Rouge

Entry 1 - June 2nd, 1997

I felt taken care of, but it always felt lonely. I loved my husband with all my being, yet it seems his thoughts are always transfixed onto his art, as if there can only be one masterpiece in his life. As I write and write, it feels as though this journal knows more of me than anyone else, the pages openly receiving my desires, my sorrows, and the woman in me that nobody desires to invest in, to uncover. The textured black cover like the gatekeeper to my heart, each thick, unwavering page a vessel for my very blood and soul to be poured out into.

Lucas Mercier was all the buzz of New York City. Nobody knew much about him personally, but his art never failed to show the inner workings of his brain, his truest self that was buried under the mystery of his eyes. One of France’s prized possession artists moving to New York City seemed strange but fitting because the city was full of endless creativity and the lack of pressure to be uniform. Although his french accent was thick, the clarity of his words translated onto his paintings to create a universal language. His wife was a native New Yorker, yet her personality was the polarizing opposite of the city in which she lived. Geneiveve Thompson- now known as Geneiveve Mercier was a timid woman, but carried herself with elegance and grace, the perfect accompaniment to a passionate, mysterious man such as Lucas. The city was in need of refreshing culture in such a dark time where murders began to be uncovered involving numerous innocent women, all committed by one individual. The police were unable to reveal why they were certain that this was a serial killer, but the uncertainty of it all sent waves of anxiety through the typically upbeat and unafraid city. Lucas’s art provided an outlet for people to forget for a moment that there was danger present in the city, that something dark was lurking in an individual that was relentless in pursuit.

Entry 2- June 5th 1997

Many were fearful for their lives given the news of the week, but I was not. Lucas was my protector and although he was neglectful for the sake of his profession, I understood the unspoken devotion he had of protecting me. Sometimes I wish he would pay attention to all of my imperfections, all of my quirks, just as much as he did to his work. His paintings received all of his devotion, all of his emotions, all of his happiness. It wasn’t always this way. In France, we met while I was studying abroad and he was a starving artist looking for love to fill the voids of his artistic failure according to critiques in Paris. Once New York City Gallery scouted him, with my help being his catalyst of newfound success, his ego and pride were spread across a canvas, finally portraying the final piece of reality. Lucas has changed ever since. He is always in the studio, but I pride myself in bringing him his paint. An artist is nothing without his paint right? New York City Gallery was taken aback by the unique color palette Lucas used. Rouge. At least that's what it's called in France. His red paint was the primary focus of all of his work and it was powerful. The shades of red were unlike any that the city had seen before. Each shade evoked emotion. Was it Passion? Darkness? Love? Pain? This is what made his work polarizing. It was my greatest joy to scout for his color palette, it gave me some sense of purpose and belonging that had clearly dissipated in our marriage. There seemed to always be so much color, so much vibrancy in Lucas’s life and mine felt the opposite. If only he realized that I attributed much to his success. What is an artist without his palette? I wish he realized. While he gained happiness from hues of reds and color palettes, I felt as though my journal reflected me most. The smooth, black cover was plain but conveyed substance beyond its surface. The elastic band that bound the journal shut was much like the metaphorical lock I had placed on my vulnerability, knowing that I was always left in the shadows. But enough of that. It was time for my daily trip to Dixie’s Diner to get some sort of social interaction integrated into my day.

Dixie’s was a quiet dinner downtown that supplied Geneiveve with some comfort food and conversation. She had found great friendship with Daphne, the regular waitress on staff. Daphne was a single mother of two with a heart of gold. She was the only person who truly gave Geneiveve a chance to be herself, to speak past the facade of surface level chit-chat. They had always spoken of both having better lives, one where Daphne did not have to live paycheck-to-paycheck and one where Geneiveve felt like she was more than just an asset to her emotionless marriage. It was tragic to feel so much love and devotion for Lucas, yet to know that she would always remain second to his true passions in life. Dixie’s was experiencing a dry spell due to the slew of nine related murders that were occurring. Brunch dates were quickly being replaced with the brutality of the serial killings, where no woman was truly safe from the madness. It had escalated to a degree in which a police reward was being broadcasted across the entire city: $20,000 for any information regarding the killer’s motive and their identity. It seemed as though the only time where the city would be able to experience some ease was at Lucas Mercier’s upcoming gallery showcase set to debut next week.

Entry 3 - June 8, 1997

New York was in a state of distress and the city was filled with unfamiliarity although this had been my home all my life. It was strange. I knew many were looking forward to Lucas’s exhibition, the people of New York needed a reason to smile, a reason to fixate on emotions that were beyond the reality of what was unfolding. I am impatient waiting for the days to pass until the gallery is open. I feel as though Lucas will finally appreciate me in ways that he has never even considered imaginable. Lucas has ten pieces that will be part of his debut. He had told me in passing that nine were finished, but his final piece required that I go and search for brilliant shades of red that evoked passion like never before. Finally, I had a chance to shine and after this exhibit Lucas would never forget the influence and newfound success that I brought upon him and aided him gracefully with. But before I began scouting for his painting materials, I had to stop by Dixie’s. Last time I was there, Daphne felt like it was her very duty to try and uncover any information about the serial killer in the city. My heart ached for her. I knew $20,000 would ultimately change her life and the lives of her children as well. It was going to be nice to have one last conversation with Daphne before the big show before life became a chaotic press tour and any sense of normalcy was enveloped by the publicity of Lucas’s work.

Dixie’s Diner was once again desolate, with the news blaring constantly, hoping that someone would know something about the murders. Geneiveve and Daphne’s time together was a nice break from the reality of things. Their conversations felt like the only normal thing left to hold on to in society. The conversations got Daphne through the work days and through the financial struggles she endured, while Geneiveve found a reliable friendship to pour herself into. If anything, Geneiveve felt indebted to Daphne because she was the only soul who tended to her and made her feel seen.

Entry 4 - June 9, 1997

Daphne by the time you are reading this, I will already be gone. I know you were the only person who knew how valuable this journal was to me and I know you will be reading it to uncover why I would intentionally leave it at the diner for you. It was me. This whole time, I have left a side of me buried beneath the surface, afraid to show anybody because nobody would truly understand. You see, Lucas did not start gaining more traction until I began scouting the city for “one-of-a-kind paints”. I felt for the first time that I maybe had an opportunity to gain Lucas’s love and attention by doing so. The neglect and sadness drove me to do unspeakable things. I killed all of those girls you see in the news. I just wanted to be loved. I just needed Lucas to stand out like never before to earn it. The shades of red everyone has resonated with in Lucas’s paintings have a twisted origin. I feel terribly that I went to such lengths in order to get Lucas’s devotion once more. People were always baffled by the shades of red and resonated so deeply with them and that is because it was from all of the victims I killed But, it is all over now. I am gone. I have sacrificed myself this time, in order to supply Lucas with the rouge hues for his final painting. He probably will fail to notice I am dead and pay more attention to the fact that he can finally begin his last masterpiece. I will finally be the primary focus of his attention, his love, and his every waking moment. I wish it did not have to come to this, but I came to the conclusion that I had to become a source of Lucas’s art in order to be seen by him, in order to hold his gaze for hours and hours like the canvas always has. I am sure it will be a few days until my body is discovered as Lucas never comes into the master bathroom anymore. Take this journal to the police and get the $20,000 reward. I hope you can forgive me for what I have done and I hope this does not change your view of our friendship that was full of substance. You of all people deserve it Daphne. You and your kids deserve better circumstances. Our friendship was valuable and I will never forget it.

And so just as it was written, the murders stopped. Daphne was able to receive the $20,000 reward for turning in the journal and her life as she knew it was going to be altered in more ways than one from that day on. Geneiveve’s body was not discovered until days after the exhibit when Lucas simply needed her to run out for more paint, just as she had predicted. Little did he know, Geneiveve was finally the source of all of his love and dedication: she was going to live on in his art. The final tenth masterpiece represented her. Her pain of being neglected, her unrequited love for Lucas, and her darkness that allowed her to finally be seen.