Canvas of Deception

Chapter 2

Dominic Gray

If it hadn't been for the detective, I would have had enough blood to work on my next piece of art for my Red Series. But she ruined everything. Her interference cost me dearly, and now I would have to make another kill soon to replenish my supply.

I paced the dimly lit room of my studio, the scent of paint and turpentine mingling with the metallic tang of blood that lingered in the air. My frustration simmered beneath the surface, fuelling the fire that burned within me.

But despite the setback, there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing that I had unsettled her, that I had injected fear into her veins with nothing more than a fleeting glance. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to dwell on my losses for long. The demands of my art were relentless, and I would need to find a new source of inspiration soon. Another victim, another sacrifice to feed the flames of my creativity.

But this time, things would be different. This time, I would make sure that the detective compensated me for my loss. She had unwittingly become a part of my masterpiece, and it was only fair that she played her role to perfection.

As I stared out into the darkness beyond my studio window, a sense of anticipation coursed through my veins. The chase was far from over, and I relished the thought of the game that lay ahead. Detective Victoria Blackwood may have thwarted me once, but she would soon come to realize that she was no match for the darkness that dwelled within me.

With a cruel smile playing at the corners of my lips, I began to make preparations for my next move. The detective may have thought she had won this round, but she had no idea of the horrors that awaited her in the shadows.

With a sense of purpose burning in my chest, I surveyed my studio, my eyes alighting on the blank canvas that awaited my next masterpiece. I approached it with reverence, my fingers itching to bring the man who has been haunting me in my dreams to life. The one who had taken my sister away. The one who had killed my parents.

He would pay. I will make him pay.

As I gathered my materials—a palette of muted, subdues tones, an array of brushes of varying sizes, and, most importantly, the gleaming blade that would serve as my instrument of creation—my mind buzzed with anticipation.

I had a vision, a concept born from the depths of my darkest desires. With practiced precision, I began to mix my paints, each stroke a testament to my skill and dedication.

The peculiar man's face becoming more pronounced with each stroke. His hair cropped to his head but his eyes, two voids with a symbol that talked to me. Trying to tell me something until I was taken back to the day when it all happened.

"Dominic, Izzy, dinner's ready!" Mom's voice called out from the kitchen, the comforting sound of her words momentarily easing the tension that hung heavy in the air.

Izzy and I exchanged playful grins before bounding toward the dining table, the promise of food momentarily distracting us from the growing storm outside. We chattered excitedly as we settled into our seats, the usual banter filling the room with warmth and laughter.

But as we ate, a sense of unease settled over the room, the atmosphere growing increasingly heavy with each passing moment. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, casting long shadows over our cozy family dinner.

The wind howled outside, its mournful wail tearing through the air like a banshee's cry. Rain pelted against the windows, a relentless onslaught that echoed the turmoil brewing within.

Izzy fidgeted beside me; her usual bubbly energy replaced by a tense unease that mirrored my own. I squeezed her hand in silent reassurance, my own stomach knotting with worry. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.