The Final Pose

Emily T.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” The priest began, “Most kids don’t know their definite answer until they become a teen. Sara Jesse Chase knew the answer the second she stepped out of the mechanical sliding doors in the Paris Airport Terminal. She saw all of the skinny girls walking around in the hottest fashions, and said, “That’s what I wanna be when I’m grown up!” She was only six years old, but she was one of those ‘determined’ kids. Sara was the most driven six-year-old in her class. She always made a choice and stuck to it. She never took forever to think, a minute or two, and she knew she wanted carrots over celery at lunch.

“Growing up, Sara was the best student, getting straight A’s, and having a great reputation. She had to live in Paris her entire life because of her dad’s military job. Her mother was a nurse who worked late into the night, and her dad’s job kept him away too. They were good parents. They gave her everything she needed, and even more on holidays. When she graduated high school, they all settled on her going to college at the American University of Paris. Her entire life for the next four years was planned, paid for, and predicted as a ‘piece of cake’ as long as she didn’t mess up.”

The priest paused to clear his throat. “Sara was a good kid. She never broke the law, never forged a signature, never did drugs, and she never stayed out past curfew. Until one month before the first semester at AUP. Some of her friends had gotten together and planned a surprise photo shoot for Sara’s 18th birthday. They had it all planned out. They were going to talk to her parents about it, take her out for dinner, and then blindfold her on the way to the warehouse. It was a perfect plan and an even more perfect present. Her parents said that it was fine with them, as long as they had her back home by midnight.”

Tears were welling up in the corners of everyone’s eyes at the funeral. “The valet at the restaurant was the last person to see Sara alive. May her soul and memory be not forgotten or disturbed.” He ended it with a final closing “thump” of his bible. The priest could barely breathe. His job was the hardest: he had to deliver the third-person eulogies at funerals when the family member or friend couldn’t. This was his fourth funeral all week. The first was a young girl named Fifi, and then Callie, Chandra, and the last one was Sara. All of their funerals were held in one week, and a lot of the same people had attended all four.

This was an unusual occurrence, even for Paris. The priest had seen a detective at all of the funerals. At the end of Sara’s he finished giving his condolences and walked through the tear-stained grass toward a tall man. He was African American, muscular, and looked like a bouncer.

“Did you investigate the girls’ cases?” The priest asked.

“Yes. I did.”

His voice was hollow and distant. He didn’t look into the priest’s eyes when he said, “We never found the man who did it, but we found his lair.”

“Lair?” The priest questioned.

“All evil workers have dwellings called lairs,” the detective justified. He walked to a bench and sat down with his head in his hands as if it had become too heavy. “He owned a warehouse. All the floors had a purpose. His first floor was a gallery. Like he was showin’ off all of his trophies,” the detective took a deep breath to recover his emotional slip. “The second floor was his office. All of the equipment was top-of-the-line technology. He had make-up, backdrops, and clothes for every occasion. The third floor was his preservation studio. All the lights were red, and there were so many chemicals,” again the detective had to stop, for he felt his voice tremble with anger and disgust for the man. The priest listened intently as he resumed his findings. “The fourth floor was something like a penthouse. This floor made the investigation the worst. It was bare of all art, pictures, and any sign of his work, but he had one portrait. Sara Jesse Chase.”

The priest couldn’t stand any longer. He sat on the bench gasping and clutching his chest. When the detective looked at him grievously the priest added, “No. Don’t you dare stop. God knows you need to tell someone, and I need to know if what I said at the graves of these girls was appropriate. Go on.”

The detective cleared his throat and continued. “She was portrayed like his championship trophy. In the biggest possible frame, of the most expensive design, and handled with the utmost care. I gagged at the perversion of this man. But he had some sense of decency.” The priest whipped his head at the detective about to question his word choice, but the detective put his hand up. “I know. How could such a man have decency? On the fifth and final floor were the bodies.” Tears shone in both of the men’s eyes. “They were dressed in brand new clothes. The clothes were much like the ones you put on the body when they lay in the casket. They each had their own hand made coffin. And he wrote a hand written explanation for each body. It was grotesque, but it was decent. He explained why he did it to them, and how he got them to come with him and let him take their picture.” Tears rolled down the detective’s face, but he didn’t move to stop them. “Then after my team had transported the hundreds of young women out of the building, I saw a pink sticky note on the farthest wall from the door. It had an arrow pointing toward the roof entrance. I went up there and we found Sara’s coffin. She was lying in it. But the coffins on the fifth floor were all black.” The detective stopped and looked straight into the priests’ eyes as he said, “He made her coffin out of white rosewood.” The priest finally released his tears, and let them cascade down his wrinkled face and splash upon the leather cover of his bible.

“Why her?” The priest muttered.

“The note he wrote for her was practically a romance novel. On the last page he taped his own picture to it. After we had it processed our fine art examiners explained that it was a four hundred year old painting!”

“But how can that be?”

“We still don’t know, but it was him. We’re positive of it. All of the fingerprints match the date of the painting exactly. We found his body the next day while we were quarantining the warehouse. He jumped off the side of the building and spread his guts across the pavement just for us.”

“You said you didn’t catch him?” The priest argued.

“We didn’t. There were two sets of fingerprints. One matched the dead man and the other matched the prints found on the jacket and throat of the dead man. Twin con artists.”

“One wanted to stop while the other wanted to continue.”

“Exactly.”

“So, brother one killed brother two and left to kill more.” The detective nodded as the priest pieced together the confusing puzzle. “But won’t it be harder for him now that he is going solo?”

“That is exactly what we are hoping for.” The two nodded, and sat in silence as each pictured what the final four girls went through on their last night alive:

The real and correct event of the deaths of Fifi, Callie, Chandra, and Sara.

July 18th, 2006—7:40 p.m. (leaving Le Pre Catelan)< Restaurant

“Thank you, guys. That was the best birthday dinner ever!” Sara said as the walked out into the crisp Paris air.

“So, do you think you will still be able to fit into a size 2? I mean, after all you ate,” her friend Callie said, while the other two laughed.

“ Oh, I think I’ll fit just right. Why are we even talking about sizes? It’s my day and I can eat all I want. Oooooh! Ice cream!” She exclaimed and pulled the others with her.

“No,” Chandra said, “there’s no time for ice cream. I’m afraid that we have one more surprise in store for you. It is your day.”

“What? Tell me!”

“Oh, no. You’ll find out in due time, but first,” Fifi said holding out a velvet black bandanna. “I’ll have to secure this around your eyes for the surprise to occur.”

Sara sighed, and walked over to her. Since Fifi was only 5’2, and Sara being a beautiful 5 feet and 8 inches tall, plus the 2 inches on her heels, she had to bend her knees so Fifi could reach. Poor girl, Sara thought, I think I would die if I were that short. But she seems to be happy with it.

“Sara!”

“What?” Sara said trying not to burst out laughing.

“I’m not the Eiffel Tower, like you. Please,” Fifi said struggling to reach. Sara finally felt that the joke had stayed for long enough, and bent her legs further down. “Thank you!”

After the bandanna was fastened around Sara’s eyes, they waved their hands and made funny faces. When Sara showed no emotion toward their acts of insanity they nodded in approval of their work.

Callie said and stuck her hand out. “TAXI!”

“My goodness, I think the South and North American continents heard you, Callie,” Fifi exclaimed and rubbed her ears.

A white cab pulled up. “See. It worked,” Callie justified and stuck her tongue out.

“Yeah and I think you pulled over all the other cabs in the world, too.” Chandra said after a moment.

When Callie, Sara, and Fifi were seated and secured into the back seat, Chandra settled herself in the front. She motioned for the other two to cover Sara’s ears. “Could you take us to this address, Monsieur?”

“Of course, mademoiselle,” he said and pulled out on to the road. A few minutes went by and they turned on to another street with warehouses on both sides.

“1642…sixteen-forty-two.” The driver said to himself as he moseyed along at ten miles per hour. “Here we are. Are you sure this is the right place for your friend?”

“Oh yes, I am quite sure that this is the correct address. How much do I owe you, monsieur?” Chandra asked taking her wallet from her clutch.

“Oh, nothing much. You can add it to your total when we’re finished taking pictures,” he said and turned of the car.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m your photographer. The one you spoke on the phone with? Phillip?” He said.

“Oh!” Chandra said and blushed at herself. “I am so sorry. I had no ide…”

“Pish, tosh. You didn’t know and I only knew when you showed me the address. All is forgiven. Now let’s shoot!” Phillip said and rubbed his hands together.

They walked to the door and waited for Phillip to find the right key. When he had, they walked in to the pitch-black warehouse, and waited as the lights flickered on. The entire first floor was decorated with the photos of previous clients. Women who had the most immodest clothes on, and yet, there was a beauty to it that no one could describe. Black and white, color, sepia, and glow were the different styles of the women in their portraits. They weren’t fake poses, they were real. The women revealed their souls in the photos: happy, sad, scared, mysterious, tired, mad, excited, and the most often portrayed emotion was curiosity.

Sara had taken off her blindfold when she heard the others gasp in awe. “My God!” She gasped in amazement. She was the first to step into the gallery of souls. Every portrait was unique, and never was there a portrait of the same woman twice.

“I can’t even express how beautiful these are,” Sara said and cupped her hands over her mouth. “How are all of their emotions so real and sincere?”

“Because they are drunk.”

Sara whipped her head around to show Phillip the disapproving and disgusted face she had, but when she had he was waving his hand to say that it wasn’t the truth.

“Just kidding. They’re not under an influence of any kind. They are being themselves,” Phillip said and guided her over to the largest portrait in the room. “They are so real because before I take their photo, give them clothes, put on their make-up, or even escort them to the set room where they choose their backdrop. Before all of that, I do a meditating ritual with them.”

“Meditating ritual?” Sara questioned.

“It helps my models get into their character of emotion.” Phillip answered in a very sophisticated tone.

“Wow!”

“Yes, but we don’t have time for you to be in awe,” Phillip said and tapped his watch. “Which one of you lovely girls wants to go first?”

“Well, you better get through us first, so when you get to Sara you can change your mind about quitting,” Fifi stated.

“Nonsense. You cannot be terrible while having a picture taken.”

“I’ll go first.” Fifi said and the others nodded.

“Alright,” Phillip chuckled. He led Fifi into another room and shut the door.

It felt like hours had gone by for Callie and Chandra, but Sara was still stunned by the striking portraits. She started at the very beginning and went through each picture with the most cautious eye. She didn’t want to miss even a speck of detail. She had gone through 5 ½ rows by the time Phillip came out and called for the next girl.

“Wait. Where is Fifi?” Callie demanded.

“She is in the waiting room,” Phillip said. “Who’s next?”

“What waiting room?” Chandra interrogated.

“It is a process that I do with every client I get. After I take their picture, they wait in a waiting room that is the next floor up, above the room I take pictures in,” Phillip said with a very strict and angry tone. “Now, please.” He motioned toward the door with his hand.

“I don’t think that there is anything wrong with that. C’mon, let’s just finish this and get home,” Sara said anxiously and Chandra nodded.

“Okay.” Callie agreed and went through the door that Phillip, once again, shut behind him.

Sara prodded Chandra to come and look at the pictures with her, and they resumed her spot in the 5th aisle. They observed and then moved on to the next picture, and so on. The more portraits they looked at, they realized that they were categorized by emotion. The first three rows were happy, then sad, mad, mysterious, tired, excited, curious, and scared. Sara and Chandra got all the way to the curiosity aisle, and then Phillip came out.

He walked around at first trying to find them. The girls hadn’t heard, for they were too wrapped up in the emotions of the portraits. “Girls?”

“Oh! Shoot,” Chandra and Sara ran from their aisle. “Sorry we were just looking and we didn’t hear you, and…um…I’m next,” Chandra stammered. Phillip gave her the oddest look and closed the door behind them.

Sara walked back to her spot, and continued to look through the pictures in the curiosity aisle. She started to get into the scared aisles when she heard a scream. She jumped, but she remembered that Chandra’s parents were murdered in the most horrific way, and that Chandra had watched from her closet door. She figured that Chandra had chosen to be “scared.” Sara shuddered once and then shook the creepy feeling from her spine and continued to peruse the aisles.

When she reached the last aisle, she noticed the last portrait was of Misty Carlson: a senior who went missing two weeks before graduation. The police report on the news had said that there was no evidence found of murder, suicide, run-away, or even kidnapping. Detectives interviewed her parents and friends, but no one could tell them what she was doing after 8:00 p.m. on the day she went missing.

Her portrait was in a glow fashion, and she was wearing a halter-top with a denim skirt. Everything was illuminated in the portrait, but her face stood out the most. She was a beautiful girl. There was no flaw to be seen unless you used a magnifier. When Sara looked closer at Misty Carlson’s eyes, she noticed that the tears on the edges of the eyelids were glistening as if she were about to cry that very moment.

Sara kept examining the photo and the strangest feeling occurred to her. She stood as close as she could get to the portrait and held her face to Misty’s. I think Misty is in here Sara thought, and held her ear to the mouth of the portrait.

“Ahh-hh-ahh-ha—” The portrait hissed.

“No way. Misty!”

The eyes seemed to open wider in response.

“Oh my God!”

Misty seemed to move in a form of anxiety, but she was a stone on paper, still.

“How did this happen?” Sara asked. She cared for Misty, and if she could find a way to help or even save her she would.

“Ahh-the-aah-ca-mer-a-ah---” Misty hissed.

“The camera?” Sara asked puzzled. “What about it?”

The cement door opened and Phillip called, “Sara?”

“Noooohhh!” Misty exclaimed like the wisp of air that escapes from a caffeinated beverage

“Coming! I’ll save you.” She promised Misty as she left.

Misty could do nothing to stop or even further warn Sara now. She was on her own. Misty thought, maybe she’ll pull through and save us all. She had a hint of hope, and then remembered that she had just thought Sara Chase would save lives. Oh well.

She followed Phillip up the stairs on to the next floor of the warehouse. He led her to the room of backdrops. “Take your pick.”

“This one,” Sara declared. It was a view of the country in Paris. The greenest grass in the world could be seen in Paris, along with most beautiful plants. Flowers of all kinds were portrayed in the backdrop Sara chose.

“Good choice,” Phillip said. “Now, here is the ritual part,” he grabbed a stool and looked Sara straight in the eyes. “There is a myth from the European culture that if your picture is taken, so is your soul. These people believe that once the flash has come and gone, that there is nothing but their backdrop left. I don’t believe in it, but I have seen what it can do. People have begged me to paint them instead because they are so afraid of becoming nothing. I will say a phrase and it will protect you whether or not you believe.

Okay?” Sara nodded. “Seien Sie still und hören Sie mit Gehorsam zu, be still and listen with obedience.” He chanted three times and blew dust upon her eyes. Sara sat with complete stillness and looked directly at him when he waved his hands before her. “Good girl.”

Sara was led in to the dressing room, where Phillip dressed her, then she was led to the make-up and hair station, where he did that as well. It had been barely an hour when he directed her back into the backdrop room. He had her stand in the middle of the scene, and said, “If this were going to be the last image the world was going to have of Sara Jesse Chase; pose as if it were ‘The Final Pose’,” Phillip emphasized.

The spell was broken, Sara blinked, and glanced at the man behind the camera. Her eyes were delicately soft and strikingly bluer than the ocean and sky combined. Sara’s lips were the most delicate things about all of her features, they weren’t lathered in lipstick, and she just about had no make-up on at all. Her skin was completely stripped of its artificial tan and dryness. She was as soft as a pillow, as bare as dough before flour is applied, and she was dressed in an all-black suit.

The picture was taken before Sara could blink again. There would be no hope for any of the girls who were trapped in the portraits. She was number 100, meaning that Phillip would be taking his ritual elsewhere.

Misty was right to think that Sara would be the least suitable person to save her and everyone else. She was dumb enough to try and get a full-length picture for her boyfriend, what made her think Sara would be any different.

This was the last record of Sara J. Chase that the world ever saw, well, it was the last Phillip ever took. The camera had, indeed, swallowed her soul alive. When the flash came and went, the backdrop swayed from a breeze through the open window.

He took his camera into his Red Room and unraveled the roll of film. One by one, he carefully placed each picture in a developing liquid and whistled while he waited. Fifi’s was the first to develop; she had explained how mad she was about not getting accepted into college and about her parents’ divorce. Fifi portrayed a furious expression with red-hot eyes and her skin flaming with anger, she wore one of the most revealing outfits that screamed, “REBELLIOUS.” Her backdrop was of fire.

Callie was curious. She was an open book to anyone who wanted to read, so naturally she chose a library as her backdrop. She was wearing a knee-length skirt with a ruffled top, and hair was twisted into a tight bun with glasses upon her nose.

Chandra was scared. She had seen her dad murdered by the people he owed money to when she was 11 years old. Her mother had to work as an accountant for sexist pigs, and as a waitress for a very high class and snooty restaurant to pay back the men her father was indebted to. She was afraid of those men who killed her father. She chose a backdrop with a brick building that had shadows of tall and dangerous men. Chandra was dressed as a girl who had just gotten out of school.

Sara made Phillip cry. Her picture made his eyes well-up and almost blubber. She made him almost regret taking the lives and faces of all the girls he took pictures of. He left the other three to hang and dry while he went upstairs to enlarge and frame Sara Jesse Chase. She became a 7 foot L x 5 foot W picture framed in a black border with a Mahogany frame. Her name was inscribed in gold lettering at the bottom of the picture. He hung the picture in the front of his studio and sat there for hours.

His brother called to him from down the stairs. Phillip rushed to his side, "Why her?" His brother was pointing to Sara Chase's body. She was lying in freshly linened clothing and laid perfectly straight in the white rosewood casket Joel had just finished building.

"I didn't know how beautiful she was until I took her picture," Phillip stated simply. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, brother, but it had to be done."

"You're a jerk! You only see the beauty of something after you've destroyed it," Joel said with welling tears in his eyes.

"Hey. C'mon, just write the little note in your fancy writing, make it sound poetic, but leave it at that and help me pack up. Okay?" Phillip said and patted his brother on the back and left to pack.

When he finished packing, he came back to the fifth floor he found his brother and Sara's body gone, but the roof entrance was open. He entered to the roof and found Joel standing like a guardian by her side. "Let's stop." Joel stated.

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly," Phillip's voice grew into and evil roar. "Quit? Is that what you mean?"

"I dialed 9-1-1. They will be here in half an hour at the latest," Joel added.

Phillip succumbed to his anger, and rammed his brother over to the ledge of the roof. "Why! I'm your brother."

"No! You are my monster!" Joel corrected.

Phillip snapped and pushed his brother over the edge and walked away. He resumed his previous activity of watching Sara while he cooled down.

After a while he got up the courage to talk to her, "Reden Sie in Stille zu mir nur, talk in silence to me only," Phillip said.

Sara gasped for breathe in the picture. "I knew it. I heard Misty talk!"

"So, you were actually a semi-smart model," Phillip said, and added," Thank you."

"For what, my soul and this picture?"

"That, and for being the best picture I ever took," Phillip exclaimed with pride.

Sara didn't say anything for a while. She wasn't going to do anything but breathe and talk to Phillip forever. "Why?" She asked.

Phillip stood up and walked as close as he could towards Sara's picture and said, "Because I can."

The police sirens were heard entering the warehouse division, and Phillip disappeared.