1 He Came Back to Life

Flashes flickered from one camera to another as the celebrities present walked the red carpet toward the art gallery. Not many events could garner this kind of attention and attendees, but the city's biggest art gallery was chosen as the next place for the maestro to visit. Yes, a generational art maestro was visiting the capital and unveiling three of his latest works in that very place.

For the last two years, the biggest families had been seeing an influx of paintings that moved their hearts in just one look. The strokes were the most perfect, and the colors were alive. However, everyone never experienced the same feeling for one painting. Most people felt trepidation and anxiousness, and those paintings were the most sought-after.

The artist was only known to the world as Red Riding Hood. No one knew why the artist chose to hide behind a fairy tale name, but at least it was easy to recall. The artist's real name, however, was said to be revealed in one of the newest paintings in the gallery.

"Aren't you curious? The mystery is going to be solved tonight." A woman in a provocative yet sophisticated light beige dress laughed at her date for the night. The color of her fitting dress was so close to her skin color that it was hard to see if she was really wearing anything at all.

"Who cares about a painter?" The man almost spat in a whisper. He was never interested in art, but his associates and his peers were all coming here. He might as well show up and see if the spectacle was worth his time. His dark suit was flawless, but it couldn't mask his annoyance with its regal look.

The woman next to him laughed and combed her hand through her long blonde hair. "Don't be so ridiculous, Scott. How could you say that when that man is all the rage now? Hey, don't tell me you're jealous of him. After all… he's really popular."

Scott gave her the side-eye, and she laughed. When she let go of his arm to greet her other friends, Scott only looked around the grand hall where the three paintings were to be unveiled. Three paintings high up the walls were still covered, while the others were free to see. They were arranged in ways that only one of them would be in the person's central view.

Grabbing a drink from the tray of champagne offered to the guests, Scott walked to the one closest to the ground. He stood behind the red barrier keeping him away from the glass protecting the painting. He stared straight at the painting of red houses at night.

Some people had said that they felt like the painting was a warning. They felt how their hearts would jump in terror after staring at the painting for so long. Things like this should have been banned, but the rich loved the morbid and the prohibited.

"This is nothing more than a painting of red houses. I don't know why they're jumping to weird conclusions," Scott murmured as he sipped his drink. It's just that he still continued to stare at it as if waiting for something to happen.

"Why don't you try to stare closer? You might be missing out on a lot if you cannot experience the magic," a man said next to Scott. Scott lifted a brow and turned to find the person. The man added, "They are all done with great detail. Maybe you just cannot see them."

Scott snorted and sipped on his drink. He watched how the person stared at the painting as well. There was a smile on his lips, but he looked so dangerous. If anything, Scott didn't want to be caught in trouble near this person.

He just spoke to make the person go away. "I have seen real great paintings before. These things are incomparable to those."

The man glanced at Scott momentarily. "Is that right? Then, what happened to the artist? How come his works were not out here for the world to see?"

"I didn't think his paintings were not the worst things in the world," Scott simply answered. He then finished his glass. "If paintings like this could fetch high prices, I would have asked him to frame his painting and arranged for someone to sell those."

"You can still do that. What's stopping you?" The other man laughed as he finished his own work. "It is the perfect time since the people are interested in artworks like this."

Scott turned to face the man. "He's long dead. There's no point in continuing this conversation. If you want to mock someone or find someone to share your marveling…"

The man chuckled even before Scott stopped talking. He then faced Scott and offered a sharp and cold smile at him. "Mr. Bradshaw, that's a loser's behavior. Claiming someone is dead because you cannot produce him? You're just making things up to shift people's focus away from the painter and toward you, no? How could be like this?"

"Shut up. I don't need to answer to you." Scott got mad, but he couldn't throw a tantrum. Neither could he storm out of the event. He just glared at the man standing next to him. "Get lost. I don't even know you. How dare you think I have the time to talk to you."

"You can't even debate in a fine way. He's so wrong to worship you for ten years." The man only left without dropping his smile. When a waitress came by to collect glasses and offer new ones, the man didn't take another.

"Worship me for ten years?" Scott murmured and only scared the waitress away with his gaze. He then faced the painting again. "How is this any better than those paintings…?"

Soon enough, the hall grew dim. The curator took the pedestal and got everyone to circle around. The program started, but Scott remained impassive. In the sea of the amused and the excited, he was the only one with an annoyed expression. He just kept staring as if those paintings were nothing extraordinary.

It's just that that one in the middle was seemingly drawing his eyes. The canvas cover was still on it, but the massive size of it was enough to overwhelm Scott. He didn't even know why it felt like it was singing his name… not in praise, but in agony.

"And for our special event for today…" the curator cued, and the two other paintings were uncovered. Not only the curator but everyone else was shocked by what they saw. The two paintings were identical, and yet they had a massive difference.

The one on the left was a picturesque painting of a room with a huge window showing the famous skyline of the capital. Pastel colors brought sensitivity and dreaminess into the painting as if people were supposed to be comforted by coming to that room. Some were even touched so badly that they teared up.

However, the one on the right was the same room at night. The darkness crawled like a monster, and the open window was nothing but a breached defense. The lights in the room were all red like it was eminent that someone was about to die. 

Knees buckled, and legs trembled; the people didn't know what these paintings were supposed to be. The sounds of awe and excitement were completely overwritten by the silence of dread and alarm.

"…why does that room look familiar to me…?" the woman with Scott found her way to him and hugged his arm. "That skyline… We see that skyline every day, right? It's like the room is… on our floor…"

"That can't be right," Scott murmured as he stared.

Without the people pulling on the cover of the third painting, the canvas covering fell. The curator wanted to have someone stop it, but he couldn't move or speak. After all, the last painting was somewhat symbolic… as if it would be rather terrifying if it were a real image.

A swaddled body was on a pile of garbage, relentlessly assaulted by the downpour. The distant lightning strikes lit the man's face, showing everyone how the right part of his forehead was blown up. White sheets were wrapped around him, but they were almost undone by his fall and the heavy rain. The eyes stared right at the viewer, and rage was threatening to eat everyone.

On a corner, the regular cursive lettering of Red Riding Hood was not seen. Instead, it was signed with a person's name—R. Mercer.

"Rowan?" Scott murmured, dumbfounded. Did the man he murdered three years ago come back to life?