The First Piece of Art
After Ethan finished reading the diary,he sat there in silence — his mind slowly piecing together what he had just learned.
The truth seeped in like ink spreading across water…
These boys — Cole and Kyle — they weren't just pitiful victims.They were becoming part of something darker.
Whether they were manipulated… or simply broken inside,they had become both witnesses… and participants in something unspeakable.
Their taste in "art" — twisted, disturbing to the point of madness.But what chilled Ethan even more…was the growing possibility that their mother,Mrs. Ramsey,knew everything — and chose to say nothing.
Because she loved her children.Because she wanted to shield them from the world's judgment.Because no mother wants the world to see her sons as monsters.
Ethan let out a quiet sigh.
Today… he had more than enough to process.The conversations. The diary. The weight of it all.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist.
4:35 PM.Still a little daylight left.
He thought about what the diary said.What little Silas had said, too.
"The forest behind the school."That's where the twins — and the latest victim — had vanished.
He decided to take a look.
Ethan stepped down from the second floor, moving through the quiet house.As he reached the front door—
There she was.
Mrs. Ramsey.Leaning gently against the doorframe, as if waiting for someone.
The fading afternoon light wrapped her in pale gold and gray,her face worn with sadness… and a kind of guilt she hadn't dared to name.
She looked up and met his eyes.
In her gaze, Ethan saw fear —but also something pleading, desperate to be understood… but left unsaid.
He didn't speak.
He just stepped forward… and embraced her.
It wasn't a hug that asked for anything in return.It was quiet comfort — from a stranger who understood.
"You don't have to worry, ma'am," Ethan said softly."No matter what they've done… I'm going to try and bring them back."
She trembled, just a little. Then slowly,she lifted her arms and returned the embrace.
No words — just the sound of her breath, shaky and quiet near his ear.
"…Thank you,"she whispered — so faint it barely registered.
But it was the voice of someone who'd been carrying hope and terror inside her for too long.
Ethan gently stepped back, nodding respectfully.
"I should go now, ma'am."
She nodded in return.Though her eyes still followed him — as if wanting to say more, but choosing not to.
He walked to his car.
Opened the door as the breeze of early evening brushed against him.Started the engine — the old thing groaning to life.
And pulled away from the Ramsey house.
Destination: the forest behind the school.
The car rolled to a slow stop by the edge of thick woods.Ethan got out and made his way on foot through the underbrush,the canopy above casting long shadows.
He headed toward the back part of the woods,close to the treehouse where Billy and his friends used to play.
Everything looked… normal.No signs of a struggle near the tree, or on the treehouse platform.
Then he walked deeper — to the side of the forestwhere the sixth victim had been dragged.
He scanned the area.Nothing out of place. No broken branches, no disturbed earth.Just damp leaves, soggy soil, scattered twigs.
No sign of a body ever being dragged.
But then— he stopped.
His eyes locked onto something sticking out of the mud, half-buried.
He knelt slowly.Brushed away the wet leaves.Picked it up carefully.
A paintbrush.Old wooden handle, bristles hardened from use.At the base — a carved letter: "C."
"Cole…"Ethan murmured to himself.
He remembered Mrs. Ramsey mentioning how Cole was always painting.Always carrying brushes and sketch pads wherever he went.
Ethan looked around.
Everything was still.
So still it felt… wrong.
It felt like the forest was watching him.
He stood up again, tightening his grip on the brush.
Something had been here.Or was still here — just moments ago.
He glanced around.
Then called out.
"Is someone out there!?"
No answer.No footsteps.No birds. Not even the rustle of leaves.
Just silence.
Ethan knew instantly — he wasn't alone.
He couldn't see them… but he could feel them.
Like a hundred unseen eyes… staring from the shadows.
He looked at his watch.
Almost 6 PM.
He shouldn't stay here much longer.
The sky was shifting — the warm orange fading into dusk.
Ethan exhaled.Time to get out.
He slipped the paintbrush into a ziplock bag.Turned back along the path.
What he didn't see…
was the shape moving quietly, no more than ten steps behind him.
A faint sound — like fabric brushing against bark.
...
He took one last breath,then carefully stepped out of the woods.
...
Even as he left the trees behind,he still felt it:
A shadow —following.
Quiet.Relentless.
Ethan reached his car and climbed inside.
He turned the key.The engine rumbled.Headlights flicked on.
They illuminated a tree just a few yards ahead.
Something… was stuck to the bark.
Ethan frowned.
He got out slowly, cautiously approaching the tree.
As he drew close — he saw what it was.
A photo.Tacked into the wood with a rusty nail.
The paper was slightly yellowed, but the image was sharp.
Ethan felt a chill crawl up his spine.
The photo… was of his own back.Taken just minutes earlier — as he'd stood in that forest.
Below it, written in bright red ink:
"Almost there… Detective."
He stared at it, frozen.
The air was dead quiet around him.
Without another word, he pulled the photo down, stuffed it into his jacket pocket,and turned back toward the car.
Started the engine.And drove off —never looking back at that tree.
Tonight, he'd learned more than enough:
— Cole's paintbrush.— The truths in that diary.— And the photo that confirmed it:Someone was watching him.
The twins were still alive.And Cole — at the very least — had been present during last night's abduction.
That path through the woods…meant something.
It was being used.Regularly.
And the note on that photo…
What did it mean?
A warning?
A challenge?
A trap?
His gut was screaming.
He needed a moment to think.To breathe.
He drove until he reached an old roadside bar.The lot was empty — his was the only car.
The neon sign buzzed faintly in the dark.
He stepped out.Opened the creaking wooden door.
Inside — dim lights, empty tables, the faint smell of smoke and liquor hanging in the air.
As he looked around— A voice came from behind the counter.
"Well look who it is — my favorite detective."
He turned.
Heather.
A woman in her early forties with thick chestnut curls and a warmth about her,even if her eyes hinted at a life that hadn't been kind.
"Hey, Heather,"Ethan exhaled as he walked toward the bar.
She poured ice into a glass with a smile.
"You know, a guy like you should be hanging out somewhere livelier."
"Not tonight," he muttered.His body still felt like it was carrying the forest on his shoulders.
"I just need a drink."
She set the glass in front of him.
Her fingers brushed his, gently.
"How's it going, Ethan?"Her voice was soft, but the weight in her question was real."Found anything useful yet?"
Ethan lifted the glass slowly.
"You could say that,"he said, staring at the dim lights.
"If my gut's right… I'll be staring the killer in the face soon."
He pulled out a cigarette.One hand gripping the pack, the other loosely holding a lighter.
Heather arched a brow.
"I thought you quit."
He gave a dry laugh.
"I did… for a while."
His expression shifted slightly.
Heather sighed.
"Because of Tommy, right?"
Ethan didn't answer.He just stared at the unlit cigarette.
Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, but full of understanding.
Heather broke it first. She refilled his drink without asking.
"Well, you at least brought money this time, right?"
Ethan smirked.
"Of course. Got paid a few days ago — rich old lady hired me to find her missing cat."
Heather chuckled, wiping down a glass.
"Good. You still owe me for four drinks, by the way."
"…Four?"Ethan raised an eyebrow."I thought it was two."
"Nice try. It's four. Don't push it."
He held up his hands.
"Alright, alright. Take it out of my tab. I'll pay everything by the end of the week."
"…If you're still alive by then,"Heather said with a smile — but her eyes held something else.
A quiet, genuine worry.
Heather didn't say more.She just leaned her elbows on the bar and looked at him for a moment.
"You know… I still remember how you were back then."
Ethan glanced at her. "Back then?"
"When you first came to this town," Heather said, eyes softening."You were younger. Idealistic. A little arrogant, maybe… but kind."
He gave a dry smirk. "And now?"
"Now you look like someone who's seen ghosts," she said gently."But you're still kind. You still care — even if you try not to show it."
Ethan didn't answer.He just downed the last of his drink and stood up.
"I should get going."
Heather reached out, fingers lightly brushing his sleeve.
"Be careful, Ethan."
"I always am."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ethan gave her a long look — then walked out.
The night air had grown colder.He slid into his car, lit the cigarette he'd never planned to smoke, and drove.
The night passed.
The morning sun shone through thin curtains into his shabby bedroom.The old clock on the wall ticked slowly.Ethan opened his eyes slowly, feeling a sudden dizziness — the hangover from last night still lingering.He got out of bed, staggered to wash his face, brush his teeth, and shower lethargically, then poured cereal into a bowl and sat at the dining table.One hand held a spoon; the other held a newspaper open.
A vintage radio sat on the kitchen counter, quietly playing in the background.
"Let's listen to the one o'clock news…" the radio voice said.
Ethan paused.
…One o'clock?
His eyes widened immediately.
"Damn it!"
He jumped from his chair, rushed upstairs to change clothes, grabbed his car keys, wallet, and cigarette pack, then ran out of the house.
The old car engine rumbled as he started it and drove off in a cloud of gray smoke.
When he arrived at the hospital entrance,his first sight through the car window was a boy sitting on a bench — Billy.The boy hugged his backpack tightly, his face expressionless but his eyes filled with anticipation.
He looked up when he heard Ethan's car pull up.
Billy's face showed little emotion...but his eyes held a mix of questions, expectations, and something Ethan couldn't decipher.
"Sorry, Silas," Ethan said."I'm a little late.""…"Billy said nothing and walked toward Ethan's car.
Ethan turned off the engine and got out.
He approached the boy sitting outside the hospital.
Billy looked at him silently.
Ethan scratched the back of his head apologetically.
"Sorry, Silas... I should have arrived earlier.I had some problems."
Billy didn't respond.He just nodded slightly and stood up, holding his pale backpack in one hand.
Ethan felt the boy's silence wasn't indifference but a protective wall built against strangers.
He opened the passenger door for Billy."Get in. I'll take you to get something to eat before we go back.""Anything you want?""Anything is fine," Billy said quietly.
Billy got in without making eye contact, holding his backpack tightly on his lap.
Ethan walked around and sat in the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove off slowly.
They were silent for a while until Ethan spoke softly:
"Silas...I know what happened to you wasn't easy.But I promise, I'll try to get you out of all this."
Billy slowly looked at him.His expression didn't change much,but there was something in his eyes.
"And what if I can't get out?"His voice was soft but firmer than Ethan expected.
Ethan hesitated.
He didn't answer immediately, just breathed quietly while staring ahead.
"Well... if you can't escape this nightmare,I'll ask you not to stay alone in it.At least... let me be with you."
…
Billy said nothing else.He slowly relaxed his grip on his backpack and placed his hands beside the car seat.
Ethan looked out the windshield,then gave a small smile.
A small wooden diner stood on the corner of the street, with a faded sign reading "Dotty's Diner."Inside was quiet, with only a few scattered customers.
Ethan took Billy to a corner table by the window,the curtains with tiny floral patterns softened the afternoon light.
A middle-aged waitress came over with a smile.
"What can I get you today, Ethan? We have fresh apple pie too."
Ethan glanced at Billy, then turned back.
"I'll have black coffee and a plain burger. And a cold milk."He looked at the boy."Silas, do you want anything extra?"
Billy shook his head slightly.
"Then add a chicken nuggets and fries combo," Ethan said before the waitress left.
Silence fell again between them.
Billy looked out the window,Ethan quietly sipped his coffee.
Then Billy suddenly spoke softly without looking at Ethan:
"Did you ever have kids?"
Ethan paused.
He put down his cup and nodded slowly.
"Yes... I had a son.His name was Tommy."
Billy nodded faintly.
No more questions.
There was something in Ethan's voice that made questions unnecessary.
Ethan smiled faintly as he looked out the quiet street.
"He used to sit right here.Only order toast and hot chocolate…"
Billy said nothing but his eyes grew calmer.
Ethan met his gaze.
"You're not at fault for the family you were born into, Silas.What happened to you... shouldn't happen to any child."
Silence again.
Then the waitress's voice broke through as she placed the food on the table.
Billy looked at his food and whispered,"Thank you."
They ate quietly for a while.
Billy slowly dipped a nugget in sauce.Ethan just sipped coffee and glanced out the window.
The only sound was a spoon tapping the plate softly.
Suddenly, the old radio near the counter crackled.
"Alright everyone, breaking news at one o'clock... A female body has been found in the woods behind St. Harrow West High School…"
Silas froze.
Ethan turned sharply toward the radio.
"A woman, about 20 years old, missing for two days, found as the sixth victim."
The waitress paused in her cleaning, glancing at the small TV near the radio.
"The body was found in a gruesome state, displayed publicly in the forest. Officials are withholding details of the wounds.Investigation is ongoing to determine connection with other recent disappearances…"
Billy immediately turned his face away.
Ethan said,"I was just there yesterday.""The photo!?""Don't tell me—""Officials suspect the forest area may be a dumping ground or related to other cases…"
The radio fell silent as a staff member lowered the volume.
The diner fell quiet for a moment.
Ethan put down his coffee.
He looked at Billy and spoke evenly,
"Let's go, Silas."
Billy slowly nodded.
"Yes…"
They stood and left together.
The rain outside was starting to ease.
Ethan glanced at the radio one last time.
Then he and Billy walked out,heading toward the forest.
Ethan hurried to the forest edge.
The area was sealed off with yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze.
Police officers, forensic teams, and reporters gathered, trying to get close.
He showed his detective ID.
"I'm Ethan Freeman, a private investigator working on this case."
The officer looked at him briefly, then nodded.
Ethan passed through the crowd and arrived at the scene.
The atmosphere was strange — heavy, tense.
Then he saw it.
The victim's body hung on a large wooden pole.
Her condition was horrifying.
She was bound tightly with thin ropes around wrists and ankles.
Her head tilted slightly — as if posing.
More than half her fingers were cut off.
Her nose was slashed open.
Her lips sewn shut with dark thread, uneven but tight stitches.
Her eyes wide open, staring at the sky,
as if screaming in silence.
Ethan stood still, fists clenched.
Anger boiled inside him — he was too late.
This was what the killer wanted him to see.
A "work of art" displayed just for him.
His hands trembled slightly as he lit a cigarette.
He inhaled deeply.
The smoke floated before his face amid the gloomy forest air.
The killer...
was mocking him.
Ethan's eyes hardened.
He turned and left silently.
Without a word.