The hot water stung Isaac's eyes, but he always found that a nice, warm shower was just the thing to wash the paint off his skin. It also helped him wash away the thoughts that were plaguing his mind. He'd fully come to believe that his paintings were foretelling the future, and the fact that he'd just completed his third self-portrait sans scalp did not sit well with him.

When the water pouring down on his skin began to turn from scalding hot to ice cold, he decided that he'd showered long enough. Toweling off and trying to avoid imagining what in the world might possibly lop off the top of his head, Isaac exited the bathroom and discovered that he was not alone in his loft. A thin blonde woman wearing a suit that was several shades too red was perusing a stack of his paintings, specifically the very self-portraits that Isaac has been trying to forget.

"Can I help you?"

"I love paintings," Ignoring Isaac, the woman's gaze remained fixated on his paintings, but a wide grin did spread across her face, "although not as much as I love painters. Wolfgang Zelmer was insatiable. I gave him a blowjob at some party, and he became obsessed with me. I'd pose nude for him, and before he was even halfway through he'd say he couldn't resist me any longer. He'd throw me down, and we'd fuck in a pile of paint on the floor. He knew how to show a girl a good time. Have you ever made love in your paint, getting all sticky and colorful?"

Isaac's confusion at finding a woman in his loft instantly doubled as she spoke. This woman, whoever she was, had succeeded in taking his mind off his own death (at least temporarily) by the sheer absurdity of her statements. "Who are you?"

She finally turned to face Isaac as she extended her arm stiffly with a wide, Cheshire grin plastered on her face. "Daisy. Daisy Adair. And you must be Ivan Mendez."

Still bewildered, he extended his own hand and was surprised at how tightly Daisy gripped onto it. "It's Isaac actually."

Her grin didn't falter in the slightest, "That was my very next guess."

"What are you doing here, Ms. Adair?"

"Oh, please, call me Daisy."

"Alright. What are you doing here, Daisy? Are you a collector?"

Isaac didn't think it was possible, but Daisy's smile got even bigger. "Something like that. You can just call me a fan of the arts. I especially love these paintings over here, " Daisy gestured to the stack that she had just been looking over, "Kind of morbid for a series of self-portraits though."

Isaac's train of thought suddenly came careening back his latest work, and he found he was quickly losing patience with Daisy. The fact that he was painting his own death was detrimental enough to his psyche; he didn't need some strange woman rubbing the fact in his face. "Who says those are paintings of me?"

"Well, it's obvious to a trained eye," Daisy gave Isaac a playful swat on the shoulder, "You can always tell a self-portrait. The artist always puts a little something special into it. It stands out. Personally, I love it when an artist paints his own death. I think it has the most extraordinary results."

Isaac did have to concede that these paintings, as disturbing as they may be, were some of his best work as of late. "Isn't that a little morbid, Ms. Adair?"

"Daisy," she corrected.

"Daisy."

She leaned in close to Isaac, as if letting him in on some deep secret, "I think a little healthy fascination with death can do wonders for a person. If you don't mind me asking, what brought on this sudden interest with your own demise?"

In his determined effort to forget about the paintings, Isaac realized that he hadn't given much thought as to why he was painting them. "I don't really know. I don't make a conscious decision about what I'm going to paint. I just put my brush to the canvas and see what comes out.

Daisy smiled again, "I love a man who believes in fate."

"Fate?"

"Pre-determined events. You can't change destiny, Isaac."

Isaac's eyes trailed over to his latest work, and then traveled across the room to gaze upon all of his other visions that had come true. He suddenly found himself overcome at the thought of all of the impossible events that had nevertheless come to pass. "No, I suppose you can't."

Daisy left Isaac's side, walking across the room to pick up one of his self-portraits. "I do love this picture. How much?"

"Take it," Isaac said, realization dawning on him that this may be his last opportunity to give away one of his paintings. "It'll be worth more when I'm dead."

"You're too sweet," Daisy calmly walked over to Isaac to plant a kiss on his cheek, a cold shiver running through his body when her lips met his skin, "and I don't think I'll be selling this one." Gathering her purse in one hand and the painting in the other, Daisy began to walk up to stairs to exit Isaac's loft, but she stopped when she reached the doorway. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Isaac Mendez. I hope we meet again just as soon as possible."

Isaac nodded grimly, a dark determination filling him as he picked up his paintbrush, prepared to start his next portrait. "I don't imagine that's going to happen, Daisy."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. You'd be amazed at what life has in store for us."