The moment the Grace of the Fountain was unveiled in the library of the Ogden mansion, Franklin fell to his knees, reduced to tears.

Grant knelt down beside his cousin and rubbed Franklin’s shoulder gently. “There she is cousin. Never thought you’d see her in person did you?”

“You’re the b-best,” Franklin wailed, letting the tears and snot run down his face. “No man ever…ever had a better cousin.”

Sophia stood gawking at the scene and shaking her head. “I cannot believe you two actually found it. And you said that Brock Sanderson betrayed you?”

“It’s no big deal,” said Grant. “But let’s hire from a more reputable source next time.”

“Ohhh she’s just like the photos,” said Franklin, getting to his feet and fawning over the painting. “Oh god no words can describe….” He fell to his knees again.

“Careful you might get the artwork wet,” Estelle teased. “Now I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain Mr. Ogden.”

Sophia walked up to Estelle and handed her a tall paper bag. Grant, out of curiosity glanced inside. Thick stacks of bills lay in a little pile at the bottom.

“Very nice,” said Estelle beaming. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise,” said Sophia, shaking Estelle’s hand. “As you can see you have made my brother a very happy man.”

“That seems to be an understatement,” said Estelle, looking back at Franklin with an amused expression. “There was another with us, Rourke. He prefers to keep to himself. I think he’s staying at a motel nearby though if you want to thank him too.”

“You should stay the night,” said Sophia. “Call it a bonus to your pay as well as a show of gratitude.”

“I’d like that,” said Estelle, rubbing her neck. “This was certainly an exciting job, but a tiring one. Hotels around here charge criminal prices too.”

Mr. and Mrs. Ogden entered the library. Grant’s Uncle gave them all a look or surprise and stepped up to the painting.

“Careful dad, this is the original!” said Franklin, coming close to putting himself between his father and the artwork.

“A three million dollar painting,” Sophia added quickly. She likely figured that her father cared little about Franklin’s unhealthy obsession with the woman in the painting.

Lain Ogden studied the painting for a long moment. Grant knew his uncle was never much of a patron of the arts. He didn’t enjoy movies, famous gardens, museums, and music. He did occasionally read historical fiction novels but that was the extent of it. He was a man married to both his wife and his work.

“I suppose if anything this is a fine collector’s item for this house,” said Lain. “You should be grateful to your cousin Franklin.”

“I am dad.”

Lain turned to Grant and shook his hand. “Thank you for doing this for my son. And to you Ms. Burnette.”

“My pleasure sir,” said Estelle, shaking Lain’s hand.

To celebrate the finding of the Grace of the Fountain, Franklin had the servants prepare an especially exquisite dinner. Two different lobsters were served, Maine and Californian. Each subspecies of lobster was cooked in both the Chinese and American style. The Chinese style lobster was stir fried in a wok with ginger and scallions while the American style was grilled and then rubbed down with oil, herbs, garlic, and butter. As fragrant and delicious as it all was, the appetizers, which consisted of creamy chicken soup and salad, was already enough to quell Grant’s hunger.

“Don’t tell me you eat like this often,” said Grant, staring at a large bowl of rice pilaf that one of the servants placed on the table.

“Not in this quantity no,” said Sophia, helping herself to a dinner roll. “But our head chef used to run a two star Michelin restaurant in San Francisco.”

A middle aged servant with only little grey wisps of hair left on his head approached the table carrying a large serving platter.

“Oh come on now,” said Estelle. “We aren’t even halfway through the lobster.”

“Ah one of my favorites,” said Franklin.

Grant was glad to see that the color and joy return to his cousin’s face. Already Franklin looked healthier, and ready to go back out into the world to do some living.

“Singapore crab with salted egg,” said the servant dramatically. “The chef hopes you enjoy it was much as the garlic pepper crab from last week. In addition to the typical dungeness crab he has included the smaller Vietnamese mud crab. Enjoy!”

The crab was immediately followed by three plates, each topped with a different stir fried vegetable. The shrimp paste fragrance from the water spinach was tantalizing.

“Well I guess the vegetables will help all of this come out,” said Grant.

“Shall I tell the chef to hold off on the lamb clay pot?” said one of the servants.

“Yes!” said Estelle. “Good god yes!”

“I’ll still have it,” said Lain. “I’ll be at work tomorrow. Have Mitchell pack it up in a pyrex container for my lunch tomorrow. A side of Indian long grain rice too would be nice.”

“Yes sir,” said the servant, before heading back towards the kitchen.

Alex Ogden cleared his throat. “So Franklin, now that you have your painting do you think you’re ready to go back to school?”

Grant tensed up. He pretended to be focused on cracking crab legs as he waited in anticipation of Franklin’s response.

Franklin’s reaction seemed reassuringly calm and he wiped his mouth before speaking. “I’ll need a little bit more time but I feel...good about myself and the way things are if that makes sense. I think everything will be more normal from now on for me.”

“That’s good son,” said Lain. “As for the painting we should keep it in the library. It’s far too large for you to carry and keep upstairs anyways.”

“Ok,” said Franklin. “All I ask is that you respect her space and what the two of us have together.”

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“Her?” asked Lain, giving Franklin a look of confusion. Grant noticed Mrs. Ogden shot her husband with a quick warning glare. “Oh yes of course! Yes, don’t worry now one will bother the--her I mean.”

With matters seemingly settled between father and son, Grant began to breathe easy. The dinner conversation shifted to lighter subjects and the attention brought back onto the food. Grant could smell the cumin seasoned lamb wafting to the table from the kitchen.

Grant woke up with a headache. Checking the digital clock on a stand beside his guest bed he saw that it was two in the morning. The sound of someone wailing elsewhere in the house caught his ear.

Quickly getting dressed, Grank made his way towards the direction of the uninviting wails. It was coming from the library, he was sure of it.

“Oh shit,” Gran thoguht, and broke into a sprint, nearly slipping on the polished hardwood floor of the mansion.

“Franklin!” Grant bellowed, rushing into the library.

Franklin had transformed the space around him into a borderline hellish scene. Several seemingly arbitrary picked items lay in a circle on the floor around him. Franklin had included a suit jacket, a bowl of raw chicken meat, a bottle of oil, a cup of wine, and a bunch of flowers that appeared to have been taken from the garden.

In the center of the circle of items, Franklin was naked and contorting his body in a sort of twisted dance. Place under the painting in front of Franklin was a silver dish. The words that poured out of Franklin’s mouth with unnatural speed were not of any language that Grant recognized. The voice that Grant heard was barely identifiable as his cousin’s, it was much deeper, powerful, and angry in tone. The anger in his tone was so thick that an involuntary whimper of fear slipped from Grant's lips.

“Franklin?” Grant rasped, his throat suddenly feeling sick and dry. That is when he noticed that despite the lights in the library being off, the area around Franklin was illuminated by an orange glow. There were no candles however.

Grant’s jaw nearly dropped as he looked up and saw the source of the light. Four small balls of orange flame circled very slowly ten feet above Franklin’s head.

“Franklin!” Grant snapped, looking back down at his cousin who kept contorting and uttering the chilling speech in that angry tone. From behind his right leg he produced a kitchen knife and before Grant could react, slashed his wrist spurting blood all over himself and the silver plate.

Grant rushed his cousin and fought for control of the knife. Franklin didn’t even seem to realize that Grant was holding onto him and continued on despite Grant’s efforts to get him to stop.

“Snap out of it!” Grant roared into Franklin’s face while gripping the knife hand. When Franklin turned the point of the knife towards himself, Grant picked up the silver plate and smashed the knife out Franklin's grip. He struck Franklin as well to stun him before immediately taking off his t shirt and applying pressure onto the self inflicted wound.

“Help!” Grant cried out several times as he held Franklin down and continued to apply pressure. The balls of orange flame above went out, much to his relief.

After a long agonizing minute, Sophia, Estelle, and two of the servants rushed into the library.

“Oh my god!” Sophia screamed, upon seeing her brother’s condition.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” said Estelle, fumbling in her pockets. She must have realized that she had left her phone in her room and dashed out. “I’ll be back!”

“Get Mr. and Mrs. Ogden,” said Grant to the servants. “Carry him to a sofa or something and bandage his wound. He slashed his own wrist.”

As the servants poured over Franklin, Sophia flicked on the lights and took Grant aside. “Grant what happened?”

“I’m not sure,” said Grant. “Look around you though. He was performing some kind of ritual. He was mad Sophia, he was mad.”

“It was a mistake to bring the painting,” said Sophia. “I’m going to sell it or dump it. I don’t care if he hates me for it.”

“For now let’s lock it up in the basement,” said Grant. “When Estelle gets back from calling emergency services we should discuss some things. This painting has an interesting history. Maybe it will explain Franklin’s...condition.”

The moment Grant’s Aunt and Uncle appeared at the library door they rushed to their son’s side and began fussing over him,

“So it’s come to this,” said Lain, his eyes wide with shock. “I told you. I told you we should have put the foot down.”

“Now's not the time or place,” said Alexa sternly, without looking up at her husband. “Oh my son…”

The paramedics arrived within twenty minutes of the call being placed. Grant, being the only one who witnessed the whole ordeal, spoke to one of the men in uniform with Sophia.

“Would you say he had a history of depression?” said the paramedic, quickly punching in some notes into his PDA.

“I suppose that is accurate,” said Grant stiffly. “But even so this was unexpected.”

“Is he on any medication?”

“No not at all.”

“And this is the first time he has inflicted self harm?”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright that should be all for now. You did well to stop the bleeding. He will need stitches to be sure. Family can follow us to the hospital.”

“We’ll go,” said Alexa, when Grant returned to them. “Come on honey.”

“Might have to cancel tomorrow's meeting,” Lain grumbled. “What a night. Grant our family owes you again.”

“It is what family is for.”

Lain shook Grant’s hand and went with Alex to his car. The left, following closely behind the ambulance. Grant watched them all leave in silence alongside Estelle, Sophia, and some of the mansion’s servants. Sophia’s sudden crying broke the silence and Estelle put an arm around her, rubbing the shoulders to console her.

“Come one,” said Grant, taking her off of Estelle’s hands. “Let’s take a walk.”

“I secured the painting in the basement sir,” said one of the servants to Grant, a young sharp looking hispanic.

“Hold down the fort,” said Grant. “We’ll be back soon.”

With an arm around her, Grant led Sophia away as everyone else went back inside. The Ogden’s lived in the hills where it was quiet. With all the neighbors spaced far apart in the hills, privacy was easy to come by at night. HOwever living in the hills put an inconvenient distance between the homes and most services such as shopping malls, gas stations, supermarkets, or banks.

Sophia turned and buried her face in Grant’s chest. She was trembling as she dripped tears into his shirt. “Grant what are we going to do?”

“All we can do is wish him a full recovery,” said Grant. “This is my fault. I brought the painting here.”

“No we all thought or at least hoped bringing the painting to him would be a solution,” said Sophia, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “I asked you and Estelle to do it. The fault is mine. I’m a terrible sister.”

“That’s not true,” said Grant firmly, holding her back a little to look her in the eyes.

“I’m hopeless,” Sophia continued, looking away. “I’m not successful like my father and I was never able to get over my feelings for you.”

She gave a bitter smile. “I’m pretty silly aren’t I?”

“Stop it,” said Grant. “You must be strong for your family. For Franklin. He needs you, maybe even more than your mother and father. He lets you in when he closes other’s out.”

Sophia wiped away her tears. “Your right. Father’s so busy and important, juggling work and family stresses him out. He really does try to be a decent father. Mother cares but she doesn’t understand.”

“But you do,” said Grant, grinning. “That’s what’s so beautiful about you.”

Sophia turned back to look at Grant and her head came up to kiss him. The feel of her lips' natural smoothness had Grant swimming. If not for the horrors from earlier, Grant would have called it a beautiful night. It was the urban intimacy of the streets at night. The sparse neighborhood meant fewer prying eyes, allowing just the two of them free reign to express themselves.

“I seem to remember you saying that last time was, well, the last time,” said Grant, pulling away.

Sophia flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Grant turned her slightly to hold her close by the waist from behind with his left hand. With his right he slipped under her soft sweat shorts and put his fingers to work, gently brushing past the hairs to just barely graze the flesh underneath. Grant drew his head beside her right ear. Sophia turned her head and met his lips. As his tongue explored greeted her’s warmly, his right hand explored the sacred flesh between her thighs, which tightened together as he entered her.

“What if someone sees?” Sophia whimpered. She was cute when she sounded worried.

“No one’s watching,” said Grant.

“We shouldn’t take too long. The others are waiting.”

“Let them wait.”

When Sophia came he smiled gently with satisfaction and withdrew. Sophia smoothed her hair and clothing in a visibly flustered way, much to Grant’s amusement.

“Let’s head back,” said Grant, turning back towards the mansion and taking a step. “I’m going to call in a friend.”