I searched my memory for anything of the sort. I read the news here and there, but I mostly stayed away from the darker stories. I had enough of that in my own memories. But something tickled the back of my brain. I’d seen a CNN headline about a series of murders that appeared to be replicated works of art. I sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes darting to Brody. “Your paintings?”

He nodded, the look on his face grim. “It took the cops a while to figure out the connection. It wasn’t until the FBI got involved that they realized what was happening.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”

His jaw ticked. “It wasn’t a cake walk. It stayed under wraps for a while. But when the press got wind of it, I couldn’t escape. Even after they caught the guy, they didn’t let up. It was a sensational story. New York tabloids love that. And every week, I was reminded that my paintings had been weaponized. They’d been used to murder innocent people.”

“They were not,” I snapped. The ferocity of my tone took me by surprise, and I did my best to temper it. “Someone twisted your art. Turned it into something ugly. But that’s not what it is.”

Brody’s gaze locked with mine, an unidentifiable energy flowing between us. “What is it, then?”

“It’s truth. People through your eyes. Most of the world isn’t brave enough to expose that. But you are. And the truth can be painful to look at, but it’s also beautiful.”

Brody swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ve always said that my art is a glance into the darkness. I think you have to face it. In others. In yourself. It’s when you push it down, ignore it, that it swallows you whole.”

My eyes burned. How long had my parents pushed down and ignored the darkness in our home? The beast that was eating my brother alive, taking away a little more of the boy we all loved every day. It was that denial of the truth, the belief that everything would be okay, that Michael would heal, that’d meant our demise in the end. That’d made it too late to save Michael. Maybe if we would’ve looked into that darkness from the beginning, been honest about it, we wouldn’t be where we were now. Dead. Locked up. Hiding from the world.

“I’m glad you force people to look. It might be the wakeup call they need. But I’m sorry that some sick and twisted individual warped what you wanted to do.”

Brody picked up his soda and took a pull. “I am, too.”

“You can’t let him stop you.”

One of his brows rose in challenge. “I can’t?”