With a quick twist, the engine was cut dead. She leaned towards the steering wheel to give one last peek out the windshield before opening the car door. Here we go, she told herself. The car lock clicked.

What a strange request Celestina had given her. Marie was steadfast in keeping secrets, but this was something a little weird to be entrusting to a friend of only a few months. Still, Celestina had only ever been kind to her, and Marie was determined not to let her down.

She looked up at it as she walked up to the front door. The place was beautiful—luxurious and expensive, like all things Celestina owned. Two flowerpots hung by the door. Bright magenta blossoms on drooping vines spilled out from over the clay rims. Marie came to one, reaching up and feeling blindly for a key. Her hand found only dirt. When she reached into the other, her hand closed in on the key.

Let's see, she recalled to herself as she unlocked the front door. Letters are in the nightstand. Nightstand is in the bedroom… Okay, so where's the bedroom?

Marie walked in. The place was dark, as all blinds and curtains had been drawn in the vacant home. There was a light switch by the coat rack that illuminated the living room. Beige sofas were arranged the large space, covered in rich velvety material and gold studs. At the center was a large coffee table with a glass centerpiece. A tall cabinet hugged the wall opposite to the fireplace. Past its glass doors, Marie saw a wide arrangement of drinking glasses. Celestina, no doubt, entertained her guests here. And that fireplace, though swept clean at the moment, probably housed large, crackling fires during those occasions. I'm looking for the bedroom, Marie reminded herself.

Past the next door was the dining room. A long, rectangular dining room sat towards the middle of the space with chairs arranged around it—too many for Marie to count at a glance. A black metal chandelier hung over the table. There was a small bar on the other side, and Marie joked to herself that perhaps she ought to help herself to a drink for her trouble.

To be honest, she didn't want to stay here longer than she needed to. Marie couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something about the place made her skin tingle. Maybe it was just the emptiness—all this space, and not a soul in it but her.

Marie walked past a large set of double doors and went into the kitchen space. The pale quartz counters were spotless. I'd bet money that Celestina never prepared a single meal herself in here. As she passed by, Marie ran a finger across the countertop. Not a speck of dust. Strange. She would have thought that this place had seen little activity since Celestina started living with Stefano. Maybe she still had cleaners come in to keep the place spick and span even though no one lived in it. Marie knew a lot of people who, once at a certain income level, would carelessly toss money at these sorts of things.

If that was the case, why didn't Celestina get one of them to remove the letters? Though, thinking about it, Marie wasn't sure she'd trust a sensitive, personal task like this to a minimum wage worker either.

A door in the kitchen led to a short hallway. The master bedroom was at the end of it. Marie stepped into the dark room, leaving the door open. The deep, wine-red carpeting muffled her steps. She turned the lights on. Even with the large, four-poster canopy bed, the room was spacey. Marie crossed the room to the deep mahogany nightstand by the bed. It had a single drawer. She reached down and pulled it open.

It was completely empty except for a single thing—a card. Marie picked up the small piece of cardstock and opened it. Inside were words printed in black.

Welcome to the Gallery

She heard a creaking groan behind her. Marie straightened up and whirled around. She saw the door close with a sharp slam, and the telltale click of a lock. Heart racing, she rushed to the door and desperately twisted the handle. The door was stuck in place against her pulling. Marie drew back and slammed her shoulder against the door. Once, twice. She backed away, holding her arm. After only a few steps, she stopped in her tracks.

Suddenly there was music—an orchestra playing softly from somewhere behind her. Marie turned, realizing that it was coming from the connected bathroom. Slowly, she walked towards it. The door was cracked open. She stopped in front of it and peeked in.

Her breath came out in an audible croak of horror. Unable to stop herself, Marie reached out and opened the door a little wider to get a better look.

There were framed pictures hung up on the bathroom walls. They even covered the mirrors. In them were women—very clearly dead. Blank, listless faces were captured in their images. Lifeless, staring eyes. Lips parted, devoid of breath, and some with runnels of blood escaping from the corners of mouths.

A musty smell came through the door. It was old, but held the traces of the rotting fruit stench it once had. Only it wasn't fruit, but rather what was sitting on the bathroom counter. Time had brought it to the point where all soft tissue had liquefied, melted into a dried pool on the marble countertop. What remained was a skeletal hand with bits of gray-brown flesh still clinging to it. Its fingers were draped over the stem of a wilted rose—its wrinkled, yellow petals once white.

There was one picture. The pair of eyes in it was still alive. Marie found her gaze drawn to it, and her stomach turned. It depicted a woman lying on the ground, with the camera having taken the picture from the ground next to her. A knife jutted from her neck, and blood pooled around her head. She was staring straight into the camera—at Marie. Her eyes held confusion, pain, and fear.

It was Janine Sawyer. She had disappeared a few months ago. The last update the police had given was that they were still searching for her.

She had been right here. They had all been here—those names on the news and the Have You Seen Me posters. The bodies the police had found. They had all once been right here. Right where she was now.

Marie stumbled back away from the door. Away from the pictures of death and the rotted hand and the eerie music. Gasping heavily, she took her phone and tried to make an emergency call. It wouldn't go through. There was no reception. No reception?

That was impossible. Unless something was blocking her signal. Her breathing began to shorten and quicken as panic set in. Her eyes snapped to the curtains. Rushing over, Marie ripped them back. Then she stepped back. A shuddering sob escaped her lips.

The window was barred. A cage of metal covered the glass from the inside, sealing her in like an animal. Marie flew forward, grabbing the bars and shaking them so hard her entire body wrenched.

"Help me! Somebody! Help me! Please!" Unable to control herself, she began to scream over and over again. She shook the unrelenting bars, sobbing and shrieking. The orchestra played a duet with her voice.

After two days without hearing from her, Marie Chaparé's boyfriend Victor Langston made a 911 call to the KCPD. It was a tune the police had long since grown familiar with hearing, and it made them fear the worst. The response was immediate. Detective Corinne Hendriks and three search parties immediately departed to sweep the city. When questioned about her last known whereabouts, Victor told the police that Marie had headed out to do something. She wouldn't tell him what it was.

While the search fanned out across the city, Ledford stayed behind. Determined that the suspect knew something, the detective called him down to the interrogation room. Word was going to take a short while to reach Newell, and Ledford was going to make the most of the attorney's absence.

In the interrogation room, Stefano inquired about Newell, and Ledford answered that it was going to be a while. "You know how traffic in Krimson City can get."

"Then—."

"Mr. Valentini, I have requested your presence here out of the highest urgency. Anything you do or say to delay this questioning will be considered an obstruction of justice." There was still the Fifth Amendment, but Ledford was hoping he could coax Stefano in skirting around that. If he had learned anything this past week, it was that Stefano seemed to make it a game to rustle the detective's feathers as much as possible. Well rustle away, you fuck.

He saw Stefano's eyebrows rise. "Someone else go missing, Detective?"

Ledford crossed his arms. "And you don't seem the least bit surprised."

"And why would I be when you've wasted all this time on me while your real killer is still running loose, preying on these poor women who relied on you for protection?" Stefano leaned back in the creaky plastic chair and rested one leg over the other. "As you know, I've been here for the past… nearly two weeks now. I've not a single blip of contact with anyone except my Celestina—who is utterly heartbroken at your unjust persecution of me, you should know." As he regarded Ledford, he tilted his head. The hair almost slid from his face. "Oh, but let me guess. You're going to try to accuse her next, aren't you? Say she's my accomplice? She's currently in an airplane, several thousand feet from the ground and whoever it was that went missing. And before that, she was in Los Angeles with an alibi about a few hundred witnesses strong."

Everything he said was watertight. It was true—anyway one looked at it, it seemed Stefano had nothing to do with Chaparé's disappearance. But Ledford wasn't convinced. And he had gotten too far, too damn far, to lose it all like this. "I know," the detective uttered in a low voice, "that you have some part in this."

"I don't have the ability to pass through walls or blink from one spot to the next. Although…" Stefano leaned his head back, lifting a hand to delicately tap his chin. "That would be quite handy."

"You and her might have everyone fooled, but I'm not falling for this bullshit."

"Let's see how far that faith takes you."

Ledford's head turned to the door at the sound of knocking. He opened the door and was informed at Newell had arrived.

"Good. Just in time. I'm done with this ass," Ledford mumbled to the officer. As he stepped out of the room, he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "Make sure he stays where I can see him."

But even with Ledford's best efforts to hold onto his lead, it slipped from his grip. Three days of searching came up with nothing. KCPD fell under even more pressure and fire. Finally, with the police chief breathing down his neck, Lieutenant Vankirk had the suspect released from police custody. There wasn't enough evidence, and the claim of probable cause had wilted.

Ledford was there when Stefano walked. His hands, shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, could have crushed rocks to dust in their grip. Just before stepping out, Stefano turned his head towards the detective. His one eye met Ledford's glowering ones. Then, Newell put a hand on Stefano's shoulder and the two walked out.

Celestina, having finally returned to Krimson City, was waiting outside. Newspapers captured the moment when she rushed to Stefano and burst into tears of joy in his arms. In the eyes of those watching, this was a victory. Witnesses to the scene saw how Celestina lifted her face and, before kissing him, whispered something into her husband's ear.

This was just a setback, Ledford told himself. Marie was still missing, and he wasn't done yet. There was still a lead, and he was going to pursue it even if he was the only one. That same day, Ledford came before the state magistrate to request a search warrant of the Oakland Condominiums penthouse. Upon hearing the detective's request, a knowing look came over the magistrate's face.

"First you accuse Stefano Valentini, and now you demand to search his wife's property," the magistrate said. "Do you have probable cause, Detective? Or is this still based on hearsay?"

"The former," Ledford replied firmly. "With all due respect, Your Honor, time is of the essence here. If we don't find Chaparé's whereabouts soon, then…" He let himself trail off. In grim acknowledgment, the magistrate lowered his eyes. "She and Amonte had a very clearly established friendship, Your Honor. Even if Chaparé isn't there, there's bound to be some clue as to where she is. As Langston informed us, she left her home willingly before she disappeared—which means someone she knew called her out."

It was more the urgency that convinced the magistrate, but all that mattered was the finalized warrant that Ledford obtained. Celestina, of course, voiced her displeasure at this intrusion of her home. However, she agreed to comply with the search, imploring the KCPD to hurry and find her dear Marie before it was too late.

As soon as he had the warrant, Ledford sped downtown to Oakland—a tall, silver building that stretched up as one of the tallest structures in Krimson City. Ledford parked at the curb at the front. To the baffled valet driver who came up, he pulled the front of his jacket back, quickly saying, "Krimson City police. If you get it towed, I'll have you brought in," before rushing through the revolving glass door.

The elevator ride to the 15th floor took too long. A female voice announced his arrival to the top. Ledford rushed forward, turning his body sideways through the elevator doors as they were still sliding open.

There was no hallway on the 15th floor—only a single door that led to the penthouse. Ledford rushed past the areca palm that grew from a woven pot by the door. With the keycard the guard at the front had given him, Ledford scanned himself in. As soon as the light above the handle turned green, he grabbed it and turned it.

With a firm push, he stepped through the door.

When he stepped in, he noticed the lights were on. His hand lingered on the doorknob, pulling it slowly shut behind him. As soon as the latch clicked, he moved forward. He walked past the living room.

He heard it growing louder and louder with every step—the crisp, lavish notes of the orchestra. It welcomed him, invited him. Come, it implored. There is art to be made.

At the front of the police department, when he had finally become reunited with his beautiful muse, she had whispered something wonderful in his ear. The gentle caress of her breath had tickled his skin.

"I have a dirty little secret waiting for you."

A deep shiver had run through him at her words—the kind meant to be reserved for closed bedroom doors.

As he passed through, he made a stop at the kitchen first. He set the carafe in place into the coffee maker and pushed one of its buttons. The machine gave a cheery chime. From within it, a deep whirring sounded as water boiled. He turned away and continued into the small hallway.

He stopped just outside, listening to the music that reverberated from the room just beyond. There was no other sound, but he knew she was in there. The door unlocked with a hollow click. The hinges creaked.

She was huddled against the wall by the barred window. Strange—he always found them there. How quaint. It reminded him of moths running themselves over and over against light bulbs—pointless, but entertaining nonetheless.

She lifted her head when she heard him. Her eyes widened with fear at the sight of him, and he loved it. The door closed behind him, locking the both of them in.

"Ah," Stefano mused softly. "I thought you would be the one she'd choose next."

She lifted herself off the ground, holding onto the wall support. The poor thing was trembling like a leaf, and her voice shook just as much. "N-not you."

"My dear, how rude. Who taught you manners like that?" He took a step towards her. Immediately, she flattened herself against the wall. He could practically hear her rapid-fire heart.

"Stay away," she cried. Stefano found it amusing how firm she was trying to sound. "S-stay away from me!" She lifted a quivering arm and pointed an accusing finger at him. "It-it was you! All of them—you! J-Janine… what did you do to her?"

"You're about to find out." He took another step, watching it turn her panic up by another notch. She slid against the wall, trying to look for an opening around him. But Stefano had her cornered. But he wasn't about to approach her, not yet. Oh, he wanted this to last.

At his next step, she suddenly had a stun gun held out in front of her. Stefano paused. The end of the black device crackled threateningly. "Get back!" she snapped. "I'll hurt you, you fucker! Don't you dare get any closer!"

The next few seconds were spent in tense silence. And then he laughed.

"This one bites," he mused. "You are fun."

He saw her will break. The hand holding the stun gun began to shake harder. "You're insane," she whimpered. "Absolutely fucking insane." She started crying. Aw. Poor baby. "Why? Why would you do this? Why would you kill them?"

"My dear," Stefano said in a soothing voice. "What a crass word. Animals kill. Barbarians kill. I am an artist. I don't kill."

"Yes! Yes you do!" She threw a finger towards the bathroom. "Th-those women in there are dead! You killed them all!"

Another step. "My dear. You're starting to make me mad."

"Stop!" Her voice had elevated to a shriek. "Don't get any closer! Please!"

"Hmm. And what happens if I do?" He took another step. She slid against the wall, but it hardly distanced them. Mockingly, Stefano lifted his hands in a harmless manner. "Look," he said. "See. I'm unarmed. Why are you so scared of me?"

Fear had taken her voice. All she could do was shake her head. With an irate sigh, Stefano turned around and began walking away. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to make sure she wouldn't rush up at him with the stun gun. That would be the smart thing to do. But she was still glued against the wall. Terror was glorious—how elegantly did it force the mind away from common sense.

"Why do you always make this so difficult?" he chided gently as he walked into the bathroom. Oh, that smell. He hadn't gotten a chance to get rid of the props for his last shoot, what with the KCPD being a pain in the ass for the past two weeks. If Celestina knew, she would have given him an earful for sure.

But that would have to wait. Stefano came up to the bathtub and turned the tap on. The stopper was already in, keeping the water trapped. Behind him, above the sound of the orchestra, he could the door jostle in its frame as she tried to force it open.

He sat leisurely on the edge of the tub. Eye lowered, he watched the water level against the porcelain climb slowly. Stefano wished she wouldn't cry so loudly—he was trying to listen to the music.

She was still trying the door. Why? It was very clearly locked. Stefano was once again reminded of the moth beating itself against the light bulb. Tap… tap… tap… Silly creature.

When the water was just a few inches below the rim, Stefano reached over and turned the tap off. He stood and walked over to the bathroom counter. Stopping in front of the rotted hand, he reached down and pulled a drawer open. Waiting inside was a knife, its six inches of cold steel glinting in the frosted glass-filtered light. For creatures so desperate to protect themselves, none of them had ever found this. Though, Stefano suspected, the silly things had always been too terrified of the art to step into the bathroom to find it.

Stefano turned and walked slowly towards the door. His mind was alight with the sparks of creativity. The knife would have to be used minimally—he wanted this one as preserved as possible. Recognizable. He wanted the KCPD to see her face. He wanted that detective to know who she was.

She was keeping a good eye on the bathroom door so that when he walked back into the bedroom, she whirled around to face him. The stun gun was still in her hand. He saw her eyes dart to the knife in his hand.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, slowly closing the distance between them. "This is only for if you're incompliant."

She darted away from him, towards the window. Oh, so he would need it. A shame. Her skin was perfect. But there were ways to cover the blemishes.

Quickly, he turned on his heel and swiveled towards her. His pace quickened.

And then something unexpected—she charged at him. No, she was trying to dart around him. Stefano lifted his arm, prepared to grab her.

He didn't realize doing so left his side vulnerable, nor had he expected her to strike out at him, until he felt the quick, excruciating jab in his exposed side—like hundreds of needles pinpointed in one small spot in his side. He grunted out sharply through clenched teeth. Fuck, dammit! His hand came up and pressed against the burning spot. The stun gun's contact had only lasted for a second, but the muscles in his side were spasming at the touch.

Something else had been stirred up besides the pain, rising above it—rage. Stefano saw her raise the stun gun again. Before she could get him again, he shoved her. She stumbled back. He flew at her as she did.

The crackling end of the stun gun met his shoulder, but at that point he already had the knife hilt-deep in her stomach. They locked eyes for a heartbeat, and then Stefano quickly withdrew back, one hand clenched tightly over his twitching shoulder. The other was convulsing too hard to hold onto the knife, and it dropped to the floor. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to need it anyway.

She was holding her stomach, but red was starting to creep through the cloth. Her brow furrowed, and she let out a hollow breath. Her legs buckled and she fell to the ground. Stefano let go of his shoulder and walked towards her.

Her eyes were still trained on him. She was still holding the stun gun and weakly lifted it. What petty defiance. A foot came down and crushed her wrist against the floor. She cried out, and the crackling device dropped from her grip.

He kicked it away. Then, he turned away and left her there on the ground as he returned to the bathroom. There he retrieved his camera.

The blood had stained her entire front by the time he came back to her. Oh, how glorious. How beautiful. The way she was trying to pitifully lift herself up, but was pinned down by the draining of her strength… It was too perfect.

At the sound of the camera's shutter, she looked up. She looked straight into the camera lens as though it was an eye. Stefano lowered the camera. Her eyes were still focused on it as if it was the real threat.

He crouched down. "Now," he said. His hand found the discarded stun gun. "Let's see what we can create with you."

The device's end pulsed freely in open air before it found contact with skin. She screamed only for a short while—only until the electricity pulsing through her from her neck paralyzed her. She slumped, limp like a corpse. But she wasn't ready yet.

Stefano turned the stun gun off and tossed it aside. Putting the camera on the nearby vanity, he picked the limp body up and carried it to the bathroom. There, he dumped it into the bathtub. Water jumped up as it was displaced. Stefano stepped back and let out a huff of irritation as a bit of it sloshed over onto his shoes. He flicked the water off of one with a quick kick, and then reached over to turn her so that she was facedown in the water. It wouldn't take long—just a short wait.

"Do me a favor, my dear, and stay there until I get back," he jested to her lightly before turning away. He unlocked the bedroom door and walked out. The orchestra faded as the door behind him closed.

From the bright, sunlit kitchen of the isolated lake house, the coffee maker chimed cheerily.