You may be wondering why I’ve chosen to leave your eyes open. Well, it’s so you can witness the artistry of this process—the immortalization of your essence. You won’t be able to lift a finger or utter a sound. But your eyes will serve as a perfect window into my creative process that is about to unfold before you.

  I’ve got you propped up on this gurney. The straps are strong enough to hold you in place, so don’t worry about sliding off. Setting up my art studio in your apartment wasn’t an easy task; it took me a couple of days. And not once did you call or check in on your family during that time. Shame on you, although I’m not surprised since you are known for being a workaholic.

  What are you looking at? Oh, the body on the dining table. I’ll lift off the sheet and show you soon.

  You’ve seen my work. You came to four of my exhibitions, which you and many others wrongly label as ‘crime scenes.’ You said my artwork was a crime against humanity committed by someone who is inhuman—a monster. But that's not true. My sculptures and paintings are infused with my humanity. I want to show you how much I care about my work and how it benefits the world. I create my art to help people appreciate the beauty of life by incorporating real people’s essence.

  The process will be lengthy—the whole night, in fact. However, when inspiration strikes and creative energy courses through my veins, I become completely absorbed in my own world. Fueled only by my passion, I can work nonstop, without food or sleep. Of course, I know I’m still human, and my body requires sustenance. So, to ensure I stay nourished, I’ve set an alarm to remind me to take a break for meals and rest.

  I’ll do my best to work as quickly as possible, but I ask for your patience. I should warn you that the process will be incredibly painful. Yet, think of the pain as a spiritual journey—your trial and tribulation to reach nirvana. By the end of tonight, I hope that you’ll come to understand and appreciate my unique style of art.

  What will I be creating this time? I’ve decided to do a classic family portrait with a twist. Consider it a token of my appreciation for your unwavering support. I couldn’t help but notice that you came up with a few clever names for me over the years. which the press has since adopted—Vincent van Gore, Morbid-angelo, and Horror-Rodin. Though not particularly original or witty, I must admit that the names did make me chuckle.

  Tonight, we’ll have the opportunity to get to know each other better—although I suppose that’s mostly going to be a one-sided conversation given your current condition. There’s no need for you to tell me about yourself, anyway, as I already know quite a bit. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you and have come to understand your daily routines, preferences, and the people in your life. For instance, I’m aware that you often eat your meals at the office rather than with your loved ones at home. But don’t worry—I'll take care of that.

  While you were out playing detective, I completed the first two sculptures: Samantha and Felix, two delightful children. I’ll show them to you later once the wax and the other chemicals have had a chance to settle into their muscles. For now, they're resting in their bedrooms, surrounded by their favorite toys and stuffed animals. You don’t need to worry, as the process went quite smoothly, and I made sure that they were comfortable throughout. Although it’s worth noting that the oldest one, Samantha, put up quite a fight in the beginning.

  That little beast bit me, right here on the arm. You can see the marks—she broke the skin. Felix, on the other hand, was much easier to subdue than her.

  Oh, I see a tear sliding down from the corner of your eye. Are you crying because you’re sad or overwhelmed with joy about the family portrait, like I am? I’ll wipe that off for you.

  I understand your curiosity about the figure shrouded in the sheet on the dining table. But it shouldn’t be a mystery to you; you already know who it is. I mean, who else could it be? It’s your beloved Blair, sound asleep, like Sleeping Beauty. Now, don’t give me that look, Detective. I've worked with hundreds of nude models before, and I pride myself on being a professional artist, not some sort of predator. While your wife’s body is reminiscent of Botticelli’s Venus, I assure you that she doesn’t stir up any inappropriate feelings within me.

  Don’t get upset. I’m turning her over, so she’s laying on her stomach. Then, I’m going to cut the skin from the shoulder blades down to the tailbone and spread the flaps open. I’ll be giving you and your wife wings. An idea came to my mind one day; the idea of you and the missus floating mid-air above the kids like guardian angels. I know it sounds complex, but trust me, nothing is impossible for me.

  It’s going to be messy, which is why I’m wearing gloves, an apron, and rubber boots. I can’t help but laugh that I look more like a worker at a slaughterhouse than an artist. I’ve also laid out plastic sheets on the floor to prevent any blood from staining the carpet. It can be challenging to remove blood stains.

  *****

  Here in my hand is a hunting knife that has been a family heirloom for generations. When I was seven, my dad passed it down to me and took me out on my first hunting trip. I trapped a couple of squirrels and a rabbit, and I used this knife to remove their fur. My dad was proud and believed that next time I would catch a bigger game, and he was right. On our second trip together, I shot a buck right in the heart.

  We made use of every part of the animals, from the muscles, cartilage and organs to the bones for broth. My parents knew how to cook a meal that was just as delicious as any five-star restaurant. We kept the skin and fur for crafting.

  My dad was a taxidermist. He had a workshop set up in the basement. He stuffed the animals that he hunted and displayed them around the house and at his convenience shop in town. I remember how neighbors would come to him when their furry companions passed on. He would immortalize their pets through his art, providing them with comfort that they would always have their beloved companion by their side.

  So, the two squirrels and rabbit that I caught were preserved and put on display at the shop. My dad thought I was a natural-born artist, and he continued to teach me about the preservation process. We’d go hunting once or twice every season, then we’d skin, stuff and sew our kills. These were the most special and cherished times of my childhood.

  But, you know, God had a few surprises in store for me. The big surprise: my mom got run over by a pick-up truck. I watched the tragedy unfold right before my very eyes. It happened so fast that I was frozen in place on the roadside. There was no one else around to witness it either, as we lived outside of town with the closest neighbor being more than a mile away. And do you know what the other surprise was? Dad was the one behind the wheel. What a shock that was.

  After getting out of the truck, he didn’t immediately rush to her side. Instead, he took his time, sauntering over to her. Once he reached her, he knelt by her side, put his hand on her neck and asked me to help him carry her back into the house. I snapped out of my frozen state and followed his orders without a single thought; I felt completely numb. I took hold of her legs while he hooked his arms under hers. Together, we hauled her onto the table in the workshop.

  At that point, Mom was still alive and fighting to hold on, but after an hour, she stopped breathing. Her dark brown eyes, however, remained open and seemed to glare up at me with a fierce intensity.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  *****

  Look! She’s awake now! I can see how you fell in love with her, Detective. She has the same intense gaze my mother had.

  Hello there, sleepy head. Just so you know, you won’t be able to move a muscle or make a sound. The paralysis will wear off in a few hours, and you might regain some control over your body. I’ll be administering another dose shortly because I need you to remain as still as possible during this delicate procedure.

  I know that you’re experiencing excruciating pain. However, try to redirect your thoughts from the pain towards feelings of pure bliss, embrace it, and allow yourself to enter a state of nirvana.

  Your wings are coming along beautifully, and judging by the look in his misty eyes, I’d say that your husband agrees with me. I’ve only finished the left side; the skin has been cut from the shoulder blade to the tailbone. I’ll be starting on the right side in a second.

  Now, where was I in my story… ah, yes.

  *****

  Mom’s body was in the workshop, and Dad went straight to work on her. As for me, I stood by his side, seeing the process, handing him the tools he needed. I was scared, of course. I didn’t understand why he was doing it. I had thought their marriage had been perfect. We were the quintessential nuclear family—Dad owned and ran a shop in town, Mom took care of the house and raised me, their only golden boy. I went to school, earned good grades, and played peewee baseball.

  When I asked him why he did it, he said, “Son, when something you love is slowly eroding with time, you should preserve it before it’s too late.” That’s what he did. He assured me that Mom wasn’t really gone, but her clock had simply stopped ticking, so we could capture the essence of her being before time took it away from us. That’s when I began to understand him and his work more.

  Dad’s entire process was a ritual in itself. Nothing was wasted, absolutely nothing. He would remove the organs, including the tongue, and we consume them as a way to incorporate part of the subject’s essence into our own souls—not to worry, I won’t be consuming any part of you.

  In the end, Dad did such a magnificent job. Mom was already beautiful to me before, but after the process, she looked exquisite. Though her skin was cold to the touch, it appeared livelier and warmer than when she was alive, and her smile softened that intense final stare of hers.

  Dad brushed her hair and put it up in a bun. She had suffered a skull fracture when she was hit by the truck, but instead of fixing it, Dad had a brilliant idea. He asked me to go pick out her favorite flowers, which were marigolds; Mom had grown a bunch of them in the garden. After he widened the opening and scooped out the brain, he filled the inside of her skull with the flowers.

  Every day, Dad would dress Mom and apply her makeup. We’d gather in the dining room for meals, just like any other family, except she needed only a sprinkle of water. In the afternoons, we would sit on the porch, where Mom would bask in the sunlight.

  *****

  Okay, I've finished on the right side. I wish you could see this, Blair; it’s so breathtakingly beautiful. I believe your husband finds them beautiful, too. He’s crying again. His face is soaked with tears. Stop crying! There’s still more work to be done.

  You’re wondering what I am going to do with these shears. I’ll be separating the ribs from the spine and then pulling up the lungs to make them look like wings, in addition to the skin I’ve cut and spread open. This will take some time as the human body has 12 pairs of ribs and it’s difficult to cut through bone.

  In the meantime, I’ll tell you about my stint at art school.

  *****

  With my father’s encouragement, I attended an art college on a scholarship after graduating high school. The college was in the city, and I was nervous because it was my first time living on my own. I rented a small studio apartment on the city’s outskirts, which was about an hour’s commute to campus by bus and train. Despite my initial apprehension, I was overwhelmed with excitement.

  I had assumed that I’d be immersed in a community of individuals who were both like-minded and open-minded people. I was hopeful that I would find myself in a circle where I could freely express my own thoughts on the intrinsic relationship between life and art. Unfortunately, my assumptions were incorrect, as I was instead surrounded by self-serving pretentious cartoonists.

  At the time, I was painting ordinary daily occurrences and their accompanying surroundings. Although I recognized that this was not my desired artistic direction, I felt compelled to conform and avoid drawing undue attention to the more unconventional aspects of my philosophy. I was unable to find anyone with whom to share my thoughts. The director of the college questioned my reason for attending the school. He commented on my artwork, stating that it lacked vitality and that I lacked a defined artistic identity, making it challenging for him or anyone to consider me a serious artist. In a sense, he was correct. I wasn’t showcasing my authentic self, and this lack of genuineness was evident in my work.

  I said to the director, “Alright, I’ll show you what I can do.”

  He held a particular fondness for purebred dogs, specifically papillons, and owned several of them. On occasion, he would bring one of his dogs to class, ordering us to create a sculpture or portrait of him with his dog. The bond he shared with his pets was truly beautiful. I could see just how much he loved them, as shown by his efforts to recover a missing dog. Initially, he offered a reward of five thousand dollars. When a week had passed, he implored anyone with information to come forward, upping the reward to seven thousand dollars. The reward continued to increase, reaching an astonishing seventy-five thousand dollars when four of his dogs disappeared from his home without a trace.

  The dogs were safe and sound in my studio. Just like what Dad did for Mom, I stopped their clocks and preserved their essence. Oh, no, I didn’t eat their organs. I thought they should be reserved for their master, as well as the spectators. When the time came for the annual exhibition on campus, I presented the judges and audience with a marvelous platter of hors d’oeuvres for them to enjoy, so they could have the subject’s essence in them. The director didn’t care for it as he was still distraught about his missing pets.

  “Come on!” He snapped at me. “Don’t waste everyone’s time with this garbage. Show us what you’ve been working on.”

  Grinning, I pulled off the sheet and showed them all.

  The director was floored!

  ******

  Oh, that’s my phone’s alarm going off. It’s time for me to take a break. I’m surprised I finished cutting the ribs. It took less time than I thought. I am pleasantly surprised by the durability and sharpness of these shears. I bought them the other day from the home department store that’s down the street from your children’s school.

  I am not in the least bit hungry, but I am feeling thirsty. Let’s see what you have in the kitchen.

  I see that there’s not much.

  Ah, an unopened bottle of Merlot.

  Mmm, not bad. Are you thirsty, Detective? Here, I’ll help you take a sip. I’m going to lean the gurney back, so the drink doesn’t spill on you as much, and then I’ll set you upright again. There we go. Drink up! It’s not the best wine but good enough to satiate the thirst.

  I’m certain you’re curious about what happened after my first exhibition at the art school. I was expelled. My artistic aspirations, however, didn’t wane. You undoubtedly know this. You’ve scrutinized my exhibitions, collecting samples and examining the scenes I’ve created. Which one did you enjoy the most? Were you awed by my version of the Sistine Chapel? I thought it was my magnum opus. Everywhere I went, people were talking about it. But I think this family portrait will be much better. It’ll be much more intimate and relatable to the laymen.

  I get the sense that you’re not the type to appreciate art, even if you were standing in the middle of the Sistine Chapel. You may even think that I’m wasting my life and that everything I do is worthless. But is it really? I do watch and read the news, and I know that my work has helped you advance your career. I’ve given you the attention you crave, and you’re finally getting recognized as the good guy trying to solve the biggest case in the nation.

  Please don’t assume that I’m envious of your success. That’s not the case at all. In fact, I came here to offer my congratulations. As I mentioned earlier, the family portrait I’m creating is a gift from me to you. I believe it will generate a lot of buzz in the news.

  How about another glass of wine? Your wife probably would like a sip, too. Never mind, she fell back asleep.

  I wish you could feel her lungs expanding and contracting. I’m pulling them up. Oh, they are so warm and soft to the touch. Just look at them! Don’t they make gorgeous red wings? They’re slowing down; her breathing is becoming fainter and fainter. She’s not asleep anymore. I think her clock stopped. She’s now frozen in time.

  Now, let’s hoist her up to the ceiling. As you can see, I nailed some rings up there to attach the hook chains. Once I get her secured, it’ll be your turn to get your wings.

  .

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