Dante awoke to soft, golden sun. It's nearly evening, he'd slept the whole day.

Unsurprising, as the night before had left him spent. It was well after dawn when she devoured the last of him. But never in his life had he felt better, or more relaxed, than he is right now.

He contemplated going back to sleep.

"About time you woke up." came her voice from the direction of his balcony. He sits up and finds Iris sitting at the table there, wearing his shirt and nothing else, with a cup of coffee in her hands. A full ashtray sits in front of her, by a pack of his cigarettes.

"I couldn't wake you. I got jealous for a bit, I thought maybe you died." she said, "but that's just silly."

"That's a great way to go, though." said Dante, "getting fucked to death. I'd be jealous, too."

She laughs.

"After all these years, you're still a shitty fuck." she said, looking out over the balcony, "but I gotta say, you have one hell of a garden."

Dante smiles. He knew she'd like the garden.

His velvet suit lay on the floor by the bed. Dante put on the velvet pants and sits on the chair next to her on the balcony. He swipes the coffee cup from her hands and has a sip.

Something stings.

"Is there whiskey in this?" he asks.

"You have a bottle of it sitting next to the coffee maker, it looked like a suggestion." Iris shrugs. He laughs and takes a bigger sip.

"There was something else I noticed by the coffee maker." she began, taking the cup back from him, "on the back wall. a certain painting."

She turns to him with eyebrows raised. Dante chuckles and bows his head, a little embarrassed.

"Hanging a painted portrait of yourself in the bedroom." said Iris, shaking her head, "if that isn't the biggest display of narcissism, I don't know what is."

"It was a gift." said Dante, "I hung it in the bedroom so no one would be able to see it."

"No one?"

"Well, maybe not no one. But at least not many."

She elbows him on the ribs. He laughs.

"Don't they wonder why you have a renaissance painting of yourself?" she asks.

"No, they just assume it's a new painting made to look old." said Dante, "they seem to find it impressive."

"I don't." she scoffs, then quickly adds, "but I am jealous you managed to find your portrait. I don't know if I could ever find mine again. I sat for one, you know. Sometime in the 1600s."

"Who painted it?"

"He had a fairly short, easy name. I don't remember it but I think he was Dutch." she said, "he didn't like my unusual hair so he had me cover it up with cloth."

"So the painter was Dutch, and your hair was covered. Anything else you remember about it?"

"You won't be able to find it. Where would you even start looking?"

"They have this useful thing called Google nowadays."

"Google?"

"I'll show you."

Dante got up and searches the room for his mobile phone. It must be there somewhere. He spots the thin, leather encased iPhone lying on the floor. Dante picks it up and sits back down next to her.

"What on earth is that?"

"A telephone and a computer merged into one, believe it or not."

"You're joking."

"I'm not, look, it even talks." Dante promptly demonstrates, "hey, Siri,"

"Hello." the phone answers. The girl gasps.

"It does talk!" she squeals delightedly.

"Siri, google Dutch painters, 1600s."

"Dutch painters 1600s," repeats the phone. The screen switches to a list of names.

"There, you see, this is Google. You type in key words pertaining the information you want to find and it helps you look for it. It can help you find anything, even from years and years ago, just as long as you know the clues."

"Wow, if they can do this, going to the moon must have been a breeze." she says, shaking her head.

"Do you recognize any names on this list?" asks Dante, leaning closer so she can see the screen.

"Oh! I do! I see it here!" she says, pointing to the name Johannes Vermeer, "that's him! I know it!"

"Alright, let's narrow it down some more. Were you wearing anything special in the painting? Or maybe holding some flowers?"

"I think he had me wear some kind of jewelry. i think it was an earring."

"Let's see what comes up." Dante copies the painter's name onto the Google search bar and types in earring. He clicks on the images button.

Photos of paintings appear. All of them of the same one. she was wearing a pearl earring.

He shows her the screen.

"As always," he said, "you look beautiful."

Iris grabs the phone from him and stares at the photo, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Slowly, it spread into a smile quickly covered by her hand.

"Oh Dante..." she said, barely a whisper. She flings her arms around his neck and buries him in a deep kiss. The iPhone fell onto the floor with a clatter, but Dante didn't care.

"You cheered me up." she said, pulling away. She let out a little laugh and said, "I was so broken after what they did to me, but you cheered me up."

Suddenly Dante's expression changed.

"What did they do to you?" he asks. The firmness of his voice startles her.

"Nothing different than what they did to the other inmates." she replies, a bit nervously.

He asks again. Slower, and much more seriously.

"What did they do?"

It was more of a demand than a question. There is a graveness in his eyes that sends chills down her spine. Iris was compelled to answer.

"The guards considered themselves gods of that place." she began, "and gods can torment whoever they want."

Dante tries to sigh away the anger brewing in him, but it was much too great. They had violated Iris, his Iris, so the Blackwater devil will come for them.

"Iris," he began, "I'll give you a choice."

Iris looks at him strangely, unsure of what he means.

"They can die, or they can suffer." says Dante.

Instantly, Iris understood how he became so rich.

"Which one?" he asks.

Iris found it deliciously tantalizing that he would present her with such a choice. A smile creeps across her face.

"Make them suffer, darling." she purrs.