Paint Me Blue

XV. BULL'S EYE!

T/W: The present case involves a mention of su*cide.

The room was cloaked in shadow, only the soft glow of the lamp on his desk casting a warm circle of light around War as he stood before the blank canvas. Outside, rain drummed heavily against the windows, punctuated by occasional rolls of thunder that seemed to vibrate through the floor.

The room was thick with the scents of paint, freshly brewed coffee, and the buttery hint of biscuits left untouched on the table beside him. War was lost in the music that drifted through the speakers, Cool Cat by Queen, its bittersweet tones wrapping around him like an embrace.

He stared at the blank canvas, hand poised in midair with the palette knife, yet unable to make the first stroke. The colors swirled in his mind. Deep blues and blacks, the endless depths of the ocean filling his vision. But the deeper he dove into his thoughts, the louder the buzzing in his head grew, a chaotic hum that made his temples pulse.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, the rhythm of his heart syncing with the beat of the rain. For a moment, he saw her, the image of the woman floating toward him in his mind, suspended in water, her figure blurred and distant. A sharp throb cut through his head, and his eyes snapped open. They were fierce now, brimming with a strange resolve, as though he were possessed by something beyond himself.

Without a second thought, he grabbed the blue acrylic tube, squeezing half of it onto his palette with a messiness he usually avoided. Black followed, then a stream of white, the colors bleeding into one another, defying the clean order he often maintained in his workspace. He pressed the palette knife into the colors, smudging and blending them directly onto the canvas. His movements were wild, frenetic, pushing the paint back and forth in long strokes, each swipe guided by a rhythm only he could hear. The hues deepened, creating stormy waves and swirling shadows that seemed to pull the viewer in.

War didn't stop, not even when paint began to smudge across his apron, his hands, and eventually onto his face. His fingers moved with the determination of someone on the edge of something vast and unknowable.

When he finally set the knife down, his chest was heaving, and he felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him. But he didn't seem to notice the paint that marked his skin as he stepped back, taking in the canvas. He simply stared, eyes flickering with a glimmer of satisfaction, perhaps even a hint of release.

War took a step back, wiping his face with the back of his paint-streaked hand, eyes narrowing as he stared at the finished work. The brushstrokes blurred, and the image began to twist before his eyes. What had been a turbulent ocean scene now morphed into something else – The Blue Temptation but so much darker. What had started originally as a serene ocean scene, painted in the same beautiful tones that had once represented his infatuation, slowly transformed. The blue shades darkened, and the tranquil waves turned turbulent. Suddenly, the canvas no longer held just an abstract display of emotions.

Yin's tranquil face became furious and distorted with rage. His eyes burned, mouth contorted with the anger he had shown that night. The night he had berated War, condemning him for his failure to sketch the face of the woman who had stolen Captain Su Lin's life. War's heart clenched, feeling the weight of that moment return, heavy and suffocating.

War stumbled back, horror seizing him as he watched Yin's expression twist further, anger spilling from the canvas, threatening to consume him. His breath hitched, but he couldn't look away.

He spun around, desperate to ground himself, but his eyes landed on the walls of his studio. The sketches of criminals, victims, and strangers he had passed on the streets seemed to come alive. Their once-still faces now moving, contorting. The murderers he'd painstakingly sketched over the years were sneering and taunting, eyes glowing with malice. The portraits of the grieving, the lost, and the desperate wept and reached out as if pleading for help, their ghostly sobs mingling with screams.