Page 29 of These Hallowed Bones (Bloody Desires #3)

Ezra

The man wouldn't stop staring at my paintings.

Throughout the exhibition, I'd watched him circle back to examine the same pieces.

His unused camera hung around his neck as he leaned in to study the textures.

His attention focused particularly on the centerpiece containing bone ash from the pianist's hands, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head at various angles, trying to figure out what created that impossible luminosity.

Now, two weeks after the exhibition closed, he sat across from me in my university office, a portfolio of photographs spread between us on my desk. His name was Daniel Harlow, a photography professor at Westlake's sister institution. His specialty was macrophotography of unusual artistic media.

"These are remarkable images, Professor Harlow," I said, examining a close-up photograph of my centerpiece. The camera had captured microscopic variations in texture. Too much detail.

"Please call me Daniel." He leaned forward, eyes bright. His gaze strayed to the framed photograph on my desk of Micah and me at the gallery opening. "You and your... protégé have created something extraordinary. I've been watching both of you closely."

"You found it compelling," I supplied.

"Beyond compelling. Revolutionary." He selected another photograph, this one showing an extreme close-up. "The structural components you've achieved here defy conventional artistic materials. I've spent weeks analyzing these images."

I kept my expression pleasantly neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. "Technical innovation has always been central to my practice."

"This goes beyond innovation, Professor Bishop." His voice dropped. "The organic quality of these textures suggests material of biological origin."

My fingers tightened on the edge of one photograph. "Many natural materials are incorporated into contemporary art. Beeswax, plant fibers, mineral compounds."

"Something more complex than that." He pulled out another photograph, this one enhanced to show the luminous quality in the darker portions of the painting. "This texture and luminosity are extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it in contemporary work."

"You have a good eye. Traditional materials combined in non-traditional ways can yield surprising results."

"It reminds me of bone ash. It was used in the Renaissance, you know," he said, clearly impressed with his knowledge. "Artists mixed it with oils, varnish... created depth that synthetic materials can't match. Whatever you're doing, the effect is remarkable."

"The old masters understood something we've largely forgotten," I replied carefully. "Materials of organic origin carry their own history. Synthetic substitutes can never truly replicate that quality."

"Your process must be extraordinary. I'd love to understand more about how you achieve these effects. Most contemporary artists rely too heavily on commercial products, but you've clearly gone beyond that."

"My techniques are somewhat... proprietary." I smiled smoothly. "Though I appreciate your interest in the technical aspects of my work."

He studied my face, searching for something. "That's actually why I'm here today. My admiration of your work led me to something potentially concerning. It's about your student. Micah Salt."

"What about him?" My tone cooled noticeably.

He leaned closer, dropping his voice. "I believe you may be in danger."

The statement was so unexpected I nearly laughed aloud. "Danger? From Micah?"

"Hear me out," he insisted. "I've been researching his background."

My fingers curled on the edge of my desk. The idea that this stranger had been investigating Micah, my Micah, sent protective rage coursing through my veins. He had dared to examine what was mine, to form judgments about my beautiful boy's mind without understanding its true perfection.

"His mother's suicide, his religious upbringing, his psychological history.

The pattern is troubling," Daniel continued, oblivious to my growing fury.

"In my free time, I’m something of an amateur sleuth.

I've studied cases like his extensively.

Childhood trauma, religious abuse, documented psychological instability.

These factors often create individuals with disturbing fixations on authority figures. "

Amateur sleuth. This fool thought a weekly one-hour podcast and reruns on cable television made him an expert. He was no closer to being a detective than he was an art critic.

His fingers tapped nervously on his portfolio. "There's more. I took the liberty of having someone examine some of Micah’s artwork. A psychiatrist friend of mine."

I clenched my jaw. How dare he? I thought, but said nothing.

“He says Micah’s artwork is concerning,” Daniel continued.

“That it shows he may be violent. I looked into his history, Ezra. His grandmother—God rest her soul—had the boy committed when he was sixteen. Said he had homicidal tendencies. Here. I have proof.” He opened his portfolio and slid a paper across my desk.

I studied the document. I knew about the incident, of course. I knew everything there was to know about Micah, even if he didn’t know it yet himself. But Daniel…

"This information is protected by HIPAA,” I said quietly. “How exactly did you acquire this?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I have contacts at various institutions. My brother is a juvenile psych nurse upstate." A nervous smile flickered across his features. "My concern for your safety justified some... procedural shortcuts."

"I see." I turned back to the paper.

"When I saw the pattern emerging, I couldn't ignore it," Daniel insisted. "Did you know there’s been an uptick in missing people in the area? The police suspect foul play. Of course they haven’t found any bodies, but the evidence speaks for itself."

I took a deep breath. “What exactly are you accusing my protégé of, Mr. Harlow?”

A beat of silence passed between us before Daniel scooted to the edge of his seat, hands folded. Then he met my eyes and said with all the confidence in the world, “I believe Micah Salt is a dangerous, violent psychopath—a killer—and that you may be his next victim.”

I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing the poor man out of my office.

He had good instincts, I’d give him that much, and his ability to put two and two together and see four?

Unparalleled. Even the local police had proven incompetent.

But not Daniel Harlow. No. His only sin was mistaking the predator for prey.

"I appreciate your concern for my safety," I said.

Hope and validation flickered across his features, utterly unaware that he had signed his death warrant. "You're taking this seriously then?"

"Of course." I was already envisioning how I would display his dismembered body for Micah's appreciation. "Actually, I have my own concerns. Micah’s work has taken a darker turn of late. Perhaps I could show you? And I would appreciate not being alone this afternoon. My home is in quite a remote location and… Well, you see I’ve given Micah a key.”

“You should call the police,” Daniel encouraged.

“With what proof?” I shrugged. “But perhaps if you and I put our heads together, we might find more evidence than either of us could alone.”

His face lit up. “You’re serious? You want me to help you?”

“Absolutely,” I said, standing.

There was a slight hesitation. “Now? You mean right now?”

I frowned. “Unless you had another appointment?”

“No, no. Not at all.” Daniel practically leapt out of his chair. He grabbed his coat from the coat rack. “Would you mind if I followed you? To your place, I mean. Safer if we drove separately. Just in case.”

“Not a problem at all,” I replied.

I gathered my materials and locked my office.

The campus quad hummed with afternoon activity as I strode toward the faculty parking lot.

Daniel began chittering about his interest in true crime, and bragging about his amateur detective skills, but I barely heard him.

I was already two steps ahead, physically and mentally.

The thought of this insignificant gnat digging around in Micah’s life…

Busybodies , I mused. It would be the perfect title for my next composition.