The Face Behind the Canvas

After failing the portfolio review for my dream art college, I had to drag myself back to the prep studio for another season of intensive training.

But the moment I walked into the painting room, I froze. Someone was driving a knife straight into Mr. Evanss chest.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, bolted out of the building, and called 91

Yet, when I returned with the police officers, Mr. Evans was sitting calmly by the window, sipping hot tea.

He set his cup down, looking at us with utter confusion.

"Is something wrong, officers? Why are you here?"

The lead officer turned on me, his face grim as he gave me a harsh lecture.

"Prank calling emergency services is a federal offense, young lady. Dont ever pull a stunt like this again!"

An icy chill ran down my spine.

If Mr. Evans was alive... then who was the person I saw get stabbed to death?

Mr. Evans shielded me, bowing slightly to apologize to the officers.

"Im so sorry, officers. She probably just saw things. She didn't mean to cause trouble. Chloe, thank you for worrying about me. But as you can see, Im the only one here, and I'm perfectly fine."

I stared at Mr. Evans. He looked and sounded exactly like his usual self.

The other students, who had started trickling in, began whispering. They all assumed I had lost my mind after failing my college admissions.

"Chloe, I know getting rejected by the art academy was tough, but you can't just make up crazy stories like this."

"Seriously. Mr. Evans has been so good to you. How could you wish death on him? Talk about ungrateful."

Mia, who had also failed her portfolio review, nodded sympathetically.

"Chloe, what's going on with you? Mr. Evans is standing right there."

The officer sighed, giving me a look of pure pity.

"Look, kids these days are under too much pressure. Ill let it slide this time. But make sure you verify the situation before you call us next time, okay?"

How was this possible?

When I walked in earlier, I distinctly saw someone plunging a knife into Mr. Evans.

He had collapsed on the floor, pooling in a massive, sickening puddle of crimson blood.

Could the victim have been someone else?

Was the killer actually Mr. Evans?

Had he murdered someone and cleaned up the scene?

Seeing me stand there frozen, the officers nodded to Mr. Evans and turned to leave.

I rushed forward, grabbing the officers sleeve. My hands were shaking violently.

"Just because Mr. Evans is fine doesn't mean no one died! What if it was someone else? Officer, please, can you just look around before you go? A person might be dead!"

The officer looked at me thoughtfully, then exchanged a helpless glance with Mr. Evans.

Ultimately, he decided to do a quick sweep of the main studio.

"Kid, we checked everywhere. Theres nothing. Based on what you described, if there was a stabbing, there should be blood everywhere. But the hardwood floors are spotless. Even if a crime did happen, how could a killer clean up a massive pool of blood in less than ten minutes?"

The other students chimed in.

"Class is about to start. Who would commit a murder right now? They'd have to be stupid. The timing and place are way too risky."

"Chloe, are you sure you're not having stress-induced hallucinations?"

"Yeah, if you're sick, go home and rest. Don't ruin our studio time."

I stared at the highly polished floor, falling into a deep silence.

The officer was right. There should have been blood.

How did the killer do it?

"Officer, please, could you check the other rooms? And around the building? I swear to you, someone was hurt. Even if they aren't dead, with that much blood, they must be gravely injured. I'm telling the truth, please believe me!"

Seeing the sheer desperation in my eyes, the officer hesitated before agreeing to search the rest of the facility.

The other students lost interest, ignoring me as they sat down at their easels and began sketching.

The whole thing felt incredibly surreal.

Taking advantage of Mr. Evans stepping out to the restroom, I dropped to my knees, pretending to look for something.

Finally, in the far corner, I found ita faint, wiped-clean smudge of blood.

There were also a few tiny, almost invisible red splatters on the wall.

Staring at those faint red spots, my hands and feet went completely numb.

Someone had been attacked here.

But the sheer volume of blood I saw earlier couldn't possibly be represented by just this tiny smudge.

What was going on?

No matter what, when we arrived, only Mr. Evans was in the room.

He had to be involved.

"Chloe, what are you doing down there?"

Mr. Evanss voice suddenly boomed from right above me, making me jump.

I frantically waved my paintbrush, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, I just dropped my brush."

"Get up. The floor is dirty."

He didn't seem to suspicious, walking back to his usual spot by the window.

Even his smile was the exact same warm, encouraging smile he always gave us.

Suddenly, an terrifying thought popped into my head.

What if... this man wasn't Mr. Evans, but the killer disguised as him?

And the real Mr. Evans was already dead.

I stood up, brushing off my jeans, and pulled a sketchbook from my bag.

"Mr. Evans, I'm really struggling with this shading. Can you show me how to fix it?"

"Sure, let me see."

He reached out and took my sketchbook.

"Chloe, I mainly teach gouache and color theory, remember? I'm not the best with charcoal sketching. You should ask Mr. Carter about this later."

I took the sketchbook back, nodding slowly.

"Right. Sorry, Mr. Evans. I grabbed the wrong book."

Except, I hadn't.

Mr. Evans was a gouache teacher, but he was incredibly skilled in sketching too.

Last semester, I had asked him for help with my charcoal drawings multiple times, and he had always patiently guided me.

But now, this man was rejecting me under the excuse of "not being professional enough."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

Maybe he just didn't feel like doing charcoal work today?

I reached into my bag and pulled out my color-wheel notebook, opening it and handing it to him.

He pointed to a heavily blended shadow on a gouache piece, picking up a brush to adjust it.

"The saturation here is too high. Blend in a bit of grey tone, and keep your strokes lighter. See? That creates the depth."

I stared at the perfectly corrected shadow, cold sweat breaking out across my back.

He wasn't Mr. Evans.

Going back to my seat, I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a Snapchat message to Mia.

Mia, that guy isn't Mr. Evans. He painted directly onto my paper, and his brush grip is totally different from how Mr. Evans holds it...

Mia glanced at me, then stealthily turned her head to observe the man by the window.

She snapped back a reply a moment later.

Oh my god, you're right. The grip is off. So what you told the cops... it was real?

Yes, I know what I saw. But I don't know how the scene was cleaned up so fast.

But Mr. Evans is right there, and the cops didn't find anyone else.

I typed and erased my reply several times before finally sending: Do you trust me? I think Mr. Evans was murdered, and this guy is the killer.

Before she could reply, the police officer came bursting back into the room.

He tapped on the door, nodded to the fake Mr. Evans, and then looked at me with a grim expression.

"The security cameras for the studio are down, so we couldn't get any footage. But we found something else. Miss, step outside for a moment."

The fake Mr. Evans blinked.

"Officer? Did something happen?"

The officer rubbed his temples, looking exhausted.

"We found a body near the back exit of the studio. We need everyone to cooperate with the investigation."

The room went dead silent for a second before exploding into chaos.

"No way! Someone is actually dead? I thought Chloe was just losing it. Oh my god..."

"She was probably just guessing! First she said Mr. Evans was stabbed, now she says it's someone else. It's just a crazy coincidence."

"This is terrifying... Was the murder actually committed inside the studio?"

Mia froze, staring at me in shock.

My face was pale as I stood up, slowly following the officer out of the classroom.

Whose body could it be?

The fake Mr. Evans, looking concerned, followed us out.

Our small group walked in tense silence toward the back exit.

Sure enough, a body was lying in the corner.

The police had already taped off the area.

The first thing I noticed was a foot wearing a black leather shoe.

I looked down. It was the exact same brand and style of shoe that the fake Mr. Evans was currently wearing.

Which meant the shoes on the corpse didn't belong to the real Mr. Evans.

I took a deep breath, forcing my eyes to travel upward.

The victim's clothes were utterly soaked in blood, a silver kitchen knife still protruding from his chest.

I recognized that knife. It was the exact one I had seen this morning.

And those clothes... Mr. Evans had a very similar outfit.

I stole a glance at the fake Mr. Evans standing next to me, then looked back at the corpse.

Could my memory be playing tricks on me?

The corpse had a very rugged, coarse face, but a very thin, frail frame.

I was absolutely certain. This was not the man I saw being stabbed this morning.

A face that distinct was impossible to misidentify.

Something was deeply wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

The officer pointed a chin toward the body.

"Is this the man you saw this morning?"

I shook my head firmly.

"No, I've never seen him before. His build is completely different from the person I saw."

The fake Mr. Evans turned pale, looking horrified by the sight of the body.

"Officer... how could a body end up here?"

The officer scratched his head.

"We found him during our sweep. This area has low foot traffic and no cameras. The young lady said there was an assault inside the studio this morning, but she claims she doesn't recognize this victim. And since there's no blood inside the studio, this is likely a separate incident. In fact, this alley seems to be the primary crime scene."

I looked where he was pointing. The brick walls and the grass were covered in splatters of blood.

It looked exactly like the pool of blood I had seen on the studio floor this morning.

The fake Mr. Evans took a step back, looking down at me.

"Chloe, it seems this case has nothing to do with our studio. Are you sure you didn't just have a nightmare? I got here at 7:00 AM, and I didn't see anyone, let alone get attacked."

I kept my head down, saying nothing.

For a second, I actually began to wonder if I was losing my mind.

The moment I sat back down at my easel, a boy next to me started mocking me.

"I heard the cops. The body outside looks nothing like what you described. You really are losing it, Chloe. If you fail your portfolio review again this year, are you going to go on a killing spree next?"

"Stay away from her. I heard mentally unstable people don't even go to jail. Let's keep our distance."

"Mr. Evans, you should call her mom to pick her up. No one can focus on painting with a psycho in the room!"

Mia couldn't take it anymore and snapped back at them.

"You guys aren't focusing because you're lazy, don't blame Chloe!"

I gently tugged at Mia's sleeve.

"Don't waste your breath."

She glared at the boys one last time before sitting down beside me.

My mind was spinning.

A corpse vanishing from the studio, and another appearing at the back gate.

Two gruesome crimes happening in the exact same place on the exact same day?

There was no way it was a coincidence.

I holding my brush, but I couldn't paint a single stroke.

Finally, the afternoon session arrived, but Mr. Carter, our sketching teacher, never showed up.

The fake Mr. Evans checked his watch repeatedly and tried calling him several times, but there was no answer.

By the time the studio closed for the day, Mr. Carter was still missing.

A horrible dread began to pool in my stomach.

Could the dead body in the alley be Mr. Carter?

"Class dismissed, everyone. Go straight home and stay safe," the fake Mr. Evans said, quickly packing his things and leaving.

Mia was also packing her bag.

I tapped her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear.

"Now that he's gone, want to do a little searching?"

I pointed out the window. The fake Mr. Evans was walking incredibly fast, already crossing the street.

"I don't think he's coming back tonight."

Mia hesitated, but eventually nodded.

I pulled her toward the deeper parts of the studio.

There were a few smaller classrooms in the back that were rarely used, mostly serving as storage for canvases, plaster casts, and extra paint.

We checked them one by one, but found nothing.

Disappointed, we were about to leave when Mia said she needed to use the restroom.

The moment we walked in, a metallic, iron-like smell hit our noses.

But since it was a communal women's restroom, we didn't think much of it.

There were four stalls. The first three were messy and unlocked.

But the door to the fourth stall was locked tight from the inside.

"Someone must be in there. Whatever, I'll just wait till I get home," Mia said.

As we walked out, Sophie, the receptionist, was sweeping the lobby.

After walking a few steps outside the building, I stopped.

"Let's go find Mr. Carter. I can't shake this bad feeling."

"But we don't even know where he lives."

"Sophie should have his address on file. Let's go back and ask."

As we retraced our steps, Mia asked quietly, "Do you think the dead body is Mr. Carter?"

"I don't know. But you know Mr. Carter is never late, let alone skips a whole day of class. Today he just completely ghosted us, and no one could reach him. Plus, there were those bloodstains I found. Its too much of a coincidence."

When we got back, Sophie was sweeping our classroom.

She gasped when she saw us.

"Oh! What are you guys doing back?"

"Sophie, we wanted to ask for Mr. Carter's address. He missed his class today, and Mr. Evans said he couldn't reach him either. We're worried and wanted to check on him."

Sophie pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"Oh, Mr. Carter? Yeah, he didn't show up this afternoon, and I couldn't reach him either. But about ten minutes ago, he posted in our WhatsApp group chat saying he overslept."

She turned her screen toward us.

Sure enough, there was a message from Mr. Carter in the studio's group chat.

So sorry, everyone. I caught a nasty cold and took some heavy meds. Totally slept through my alarms.

He had also sent a $50 Starbucks e-gift card to the chat.

Right below his message, the fake Mr. Evans had replied:

Man, I thought something terrible happened. I was actually on my way to your apartment. Glad you're okay. Im heading back home now.

Mia and I finally let out a massive sigh of relief.

"Thank God. He's okay."

Even so, I decided to text Mr. Carter directly.

Mr. Carter, are you coming to the studio tomorrow?

He replied almost instantly.

Yes. If you have any questions about your sketches, bring them to me tomorrow.

The heavy weight on my chest lifted.

But the original questions rushed back to haunt me.

Who was the person killed this morning?

Where did the body go?

And was Mr. Evans really the killer?

My brain was a tangled mess.

We said goodbye to Sophie and turned to leave.

Suddenly, we heard Sophie mutter behind us, "Wait, why is this rug over here?"

I spun around.

The rug that was always placed right at the entrance of the classroom had been moved to the far window.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in my head.

"I know what happened!"