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“You were there more than once.”
“I was. You inspired me.” I drag my hand through my hair, desperate to find the right words. “Fuck, inspired isn’t a strong enough word. Before you came, I hadn’t drawn anything of worth in months. Then I saw you and...you gave me my ability back.”
“So, you followed me to keep drawing me?”
“A few times, yes. I swear, it was never threatening or sexual. You triggered something that freed me from a creative block.”
“You think that’s a justifiable reason to stalk someone? Because you wanted to draw them?”
I’m glad to see her fear fading even as rage replaces it. I deserve her anger. She doesn’t deserve to be afraid because of me. “No, nothing justifies it.” It sounds crazy and I can’t blame her for not understanding. She needs to know what she really did for me. “I need to show you something in the barn. It doesn’t excuse my behavior but…please.”
She blinks at me, indecision written on her face. “My friends will be here any minute to get me.”
I’m not sure if that’s a comment on the time restraint or a warning because she’s afraid to be alone with me now. “It’ll only take a second.”
Finally, she nods, and gestures for me to lead the way. What I’m about to reveal to her, only my family knows about, but the risk is worth it to wipe that terrified look of betrayal from her face.
CHAPTER 18
CALLIOPE
This is crazy.I must be insane to follow him into the barn after what I just found, but the truth is I desperately want an explanation that will let me believe him. The way he makes me feel isn’t something I want to let go of, especially after how wonderful last night was.
The barn is cool and smells faintly of hay and horses, despite the fact it contains neither and clearly hasn’t for a long time. It’s been renovated into a large open space in front and smaller rooms on the back end.
He enters one of the smaller rooms, and I hesitate at the doorway, looking around. A camera is rigged up on the ceiling, pointed at an easel that contains a sheet draped canvas. He removes the sheet to display a drawing of cupped hands filled with water hovering over a creek. Stunned, I stare at the amazing detail. The river rocks look like you could pluck them off the canvas, and the water somehow seems to flow on the page. There’s something familiar about it. Something I can’t put my finger on, but it feels like I’ve seen it before.
My muscles tense and my stomach falls into my feet when Arlow turns his back and pulls a light gray hooded mask over his head. Confusion and fear battle inside me, sending me backa few steps. Why is he covering his face? I’m a half second away from running like hell when he turns, and comprehension strikes me.
The hooded mask that fits like a second skin and the round glasses are instantly recognizable. “You’re Nameless.”
This is why he doesn’t allow anyone in his barn. He said he likes to keep his art projects private, but that wasn’t strictly true. He shares them anonymously. I gape at him, trying to wrap my head around what he’s just revealed as he removes the glasses and mask.
Arlow is Nameless, one of the most well-known artists in the world, due to his unmatched talent at photorealist and hyperrealist drawings, his social media channels that allow the audience to watch him create the masterpieces, and the mystery that surrounds his identity.
His posture is rigid, and he brings his hand to the back of his neck. “Nobody knows except my family and a broker that helps me sell at auction and to galleries.”
The real depth of the power he’s given me sinks in—the trust he’s placing in me not to give away his secret. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I know it doesn’t excuse me following you like that, but I want you to see and understand. I explained before how random things stand out or scream at me to be drawn sometimes. It’s never happened with a person before, and I didn’t stop to think or consider what I was doing. Or how alarming and terrifying it would be for you to discover.”
“We didn’t meet by chance in the orchard. You followed me.”
His throat contracts on a hard swallow before he nods. “That was the last time I did. The decision to talk to you was impulsive, and I went about it in the worst possible way, approaching you in such an isolated place. When you took off, I felt terrible about how badly I scared you.”
My mind churns trying to grasp these new discoveries. Yes, I was being stalked through the woods but not for nefarious reasons. My neighbor turned friend who not six hours ago had his face buried between my legs is actually a famous artist that I’ve followed for years online. All those nights I wondered what he was up to in this barn, he was live streaming and drawing.
I don’t work a conventional job. I guess not since I recently saw one of his works go for over a million at auction.
Through the swirl of emotions that I’m trying to wrangle, a mirthless chuckle escapes me when I realize why the cupped hands drawing in front of me looks familiar. “I watched you start on this. The first week I moved in.”
It’s his turn to be surprised. “You follow me?”
“Well, not through the fucking woods like you did me, but online, yeah,” I scoff.
Relief starts to leak into his pinched face. “There’s another project I want you to see.” He leads the way out of the room and into the next one that has an identical setup. It’s apparent he has multiple projects in different stages of completion that he films or streams live from different rooms.
He rubs his fingers over his lips. “I want you to know that I haven’t shown this publicly and won’t without your permission. I recorded the process but didn’t livestream and nothing has been posted.”
