Page 2 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

Chapter One

Ren

My eyes blink open, the morning light filtering through the room. My mouth is dry—burning for water. I look around frantically, trying to piece together what the hell happened. The last thing I remember is watching my Thorn walk away with his sister in his arms. Leaving me. Despite everything.

Despite pulling him into my darkness. Despite welcoming him. I try to move, but pain crushes me back down. My chest screams. The steady beeping of the monitor fills my ears. The IV line tugs at my arm, tethering me here. Then it hits me.

Kevin.

I’m alive—thanks to him. I guess.

But Kevin doesn’t do things out of the kindness of his heart. His timing is never coincidental. I know that much. But first, I need to get better. Then, I’ll figure out what his game is. A soft voice from the TV catches my attention. The news. And that’s when I see him.

Byron.

Byron and his sister walk hand in hand out of the courthouse. In the corner of the screen, a photo of me—a smirking ghost in black and white. His prison fade is now gone, and his hair is slightly longer, forming small waves of curls, which makes me question—how long has it been?

I look down at the IV still hooked into my arm just as Byron says my name on the screen.

“Ren Sato tried to take my life... my freedom. But I’m here for justice.” He says it while looking straight into the camera, jaw clenched, and my attention zeroes in on him—the black dress-down shirt hugging his muscular frame. Using my fingers, I draw circles in the air around my creation.

My Thorn and his Rose.

I could laugh at the irony of all this, but my situation isn’t funny. I should pick up and leave. But when his eyes lock onto mine, just for a moment, I feel like he’s here with me. My gaze drops to the lines on his face, the sharp angles of his jaw, and the furrow in his brows. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding beneath the fitted shirt.

I notice the way his sister looks at him—her eyes full of admiration and concern. She whispers something in his ear, and he nods slightly; his eyes never leaving mine. The camera zooms in on his face, and I feel like he’s speaking directly to me.

“I’m here to make sure the truth is known. And if he is out there, he won’t escape. I will make sure of it.”

A slow smirk spreads across my face as I lean back into the bed, my eyes glued to the screen.

“Ren Sato, a well-known and respected lawyer, turned out to be the infamous Laguna Bay Painter. Turns out monsters don’t only exist in movies.”

The second anchorchimes in.

“No, they’re your neighbors, and apparently, your lawyers, too.” His voice drips with sarcasm. Dickhead. I shift, trying to prop myself up in this shitty, makeshift hospital bed. It takes a few tries, but I finally manage. The pain in my body is sharp and deep–a reminder that I shouldn’t be breathing–yet here I am. , My eyes never leave the screen as I watch Byron begin to speak again, but this time his voice breaks—just a little. “I want to thank everyone who has shown support for us.” Clearing his throat, the camera zooms in and we are once again staring at one another. “And if Ren Sato is alive, I will stop at nothing to find him... to make him pay for what he did to Laguna Bay...” he pauses, jaw clenching as if he was in pain, but I know that look and that’s shame. “...and for what he did to me.”

Does he regret it? Leaving me. Call me delusional, but this sounds like an invitation to me. I wonder if any part of him wishes he were back in that studio with me? Bent. Bleeding. Perfect.

Gabriela speaks next, answering questions. Her voice is firm, controlled, almost rehearsed. She calls mecharming, conniving, a master manipulator. The interview is short. Dramatic if you ask me. And then I learn something new. To the world, I’m dead.

My body was never found. But with the injury I sustained, I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be anything. The official story? If I did escape, I didn’t make it far. I must have stumbled into the body of water near my property. Drowned. Gone. A monster swallowed by the water. How poetic.

So that’s it then. I’m a ghost now.

And no one hunts for the dead.

I lean my head on the headboard, the wood cool against my scalp, grounding me in the present. I hear heavy footsteps approaching, followed by a low, familiar whistle from the other side of the door. Kevin.

“Ahh, you are finally awake?” Kevin chimes, his voice laced with something between amusement and relief. He opens the door, and I don’t have to ask—I see the camera above the door, its unblinking eye trained on me. Of course. He’s been watching.

“Iguess I am.” My voice is rough, my throat dry. I need water, but I won’t ask. Won’t give him that satisfaction.

“Good, I was worried for a moment. Thought you were a goner. Lucky for you, I’m a universal donor.” He drops into the chair in the corner, legs spread wide like he’s making himself at home. His eyes flick to the TV, where my face fills the screen.

Kevin shakes his head. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I suspected it, but fuck.”

“You suspected?” I ask, tilting my head. Did I slip? Did I leave crumbs? I didn’t think I was that obvious, but I guess I was wrong if even Kevin could connect the dots. If Kevin saw it, Byron must have too.

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