When Kazimir stood up, his vision twirled in circles like he was performing an intense ballet. The blond guy was quick on his feet to keep Kazimir from stumbling over like a fool.

"Hey, are you okay?" His savior rose an eyebrow, scanning Kazimir's small frame from head to toe.

Legs trembling, Kazimir swayed when he stepped away from the stranger. Something deep inside his soul screamed to run away. His savior looked so familiar. Had he met him before? Looking down, Kazimir noticed some scrapes in the ripped holes of his Wrangler jeans. His bruised hands stung from bracing the rough concrete.

"I'm good," Kazimir replied. "I-I didn't mean to fall on you. Um, thank you for saving me."

"No problem. You're the painter, right?" His lips twitched, forming a half smirk. "Your art popped up in Voiceless Rebel's turf about a week ago."

"What?" Kazimir froze. His breaths quickened, heart pounding with each intake of air. "Who are you?"

Kazimir's delirium slowly faded into a mild confusion and then recognition of the face before him. He was the man from the photo. His porcelain skin had easily fooled Kazimir into believing the guy could be some ethereal spirit. Sullen green eyes with heavy bags underneath gave him a fragile appearance. Nothing like the frightening gangster Samantha made him out to be.

Brushing some dirt off his black trench coat, the gangster exposed his bruised knuckles. His savior then bent over to pick something off the ground. A gun protruded from his trench coat pocket.

"Name's Emmett," he replied, revealing a little plastic baggie of cocaine. He opened it and took a whiff. "Where'd you get this?"

Kazimir's gaze darted from the mysterious man to the alleyway opening. He'd gotten himself into some deep shit. Digging through his hoodie pocket, he mentally cursed himself. Emmett had his coke. Without hesitating, Kazimir snatched it from his hand.

"So rude. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?" Emmett scoffed. "I would've given it back. You just needed to ask politely."

The bizarre expression of joy that washed over Emmett's face confused him. What was with this weirdo? Kazimir took another step back, stuffing the baggie back in his hoodie pocket. He needed to get the hell out of there.

"So, where did your latest muse come from?" Emmett pointed at the brick wall. "Why'd you paint my face on a dick?"

Kazimir failed to hide his grin. "Someone must think you're a dickhead."

"What the hell did you say?"

Instead of answering, Kazimir bolted, shoving Emmett aside as he made a run for it. Emmett reached out for Kazimir as he pushed passed him, but the artist ducked down to avoid capture. Kazimir knew what those gang members were like and had no intention of experiencing a bullet wound or a beating.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Emmett shouted.

The pounding soles of his shoes echoed over his heartbeat as he splashed through the puddles. But in his hazy state, he wasn't very coordinated. One moment Kazimir was running for his life, then the next he was in a head-on collision with a ginormous green recycling bin.

He regained a piece of his dignity when he pulled himself together and reached his motorcycle. Revving the engine, he drowned out Emmett's laughter and let it carry him far away from the Voiceless Rebels territory.

Kazimir couldn't help but peek over into the rearview mirror at the sight of Emmett on the street corner. While staring at the guy, he almost crashed into the yellow pedestrian crossing sign, but with a swift swerve, he avoided it.

🎨

Miraculously, Kazimir made it back to his apartment in one piece and didn't damage any street signs. He knew Samantha would get a kick out of the graffiti piece he created, so he sent her a text with the location of it. He wanted to send her a photo, but that frightening gangster had showed up out of nowhere. He warned her about that Emmett guy too.

Jordy put his Xbox controller down when Kazimir stepped in the living room. "Didn't realize you went out. What pulled you away from your art?"

"Sometimes I need to get outside for some inspiration. It gets boring staying inside all day." Kazimir dropped his backpack down on the floor. "How was lunch?"

"It was fine," Jordy replied. "How's your day been?"

Kazimir closed the window curtains after taking a gander around outside. He worried that frightening gangster followed him to finish him off. "I ran into one of those gang members you warned me about."

"Oh shit. For real? What happened?" Jordy reached over for his fountain coke on the table, taking a sip.

Kazimir took a seat on the couch beside Jordy, folding his arms across his chest. "The guy showed up out of nowhere. I was painting in an old alley. He said he'd been keeping up with my art. He had a gun too."

Jordy's eyes widened. "A gun? Did he threaten you with it?"

"No. I fled on my motorcycle before he could do anything." Kazimir fiddled with his bruised hands in his lap. While his heart no longer felt like it would explode in his chest, paranoia held his mind hostage. He kept glancing toward the door, expecting the gangster to come break it down.

"That's good. I'm glad you're okay, man." Jordy patted Kazimir on the back. "You gotta be more careful though."

"I'll try. It's just... You've never told me much about the gangs. Just that I should stay away," Kazimir said. "How long have they been around?"

"It all started with the shithead of the Voiceless Rebels a few years ago," Jordy explained. "There're some rumors about who he might be but nothing's for sure. Some say he's from Chicago but I've heard Mexico too."

Kazimir furrowed his brows. "Their leader wasn't raised here?"

Jordy shook his head and resumed his game. "I don't think so."

Virtual gunshots rang through Kazimir's ears as he flinched. Jordy shot the staggering zombies that appeared on the screen, attempting to attack his avatar.

"It takes guts to operate a gang. I'm surprised people would follow an outsider," Kazimir said.

"Someone should send him back to wherever he came from in a body bag." Jordy shot a bullet into one of the zombies. "Our town will be a peaceful place when they're all gone."

"Body bag? That's extreme. Locking them up in prison would be best, I think." Kazimir leaned closer, eager to learn more about how the gangs operated.

"Nah, they'd just deal from behind bars. The gangs frighten their neighbors and blackmail businesses into silence by doing trade with them. It's like nobody's safe from them." Jordy kept his gaze glued to the television screen.

Kazimir gulped. "That's terrible. Aren't the police doing anything to stop it?"

"They're everywhere. They're like rodents feeding on our fear. Vigilantes have come together to help put an end to them too, but it's still not enough. I've heard they pay the cops hush money, but I don't have proof of that either."

"Everywhere?"

"They pretend they're normal, just like us. They'll hold steady jobs and act like they fit right in. They could be anybody in town."

Kazimir fidgeted on the couch. "That's... frightening."

"Remember what I told you when you first moved here? Gangs usually go after big companies or people who threaten them. Just mind your business and keep away from their sides of town," Jordy replied. "Enough of all this gang talk. Are you stoked for tomorrow? You've been going on nonstop these past weeks about the art gallery."

"It's like a dream come true." Kazimir gleamed. "I'm beyond excited for this. I can't believe our neighbor convinced his manager to showcase my works there."

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Jordy nodded. "That was really nice of him."

"I hope people like the paintings I've chosen to sell. I'm actually afraid I won't hold a candle to some of the other masterpieces."

"You're just as talented as they are," Jordy said. "Are you gonna do any more painting today?"

"Of course. I've had a lot of inspiration lately. I like to paint when I'm in the mood."

"Artists are so strange." Jordy powered his game down after saving where he left off. "Well, I'm gonna study for a while. I have a big test tomorrow morning."

"Alright. Good luck."

"Thanks."

When Jordy went off to his room, Kazimir returned to his own bedroom and locked the door. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled the baggies of cocaine out. He stuck one in his art supplies for his emergency stash and lined the other out on the dresser.

He fished out a straw from the box he kept hidden in his underwear drawer, then crushed the coke up, ensuring the straw was deep enough in his nostril, but not too deep. He didn't want to lobotomize himself.

Slow and sweet, Kazimir inhaled his blissful coke before leaning back against his bed in relief.

🎨

Kazimir was giddy for the exhibit. He could barely sit still long enough to eat supper. It had been a dream of his to have his artwork presented in such a glorious place for people to purchase. It was on a whole new level from his meager trade at the flea market.

With the weather being in the low thirties that night, Kazimir made sure to bundle up in his gray wool coat. He shivered beside his roommate Jordy, who wore a puffer coat and beanie to keep warm. When they approached the colossal art gallery building, Jordy hurried ahead to open the glass door for them, allowing Kazimir to bathe in the warm heat that furnished the inside.

Combing his fingers through his tousled dark brown hair, Kazimir did his best to fix it. The artist dressed his best that night, donning a nice dress shirt and new pair of black denim jeans. He wanted to make a good first impression on the art gallery's manager and the buyers.

A chandelier hung above them, and a ceiling mural of clouds and angels floated in the painted sky. It was beautiful. Making their way toward the showcasing room, Kazimir pulled out the laminated card from his pocket that the owner had gave him. It provided him access to other rooms in the building if needed and helped employees recognize him as one of the artists versus a potential buyer.

"Welcome back, Kazimir. Jordy." The polite older gentleman guarding the door greeted them.

"Thanks, Nelson." Kazimir smiled. "I can't believe this is really happening."

"Oh, you'll be fine." Nelsen waved a dismissive hand. "I've seen your works. They're amazing."

"Right?" Jordy chimed in. "Kazimir's art is so cool."

Kazimir blushed. "Thank you both."

"Y'all have fun tonight. Don't get into any trouble now." Nelson winked playfully.

"Don't worry, we won't," Kazimir told him.

Inside the spacious room, Kazimir admired the hundreds of beautiful paintings the galley held. Kazimir's setup was next to an older woman who created landscapes of a farm and barn animals. Jordy had helped him mount his artworks up earlier, before the buyers would arrive. Examining each individual piece he'd chosen, Kazimir couldn't help but worry about people not being fond of his artworks, even after Jordy and the security guard's praise.

Every painting told a story of love or heartbreak, capturing the beauty and sadness in their world. One piece depicted a couple ice skating together while another brought love to life with a young mother holding her son's hand as they crossed down a beach. She reminded Kazimir a lot of his own mother, with her long curly brown hair and dimpled smile. Most all of his works focused greatly on detailing landscapes but lately he'd enjoyed creating fictional couples as his muse.

"You really think they'll like them?" Kazimir asked Jordy, gesturing to the canvases they'd hung up on the wall.

"Of course, they'll love it," Jordy told him. "This is where art like yours belongs."

"I agree with Jordy."

Kazimir turned around at the sound of the familiar, friendly voice. It was their neighbor, Hank and his wife Barbara beside him. Barbara's curly hair barely reached her dark-skinned shoulders. She wore a sleeveless white jumpsuit and high heels that made her seem much taller. Hank wore his regular old blue jeans and shaved his bushy mustache.

They were the first ones to welcome them to the neighborhood when they first moved into the apartment two weeks ago. Barbara even baked them some cookies to snack on while her husband helped unload some of their heavier belongings into the apartment.

"You'll be one of those famous artists they'll talk about for centuries in history textbooks," Hank said. "I'm sure of it."

Kazimir grinned. "Thank you so much."

He loved when people noticed the talent he had with a paintbrush. He aspired to become a famous artist someday. He just had to keep pushing his art into galleries and other noteworthy places for people to discover. That was why he painted graffiti in New Syracuse. He needed to be noticed by someone, even if it was with a vague tag a local came up with for him: The Painter.

"This wall here has the best paintings in the entire gallery." Hank gestured around the small space. "They must be worth like, thousands."

"Five hundred for the landscapes and four-fifty for the abstract pieces," Kazimir told him.

Hank theatrically gasped, gazing over at his wife. "Did you hear that, honey? A prominent artist is selling his paintings for such a cheap price? What a bargain."

Barbara smiled. "It is. One of the landscape pieces would look lovely in our living room, don't you think so?"

"Absolutely." Hank paused to check his phone then slid it back in his pocket. "Sorry, just one of my friends calling."

"If it's important, you should step out for a moment," Kazimir said.

"He's probably just drunk off his ass again and needs a ride home. Nothing to worry about."

Hank and Barbara settled on purchasing the sunset painting Kazimir created. While the fall colors were picturesque, the silhouettes of lovebirds on the branches weren't a personal favorite of his.

There were so many things he could buy with five hundred dollars, but unfortunately, he wouldn't receive all of that money. Everything in life came with a price, and since he really wanted to showcase his work, he had to sign a gallery contract agreeing to forty percent of the sale. But Kazimir knew it would all be worth it. All great artists started out small and unknown.

After they purchased the piece, Hank went to sit down. He rubbed his temples like he had developed a migraine. Kazimir suspected it was caused by the person who kept bugging him. Hank's phone continued to ring throughout the rest of the night, and Kazimir noticed the mounting irritation on his neighbor's face after the fifth time he dismissed the call.

"I'll be right back," Hank said suddenly. "I just need to make a quick call. I'm so sorry for this."

"No need to apologize. I understand," Kazimir replied.

"Is everything all right?" his wife asked.

"Yeah, I just need to see what he wants so he'll leave me alone. I promise I'll be right back, honey." Hank got up and kissed her cheek. "Why don't you check out some of the other paintings while I'm gone?"

Barbara seemed reluctant to let him walk off, but she didn't chase after him. Instead, she turned to Kazimir and Jordy with a fleeting smile then wandered around the gallery like her husband suggested. Kazimir could tell she was a little on edge about whoever Hank kept disregarding.

The two of them made their way over to a little table that had wine and snacks. Jordy poured himself a glass of wine while Kazimir munched on a piece of cheese.

"That was strange." Jordy took a sip of his wine.

"Yeah, I know. Who do you think was calling him?" Kazimir asked.

"Dunno." Jordy shrugged. "It was clearly someone he didn't want to deal with tonight."

By the time the gallery was closing, Kazimir managed to sell half of his paintings. It was a good start. Most of that money would go toward more art supplies. Canvases, oils, and turpentine weren't cheap. He had to keep enough saved up for his precious coke too. While he was going over the inventory report, he thanked the manager, Fraser Gallagher for letting him show his art there.

"It was a pleasure having you here tonight, Kazimir. I look forward to working with you in the future." Fraser looked down at his Apple watch. "Well, I best be going. You have a goodnight now."

"Thanks. You do the same," Kazimir replied.

Once he left, Kazimir and Jordy prepared to head out too. Just as they walked toward the entrance, Barbara hurried over to them.

"Have either of you seen Hank?"

"Not since he left to take that call," Jordy replied.

"Maybe he's still talking to that person?" Kazimir suggested.

Barbara frowned. "For this long?"

"Is it possible he drove somewhere else?" Kazimir asked her. "Maybe he had to go pick up that friend he mentioned."

"He would have told me," she insisted. "I tried calling him but it goes straight to voicemail."

"He's probably still outside," Jordy assured her. "Let's go see if y'all's truck is still in the parking lot. If it is, then we'll know he's still somewhere around the art gallery."

Mist swallowed the buildings like smoke from a withering fire. The moon was obscured behind the thick stormy clouds. Wind rustled against Kazimir as they walked past the decrepit buildings. It was despairing how so many places went out of business.

When they reached the truck, Hank was nowhere to be found. Barbara tried calling him again, but it went to voicemail. Kazimir suggested they cross the street and check over at the community park, so they did.

Silhouettes of trees blended into the inky night. Leaves rustled underfoot as they crossed the path. Kazimir frowned at the weird historical statue of a man holding a book and feeding a pigeon. Even though it wasn't real, it still unnerved him. Birds scared the living daylights out of Kazimir.

The artist drew his attention to the water fountain that had been shut off, studying the unclear shadow of a person from a distance. He blinked and it was gone. It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him. Or maybe it was the dim park lamps messing with his vision. They barely provided enough light for him to see.

Ahead, someone slouched up against the bench at the very bottom. Kazimir squinted his eyes as he tried to make out the figure sitting on the bench beneath the flickering park lamp. Barbara hurried ahead of them, assuming it was her husband. Had Kazimir known what lied ahead, he would have stopped her and held her back. But it was too late. The piercing agony of her screams sent chills against Kazimir's skin.

"Hank!" With a shaky hand, Barbara reached down to feel his pulse, but it was apparent to Kazimir that Hank was already gone – the concrete was stained in large, dry pools of blood. Hank's face as pale as Kazimir's shirt.

Seeing the blood drain from his lifeless body paralyzed Kazimir, bringing back old memories he didn't want resurfaced. As Barbara frantically wailed for help, he saw his own mother's heartache in her painful expression. He could still see his mother weep over his father's bleeding body, begging God not to take him away from her.

"Call 911!" Jordy's voice seemed to be miles away, yet he was so close. "Kazimir! Call for help, now!"