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 stopped me once, but she would soon come to realize that she was no match for the darkness that lived 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 I had planned for her.

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 an idea, 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 evidence 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.

Izzy and I exchanged playful grins before rushing towards 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.

"Is it them? Is it the prophecy, Roman?" Mom's voice trembled, her words merely above a whisper.

Dad's jaw tightened, his expression grave as he surveyed the darkening sky. "We need to protect the children," he said, his voice low but determined.

Confusion and dread churned within me as I struggled to comprehend the gravity of their words. Prophecy? Danger? What were they talking about?

Before I could voice my concerns, Dad led us into his study with urgent haste, his movements betraying a sense of urgency that sent alarm bells ringing in my mind.

"Enter the passcode 8239," Dad instructed, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "It's our safe haven in times of trouble."

As I punched in the passcode, the door slid open to reveal the dimly lit confines of the hidden sanctuary within.

But before we could take another step, the tranquillity was shattered with a deafening crash. A shadowy figure emerged from the swirling darkness beyond, his presence striking fear into our hearts.

My heart lurched into my throat as I met his gaze, a chill coursing through my veins at the sight of his sinister silhouette.

"You made a big mistake, Roman," the man tsked, his voice dripping with venom as he locked eyes with Dad.

Terror gripped me, rendering me breathless as the nightmare unfolded before my eyes. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and desperation drowning out all rational thought.

The man's eyes were sealed shut, replaced by an ominous symbol that seemed to pulse with vicious intent. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of darkness that had entered the peaceful confines of our home.

Izzy's hand tightened in mine, her fingers trembling with fear. Her frightened whimper snapped me out of my daze, grounding me in the grim reality of our situation.

But it was too late. In the blink of an eye, chaos erupted, my parents falling before my eyes as the man's cruel laughter echoed through the room.

There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation. With a steely resolve, I led Izzy deeper into the safe compound, my mind racing with the need to protect her at all costs.

With a strength born of desperation, I dragged Izzy toward the safety of the study, I constantly looked over my shoulder to witness the impending doom that the strange man had brought with him.

But even as we reached the sanctuary of the study, a chilling realization washed over me. Izzy was no longer by my side. She was gone, snatched away by the man who threatened to consume us all.

Drenched in a cold sweat, I blinked away the remnants of the nightmare, the memory of that fateful night still fresh in my mind. The echoes of my parents' screams echoed in my ears; their faces etched in pain as they fell before the merciless hands of fate.

With a shaky breath, I pushed myself upright, the weight of the past bearing down on my shoulders like a suffocating cloak. The studio, once a sanctuary for my art, now felt like a prison, the walls closing in around me as I fought with the demons that haunted my every waking moment.

But amidst the darkness, a spark of determination flickered to life within me. I would not be consumed by despair, not when there was still unfinished business to attend to. The man who had torn my family apart, who had stolen my sister from me—he would pay for his sins.

With renewed resolve, I rose to my feet, the familiar sting of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The time for mourning would come later; for now, I had work to do. The next chapter in my Red Series awaited, and I would see it through to its bloody conclusion.

As I approached the canvas, my fingers trembling, I knew that this painting would be different. This would not be just another portrait; it would be a testament to the darkness that dwelled within me, a clear reminder of the price of crossing paths with Dominic Gray.

With each stroke of the brush, I poured my rage, my grief, my longing onto the canvas, the colors swirling together in a macabre dance of despair and defiance. The face of my nemesis took shape before me, his features twisted in a grotesque mockery of humanity.

And as I stepped back to admire my handiwork, a sense of satisfaction washed over me. The man who had destroyed my life would live on forever in my art, my legacy immortalized in blood and paint.

But even as I reveled in my victory, a nagging doubt lingered at the back of my mind. The detective, Victoria Blackwood—she was still out there, her relentless pursuit threatening to unravel my carefully laid plans. I would need to tread carefully, to outsmart her at every turn if I were to emerge victorious.

But for now, I would bask in the sweet taste of vengeance, knowing that with each stroke of the brush, I brought myself one step closer to reclaiming what was rightfully mine.

As the first drops of blood stained the pristine surface of the canvas, I knew that my destiny was sealed. The chase was on, and this time, there would be no escape for those who dared to stand in my way.