The Critical Hour of 3 a.m.

The Critical Hour of 3 a.m. (770)

"Can I see it now it is finished?.

No reply. He just stands there naked except for his painter's smock and looks at the canvass, which he has removed from the easel and placed on the floor.

"Come on, let me see what it looks like. I have never had my portrait painted before.

"Not just yet, I need to check some details.

Definitely the strangest client I have had so far. Sure, you get some who want to do far more kinky stuff but this is the first time I have had someone call me around just so that he can paint me. I have been photographed and filmed before. I expect that those pictures are somewhere on the web by now but I made sure that I got paid very well for those.

"Okay, I am going to go and wash my face and get a drink of water if that is okay.

Just a short sharp nod. His bluebell eyes don't even glance up from under the long lashes. He stands with his chin in his left hand and his right arm folded across his chest with the paintbrushes held in his right hand. It looks like a pose. It is how people stand to look at other people's work.

The kitchen is dark but then the tube light flickers into life and I am bathed in fluorescent light. It is harsh in comparison to the softer dimmed lighting of the bedroom where I have been sat for the last three hours.

"Easiest money you'll ever earn my girl, I say to my reflection in the kitchen window. "And you didn't even need to take your clothes off for once!.

I look around for a towel but cannot see one. I notice a small toilet with the door ajar so I pop in and, as again I wait for the light to flicker on I reach for where I would guess a towel might be hung near the sink. I find it. It is old and stiff, obviously not been washed for a while. It actually feels like it has been used as a wank rag but still I need to make sure my make up doesn't run as I might have other clients to meet later. I haven't checked my mobile since we came in but as it is 3 a.m. it is usually time for one of my regulars to get in touch.

The light finally sputters, somewhat coyly, into something approaching a glow as I take my face out of the towel and look up at where I guess a mirror might be. The mirror itself is very dusty but all around it are pictures of a girl. I say girl, she is probably late twenties but what intrigues me is that she is in a wedding dress. Each picture looks like it came from one of those disposable cameras that some people leave on the table at wedding receptions in the hope that they won't only be used for taking pictures of arse cleavage.

"She chose him. I didn't hear him until he spoke. His voice was even softer than it had been on the phone; I had found it intriguing even then. He placed his hands lightly on my hips and pulled me back toward him so I could feel his crotch gently pressing on my arse.

"It's done. He lets go and walks away as silently and abruptly as he had arrived. I follow him back into the bedroom where the light is still dim and soft. The canvass was back up on the easel but covered in a white cloth; ready for unveiling.

"May I? I walk towards the easel and place my hand on the bottom of the cloth. He is looking down again but nods slowly this time, I think I saw a smile flutter past the side of his mouth.

Dramatically I pull away the sheet with a flourish and then move back to where he stood and adopted the same pose I had seen him in when he regarded the painting. I allowed myself to get close enough to him that I could feel his breath on my neck in case he wanted to hold me again.

I only had time to recognise the face of the figure as me and the outfit I was wearing as the wedding dress before I felt the blade graze, almost casually across my throat and the warm liquid spurt as I grasped at my neck.

"She chose him, but he was mine.