To Draw a Soul, You Must Give Your Soul(Patrick S. Smith) Zach stared at the page on his drawing table with his pencil in hand. He had been sitting there for hours trying to sketch. The lamp that illuminated the paper only showed a few dots where he had started to draw something.

He had been sitting at his table in his studio for weeks during his free time and nothing except for a few random dots. Every time he let his pencil touch the paper, he immediately drew it back. The problem was not that Zach did not know how to draw. He worked as a graphic artist and, mostly, his work received high praise. The only complaint about his work was it was flat, lacking depth. One co-worker commented Zack’s work reminded him of old concept art because it had ‘no soul.’ Now sitting at his drawing table, he sought to correct that.

After another failed attempt to start, Zack leaned back in his chair. He again questioned himself, “Why is it so easy at work and impossible here?”

He had tried several techniques to at least start. He looked at photos, looked out the window, moved outside, but nothing helped. Zach had even hired a Feng Shui designer to redo his studio and nothing except a blank page.

Frustrated, he got up from his chair and paced around his two-bedroom apartment. His inability to draw outside of work was affecting his personal life. Some of his friends stopped texting and his girlfriend had accused him of becoming distant.

Initially, when he had set upon this task, she had been supportive, believing he could overcome this. In the beginning, she had tried modeling for Zach, taken him to the park, and even made different arrangements for him. Fearing she may be a distraction, she faded back so as not to disturb him. Soon after, she stopped calling him.

Zach was becoming obsessed with this and was finding himself more and more at his drawing table. A few times in the last few days, he had tried to watch TV, but was back at his table before the opening credits had finished.

One Thursday evening, at the beginning of a rare four-day weekend for him, Zach sat down at his table, determined to put something down on paper.

Around 7 pm on Monday, Brie’s phone rang. She picked it up to see who was calling and saw it was Zach. She hadn’t spoken to him since last Sunday. Not to hear from him during weekdays had become the norm the last couple weeks, but not to hear from him on a weekend was a first. She hesitated before deciding to answer the call.

“Hello Zach,” she said flattly.

“Come over. Something has happened. I think I did it,” Zach said. His voice had an edge to it, as if he was excited or worked up over something.

“What is it Zach? Is something wrong?”

“I can’t explain. Just come over so I can show you.”

“Ok, I’ll be over shortly.” No sooner than she had said that, the call disconnected.

It took her thirty minutes to get to Zach’s apartment. She rang the doorbell several times before letting herself in. “Zach, I’m here,” she said. As she looked around the apartment, after disabling the alarm, she saw several drawings scattered across the apartment. Some were laying flat while others were in crumpled balls.

As she bent over to pick up some drawings, she called out again. No response.

Brie walked over to the dining room table to look at the drawings and put her purse down. Her eyes became as large as teacups at what she saw. It was a portrait of her, laughing, done in Zach’s hand, but it differed from what she had seen him do before. She could feel the laughter in the black-and-white picture.

The next was another picture of her, this time of her crying, as she did when her dog, Coco, had to be put to sleep because of cancer.

She uncrumpled one drawing of Zach. Looking at the charcoal drawing, she sensed the hurt and rage in the picture.

Most of the pictures were of either Zach or her, though there were some of other subjects. Each picture she looked at, regardless of the subject or medium used to create it, elicited some emotion in her.

Brie put the pictures down and went to look for Zach. As she was heading to the bedroom, she called out for him again. Still, he did not respond.

She looked into his office. There, she found Zach, head down on his drawing table, facing away, asleep. She walked over to his seat, careful not to step on the pages scattered on the floor. As Brie leaned over to wake Zach up, she noticed the picture he had been working on.

It was a picture of them standing together, smiling. In her arms, she was cradling what appeared to be a baby while he held the outline of an older child. This picture differed from all the others she had ever seen from Zach. Though incomplete, she could feel the happiness she and Zach were sharing in the picture. But the children, which were just mere rough outlines, seemed to drain her emotions. Above the picture was a piece of paper taped to the table saying, “To draw a soul, you must give your soul.”

When she went to shake Zach to wake him up, he didn’t move. As she turned his chair, Zach fell out onto the floor, his face discolored. She knelt down to check to see if he was alright and noticed he wasn’t breathing.

“Oh, God!” she exclaimed as she raced back to the door of his apartment. “Help! Someone help,” she screamed. Brie ran to her purse to get her phone and called 9-1-1.

Brie was sitting on the bumper of the police SUV crying when her brother, Doug, arrived. Not seeing his sister, Doug called out, “Brie, I’m here.”

“Douglass. I’m over here, by the police car,” she said back. Her entire face was red from crying.

Doug made his way to his sister. The police detained him momentarily, but once he explained who he was, they let him through.

A young couple, Zach’s neighbors, were with her and had brought her tea. Brie stood up and handed her tea to Zara and hugged her brother as she started sobbing. “Zach is dead. It is my fault. I didn’t stay with him.”

“Don’t say that Miss Howe. Zach was a good man and he would not have done something that would hurt others, especially you,” Bernas Rojhat said. “I think something unforeseen and tragic befell our friend.”

Doug held out his hand and said, “I’m Doug, Brie’s brother. Thanks for watching her until I got here.”

Bernas reached out to shake Doug’s hand and said, “I’m Bernas Rojhat, and this is my wife, Zara.”

Zara nodded to Doug and said, “It was no problem. She didn’t need to be alone. I am sorry I don’t have another cup or I would offer you tea.”

Just then, a detective came up to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Rojhat?”

“Yes,” said Bernas.

“They’ve brought Mr. Daniel down. You can return to your apartment. Detective Winters will go with you to ask a few questions.”

“Thank you.”

Zara turned to Doug and said, “Take care of her.”

Doug nodded. “I will. Again, thanks.”

The detective looked at the Howes. “Miss Howe, I’m Detective Sommers. And who is this with you?”

Brie faced the detective. “My brother, Doug.”

“I need you to come down to the station with me and answer some questions, Miss Howe.”

Doug reached into his jacket pocket and handed the detective a pair of cards. “I’m an attorney. Why can’t you ask her here?”

Summors looked at the cards before raising an eyebrow and handing one back. “Firm of Dewey, Cheetum, and Howe. Okay. Miss Howe, you told the officer you received a call from Mr. Daniel today around seven?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“It’s best we continue this at the station. Just so you know, we’ve already started pulling his phone records. There has been no activity on his phone or number for at least forty-eight hours when it appears the battery died. Also, the coroner says he has been dead for at least that long.”

Brie shook her head as she pulled her phone out. “I swear, he called me. Here in the log,” she said as she showed the detective the phone.

Just then, her phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Zach calling.

“Answer it on speaker,” Sommers said.

Brie’s hand was shaking when she hit the button. “Hello?”

“Brie. I did it. I was able to put my soul into my work. You saw?”

“Yes.” Her voice quivered as she answered. “But… but how?”

“I don’t know how. You can keep all the drawings, but burn the one of us on my desk. Promise me you’ll burn it.”

Tears again were running down Brie’s face. “Zach, I can’t…”

Emphatically, the voice on the line said, “Promise me you’ll burn it.”

“Yes, I’ll burn it. I promise.”

“Doug, make sure she does.”

Doug licked his lips and said, “I will.”

“Thanks. Brie, I’m sorry it turned out like this. I love you.”

Then the line went dead.

Brie turned to her brother and buried her head in Doug’s chest and shoulder while Doug and Sommers looked at the phone with their mouths open.

“Was that…?” the detective started to ask as he ran his hand across his bald head.

Doug just nodded, wide eyed. “Yes, that was Zach.”

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