I manage to make my mouth work to form a single, horrified word. “Why?”
A series of strange emotions crosses his face. Distaste turns into pity which turns into something that looks like regret. His voice drops an octave. “So I can see the expressions of his family. Even the dirtiest dog has someone who loves him.”
I’m glad I don’t have anything in my stomach, because it would be making a reappearance right now. I say with contempt, “That’s the most morbid, disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”
He shakes his head. “You misunderstand. The pictures aren’t for me to gloat over. They’re for me to draw.”
When our eyes meet and I see the anguish there, I get it. “Your collection. Those portraits in Perspectives of Grief.”
He nods slowly. “I’m not a monster, Olivia. I know the different between
