Become a Star

And it wasn’t just an occurrence in this neighborhood. It was the same all over Los Angeles.

Their reaction was inevitable, as the murderer who made the entire city tremble in fear had no specific pattern with his actions. The victims were of all races; rich and poor; beautiful and ugly; earnest and lazy; men and women; young and old.

Thus, people were exceedingly terrified as they could become the next victim at any moment.

Of course, like most serial murder cases, there were some characteristics that the victims had in common.

However, it was a peculiar characteristic that only appeared after their deaths, which made people panic even more.

A common feature of the victims was the loss of color from their bodies.

Well, to be more precise, only one color remained in their bodies. Everything had turned white, from the color of the skin to their eyes and hair. Everything had lost their original color and became white. Even the victims’ blood was transparent like water.

Looking at the original appearances of the victims, they were all people with beautiful hair and eye colors.

But after their deaths, people could not find any color other than white and transparency.

These bizarre cases did not end with a simple murder. A fear that far excceded the fear of death engulfed the citizens.

Some said it was the work of a mad scientist, while others said some mysterious entity was committing the crimes.

At some point, the murderer was given the nickname ‘Color Vampire’. The investigators had tried their best not to give the criminal a nickname, but their efforts came to naught due to the media’s influence.

As if they knew everything about the case, the media reported even the smallest of clues to the public, but there was one thing that even they did not know about.

The victims had another common feature that wasn’t known to the public.

Nine out of the twelve victims were models for a certain painter.

But since it was a characteristic that wasn’t shared by all the victims, the investigators handled this piece of information with caution, and focused on security and safety as much as possible.

It was an exceptionally sunny Friday afternoon when two FBI agents came to see Lloyd. Since Albert was away at the rehabilitation center, Lloyd smiled rather pleasantly at their visit.

{Does this mean I’m a suspect?}

Lloyd sneered at the agents who were asking for his help with the investigations and showed them around his bedroom and studio on the second floor.

{This is a case with very little clues, so we have no choice but to carefully inspect even the smallest of clues and hints that we found. We hope you can corporate with us even if you may find it troublesome}

{Who said I wouldn’t help? There’s a reason why I’m guiding you like this around my home.}

The FBI agents did not use the word suspect. The person who had painted the victims could be the murderer, but they couldn’t rule out the possibility that the crimes were committed by a fan of Lloyd’s like in the novel and film Misery.

If it were the latter’s case, then the investigators would need Lloyd’s help more than ever, so they didn’t dare offend him.

According to their research, the painter named Lloyd was as sensitive and whimsical as his weak health.

Although he had said he would help them now, Lloyd was the type of person who would instantly shut his mouth and refuse to talk to the investigators if he was in a bad mood. The advice from the agent’s profiler was to adapt and match the painter’s demands as much as possible.

The atelier was dark even in the middle of the day because of the thick curtains which were hiding the large windows, but the room felt rather cozy.

The little sunlight that passed through the curtains softly brightened the studio, and the wind from the open windows gently swayed the curtains.

The room was well ventilated and had a faint smell of oil paints which created an odd sense of elegance and class. Lloyd approached the portrait of an old couple he was working on and asked the investigators seriously as he touched the drawing board.

{This elderly couple is over ninety years old, but will they be investigated as well when they die?} Lloyd asked.

{Rather than death itself, we put more importance on how someone died, so we can only know the answer to that once their death is reported.}

Unsure of whether Lloyd’s question was a sneer or a curious concern, the FBI agent answered truthfully. Death didn’t mean much to them as long as it wasn’t a murder case.

One agent was conversing with Lloyd while the other scrutinized the paintings hanging on the walls and along the floor.

The agent only took photos of portrait paintings and wrote something in his notebook before asking Lloyd.

{For your portrait paintings, do you have models or is it just from your imagination?}

{I don’t have a single portrait drawn purely from my imagination.} He answered.

{Then can we get the contact information of the models?} The agent asked.

{I don’t know anyone personally, but you can ask my agency. I take requests and recruit models through them.}

{Then did all the models for your portraits go through the agency before you worked with them?} The agent asked again.

Lloyd hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

{There are a few people whom I used as models when I got inspired after seeing them on the streets. Actually, three of the murder victims who I painted were strangers that I’ve never talked to. Does that count as a violation of portrait rights?}

The confident and perverse Lloyd was now anxiously looking at the FBI agent as this was a problem which he hadn’t expected. He then nervously scratched his oil-painted fingernails with his thumb.

The agents exchanged glances and then replied that it was okay.

{But can you tell us where you saw them and why you chose them as models?}

{That’s simple. They were people with very unique and beautiful colors. Their colors were so intense that I could never forget it after seeing them once, so I clearly remember where and when I came across them.}

The focus in Lloyd’s eyes disappeared for a moment as though his consciousness had flown far away as he recalled the past.

A faint smile appeared on his lips as he remembered the time when he met those models and the process of painting them.

{What exactly do you mean by beautiful colors?}

‘Color’ held a very important meaning in the murder cases. The relationship between the victims who had lost color and the painter who was obsessed with colors was inevitably suspicious.

{I meant it literally. They were people with beautiful colors, so beautiful that I’d want to steal it.}

Lloyd smiled self-mockingly, pointing at his hair and skin.

{Have you ever told that to anyone else?}

{I’ve probably said it quite often. Because of my circumstances, I was quite envious of the colors and health of my models. If you search for it, you’ll probably find interviews where I say the same thing. The energy that my paintings exude is also an expression of that desire.}

Lloyd boasted that he was a famous painter who had been interviewed with leading media outlets.

{Interviews…} The agents muttered.

Lloyd’s answer had increased the list of suspects. If he wasn’t the culprit, then the criminal was likely to be a fan or someone who was envious of him. Although they hadn’t figured out how the criminal had murdered their victims and ‘stolen’ their colors, they seemed to be accurately closing in on the murder motives slowly but surely.

{By the way, do you use commercial paint for your artworks?}

The reason why Lloyd’s paintings were highly regarded was because of his style combined with vivid and realistic colors. The colors were hues that existed in the world but were very difficult to express in artistic form. Moreover, they were the same colors that had been taken away from the victims. It was as if the stolen colors were painted right onto the canvas.

{No, the dyes are made by hand. But I mix various kinds of products into basic commercial paints to make the dyes.} Lloyd answered.

{Can you tell us what ingredients you use?}

Lloyd—who had been cooperative with the agents all along—stepped back with a frown.

{I may be criticized for saying this, but painting is my only livelihood. There is nothing I can do other than this. And one of the reasons why my paintings are so popular is because of their ‘colors’. And I don’t know how long the popularity will last, so I need to sell my paintings as highly-priced as possible…}

Lloyd wept in shame as he looked elsewhere.

His miserable childhood was somewhat well-known. The art industry had become a profit-oriented business a long time ago, so the agents couldn’t criticize Lloyd for saying that he considered painting as a means of earning money. In other words, the materials for the dyes which he used were a trade secret.

{We would never tell the public about your secret ingredients even if we knew about them, but if you don’t wish to tell us, we won’t force you to. Instead, we would like to take a few samples of the dyes which you used for the paintings.}

As long as they studied the samples at a lab, they could easily figure out the ingredients used for the dye. Surprisingly, Lloyd nodded in agreement as though he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

{Do you have any unusual fans or stalkers who stood out?}

The agent tried to ask more about potential suspects, but Lloyd shook his head with a pure expression.

His sharp and stiff demeanor had suddenly changed into a more docile and sorrowful one. Lloyd answered all the questions to the best of his capabilities with a face that looked so innocent as if he couldn’t harm a soul.

{Are these all your paintings?}

{No.}

Lloyd answered right away without any hesitation.

{I have another studio in the basement. I use it to paint a certain artwork that has a completely different atmosphere to the ones here. Would you like to head downstairs to see it?}

Lloyd led the FBI agents to the underground atelier before warning them with a playful expression.

{The painting here has a completely different mood to it than the ones upstairs, so you should prepare yourselves. Most of the paintings I’ve been praised for recently have been drawn here.}

Lloyd entered the password and slowly opened the door to the basement room.

The air inside the room blew outwards and rustled his hair. Strangely enough, there was a soft breeze although there were no windows and there were only ventilation fans.

{Ugh, what is this smell?} One of the agents groaned.

{The smell doesn’t seem to go away even when I turn on the fan. Probably because it’s underground. I can’t really smell it because I’ve gotten used to it, but my father says that my body smells strongly of paint.}

The smell of oil and strange chemicals lingering in the air was similar to the smell of common oil paints. As Lloyd explained that he would sometimes spend hours—if not days—in the basement painting, the agents looked sickened and overwhelmed.

And when the lights in the dark underground studio were turned on, they saw a large painting occupying the entire wall in front of them.

There was only one painting in the basement studio, and it was still unfinished.

From a distance, the painting was a large human face. However, the hair, eyes, and skin were painted with multiple colors.

A wide variety of colors were harmoniously mixed and matched with each other without any sense of incongruity, defining and drawing the character in the portrait.

However, just like a gestalt[1], it was the painting of a single person when viewed from a distance. When viewed up close, each color was composed of smaller portraits. And upon closer inspection, all these people had the same face.

{I-It seems to be a self-portrait.}

The FBI agents stuttered as they observed the painting.

Regardless if it was observed from a distance or from up close, all the faces on the portrait belonged to the same person.

It was Lloyd’s self-portrait.

They were captivated by the beautiful colors as soon as they saw the picture, but at the same time, they also felt sick in the stomach because it felt like every single strand of colored hair was alive.

{Yes, I can confidently tell you who modeled for this painting.}

Lloyd laughed at his own joke, when the painting roared and shook at his voice.

A world invisible to the FBI agents, a world that could only be seen and heard through Lloyd existed here.

As he stroked a part of the painting with his finger, an agonizing scream pierced his ear.

Despite treating it affectionately, the reaction he got in return was noisy. Lloyd sulked and turned to the agents.

{I have no more paintings to show you after this.}

His paintings were so popular that they were sold out whenever an exhibition was being held. Thus, all he had left at home were the paintings that Lloyd was preparing for a new exhibition. The FBI would have to look for the paintings that had already been sold if they wanted to investigate his artworks further.

Shortly after the FBI left, Albert returned from the rehabilitation center.

As soon as he got through the front door, Albert checked their surroundings and asked if some guests had come by. He hadn’t missed the scent of strangers lingering in the house.

{The FBI came by today.} Lloyd replied.

{What? Why did they come?}

For someone like Albert who had lived a difficult and powerless life, the police and FBI were naturally frightening and uncomfortable subjects. Back in the old place where the two used to live, the police was never their friend.

{Apparently, some of the people I painted were victims of the Color Vampire. Also, they seem to have some doubts about me since my paintings have such unique hues. They tried to take the dyes I used, so I just lent them a few paintings instead.}

Albert felt a sense of confidence and security in Lloyd’s calm explanation, so he got angry at the FBI’s attitude and incompetence.

{Still, from the nuances I got from them, they seem to be more suspicious that a copycat or a crazy fan like in Misery is trying to imitate my style.} Lloyd explained.

As Albert relied on his white cane to find his room, Lloyd walked alongside him talking about everything that had happened today.

There was no better way to hide something than using the truth. The best lies were always mixed in with the truth.

1. Gestalt: an organized whole that is perceived as more than the sum of its parts. Basically, something that isn’t just a combination of what it’s made of, but rather has another meaning/sense/image/etc when seen as a whole. ☜