“Hmph, I think the eyes are a bit small,” the man critiqued, squinting at my portrait.

“Alright, fine,” I huffed, shoving a paintbrush into his hand and showing an empty canvas. “Paint me a better version and I’ll give you the money.”

“Er- I’m not-”

“I’m waiting,” I sassed, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, tossing the paintbrush to the ground. “Fix that attitude and maybe you’d sell a painting.”

“When the art’s good enough, nobody cares,” I shot back.

“Well, yours isn’t,” the man sneered, walking away into the evening streets.

I sighed tiredly and picked up my paintbrush. About 14 years had passed, and it was the mid 1880s now. Mama died around when I turned 20, and one of her last wishes was for me to do what I loved and not have to work like she did. So she left me her house and money, and then I was alone in the world. It’s not like Mrs. Preston was about to give me help.

It was also hard as hell to get a job in 1880s New York as a dark-skinned woman. The basic rundown was that nobody thought I was competent enough to do even a simple job, and those who did think I could would’ve rather had a “reliable man” do it. On the very off chance I did get offered a job, they offered me such low pay that it would’ve been a waste of time and energy. They didn’t serve me better than painting all day and spending my day selling them.

My paintings actually have been selling better lately, which I attribute to my skills getting better I think. I made an especially great amount of sales today. Apparently rich people really love displaying grassy hills and harbors at dawn. As if we weren’t within walking distance of either, but if they figured that out I’d be out of business.

I had this little stand on the side of the street that I started wrapping up. It wasn’t far from my house, and I had to haul everything back there and back to my street spot every day. Usually I took Saturday off to just paint at home because the Sunday rush when everyone got out of church was just too great. Some people turned very generous getting out of church, which I both respected and took advantage of greatly.

As I was finishing off dragging some of my art through my front door when I saw this man passing by. He looked a bit dodgy. These big orange-tinted sunglasses and clothes with dozens of patches. Really thin with messy brown hair too. I was going to just ignore him until I went to reach for the last of my things to drag in the house: my paints. Paint was freaking expensive and I put every drop to good use. When I looked back though, I saw that dodgy son of a bitch taking off down the street with a paint bucket in each hand.

“Hey!” I screamed down the road. He looked back at me for just a moment. “What in Dickens are you doing?!”

In response, the man just started bounding faster. The paint cans were swinging every which way, sometimes almost making him take a tumble. He clearly didn’t have the muscle for the heavy cans, and probably wished he’d stolen something lighter.

“Get back here, you ratbag!” I shouted, running after him. 

My dress sure didn’t make it easy, but holding up the skirt a bit, I was able to chase him down the cobblestones easily. I had to hand it to him though, the guy knew how to get around. He dodged through alleyways, down roads, and right through the middle of horse-carriages crossing. He was either cunning or crazy.

Right when I was going to catch up to him, the man dodged right inside of a building. Although, it was more of a well kept shack with a plaque on the front. It read “The DuCarmont Laboratory of New York” in engraved letters. The building carried a sort of foreboding atmosphere. Like the building held some dark, dubious secrets inside that were best left unknown. But paints were freaking expensive though, so my life was worth the risk. Slowly and nervously, I opened the door and creeped inside.

“Hello?” I called out from the doorway. “I know you have my paints! Give them back or I will report the police to this place!” 

I knew the police wouldn’t do shit to actually get that paint back because of who I was. The threat sounded dangerous though. Nobody responded though, so I ventured into the building. It looked a bit like a doctor’s waiting room. I went over to the desk and knocked loudly on the wood.

“Hey! Where are my damn paints?!”

“Excuse me?” asked a deep monotone voice behind me. I jumped a couple feet into the air and got on the desk. The man widened his eyes, backing up and putting his hands up. “Oh, sorry, miss.”

He was a well put together man with long black hair put back into a bun, some strands still hanging out messily. Though his voice was fairly dull, he had a relatively bright expression, something more of curiosity than anything else. Something I knew well as an artist. Though his short shaved facial hair made him look slightly rough, his two shining blue eyes gave him a certain softness. It was an interesting contrast. Made me want to see what lurked just below his face. Who was this man? He certainly wasn’t the one who stole my art supplies.

“Who are you?” I demanded, picking up a bell on the desk and holding it like I was going to throw it at him.

“Lucas Theodore DuCarmont II,” the man said dully. He held his hand out to me. “And you would be?”

“Hmph,” I huffed, setting the bell down and taking his hand. The man helped me off the desk safely. “I’m Maxine Hopewell.”

“Well, Ms. Hopewell, are you here to be an odd person looking to volunteer for my lab?” he asked with a hopeful dash to his voice.

“Um, I’m sorry, but no. Are you a doctor?”

“No, no I’m not. Dr. DuCarmont was my father,” he said, flashing a smile. “You may call me Lucas for the simplicity.” Something about that smile… It made my heart flutter, I can’t lie.

“Well, Lucas, I need something,” I said, crossing my arms and remembering why I was there in the first place. “I chased someone who stole my paints to this building. I want them back. Now.”

“Stolen paints, huh?” Lucas said, rubbing his chin. “Let me guess, orange glasses? Looked like a complete mess? Dangerously thin and weak?“

“Yes, yes, and definitely.”

“Ugh, Rex…” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hopewell. Let me go get those paints back for you. It’ll only be a moment.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully as he walked through a door.

In the meantime, I took a seat in one of the waiting room chairs. They were actually pretty comfortable. I looked around the room, bored, when I spotted something, or rather, someone. From behind that desk that I’d jumped on before, a little boy looked at me. Strange blue hair and blue eyes, dressed like a regular little paperboy. He was giving me this bright-eyed curious stare, not that different from Lucas’.

“And who’re you?” I asked sweetly.

“I’m Dallas,” the boy innocently told me, not moving out from his cover. “I heard you talking to Lucas. You’re Ms. Hopewell?”

“You can just call me Max, honey.”

“You should volunteer here,” he said, ignoring me. “We need more volunteers here, and you’d be perfect.”

“Why’s that?” I asked, giggling.

“Because of your odd dark skin.”

“What-”

“I’ve got your paints,” Lucas interrupted, shoving in the thief who took them into the room. “And the man who took them.”

“You don’t have to keep saying it,” the thief grumbled. The man plopped down two paint cans in front of me and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“Well?” Lucas asked impatiently.

“Don’t make me-”

“Rex, just do it.”

“Fineeee,” he groaned. The man turned to me and held out his hand limply. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. “Rex. Professional thief and oddman. Pleased to meet you,” he said sarcastically.

“Rex-”

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry I stole your paints.”

“Hmph, good,” I hissed. Rex quickly retreated into a backroom while Lucas sighed and approached me again.

“I’m sorry about him. The stealing is a part of his… condition.”

“Condition?” I asked. “Is that what you’re studying here?”

“Yeah, it is,” he nodded. “I actually study odd persons of all kinds.” 

He showed me this flyer that said “Lucas DuCarmont’s Call For Odd Persons! Paying $1.50 per day” and listed an address at the bottom. The request itself was a bit odd.

“Studying atypical people?” I laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you ever want to do that?”

“There’s these men,” he explained. “In Germany. They’re studying the human mind and why our brains make us do what we do. That kind of stuff. They call it ‘psychology’ and seek to make it a field of science to be studied and taught. I want to bring it to America. Maybe even seek to get it taught and recognized as a scientific field”

“Fascinating.” I hadn’t ever heard of a science like that. Chemistry, biology, physiology, and mechanics sure, but not anything close to this ‘psychology’ that Lucas was talking about. “Well, I wish the best of luck to your studies, Mr. DuCarmont.”

“And I wish to you the inspiration to paint like DaVinci,” he smiled, reaching for my hand and kissing it goodbye.

“You forget yourself,” I flirted.

“Do you need me to help you with those cans?” he offered. “I could accompany you-”

“Nope,” I widely smiled, picking up the cans effortlessly. When you have to carry them all the time, you get used to it. Lucas looked completely shocked though; Rex, who was watching from the room over, also looked taken aback. “I think you’ll find that I can handle myself… Lucas.”

“So I see, Maxine,” he bowed. “Take care on this fine evening.”

“You as well,” I returned, walking out of the building.

As I walked home, I couldn’t get that man out of my mind. Something about his rough outside but soft eyes. His monotone voice but emotional passion. The juxtapositions were all so curious and left me wanting more. And more of him was all I wanted all the way home, and crept into my nightly thoughts too. It was all so odd, but… I wanted him.

*   *   *   *   *

The next day, I was wrapping up my art stall when I thought about those people again. Then men and the kid at that building. The laboratory. Dallas, Rex, Lucas… For some reason they all just stuck in my head. They were all so weird and odd in some way that it was hard to forget them. So after putting all my stuff away for the evening, I took a stroll over to the lab again, just to see what the place was about.

“Hello?” I called out as I walked into the building. “Lucas?”

“Hi!” At the desk, the eager young boy I saw yesterday was sitting and looking at a few papers. “Are you here for a job?”

“Dallas, right?” I recalled.

“Mhm,” he nodded.

“Could you tell me where Lucas is?” I asked sweetly.

“SIR!” Dallas screamed. “THE WOMAN FROM YESTERDAY IS HERE!”

“You don't have to shout,” Lucas said, walking in. “You might disturb Rex.”

“M’kay,” he said, going back to trying to understand the papers.

“So we meet again, Maxine,” the man noted.

“I just wanted to know,” I inquired. “What is it exactly you study here? You’re calling odd people, but for what?”

“To study them,” he said simply. “Come, let me show you.”

He took me a small ways through the building into what I assumed was his office. It was a small, but comfortable place with a desk and papers scattered everywhere. We both sat down and I picked up a stack, reading the notes on it.

“I study odd people to try and see why they’re different from the normal ones.”

“How do you differentiate the odd from the normal?”

“Another question I want to answer,” he smiled. “I would offer you a job as an apprentice, but… well, Dallas gets jealous easily and I couldn’t break the poor kid’s heart.”

“He’s an odd one himself,” I noted.

“Probably the most normal of us all here,” shrugged Lucas. “And don’t mind anything he says. The kid doesn’t have a filter.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“But I really want to know,” Lucas said, leaning on his desk. “Why did you really come back?”

“Like I said, I just wanted to know what you did.” My serious look faded into a wide smile. “Or maybe I just wanted to see more of you.”

“A lady such as yourself would always be welcome,” he smiled back.

“Perhaps I shall have to take a few more jaunts down here in my free time then.”

*   *   *   *   *

And so I made it a habit of going to Lucas’ lab after my day of business was finished. The regular people there were Lucas, Dallas, and Rex, but sometimes this woman named Debbie dropped by too. She was a friend of Rex apparently, and she made the best baked goods. Even taught me a thing or two.

I also worked with Lucas on making more of those flyers too that he’d send out worldwide to attract more odd people to his laboratory. It was a lot of fun, working with the man. He looked a bit dull and heartless on the outside, but when you got to know him, he was really sweet and kind and even had quite a way with words. The way he talked to me, he just worked his way into my brain… Into my heart even.

One day I went to the lab late. I ran as fast as I could, nearly tripping over my own skirt multiple times. When I finally made it, Lucas was just locking up the lab.

“Hey!” I called, attracting his attention. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Oh, it’s ok,” he said. “We can always meet tomorrow.”

“But… I wanted to see you today,” I panted.

“It’s ok,” he laughed, putting a hand on my cheek. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“But… But…” I put my hands on his chest. “I want to see you… tonight…”

“Do you, now?” Lucas asked, putting his hands around my hips.

“Mhm, I do,” I said, biting my lip and looking into his eyes.

“Well then,” he whispered, unlocking the lab door again and pulling me inside. “Let’s see each other all night, if that would interest you.”

“Oh yes, it would,” I egged on. And we did see each other. All night long.