Stuck in this hellhole, I threw a ball against the wall. My family, my Claire, thought I was dead. As I caught the ball, I realized that I was death and that Claire was life. As I threw the ball, the title of another painting came back to me: Ma princesse, vous êtes la vie dans la mort. Mon chevalier, vous êtes la mort dans la vie. As I caught the ball, I remembered that painting, that danse macabre.

My assignment was to find seven of Isaac Mendez’s final series of eight, hoping it would be key in bringing down the company. When I learned that Linderman had headed the Company and had collected Isaac’s art, my hope grew. I sought to understand Linderman’s collection and Isaac’s place in it in order to find clues to the whereabouts of his remaining canvases. I saw Ma princesse in the Medieval section of The Linderman Archives, three volumes available through interlibrary loan.

The painting, found in Paris and attributed to an artist called Hubert, dated back to 1424. Oil on three wood panels, the piece appeared to be an allegory about death and love. However, with hindsight and a ball for company, I realized the more literal truth.

The first panel depicted a princess with golden hair offering a golden chalice to a knight. The knight, a skeleton in black armor with a white plumed helmet, wore glasses where his visor should’ve been. The blood red, heart-shaped ruby set in the chalice contrasted with the blues in the princess’ rich floor-length gown. The second panel depicted the half-skeletal, half-living knight and the half-skeletal, half-living princess touching palm to palm, while the knight held the chalice in his free hand. The third panel depicted the knight sitting in a dungeon. Fully alive, he wore a gray death shroud and glasses, his helmet and the chalice at his feet. For entertainment, he threw a blood red ball against his captor’s wall.

I felt for Hubert, having to wrap his 15th century precognitive mind around a Costa Verde cheerleader, a blood infusion, and a resurrection from death that had to be the antithesis of messianic. As I threw the ball against my captor’s wall, I could barely wrap my 21st century mind around what happened. My beautiful daughter’s blood brought me back from death. As my memories of the Undiscovered Country slowly returned, I understood that my Claire was even more precious and fragile than I ever imagined.

Bob had forcibly taken her blood and that son of a bitch, Suresh, had used it without her consent. Will the rest of so-called humanity be any kinder? No! I’ve overseen enough exsanguinations to know. Claire will die, again and again, drop by drop. She’ll be killed by those seeking to escape death and those seeking to explore it. Without protection, my baby girl’s danse macabre will never end.

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