Miranda took a step closer. Sin could feel Miranda’s breath on the back of her neck as the crazed woman panted with hatred.
Garcia’s voice buzzed her ear. “She’s moved out of my sight.” He said. “The wall is blocking my view. Maneuver her back toward the center.”
Sin turned and looked into the face of evil; a smile crept across her face. Picking up where she left off, she said, “Yet, you fell in love. You loved the man who praised your art and your beauty.” She looked deep into Miranda’s eyes. “Although his love was yours, his lust knew no bounds. His ego was bigger than his love and he…showered it on many.”
“Enough!” Miranda shrieked.
Sin didn’t stop. She turned from Miranda, moving in a direction that would lead Miranda toward the center of the room. She studied the macabre artwork that covered the walls; amateurish paintings depicting pain and death. “So, again, you returned to the place you found your inspiration: Blake.
“ ‘I went to the Garden of Love, and saw what I never had seen: A chapel was built in the midst, where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this chapel were shut, and “Thou shalt not” writ over the door; so I turned to the Garden of Love, that so many sweet flowers bore, and I saw it was filled with graves, and tombstones where flowers should be; and priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, and binding with briers my joys and desires.’
“You took those words as your mission. If you could not have the complete love of Vincent Ash, you would make sure no one would. You killed the girls he lusted after.” Facing Miranda once more, Sin stepped in front of her and, with each step, she forced Miranda back toward the window. “It wasn’t good enough just to kill them, was it?” Sin yelled. “You had to disfigure them. Make the beautiful ugly before finally taking their life.”
“I gave them what they deserved; they each received a whore’s death!” Miranda spat.
“And then you killed the one person left that loved you. You killed Vincent.”
Miranda laughed at Sin’s words. “He was incapable of love. He could spout words of love, he could fuck as if he loved, but his only love was for himself.”
“And yet he left you with the ultimate gift of his love…a child.”
“He left me with a burden.”
“A burden with talent. A talent not yet born, but soon even you wouldn’t be able to ignore Joel’s God given talent.”
“God gave him nothing. His talent came from me. I taught him everything.”
“Beat into him, you mean.”
Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but Sin closed the distance between them until she was close enough to shut her up with her proximity. “These paintings,” Sin pointed to the walls, “must be your own work because they are not the same quality as the ones Joel painted.”
“His only talent was the talent I gave him!” Miranda screamed.
Sin ignored her rant. “I didn’t mean to jump ahead. Let’s get back to where we left off, shall we?”
The left side of Miranda’s mouth curled upward in a disgusted smirk. “Please do, I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“It felt good to kill, didn’t it, Miranda? So good you couldn’t stop. You spent the next seven years killing innocent people. From Texas to Alabama, you continued to murder innocent girls who reminded you of Vincent’s indiscretions.
“Then you found yourself in Miami. A new home. A home where your art could finally be appreciated. A home where Joel’s talent could blossom. But then fate stepped in and gave you two more children. You figured that if you could teach Joel to paint, you could do the same with Ashley and George. But they didn’t have the talent. They only knew the fear.”
Miranda’s eyes opened wide and a smile burst through her scowl. She laughed so hard, that the pitch hurt Sin’s ears. “You think you’re so smart. You don’t know anything!”
“No? Then why don’t you tell me. Tell me the truth according to the great artiste, Miranda Stokler.”
“You think my children are so innocent. They are their mother’s children.”
Sin felt the momentum shifting. She needed to keep the upper hand. “While we are on the subject of your children, where is George? Did you kill him before you left Miami?”
“You’ll have to ask the innocent Ashley.” She waved her arms as she spoke, the blade still locked in her grip and knowledge beaming in her eyes.
“This is getting hairy,” Garcia radioed. “I don’t have a clear shot. I repeat, I don’t have a clear shot.”
“Affirmative,” Fletcher responded.
“What’s her part in all of this?” Sin said.
“You would have to ask her yourself, but let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” With her last word, Miranda lunged at Sin with her blade.
She barely raised her arm before the sound of a single bullet echoed through the apartment. Stumbling backward, Miranda was dead before she hit the ground.
Fletcher entered the room from his position in the foyer, gun still pointing at his target. “You okay?”
Sin nodded, staring down at the bleeding corpse. She looked at a bullet hole right in the middle of her forehead; the same location Miranda had shot Vincent Ash so long ago. “How’s that for poetic justice?”
66
The absolute silence on the flight back to Miami was broken by Sanchez. “I have to ask,” he began, “how did you know all that information about Miranda?”
“Some of it was in Charlie’s private files—the stuff about her maiden name and her parent’s histories. The rest,” she shrugged, “I surmised based on my prior knowledge. I knew if I had any of the story wrong, Miranda would correct me. Her ego was too big to let it go. If my info was right, I knew I would eventually hit a nerve, causing her to react.”
“She did both,” Fletcher said.
