Page 35 of In Her Fears
“Unfortunately,” Jay muttered, then pulled away more of the protective paper.
Canvas after canvas revealed variations on the same disturbing theme—violent deaths, all set against the backdrop of a full moon.A man with his throat slit in a rowboat drifting on a moonlit lake.A woman hanging from a tree branch, the moon creating a halo behind her suspended form.A figure buried up to their neck in earth, face frozen in terror as the moon cast ghostly light across the scene.
“My God,” Jake whispered.
Jenna felt cold despite the stuffiness of the storage room.The paintings were more than just macabre fantasy—they had the unsettling quality of scenes observed rather than imagined, rendered with a precision that spoke of intimate familiarity with death.
“There’s one more,” Jay said, reaching for the last and largest canvas leaning against the wall.“Eric just got this one last week.Honestly, I think even he was disturbed by it, which is saying something.”
He pulled away the paper, and Jenna felt the world tilt beneath her feet.The painting depicted a cemetery at night, ancient headstones illuminated by the silver light of a full moon.In the foreground, a man was bound to a gnarled oak tree, a wooden stake protruding from his chest.Blood pooled black in the moonlight beneath him.Above his head, carved into the bark of the tree, was a crude pentagram.
Martin Holbrook.The scene was exactly as she had seen it in the photos Spelling had shown her, rendered with haunting accuracy.
“We’ve found our artist,” she said quietly.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jenna stepped closer to the canvas, her eyes tracing each meticulously rendered element.The silver light of the full moon dominated the scene, casting the same eerie glow that connected all the paintings they’d just examined.
They’d stumbled into the workings of a mind that considered gruesome death scenes to be subjects for artwork.Did the artist also consider death itself as art—a way of “making a masterpiece” as her dream had suggested?
She glanced at Jake, whose face had hardened into the careful mask he wore when confronted with something truly disturbing.
“They all feature a full moon,” Jenna muttered as she gestured to the row of macabre canvases.
Jake nodded.“And each death is staged.Theatrical.”
Jenna scanned the collection again, noting how each victim was positioned for maximum visual impact—the woman in the forest with her throat slit, arms spread wide like a sacrifice; the man in the rowboat, head tipped back to reflect moonlight on his pale face; the figure buried to the neck, eyes wide with terror.Every scene had been arranged with an artist’s eye for composition.
“It’s like looking at a killer’s creative portfolio,” Jake muttered.
“Maybe a record of what he considers creative acts …” Jenna added.She turned to Jay, who was watching them with growing unease.
“What can you tell me about Elias Harrow?”she asked.
“Not much to tell that Eric couldn’t tell you better.Harrow’s a freak.Total recluse.Won’t talk to anyone.”
“But you’ve met him?”Jake pressed.
“Barely.”Jay’s lip curled slightly.“I’m just the lucky one who gets to pick up his latest masterpieces.He leaves them by his front door.Doesn’t even come out to say hello—just watches from the window sometimes.Creepy as hell.”
“Why you?”Jenna asked.
Jay shrugged.“Eric insists.Truth is, Eric and Harrow had some kind of falling out years ago.Eric still takes his work, but Harrow won’t see him.Or anybody else, for that matter.”
Jenna gestured toward the painting of the victim with a stake through his heart.“This one—when did you pick it up?”
“That one?”Jay frowned, thinking.“Maybe six, seven weeks ago?Eric seemed extra shocked about it.”
“I need to speak with Eric,” Jenna said, her tone making it clear this wasn’t a request.
“Does this have anything to do with what happened to Alexis last night?”
Jenna knew she shouldn’t be surprised by the question.Word of such news got around fast here in Trentville.
“That’s not something I’m prepared to discuss,” she told him.“Just tell Eric we want to speak with him.”
Jay hesitated, then nodded.“Fine.I’ll go get him.Don’t touch anything.”He paused at the doorway.“And for what it’s worth, I’ve always thought there was something seriously wrong with Harrow.Nobody normal paints stuff like that.”
