I bet he wasn’t paying enough attention,” he said and turned around, gesturing for Billie to follow him inside. He went straight to the counter and snatched the half-eaten plate of mushrooms, holding them in the light. “Yep.”

Billie frowned. “What?”

“Magic mushrooms,” Elijah said, a slight chuckle on the edge of his voice, though he still sounded worried. “He must have eaten them and wandered off.”

“No way.” But as Billie looked back at Jesse’s unfinished painting, she had to admit it did make some sense. He could have started snacking on the mushrooms as he painted, and then, as he started to feel the effects, suddenly stopped. “So where is he?”

Elijah looked around the room, much calmer than Billie had been in her haste to find Jesse, afraid something terrible had happened to him. It was still a possibility, but she knew Elijah wasn’t allowing himself to think that way. And if he was, he’d never let her know it.

He paused, eyes on the open bedroom door. “Did you look under the bed?”

“No…”

She wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but they made it back into the bedroom before she could blink twice. As Elijah leaned down to lift up the sheet hanging over the bed’s edge, she held her breath.

There, lying on his stomach, head turned toward them, was Jesse. 

“Oh. Hey.” He blinked, squinting in the light. “It’s bright in here.”

“Oh my—” Billie turned around, and held her forehead against the wall. It was only a second, enough to take a breath. Her head was pounding, screaming, a slight knot forming in her throat. But she couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. One day, this would be a story to tell.

Elijah turned around, laughing, and Billie leaned down to help Jesse out from under the bed. He was disheveled, with a mark on his cheek where it had been resting against the carpet and dried paint on his hands and shirt, but he was okay.

Jesse’s eyes trailed around the room, examining the mess. “Did I do this?”

Elijah grinned at him. “No.”

Resisting the urge to glare at Elijah, Billie sighed. “You didn’t hear me? I was looking for you.”

“Oh.” Jesse shrugged. “No.”

“What were you doing under there? We saw you were working on a painting.”

“I was. And then the trees started coming to life… I had to hide,” Jesse said, and wandered out into his living space without making eye contact with either Billie or Elijah. He stopped before his easel, crossing his arms and moving to start putting fresh paint on his palette. “Give me ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll finish the reflection.”