If you are reading this, I advise that you possibly won't like this story. I don't how to classificate it, K+? No. T? Maybe. I think is more M, but I don't know, is just violent. I really need a clarification here.

Artemis breathed loudly after entering at the room. The feet floating in the air. For a moment, the last living Fowl felt like a child again. Helpless. He recalled three years ago. The one he tried to save. But he was a Fowl, and Fowls weren't made to save. They only destroyed. Now, he was the last.

The room. The last time he entered there his father was still alive. No, he was already dead, Artemis just believed that hadn't happened. The sheets were scattered around the room, filthy. The cushions were torn, his last attempt. Since that time, he removed all sharp objects with which she could get hurt. However he couldn't imagine that she would use one of his former gowns to take life.

No, of course he could. He was a genius after all. Maybe he didn't want to do it. Do what decency commanded as a facade, but wish that she died. He shouldn't be surprised about his nature. At the end, he was a monster. A smart monster, and wicked.

The room, for goodness' sake. The window was opened, the wind blew all the memories. Photos of his parents, and also a picture of a child. He held the last one, a photograph of Artemis Fowl I, Angeline Fowl and their three years old son, Artemis Fowl II. At that time, his mother used to call him Arty. They were at the greenhouse. Angeline sat on a chair, with her son on her lap. Her husband with a serious look behind her. Nobody, except Angeline Fowl, could say that Artemis Fowl I had a beautiful smile, because he never showed it to anyone else but her.

The smell of lilies was in the air, a sickly aroma. He looked for a suicidal letter, but it was clear that there wasn't one. His mother was not lucid enough to think of reasons to die, it was the only thing she wanted to do in all these eight years.

After seven months he finally touched the beautiful pale skin of his mother again, just to free her from the rope. He needed help.

"Butler" he shouted. "Come here."

The bodyguard entered, gasping. "Mrs. Fowl…"

"…hanged herself" he finished, wiping away a lone tear. "Well, this was expected".

The servant removed the body from the gallows. "Artemis…"

"Master Fowl. You may leave, Butler. I think you have a funeral to plan. And I must talk to Mr. Mynatt." He ordered.

Mr. Mynatt, a Scotland Yard officer. Once in a while it was necessary a bit of persuasion to avoid an investigation, and sometimes, a bit of it to gain some information. The kind that wasn't archived in any system in the world, otherwise he would be able to hack it. The kind that would be very useful in the meeting of the next day.

It was around 4:00 am when Butler decided open the door of his master's study. There he was, in front of the computer, his face looked as the face of a vampire. Hacking? No. It was just reports. In five minutes, he was done. Just to walk through his gallery. The Edvard Munch section. He was going crazy. Butler shut the door, returning to the first floor. He wasn't hoping to see Artemis sleeping, truth. Artemis hadn't had a night of sleep in the last six months. But maybe he could just be reading a book.

Artemis stared at the paintings. Puberty, the one which was believed to have burned in a fire. Summer in Åsgårdstrand, A Small Beach Study, Childhood Memory, The Day After, The Sick Child and The Girl by the Window, that he had stolen. There was a time his loved one was Puberty, when fear was the only thing that made him advance. But that day he couldn't take his eyes of The Girl by the Window, imagining if it could portray his mother.

The Sick Child, a lithography, couldn't make his heart throb more. If Much's sister was dying from tuberculosis, his mother had died because he couldn't make her happy. It was all his fault, he couldn't blame something like Mycobacterium tuberculosis.

The Day After, people said, a painting of a prostitute after sex. But to him, all he could see was a dead corpse, tired of her life. Tired of enduring a life of despair. He wanted to touch the artwork, however he wasn't able to. Touching it could compromise the entire work, which persisted for decades. She is still here, but I have no right to touch her. I never had. Isn't ironic that I can't touch something that touched every day during the time I was still in her womb?

Artemis looked to the Self-Portrait that he had stolen two years ago. He never thought that Edvard Much looked like his father but there, with half of his face covered by shadows, the artist made him remember Artemis Fowl I. Of course not with his last memory of him. If he had The Death of Marat it would make more sense. Unfortunately, that one was in Oslo.

"The corpse was delivered at 1st of September, the day of his fifteen birthday. He was able to invite his mother to the garden, they were talking about amenities. He usually wouldn't waste time doing that, but he was assured his mother would be able to recover from now on. As a psychiatrist, he was able to see progress in the last two months he had not seen in the last five years. She didn't have any light in her eyes but her skin wasn't that of a ghost anymore. She seemed a bit more lively. And she was able to give him a small smile. Of course, he didn't answered to that, since his smile usually made him look as a vampire.

"Butler called Artemis, and informed him first. But Angeline Fowl was able to hear, and run to the hall. There, she found the corpse of her husband, or parts of it. One leg wasn't there, neither the ear. Perhaps one of the killers thought funny pluck one arm or maybe they just have decided to send one of the arms they found the explosion. If Artemis liked to bet, he would bet on the first.

"He covered the eyes of his mother, but was too late. She screamed, scared and desperate. Her nails dug into her son's flesh, and although Artemis wasn't athletic, he was able to endure the pain, while blood dripped from his arms.

"Timmy, my love, Timmy, I warned you. Timmy…I asked you to don't go, my Timmy, my handsome Timmy, my bad Timmy…Timmy, Timmy…Angeline had been whispering and screaming at the same time, sobbing in a world where none else was invited."

"Mother, I'm here. Everything is alright, listen to me. Calm down. He tried, but it was obvious that words wouldn't have any effect. He asked with his eyes to Butler bring the sedative, and then carry her to the room she used to stay.

"Then he was alone with his father. The eyes were open for a long time, so he couldn't do anything about it. It was the first time he was able to face his father. Dead, his face looked less scary, but made he remembered the time that implacable face would accept nothing more than perfection.

"And Artemis did everything he could to be perfect. And now, he was dead. He would never be able to see that in five years, his son doubled the family fortune. Extortion, government and corporate crimes, art stealing and forgery. Everything that made the Fowl Empire an Empire. Murders and kidnappings have never been the line of work of the Fowl. But, reflected the heir of the whole Empire, it could end up being. I already know my first work. And revenge was the first reason to Artemis Fowl II kill. But it wasn't the only.

Dreadful? I agree. I liked this chapter, though. Feel free to give your opnion. Again, if you find some mistakes, warn me so I can correct it. Again, I'm better understanding English that writing it.

See ya', Theo.