<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Theodore Danvers, gallery owner and artist extraordinaire was celebrating his thirty-second birthday alone, again. Much to his friends' chagrin. Every year was the same. They'd want to throw him a big party and he’d refuse every time. The one time they’d thrown him a surprise birthday party, he hadn't taken it well, and needless to say they hadn’t bothered to try again. Not that that stopped them from bugging him about it. Apparently they didn't tire of being refused, time and time again. <br/>
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"Happy birthday to me," Theo muttered as he raised a glass to his reflection reflected in the tinted windows that overlooked the city.<br/>
It wasn't that Theo was an asocial recluse; quite the opposite actually. And it wasn't that he didn't enjoy surprise parties. It's just that he didn't enjoy birthday parties, or more accurately, <i>his</i> birthday, which just so happened to fall the day before the worst day of his life. The anniversary of his parents’ death and that of his younger brother Michael. <br/>
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Michael. The one death he hadn't accepted. Even after all these years and no sign that he was still alive. Even when Theo had days when he hoped more than anything that Michael <i>was</i> dead, because the alternative was just too terrible to consider. Even then, he couldn't bring himself to believe Michael was dead. They'd never found a body. Yes, it was a weak argument, but Theo wouldn't be convinced otherwise.<br/>
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Lifting the glass to his lips, Theo found it empty and he sighed, turning to the crystal decanter sat on the edge of the coffee table. The rest of the table and couch were taken up with presents from many well-wishers. He hadn't bothered to open any of them. And there they sat silently taunting him with their cheery, brightly colored wrapping paper. Setting aside his glass, Theo worked on sorting the gifts by size, shape, and color. Only stepping back when they were all sorted in their respective piles. Satisfied, his first smile of the night parted the dark cloud that hung heavy over his head as he poured himself a celebratory drink.<br/>
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Downing the liquid in one quick swallow and tasting nothing, Theo sat the glass on the table and rolled up his sleeves as he approached the 36 by 48 inch canvas that sat untouched on the far wall. The plastic drop cloth crinkled beneath his feet as he stooped down to pop open the lids of the cans of paint. Dipping his fingers in the can of maroon colored paint, he stared unseeing at the blank canvas as an image started to form in his mind. As the artist scattered paints across his work-space, he remained unaware of the danger that lurked ever closer in the form of his supposedly dead brother.</span>