She...

Rob had always had a problem with his drinking. He knew that now, but couldn’t remember anything that had happen the night before. It was early morning on a Tuesday as he sat staring at the painting on the wall. It was her, the girl in the painting that he desired. He knew she had to be real, he had seen her somewhere, he’d do anything for her. Her eyes were captivating, she was devilishly seductive and drawing him in even more. He knew in some way that he had fallen for her even though she knew nothing of him.

The night he took the painting, he made a vow to find her, that he’d find her. She had to be real. He had a lead on the artist and needed to find him, to find the girl. He followed the papers daily; the hunt was on, the painting was missing and the authorities were searching. There was only one person, one organization that was more powerful than the media, more powerful than the local police. He'd rather turn himself in at this point than to face death in the hands of the original owner. He only sat and stared, wishing, wondering why he had decided to go out for a drink the night before. The bartender, the person he spoke to, they had to be tied somehow to the people that were searching for him. It was becoming clear now, he had mentioned the girl in the painting, mentioned how much he loved her and could find her. The bartender must have known, had to have known.

The knock on his door was like a hammer in his head. He stayed put and didn’t make a sound. He hadn’t even locked the door; he knew it wouldn’t have mattered. The door opened and three men entered the room.

“Sir, you need to come with us. You need to come now. We’ll take care of the painting.”

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