My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
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My pulse kicked up a notch, but I kept my cool as I strolled over to the easel, studying the painting with genuine curiosity.
"This is really impressive. You must be famous or something!"
Tristan Langley stepped out of the kitchen, a bottle of red wine in hand. He poured me a glass before answering with a shrug.
"You're too kind. Just a scene I saw in a movie."
I tapped my glass against his and flashed a teasing grin.
"Doesn't that make you a thief?"
"Relax, it's not that deep. Just something I do to kill time."
"So what's going on in that head of yours when you paint? And how'd you even learn?"
His lips curved slightly. "You really wanna know?"
With my nod of approval, he drew me closer. Since there was no table between us, we sat cross-legged on the floor, his wine glass swaying lazily in his hand as he launched into stories from his past.
The longer he talked, the more animated he became—his eyes bright, his words almost feverish with enthusiasm. For a moment, I almost believed the sincerity in his gaze.
Almost.
But I hadn't forgotten why I was really here.
By the time his rambling finally wound down, his throat was dry. He drained the last of his drink in one gulp.
I forced a shy smile.
"You must have a bathroom here, right, great artist?"
A muscle twitched near Tristan Langley's eye.
"Plumbing's backed up since this morning. Haven't had a chance to call anyone. You'd better use your own place."
"Oh..."
I pretended to shrug it off, letting my eyes wander toward the kitchen.
"Guess I can wait. Hey, there's more beer in the fridge—let me grab you another!"
Before he could react, I bolted toward the kitchen.
His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist in an instant.
"You're my guest. I can't have you serving me."
But it was too late—I'd already stepped inside.
And there it was.
Amid the clutter of pots and pans, the chest freezer in the center of the room stood out like a sore thumb.
The walls were yellowed with age, but the freezer looked brand new—massive, out of place. A thick black cloth was draped over its lid, as if hiding something.
My skin prickled, but I forced a grin.
"Fine, fine. You get it, then. Guest follows the host's rules, right?"
Tristan Langley reappeared moments later, this time holding a six-pack of beer.
My stomach twisted as I sank back onto the living room floor.
Where had he gotten that?
From the freezer?
Were those bottles sitting next to Vincent Lowell's corpse?
I swallowed hard and jumped to my feet.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Can't hold it anymore. I'll come back another time."
Clang—
A sharp metallic sound rang out at my feet.
I looked down...
"This is really impressive. You must be famous or something!"
Tristan Langley stepped out of the kitchen, a bottle of red wine in hand. He poured me a glass before answering with a shrug.
"You're too kind. Just a scene I saw in a movie."
I tapped my glass against his and flashed a teasing grin.
"Doesn't that make you a thief?"
"Relax, it's not that deep. Just something I do to kill time."
"So what's going on in that head of yours when you paint? And how'd you even learn?"
His lips curved slightly. "You really wanna know?"
With my nod of approval, he drew me closer. Since there was no table between us, we sat cross-legged on the floor, his wine glass swaying lazily in his hand as he launched into stories from his past.
The longer he talked, the more animated he became—his eyes bright, his words almost feverish with enthusiasm. For a moment, I almost believed the sincerity in his gaze.
Almost.
But I hadn't forgotten why I was really here.
By the time his rambling finally wound down, his throat was dry. He drained the last of his drink in one gulp.
I forced a shy smile.
"You must have a bathroom here, right, great artist?"
A muscle twitched near Tristan Langley's eye.
"Plumbing's backed up since this morning. Haven't had a chance to call anyone. You'd better use your own place."
"Oh..."
I pretended to shrug it off, letting my eyes wander toward the kitchen.
"Guess I can wait. Hey, there's more beer in the fridge—let me grab you another!"
Before he could react, I bolted toward the kitchen.
His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist in an instant.
"You're my guest. I can't have you serving me."
But it was too late—I'd already stepped inside.
And there it was.
Amid the clutter of pots and pans, the chest freezer in the center of the room stood out like a sore thumb.
The walls were yellowed with age, but the freezer looked brand new—massive, out of place. A thick black cloth was draped over its lid, as if hiding something.
My skin prickled, but I forced a grin.
"Fine, fine. You get it, then. Guest follows the host's rules, right?"
Tristan Langley reappeared moments later, this time holding a six-pack of beer.
My stomach twisted as I sank back onto the living room floor.
Where had he gotten that?
From the freezer?
Were those bottles sitting next to Vincent Lowell's corpse?
I swallowed hard and jumped to my feet.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Can't hold it anymore. I'll come back another time."
Clang—
A sharp metallic sound rang out at my feet.
I looked down...
End of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom book page.