The basement smelled sharply of turpentine, dried acrylics, and something far darker that lingered in the damp, heavy concrete foundation of the Scarborough townhouse.
Peter McCormick stood rigidly at his wooden easel, a frayed brush clutched tightly in his hand, staring blankly at the exact same canvas he had been entirely failing to paint for months. The bristles of the brush were loaded with a thick, oceanic blue, but they hadn't touched the canvas in twenty minutes. His empathic circui