The killer's favorite obsession

led me,

swer.......

nd skin. I had just finished burying the evidence in one of the artist-owned warehouses I kept on the outskir

t expected to act so soon, but the moment I saw

uched her. He wo

s-delicate, precise strokes. I ha

was not because I felt guilt, but because Lena deser

was Raymond Vale-the eccentric billionaire artist who hosted exhibitions in candlelit rooms and sold paintin

all her.

under her chin, the way her shoulders curved in when she was scared. I had been painting her long befo

d and breakable and I cou

ke them

, knees to chest, eyes half-closed in fitful sleep. I'd taken the photo ten minutes before I knocked on her door. I couldn't hel

autious. If she was cautious, she'd li

tart asking

t let tha

the shadows around her eyes. She cried again. I hated it-but I loved it too, he

private studio d

I said, not

trained. He'd followed her today after I left the ca

herself in. She also dre

he saw you acro

he panicked, looking ready

he corner of my mou

st like you said a

he mes

shaking and she nearly

red, still staring at the pai

s. He'd seen what I was capable of when crossed. What I did to

are born. Sometimes

as

thing left that kept me hu

d. "Don't get too close but if anyone els

ded. "I'll

ithout an

e floor-to-ceiling window and from here, I could see most of the city and if I use

ope tonight. I didn't ne

o starting to understand. She was

re-but this time it was for her. She needed to know s

and I never let g

run. She wasn't ready to know who I truly was. She

et bu

that everything

s.......

love in its mo

Obsession,

. It was a message from a re

tective on the case. He's as

aw t

ped

le him.

to Lena's portrait. I wanted a new painting, something

ut not hers-someone else's. Her eyes open, wide, staring not in f

what I

what I

tist and the helpful stranger. The man who just ha

ugh......