Read Die for Me for Free Online

to allow hope to surface. Warren Keyes had had a remarkable tolerance for pain.
    Then, when all hope was gone, there was the fifth stage—the plea, the pitiful appeal for death, for release. Toward the end, there was stage six, the final surge of defiance, a primitive fight for survival that predated modern man.
    But the seventh stage was the best and most elusive—the instant of death itself. The burst . . . the flash of energy as the corporeal yielded its essence. It was a moment so brief that even the camera lens was incapable of complete capture, so fleeting that the human eye would miss it if one weren’t expressly watching. He had been watching.
    And he’d been rewarded. His eyes lingered on the seventh painting. Although last in the series, he’d painted it first, rushing to his easel while Warren’s released energy still vibrated along every nerve and Warren’s final, perfect scream still rang in his ears.
    He saw
it
there, in Warren’s eyes. That indefinable
something
he alone had found in the instant of death. He’d first achieved it with
Claire Dies
more than a year ago. Had it really been that long? Time did fly when you were having fun. And he was finally having fun. He’d been chasing that indefinable
something
his entire life. He’d found it now.
    Genius.
That’s what Jager Van Zandt called it. He’d first gained the entertainment mogul’s attention with
Claire,
and although he personally considered his
Zachary
and
Jared
series to be superior,
Claire
remained VZ’s favorite.
    Of course, Van Zandt had never seen his paintings, only his computer animations in which he’d transformed Claire into “Clothilde,” a World War II Vichy French whore strangled to death by a soldier who’d been betrayed by her treachery. A crowd pleaser wherever the clip was shown, Clothilde had become the star of
Behind Enemy Lines,
Van Zandt’s latest “entertainment venture.”
    Most people called them video games. Van Zandt liked to think he was building an entertainment empire. Before
Behind Enemy Lines,
VZ’s empire existed only in the man’s dreams. But VZ’s dreams had come true—
Behind Enemy Lines
had flown off the shelves—a runaway success thanks to Clothilde and the rest of his animations.
My art.
    Van Zandt understood that as well and had chosen Clothilde, caught in her moment of death, to adorn the
Behind Enemy Lines
box. It always gave him a rush to see it, to know that the hands gripping “Clothilde’s” throat were his own.
    VZ clearly recognized his genius, but he wasn’t sure the man could handle the reality of his art. So he’d go on letting VZ believe what he wanted to—that Clothilde was a fictional character and that his own name was Frasier Lewis. In the end both he and Van Zandt would get what they wanted. VZ would get a best-selling “entertainment venture” and make his millions.
And millions will see my art.
    Which was the ultimate goal. He had a gift. VZ’s video game was merely the most efficient way to showcase that gift to the most people in the shortest time. Once he was established he wouldn’t need the animations. His paintings would be in demand on their own. But for now, he needed Van Zandt and Van Zandt needed him.
    VZ was going to be very pleased with his latest work. He clicked his mouse and once again watched his animation of Warren Keyes. It was perfect. Every muscle and sinew rippled as the man struggled against his bonds, arching and writhing in pain as his bones were slowly pulled from their sockets. The blood looked good, too. Not too red. Very authentic. Careful study of the video had enabled him to duplicate every aspect of Warren’s body, down to the simplest twitch.
    He’d done an especially skillful job with Warren’s face, capturing the fear and the defiance as Warren resisted the demands of his captor.
Which would be me.
The Inquisitor. He’d depicted himself as the old man who’d lured Warren to his dungeon.
    Speaking of such, now that
Warren