“Why couldn’t I shoot?” The boy looked up at Mr. Doug, “Why couldn’t I shoot you of all people?” 

Mr. Doug bent down to face the child, “I think you know why you couldn’t.” Mr. Doug held out his hand and the child looked at it in disbelief, “I think you need to be more honest with yourself.” 

“That's not a piece of art upstairs is it?” Asked Mr. Doug. 

“I killed him.” The boy didn’t seem to understand why Mr. Doug was asking him such a odd question. He knew that he killed him, so why was he asking him?

“I know you killed him, but you didn’t kill him to make art. You killed him for some other reason, didn't you?” Asked Mr. Doug.

The little boy's eyes opened wide. Mr. Doug had hit the nail on the head. As much as the child wanted to believe he did it to create art, he knew deep down he had killed his father for another reason.

Mr. Doug looked into the child's cold blue eyes, “Just like me your first murder wasn’t art.”

Mr. Doug looked over to the woman in the chair, and his eyes locked onto the childish bracelet on her wrist. “ Did you kill him for your mother?” 

The little boy shouted, “She may have been my motivation, but it's still art!” The boy was getting really worked up now. Just by the sound in his voice, Mr. Doug could tell he was about to snap. The little boy could only grasp to the lies he told himself for so long. The lies Mr. Doug was going to tear down one by one, so that the little boy couldn't hide behind them no more.

“If that was the case, why didn’t you shoot me? You could have been known by all artists as the one who beat the master of their craft. You would have been known by all common people as the one who finally brought down a notorious serial killer. You would have been seen as an artist and a hero. What more could you have asked for?” 

The little boy clenched his hand in anger, and his face was turning a bright red. It seemed Mr. Doug was close to getting what he wanted.

“You want to know why you couldn’t do it?” 

The little boy whispered, “No, I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s because you know deep down you are neither an artist nor a hero. If you felt as if you were either you would have shot me. If you were an artist, it would have been because you wanted to make art. If you wanted to be a hero, you would have done it to save your mother.” 

The little boy stood there looking down at his shoes as his tears fell to the floor. His voice shook as he spoke, “Why are you doing this?”

Mr. Doug wiped the little boy's tears with his hand, “I still have high hopes for you yet, kid. You may not have killed him to make art, but you did it for another reason." He lifted the little boy's chin up to meet his gaze, "If I’m right, you might become an artist as amazing as I was.”