“It’s hard to build a collection when the creator stops letting what he creates be collected. There’s really only one solution.” He pauses like he wants me to guess, but I don’t speak. I don’t dare say a word even though I have so many more questions. When I don’t respond, he keeps going, which is perfect because it gives me time to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “You collect the creator, Myers. You remove the obstacles and take the creator himself. It’s the only way to do it. I should have done it before he left, honestly.”
I’m still a bit woozy, but the pieces of what he’s telling me click together and I inhale a sharp breath. “Shiloh.”
“I told him he shouldn’t have moved so far away,” the man laments, ending on an impatient sigh. “I would have covered up the little mess he made if he’d asked, but it’s okay. I can make it right, and he can come back to California where he belongs.”
“You can’t take him,” I protest, but he laughs in my face.
“Do you think you’re in a position to stop me? You’re a means to an end. When he gets here, he’ll see it my way, I think.”
“Oh?” a voice from the top of the stairs calls down. “That was the big master plan? Kidnap my boyfriend and make me run away with you?”
My heart leaps into my throat as Shiloh carefully makes his way into the basement dressed in one of my Snakes hoodies, his hands stuffed into the pockets. He shouldn’t be here, and as he looks past this stranger toward me, I mouth the word “run” to him.
Instead, he turns away from me and faces the person who’s taken me captive. “What are you doing, Sidney?”
“I came to collect you,” the man offers, taking a step closer to Shiloh. “To take you back to California so you can make art for me like you used to before you became… distracted.”
“I never made art for you. I made it, and you bought it. That’s all.”
“No, it’s always been for me. You put the blood in there knowing that I would be drawn to it.”
“You knew?” Shiloh’s shock seems to amuse the man more than anything.
“I know all your tricks, Shiloh. The paintings were for me, but you moved here and then… they weren’t anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Shiloh says, though he doesn’t exactly sound apologetic. “My art has always been for me, Sidney. Not my clients.”
“Your favorite medium stayed the same,” Sidney insists, taking another step closer to Shiloh. “Your bloody paint. That stayed the same for me, but you didn’t let me buy the art you made with it.”
“I don’t make art that way anymore, Sidney. Things are different now.”
“Because of him,” Sidney hisses, pointing at me. “Your new muse, right? The second you found him, you stopped selling to me. I recognized your work on his helmet when he was ontelevision… and then I could see him in every painting you put up on your feed, every canvas you refused to sell.”
Sidney pauses, then steps away from Shiloh and turns to me. He stalks over to where I am as Shiloh removes his hand from the pocket of the hoodie, his fingers clutching the knife that he was once tempted to take my life with. He doesn’t look my way once as he takes off toward Sidney at a fast clip, but the bigger man turns and throws out his arm, catching Shiloh’s face with the back of his hand. I cry out as Shiloh tumbles to the ground, still clutching his knife, but I don’t need to worry. The smack to the face doesn’t seem to hurt him as much as it pisses him off. Shiloh pops up to his feet, a vicious sneer on his face as he lunges at Sidney again, slashing with the knife and connecting with Sidney’s forearm. Sidney lets loose a frustrated noise, reaching out to grab Shiloh’s hand, to stop him from being able to stab at him again with the weapon. They wrestle for a bit over the knife, Shiloh wrenching his hand free at one point and swinging the weapon down at Sidney’s hand
“Don’t you fucking hurt him, you hear me?” I bellow, fury rising inside me. I yank at the rope holding me, but have no luck again. Sidney doesn’t turn my way as I’d hoped he would. Instead, he hovers over Shiloh, bending to take the knife out of his hand.
“Shiloh,” he sighs. “I’m disappointed in who you’ve become here. Soft. Weak. Not the killer who painted all the beautiful artwork in my villa. I can see now that there’s only one way to get you to understand. You need your favorite medium. I have the paint, all we need is blood.”
My entire body jolts as he turns to me, the knife in his hand. Shiloh struggles his way off the concrete, pressing his hand to his jaw, and I struggle against the bonds that hold me here.
“Untie me,” I say, glaring at Sidney. “If you’re gonna kill me, don’t do it like a bitch baby.”
He snorts a laugh. “Why on earth would I care about how you die?”
“Let him go,” Shiloh purrs, though I can hear the insincerity in the sound. It’s the same fake emotion he gave that first night we met. He reaches to place his hand on Sidney’s forearm, offering an empty smile. “Untie him and I’ll paint whatever you want.”
“You can’t,” Sidney comments, shaking off his hand. “Not without your favorite medium.”
He thrusts the knife out at me, aiming down toward my throat, and I brace myself for impact, wondering for a split second if my mom will be waiting for me on the other side of this in whatever afterlife may exist.
That’s a nice thought.
That she’ll be there.
But that thought slips out of my mind as Shiloh leaps in front of the knife, taking the blow intended for my neck in his side. Everything goes silent as Shiloh crumples to the cold concrete in front of me, but I can’t stop what comes tumbling out of me next. A wounded cry of despair creeps out of me, echoing off the basement walls and reverberating back at me until all I can hear is my own sorrow.
“No!” Sidney shrieks, abandoning the knife on the ground at my feet. He stoops to place his hand on Shiloh, and despair flits through me as I realize I will never get to touch him again.
