For three days, the police investigated our flat and my room. I stayed with Marie at Ana’s home, and the single mother was asking me lots of questions I could not answer, but in spite of that, nothing worrisome happened.

I wanted to draw, and the useful thing about using pencils and mostly grey, was that I could practice almost anywhere. I had gotten my art equipment back from the police, and while Marie went to the university, I worked.

I didn’t want to go to my lessons, they were not obligatory anyway. I had much to do anyway. My art had sold, massively, since the news about “my“ serial killer had gone crazy on television and social media. I had not checked for about two weeks, and now, I was rather displeased to find everything had been bought. I had received account warnings asking me to send the art to the buyers, as I was late to deliver. So that was the thing I did in those three days: Angrily sending my art pieces to people who remembered me through other people’s misfortune, then trying to calm myself by drawing.

No one on the news said anything about Miranda or Jeanne’s death, and the media only informed that she was still on the loose. I knew the truth, and my kidnapper was almost out of my mind. Not out of those buyers’ though.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t buy it if they didn’t find it beautiful.” Had tried Marie, in an effort to improve my mood.

Finally, three days later, I had managed to retrieve and send everything, and could wholeheartedly concentrate on my work again, so I felt a bit better.

I didn’t leave the house much and was alone in the living room. Ana was at her office, she was a medical consultant, and Marie at her course to tackle addictions. Jackie, the chihuahua, was in the house with me, but tried its very best to be invisible.

I don’t think it understood why I still hadn’t eaten it.

I could hear and smell it, wherever it tried to disappear.

My hands were slightly thinner in Igris’s body, and my pencil felt slightly too big. It did not stop me. Today was a strange day, the police had contacted us, Marie and I, in the morning, to tell us our flat would be accessible again, which was good news. Then, Stan told us he could not come back, his parents not agreeing for him to go back to a place a serial killer had visited.

That had been quite a hard blow on Marie and I, as we did not know if our roommate would ever be able to go back to our flat.

Stan sounded furious and promised it would not stop us from seeing each other, but for now, it seemed Marie and I were truly left on our own in this strange new world. Both of us had decided to go back to the flat tomorrow.

I was conflicted, sad, excited. The presence inside my soul was silent, not minding the peace of the moment.

CHAOS IS MY FICKLE MISTRESS, TOO MUCH AND SHE BECOMES ORDER AGAIN.

That’s the only thing IT had said in forty-eight hours.

What would I draw?

I remembered the storm, before evil knocked on my window.

I failed that day. Because I was too shaken.

How ironic, shouldn’t it have been perfect to draw a storm?

I had chosen. The composition flowed inside my mind, hand following, slowly behind.

Falling things, deep, dark colors. Specks of light.

In the center, where everything should have whirled together, broken, lost form, then disappeared, nothing.

Only plain white.

YOU UNDERSTAND.

The beast broke my trance.

I had crayon all over my hands, and most likely over my face, but that was normal. Most of my clothes were gone, too. That was normal as well, especially as I barely felt any cold now. A t-shirt and panties were plenty in my book. Still, not ideal in basically your mother-in-law’s living room.

Just as I reached for my clothes on the ground, I heard a click in the front door.

I began panicking, but the smell that arrived immediately calmed me down.

“Welcome back.” I said.

“I’m home.” Answered Marie, voice tired.

She approached and saw me trying my best at putting my jeans back on.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would think you were undressing to meet me.”

“Not exactly.” I laughed.

“Someone under the couch then?”

“Nope. Only Jackie, hiding under your mother’s bed.”

“Oh, poor Jackie. He should know you won’t eat it him.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I do hesitate sometimes.”

“Shut up. Did you draw something? Lemme see.”

“Sure.”

I had not looked at it myself. How long had I been working?

The piece felt foreign to me. It was a dark sky, gigantic clouds colliding in an apocalyptic depiction of weather. I felt I drew objects going inside, but those were nowhere to be seen. It was a lone storm, and nothing else. Still, it felt like the world was being engulfed inside of it. The center was white.

“Wow. It’s good. First time I see you doing weather.”

“Thanks, I’ve been trying those last few weeks, but nothing came out. I think I based it on what’s inside of me.”

She looked at me, slightly worried. “That’s an angry wolf.”

“’Chaos’ I think.”

“The name of the piece?”

“Yes.”

“You should show it to mom, she’ll like it.”

“Sure, I’m making a mess in her living room, showing her why is the least I can do.”

“Did someone call?”

“I don’t know, I have…”

“I know you did not check, I’m saying that so you will.”

“Oh.” I got my phone out of my pocket. I saw two messages pop up. The first one was from Marie, who just wrote “<3”, and the second one was from King, asking if I wanted to come to her apartment this weekend.

I kissed Marie as a thank you for her kindness, then showed her King’s message.

“She didn’t invite me. Just you.”

“Don’t start.”

“Can’t help myself!”

“Cute.”

“Shut up!”

“You’re too easy.”

“I’m going to kick you.”

“I’m terrified.”

“I’m going to tell my mom.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hah! I win.”

“Low blow.”

Marie gave me a smirk, and I kissed her again.

“I’ll tell King we’ll be there.”

“Yup.”

The moment I send the message, King replied with her address.

“That was fast.”

“Most people answer to the sound of their phone.”

I ignored Marie’s sarcasm.

“What do we do in the meantime?” I asked.

“Why not go and have a drink with Stan tomorrow?”

“Thursday?” I wanted to be sure.

“That’s today.”

“Sorry, I’m out of it.”

“I really like it when you’re in your crazy artist mode. It’s sexy. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Maybe.”

“Your mom is back in an hour.”

“That’s plenty of time.” She slapped my ass.

I snarled.

That made Marie’s playful look much more serious.

“Pervert.” I growled.

“Can’t blame me for that, I’m a psychologist.”

Friday had been a calm day, like a gust of fresh air filled with normalcy. Marie had a class in the morning, and I worked quietly in the living room, not managing to re-enter my artist state. In the afternoon, I went out as Igris to an art shop with her to buy another set of pencils, so I could draw in whatever form I chose comfortably. I then partied the whole night at the Cranium with Stan and Marie, Stan’s girlfriend, and some other students of our university, under Ray’s guise.

Nothing strange happened there. The club had been closed off for a few weeks since the murder of their barman but had reopened this week. It was still one of my favorite places to hang out, even considering I didn’t like places like that, and what occurred to me there.

I woke up the next day in Marie’s bed in our flat, but still as Ray. She was sleeping next to me and I had second-guessed an instant if something weird had happened under the influence of alcohol, but my memories were clear, and my head perfectly fresh. Which was clearly unfair, as Marie was groaning in pain next to me, waking up as I did, but then going back to sleep almost immediately.

I was clothed, and so was she. No problems here.

I looked at my phone, it showed me six in the morning.

We had our meeting with King in five hours, so I let Marie sleep her fill. I entered my room, just crossing the corridor, and sighed again at the sight. It was freezing inside, as my window/door was still broken, and covered with a wooden plank and cardboard.

I picked some clothes inside my wardrobe, changed in the cold air, then left for the kitchen.

I began cooking, a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, as I didn’t hear or smell anything coming out of Stan’s room. Nothing.

I felt nostalgic.

I looked at my phone again and realized I had missed a message notification. I winced as it read “Father”. I opened it.

“I heard about your sudden popularity spike in…” I closed it.

I heard a loud snap.

The pan’s handle was now broken, and some plastic and metallic dust was filling my hand.

“Oh no…”

“What’s happening?” Marie obviously decided to come into the living room, still in pajamas, at that exact moment.

“Sorry Marie, I broke the pan.”

“MY PAN!” She screamed. Then winced under the strength of her own voice. “What did you do you brute?” She whispered getting closer to me.

“Stay there, some metal shards could have fallen off.”

“Damn, what did my pan ever do to you?”

“First of all, we bought this pan together, it’s not yours. And to answer your question, here.”

I gave her my phone.

“Now let me clean up my mess.” I added.

She backed off slightly, opened up the lock screen with my password instead of my face, and read the message in my stead.

She had guessed my password three years ago, and then honestly told me she knew it. I still didn’t change it. She could go on my phone for all I cared, it had proven useful, and recently, even lifesaving.

“Oh. Sorry. Not my pan’s fault though.”

“Not your pan.”

“I want porridge.” She ordered.

“No bacon?”

“You want to kill me? With this headache? More fat?”

I took a slice of raw bacon and ate it in front of her.

She became slightly blue. “Urgh. No. Please.”

“Sorry, didn’t want to make you sick.”

“Porridge. Tea.”

“Coming right up.”

Marie was feeling slightly better as we moved inside the tramway towards the city center four hours later. I wasn’t.

The smell here was an abomination before my senses had been heightened. It was biblically bad now.

“May I remind you I’m a lesbian, even if I did sleep with you last night.”

I had my face almost stuck to Marie’s neck.

“I feel sick. Let me smell you. It helps”

“Oh. My. God. That’s creepy as hell.” She looked at my face and calmed down. “Wait, I thought you had an invincible stomach.”

“Urgh.” I gagged.

“Uhm. Okay, sure, you can smell me, don’t vomit on me though”

“No promises.”

“I’ve got an idea.” It sounded ominous as hell, but my energy was focused entirely on Marie’s odor.

I felt perfume being spread on my face.

I sneezed.

“What the…”

I sneezed again, smelling nothing all of the sudden.

“Did that help?”

“I can’t beel by nose” I angrily replied.

“Well, that’s better than the smell no?”

“It beels horrible.”

“Sorry.”

I sneezed almost non-stop during the whole ride, Marie looking slightly guilty for once.

We had some strange stares from the other riders, and people were ostensibly keeping their distance.

“Do you think they’ll wash their hands extra hard?” Asked Marie.

“Brobably not. Dinguses. They should.” I answered in between a sneeze.

“Seems like I found your big wolf’s weakness.”

“I’m going to eat you.”

“I’d like that.”

I sighed. I sneezed again.

My health crisis only calmed down when I washed my face in the end station’s bathroom, and completely subsided as we got to fresh air at the surface.

“Something died, fucked, and died again in those restrooms.” I said to Marie once outside.

“Want another shot of perfume?”

“I will punish you.”

She laughed, unfazed by my menacing voice.

“Follow me!” She raised her hand like a kindergarten teacher.

“Do you even know where to go?”

“I’ve got maps on my phone.”

I sighed and followed my friend.