Chapter 2 - The Smiling Host
"Well, well. Family reunions are always so touching, aren't they?"
Julian’s voice cut through the tense afternoon air with chilling casualness. He stepped onto the patio wearing a pristine white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing faint, dark splatters across his skin. His blond hair was perfectly styled, and a sickeningly warm smile spread across his face, though his eyes remained as dead and cold as winter stone.
I threw Maya behind me, shielding her with my body, while keeping a death grip on the pool pole. "Where is Elena? What have you done, Julian?"
Julian chuckled softly, stepping down the patio stairs and casually wiping his hands on a clean white cloth. "Elena is upstairs, sleeping off a very long, very tiring week. She takes quite a few medication drops in her evening tea, you see. Makes her wonderfully cooperative. Much like Maya here, until you decided to play hero."
"You locked my daughter in a cage," I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage so blinding it tasted like copper. "You murdered children and threw them in the pool. I'm calling the police right now."
I reached into my pocket for my phone, but Julian didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pulled a heavy set of keys from his pocket and dangled them lazily.
"Go ahead. Try to get a signal," Julian said, his smile widening. "I installed a localized signal jammer three days ago when Maya started getting difficult. No calls in, no calls out. And as for the police..." He gestured vaguely toward the house. "Elena’s fingerprints are on every single lock, every single bag, and every single sedative bottle in the master bedroom. If the authorities walk through that front gate right now, your ex-wife takes the fall for a lifetime of suburban serial killings. And you? You're just an aggressive ex-husband trespassing on private property."
The blood drained from my face. It was an airtight trap. Elena, wrapped around Julian's finger and heavily medicated, had unknowingly signed her own death warrant.
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"Why?" I choked out, taking a slow step backward toward the low fence. "What kind of sick monster does this?"
"An artist, David," Julian replied, his voice dropping to a smooth, conversational whisper as he took another step forward, pulling a heavy hunting knife from his waistband. "And every masterpiece requires a permanent canvas."
