Chapter 1
Victor
I’vedreamedofrevengefor so long, but I can’t believe I’m about to go through with my plan. The balaclava is so tight over my head I regret not trying it on earlier, but that shows my lack of experience in breaking-and-entering.
I’d ask ‘what the fuck are you doing, Victor?’ but that ship has sailed a long time ago, and so has my sanity.
All I know is that I hate Sevastyan to my very core, and tonight I will expose his lies to the world.
He goes by his first name only. ‘Sevastyan’. Like Beyoncé, or Adele, and all the other celebrities whose fame made the use of their last name obsolete. How pretentious. And the art world eats it up because, of course, who wouldn’t love a mysterious reclusive artist with the face of a fallen angel?
Me. That’s who.
Like many people, I was fascinated by the artist who painted self-portraits without ever showing his face. But when he finally revealed his whole self, our paths converged in the most unfortunate of ways, and he became my number-one enemy. His pictures might show him ashandsomer than even the most beautiful leading men of Hollywood, but I know that his soul is rotten.
I hate Sevastyan. And those dark feelings go so far and deep I don’t know who I’d be without them.
I suppose I’ll find out tonight.
I’ve been watching the gate leading to his property for weeks now, and I’ve noticed that it only opens for the truck delivering a fortnight’s worth of supplies. As I drive by, performing the ritual that’s become part of my daily schedule months ago, I expect to see the big retractable door fully shut. But it’s not.
I almost drive into a tree from the shock, but when I do a double-take, convinced it was a trick of the light, the gate is still open.
Well,cracked openwould be the more accurate description, but a man as slender as myself could easily use the gap to get past the tall fence topped with barbed wire, entering Sevastyan’s kingdom, where he’s defenceless.
I wanted to be prepared for an opportunity like this, so the backpack with my gun and other supplies is ready in the trunk.
I can’t believe my luck as I approach the ominously modern cliffside villa. It doesn’t look like much from up here, just a large brick of concrete and glass surrounded by dense Pacific-Northwestern woodland, but I’ve seen Sevastyan’s house from the ocean too. That thing is like a massive axe head stuck in the cliff. I wonder if it’s even legal to use natural rock formations this way, but an artist as prolific as Sevastyan might be able to grease some palms for the sake of his ugly architectural fantasy.
What do I know? I’m a twenty-two-year-old guy with a shitty job that barely allows me to afford the paint I need. I work two jobs and have to live on ramen while the place I’m about to break into is worth millions.
I’ve looked it up online obsessively. Sevastyan has never let anyone photograph the interior, he’s never done a tour of his studio, or posed shirtless next to canvases featuring his self-portraits.
That’s how I know he’s full of shit.
Anyone as stunning as the man in his self-portraits would flaunt that beauty at gallery opening nights and charm collectors into spending even more than they already do. He must be a guy like any other, and I will expose him to the world.
I crouch in terror when lightning slashes through the thick clouds. My hands hit the soaked grass of the manicured lawn to the side of the house. It’s nighttime, and I’m wearing black, but he might still spot me.
I wait several seconds, rain drenching my sweater, then make a run for it, straight for the front door.
I expect it to be locked, but it retreats the moment I gently bump my knuckles into it, soundlessly swinging aside to reveal a massive foyer. Slate tiles line the floor, then climb the bases of concrete columns surrounding the interior. In the middle, under a dome roof overflowing with rainwater, sits a decorative boulder partially covered by different types of moss.
All I can hear is the aggressive tap of droplets on glass.
I’ve got goosebumps, but there won’t be another chance like this, so I grip the gun and make my way forward in careful steps. My heart is beating out of my chest, but I have only one goal right now.
I will abduct Sevastyan and take photos of his real face. Then, I will reveal him to the world for the fraud that he is. Hell, maybe I’ll even throw a few punches and add a broken nose to the image reveal.
I have a whole notebook filled with the violent fantasies of what I’d do to him given half the chance, but now thatthe dream is becoming reality, I’m not sure if I’m capable of inflicting torture.
I just… I just want him to suffer. I want him to know what it’s like to feel small, ugly, and insignificant. Like he made me feel.
For once, our roles will be reversed.
I freeze when lightning cuts through the sky once more, because for a moment the dark house becomes so bright I fear my presence has been discovered. The growl of thunder puts me at ease. With the noise of the rain, my movement will be harder to hear. I look around, trying to guess where I’ll find the man who deserves everything that’s coming for him.
Dark glee eases the anxiety gripping my chest, and I move, trying each gray door in my path. I’m surprised to find them all locked, but when the hallway leads me straight to a staircase, I follow it without thinking, my steps in sync with the waves crashing against the cliff below.
