Chapter 21: Five Years Later

Miranda finished writing the last chapter of her novel. She squealed in delight. After two years of writing drafts and six months of typing, it was done. She stretched, extending her arms upwards. She yawned, catching a glimpse of the time in the left hand corner of the computer screen. 2:33 A.M. She clicked 'save' and shut down the computer.

After taking a hot shower, she slipped on a silk nightgown, retiring to her bedroom. The room alone was larger than her old home. Had more furniture too. Yes, the apartments in Downtown were exquisite. They cost money, of course.

Miranda opened her top dresser door. It slid out smoothly. Inside it was a large glass cylinder containing a male's arm gripping a human heart. Being a few years old, the skin would of naturally rotted out, but the liquid surrounding them preserved the skin cells. They were fresh. Miranda liked fresh. She brushed the gold medal in the drawer next to the cylinder.

"Were you proud?" a charming voice whispered in her ear.

Her heart pounded with pleasure. She whirled around, meeting the eyes of a past acquaintance. "Artist." She marveled at his presence. He still had spiky blonde hair and a slim yet built body structure. The different was he was wearing guy-liner and missing his left arm up to his elbow. He was clad in a black short-sleeved jumper with matching slacks.

"Hello, Love. Did you miss me?"

"Of course," Miranda answered. She had forgotten how much she adored his accent. "I've been waiting for you. I kept this hoping that you would come back for it."

The Artist tapped on the glass cylinder. "You won an award for it?"

"Yes," she replied, guilty. "And prize money."

"How much?"

"Fifty thousand."

The Artist let go a low whistle. "You have not sold it? You could make even more off of it."

"Like I said, I kept it for you."

"Very kind of you."

"Where have you been for the last five years? I heard that the warehouse on the north side was discovered completely abandoned."

"I had a particular destination in mind: New York. The Art there is fantastic. How many boys have you seen since we last met?"

Caught off guard by the sudden change of subject, Miranda had to ponder this a moment. "A few." Two exactly. After falling in love with three interesting, deadly men at once, all the other guys she encountered were drab and boring. "They didn't work out too well."

"I see." He tapped the glass again. "How is it living near the most popular Art Cafés in the state?"

"I like it," she replied honestly. "They remind me of you."

"You changed, my dear."

"Do you like the change?" she flirted.

The Artist brought her to him, wrapping his arm around her waist. He nibbled at her neck. Gently at first, then he bit down hard. Miranda didn't protest, she moaned in ecstasy. "You stole my heart," he growled. "Or rather Nathan's. How shall I seek revenge on you for that awful, awful crime?"

"You can do want you want to me." She stroked his jaw line.

"Thank you for the permission, Love."

The Artist kissed her deeply - possessively. He knocked her off the floor onto her queen-sized bed, straddling her, the kiss unbroken. Miranda slipped her hand underneath his jumper, treading her fingers over his chest and abs. His muscles were so taunt. He took this as a cue to take off his jumper. This act was difficult for him because of his missing arm. Miranda helped him by pulling at one side as he pulled at the other.

"You're beautiful, Artist," Miranda said in awe, as he flung the shirt to the floor.

"Do you want to be beautiful?" he asked, looking down at her with mischievous eyes.

"Yes."

"Alright then." He reached into his pocket, producing a syringe of clear liquid. "Here. Compliments of Algeria Touchshriek" He stuck it in her bicep like a normal shot.

"What's next, doctor?" she teased.

"You shall feel the effects soon enough, Miranda."

She held her breath, waiting for the pain. No pain. She felt as light as a feather. The man straddling her transformed into a hazy mist of red. The mist was talking to her. The words were deep and muffled. She could only distinguish a single word: "Completion."