Prologue

He paused, taking in the glimmer of the paint in moonlight. He always worked at night; everything seemed more beautiful in the sheer, soft glow that only occurred after the sun went down.

The scene before him was gruesome. A young woman lay on the road, her legs twisted grotesquely to her side. Her dark, wavy hair stuck to her face, obscuring her eyes. Beside her, a battered yellow taxi sat, smeared with blood. A young man stood over her body, resisting the efforts of the nearby police to pull him away from her.

The woman had come to him in a vision; it was a dream.

He sighed, leaning back against the cool metal of the chair. Maybe he could sell this. Maybe it would be enough to cover a few months’ rent. Maybe he could actually eat a hot meal for the first time in a year.

Belissimo. Beautiful, he mused, tracing the gently slope of her jaw. Beautiful, even in death.

He wasn’t obsessed with death, not even fascinated by it. She was just…stunning.

She feels so real.

Just a dream, he reminded himself.

She was just a dream.