Hell's torturer: The Demon in Disguise

Part 15

I walk around the empty rooms of my penthouse. Nothing but the sound of cars driving through the busy boulevard could be heard as I quietly searched through my things. My free time is usually spent watching court cases and preparing for my next piece of art, but this time, I think I would spend it doing something a little different, no longer feeling the need to indulge in my usual hobby.

There used to be nothing more exciting for me than planning my next murder, laying out my blueprints and filling out the spots where things could potentially go wrong. It was like solving a puzzle or playing a game of chess against a formidable opponent. It gave me a thrill, a purpose, but that was until I met her.

Now I'm going to leave everything behind and start anew. Like a phoenix being reborn, I will spread my wings and fly into a faraway land where I can begin my new life with the woman I love.

In my library, inside a drawer, hidden beneath a pile of papers I find my old sketchbook. I skim through the pages and see the last drawing dates back to 15 years ago. That's how long I haven't done even a simple sketch.

I see black and white drawings done with charcoal of our family pet. A ginger cat named Karel ran away when I was 10, he was a great companion and one of my favorite things to sketch, which I usually did while he was asleep. On the next page, there was a picture of my father, I didn't have any photos of him so this served as the only thing I used as a reminder of his appearance. I get to the last page to see an unfinished drawing of my stepmom. I felt like she was staring at me through the page with her prominent strict eyes that used to drain every bit of energy out of me once she got angry. Her portrait remained unfinished because she took away my sketchbook and hid it until I found it inside a cabinet in our old house years later. She hated that I was wasting my time with something so "childish" and "trivial" instead of studying, to the point she made me hate myself for doing it too.

I turn to the next page to reveal a black spread and hold it sideways so I can better use the entirety of it. With my other hand I search for anything I can use to draw, my fingers stumbling upon a black ballpoint pen. Perfect.

I can feel the corners of my mouth unconsciously curling into a smile as I lay out the initial sketch, pressing very lightly so it doesn't mess with the final line art. Of course, a simple ink isn't enough to capture her serene beauty, but I doubt any material on Earth would be sufficient for such a task. I draw her in her usual outfit, all the stripes and everything. I even remember their count. Every single detail, down to the space between her flawless facial features to the tint of her pale white skin. It's all embedded in the back of my mind like a fresco painted in between the folds of my brain.

As I add the finishing touches, the sound of a bell ringing pulls me out of my trance. She's here.

I open the door to greet her. It's like my drawing suddenly came into life, pulled straight from the pages and into reality.

"Did you miss me?" Rin giggles.

"For me, every second I spend away from you is a waste of time," I say pulling her into my arms. "Come let me take you for a spin before we decide on how we're going spend the evening, shall we?"

We walked inside the living room where I could see the painting hanging on the wall above the speakers caught her eye. She stares at it with such a morbid fascination, unlike most people who are usually disturbed by it.

"I like this one," she says, sitting on the sofa. "It's quite famous, isn't it? What was its name again?"

"It's called "Saturn devouring his son" by Francisco Goya. It's one of my favorites."

"Is it an original?"

"Oh no, no," I laugh a bit taken aback by her question. "It can't possibly be. This is a replica. The original is a mural, painted on the walls of Quinta del Sordo in Madrid. Besides, even if it was a painting on a canvas, I doubt a piece like that would be for sale."