Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charlie's days were unnervingly similar after they'd arrived at the second murder castle. He'd wake to a breakfast plate of something warm but fairly simple, then, hours later, lunch would be brought in many hours after that. Du'Met never spoke or offered him another notepad of information and certainly never left Charlie out of the bedroom. The Brit may have been well fed but by the third day of nicotine withdrawal and being alone with his thoughts, Charlie had gone stir crazy. He needed something to do, pleaded for something to do, fucking anything to do, and, amazingly, Du'Met listened. When he returned on the third day with lunch Du'Met had a small stack of books tucked underneath one arm; the sight of literature almost brought a tear to the blond's eye.

By this point Charlie had given up looking at himself in the mirror, he hated the full beard he'd been forced to grow and the lack of any cigarettes had left him pale and twitchy. Still, at least he had a proper bathroom if nothing else. He was lonely as well, that had been a strange realization. Where Du'Met had opted to sleep Charlie didn't know, what he did know was that he felt alone when the serial killer wasn't there; and wasn't that something he tried to ignore. The books managed to ease some of that isolation though. And what sort of fiction did a man like Granthem Du'Met favor, Charlie wondered. Red Dragon? Stabbing for Dummies perhaps. Charlie hadn't expected Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Dostoevsky and Conan Doyle. Okay, yeah, he should have expected the Conan Doyle all things considered. Seemed his kidnapper was far more cultured than previously anticipated; and what did it say of Charlie that he'd elected to read the Sherlock Holmes first? Or, at least, he tried to read it. The withdrawal made it hard to concentrate on – well, anything really. He couldn't think clearly, his mind kept jumping from this to that and turning pages turned out to be difficult as well with such shaky fingers.

"Wait!" Charlie pushed his suffering body up into a sitting position on the bed. "Is- is Du'Met helping me quit smoking by keeping me in here?"

Yet another question without an answer. Another question which had Charlie internally debating. Surely Du'Met didn't actually care about Charlie and his well-being, but he'd been treated rather well, fed and provided basic necessities so maybe he did care in some strange way. Charlie didn't know what to think.

~X~

Du'Met had always had an escape plan, it was the only smart course of action to be prepared and Du'Met prided himself on it. He'd have rather been further along with the new castle though. The first floor bar was little more than a dusty room with a bottle of bourbon the previous owners had forgotten. The second floor only had four bedrooms with all their walls intact and one of them was missing a bed. Then there was the third floor which he didn't even want to think about, it was a total no-go area. On top of all that, his cameras were all on the fritz which meant he had to scour all his wiring until he found the error. No matter his issues, Du'Met's animatronics were coming along and he'd already started research into his new victims. Of course, he'd need a fake Du'Met to welcome them to this island since his phoenix really wasn't in any state to do so yet. It was an easy fix; he'd just kidnap somebody real fast and use them. He didn't expect much from his new targets, they'd not live very long and were ultimately just being used to test the second castle and work he'd done so far. At the end of the month he'd lure them in and see how things went in the new castle. He'd regretfully lost the spa and the lighthouse, but the new maze was almost ready and this castle came with a rather expansive network of maintenance tunnels that gave way to so many possibilities.

The serial killer stood by his small television that he had rigged up on top of a filing cabinet in the control centre, a news report played about his former murder castle and those who'd escaped it. All involved seemed to have assumed Charlie Lonnit dead naturally despite his body being missing; they probably thought he'd tossed Charlie back in the furnace just to punish him for escaping it in the first place.

Du'Met sipped his morning coffee while he turned his attention to his damaged mask before him on the bench. He'd been through quite some effort to get that mask and it had been destroyed in an instant. Fortunately though he'd managed to steal the ones he'd used to adorn the garden mannequins of himself. He'd talked people into manufacturing the first set, he could do it again.

The right hand set down his almost empty coffee mug while the left picked up a small mirror so he could see the gash on his cheek. He'd cleaned and sewn it up without much issue and it would surely scar. Dark eyes glanced down to his chest a moment, he remembered the anchor but … no wound, no nothing. The cheek wound remained though and stung every time he chewed, sipped or so much as cleared his throat; it was healing well though. Cuts and anchors were the least of Du'Met's concerns though. He had every confidence in his work, sure he'd have to be careful until the media attention had died down but Du'Met was no idiot, he could think his way out of just about anything. To be perfectly honest his only real worry was if the name Du'Met became too well known and he was forced to pick a new one.

Suddenly the mirror was shoved deep into a drawer, he grabbed the damaged mask, ran his thumb over the broken moustache and found himself thinking of the blond in his bedroom. Du'Met had respected Charlie's decision to quit smoking but it had left him fidgety, that was why Du'Met had avoided giving Charlie a shave, though when he'd taken in breakfast that morning he'd noticed Charlie had started to look akin to a wild animal and he couldn't allow that, he liked everything to have some decorum. Something had to be done before the Brit turned into the Werewolf of London. Du'Met smirked as he slipped the broken mask into the drawer along side the mirror. Everything just kept returning to Charlie being his puppy, didn't it.

As soon as the drawer was shut, Du'Met walked over to the pile of luggage he'd left slumped in the corner and rummaged through until he found his spare shaving kit then let himself into the bedroom. There he found Charlie dressed in the same outfit he'd set out when they'd dined together; Charlie would need to source the blond some more clothes as well. A little mental image presented itself to Du'Met then, Charlie would look rather good in Du'Met's preferred era of fashion.

The younger man had been settled on the queen sized bed when his captor entered but by this stage had stopped curling into a bubble of caution every time he stepped inside which was nice. Just how quickly Charlie had become comfortable around Du'Met was something which had surprised them both. Charlie had seen what Du'Met was capable of, knew how many he'd killed, yet there he sat on that bed more bothered by his lack of cigarettes.

"Need something?"

Du'Met walked to the bathroom door and pushed it open with one of those large hands of his then gestured for Charlie to follow. With a sigh the younger man closed the book he'd been failing to read and obeyed.

In the bathroom he was silently told to sit on the edge of the bathtub while Du'Met set up his kit. Charlie's lovely blue eyes went wide when he spotted the straight razor, his mouth fell open and his pulse quickened, but he didn't move from his spot on the bath edge.

"Mister Du'Met sir, what are you doing?"

Du'Met didn't respond or turn, just held up a single finger and rocked his index finger back and forth telling him to be quiet. Lips floundered for a second but no words slipped free so, with a sigh, he did as Du'Met wanted.

Almost like a visionary artist painting a fresh canvas Du'Met coated Charlie's face with shaving cream. The scent reminded Charlie of the shampoo he'd used before, bland and just as forgettable a fragrance. When the straight razor approached his face Charlie automatically pulled his face away but Du'Met was there with a firm hand at the back of his head to keep him still. Yet again the Englishman had found himself essentially sitting on Death's knee, but Du'Met's hands were talented and well practised. Slowly the blade did it's glorious work of ridding Charlie of the messy beard he'd grown allowing him to shed the werewolf-like persona he'd begrudgingly taken on.

Though he didn't voice it, Du'Met enjoyed seeing Charlie so complacent and cooperative. He could have cut the younger man's throat so easily at any second and they both knew it, Charlie's eyes even twinkled with fear each time the blade glinted in the bathroom's light. Du'Met wouldn't kill him though, true he'd not been playing with his new pet as of late but once the castle was fully functional he'd make a point to interact with his resident director more. Who knew, in time Charlie may have even come to enjoy watching Du'Met hunt and kill through the cameras. Du'Met smirked as the mental image of Charlie rooting for him like a loyal puppy filled his mind's eye. When he'd been after the crew, Du'Met had mostly kept Charlie separated from the others, the blond had been all Du'Met's to play with and that was how it would forever remain.

The masked killer kept his movements slow and the shave close. Charlie's skin was pale and surprisingly smooth for a man of forty-nine. Blue eyes watched fearfully the entire time but Charlie didn't attempt to pull away a second time; smart boy. Charlie had proven himself determined and surprisingly capable, part of Du'Met's traps were to show him who a person really was: Were they only superficially selfish with a heart of gold, or were they really rotten to the core? He'd enjoyed seeing the true colors of his victims, learning if he'd profiled them properly. Normally he had, knew them better than they knew themselves nine times out of ten. Charlie Lonnit had been the first to surprise him in years.

Du'Met tilted Charlie's head back a little to expose his neck, the younger man gulped which caused Du'Met to smirk as he finished shaving Charlie. Oh it truly would have been so very easy to paint the bathroom crimson but no, it wasn't time for that and Du'Met had far too much self-control.

When he'd finished shaving Charlie he wiped the straight razor clean on a towel then cleaned off Charlie's face with it too.

"Started to think you wanted me to turn into a hillbilly."

That comment had a genuine chuckle escape the serial killer, a genuine chuckle that Charlie counted as a win since getting a noise out of him was so rare.

The shaving kit was packed away under the cautious gaze of Charlie. He paid close attention to the way Du'Met checked the razor's sharpness before he put it away. Couldn't let any of his kit grow blunt. Then he returned to Charlie and slipped the latex glove off his right hand so he could brush his thumb over Charlie's newly soft face. He was pleased with the smoothness and, though it had meant letting a stab-happy murderer near his face with a knife, so was Charlie.

Du'Met was pleased he'd taken the time shave his captive for two reasons: First was that Charlie looked significantly better clean shaven, while second was that Charlie had ceased his futile attempts to shuffle out of Du'Met's reach. Of course Charlie still feared what the masked man would do to him, but this encounter had taught Du'Met that the blond had started to accept his fate. Charlie Lonnit belonged to a murderer forevermore. He couldn't resist, Du'Met bent slightly at the waist and kissed Charlie's cheek. It was quick, gentle, a sort of blink-and-you'll-miss-it kiss, then Du'Met just returned to his kit while the Englishman stared down at the floor between his feet.

Silence stretched on with one man uncaring and the other feeling crushed by its weight. Charlie swallowed as he fidgeted with his hands.

"Mister Du'Met, am I -" He cut himself off but Du'Met's expectant expression had words tumble from his lips pretty quickly. "… Am I special or just momentarily interesting?"

The former federal agent regarded Charlie a few seconds while the cogs turned inside his mind. Despite being almost fifty Charlie was still much younger than himself; a decade of experiences. On one or two occasions Du'Met had mentally referred to Charlie as 'boy' which seemed odd when he paused to think about it. Yet there was something akin to the innocence of a child in Charlie, something the killer hadn't ever really gotten in his own childhood and Du'Met enjoyed seeing it.

From his Tardis-like back pocket came a tape player that he scurried through until he reached the desired section, then hit play.

"My Phoenix." Said the tape in Charlie's own voice.

The blond wasn't surprised, he should have expected for Du'Met to record everything that had happened in the dining room days earlier. Then, with his shaving kit in hand, the older man left Charlie's gilded cage to prepare for his next guests. Meanwhile Charlie remained perched on the bath's edge with only his thoughts for comfort. 'My phoenix' hadn't been a real answer in the slightest and, to be perfectly frank, he was even more confused than when they'd started.

~X~

The next morning - or at least what Charlie thought was the next morning, it was so hard to tell locked in two rooms neither of which had any windows. Charlie had just slipped out of the shower and was by his bed pulling up his briefs when Du'Met barged into his room. The door was kicked open with such speed it nearly had Charlie jump across the room. In his arms was a weighty older microwave that was quickly dumped down on the dresser. Charlie had already accepted Du'Met to be the sort of person likely to find a new friend to harvest for lampshades, but this was straight up bizarre; so bizarre in fact that Charlie forgot he was dressed only in his underwear and that Du'Met had left the door wide open.

From the top of the old microwave Du'Met took his notepad that was promptly forced into the stunned blond's hand before he went back to plug the microwave in: Apparently there had been an outlet behind the dresser's mirror the whole time.

With little other option, and since the wide open escape door hadn't dawned on Charlie just yet, he turned his attention down to the notepad and read aloud since Du'Met seemed to appreciate that.

"There is something to which I must attend." Charlie said as his captor left causing the door to swing shut behind him. "You have plenty of food and liquids for while I am gone." As if to prove that Du'Met suddenly kicked the door back open this time with a fairly sized cardboard box filled with bottles of water, soda and various snacks. Like the microwave it was dumped down by the dresser before Du'Met exited yet again. Charlie continued. "I will shave you when I return so do not worry." For a third time Du'Met returned this time with a red mini fridge that quickly found a home right next to the microwave. Then the killer turned to look at Charlie with an expected silence. With a small sigh he continued. "Behave, my phoenix. If you are good I'll bring you a present."

Charlie wasn't quite sure what to make of the word present, especially since he'd already had his lucky hat returned to him, but it seemed at least he wouldn't starve to death while Du'Met went on his little errand.

At some point his kidnapper had come several steps closer until he was within an arms length. Part of the Englishman wanted to back up and return the distance between them, but what would be the point, and he rather liked having someone close by.

"Were em, where are you going?" No answer. "Well when are you coming back?" No answer yet again which caused Charlie to frown.

Surely he didn't want Du'Met to stay. And why the hell did he suddenly sound like a clingy housewife?! Before Charlie could find anything else to stay anything else to punctuate the silence Du'Met snared his captive in his arms and finally, finally, Charlie realized he was practically naked. His body tensed but Du'Met had a good grasp on him and wouldn't let go. Charlie just stood there unsure of what to do. One large hand rested at the small of Charlie's back while the other stroked lazily up and down his flank while the two watched one another. Du'Met's caresses were gentle, almost loving, but Charlie had seen them bloodstained and knew how many had died at his hands.

Suddenly the room turned sideways – no, that was wrong, Charlie had been pushed down onto the bed with a slight bounce. In an instant the older man was knelt over him with Charlie's thighs forced apart to accommodate him. Charlie basically naked while Du'Met was clad perfectly in his suit; at least he didn't have the apron he hunted in on. Fear tingled inside Charlie and his mouth flapped as the older man pushed his H. H. Holmes mask up ever so slightly.

"Sir," Charlie squeaked. "What are you doing? Please, Mister Du'Met …" He trailed off lamely when the murderer kissed him.

Charlie had little choice but to be held down by his wrists while Du'Met did as he pleased. The back of his mind told Charlie to fight back, to shove kick and maybe bite, but he couldn't bring himself to. Du'Met kissed him forcefully, dominated the situation all while that voice in his mind screamed not to give in to the serial killer. Du'Met rubbed his hard length against him and Charlie groaned wantonly. The murderer grinned, Charlie was so touch-starved it was adorable. Each kiss soothed the desperation for human contact inside the blond, each lingering brush of lips created even more questions for Charlie's mind to argue over later. The kissing quickly turned into a savage clashing of teeth and tongue which Du'Met won of course.

Suddenly the masked killer backed up on his haunches at Charlie's side so he could just gaze at his captive almost proudly. Then, without a single hint of emotion, Du'Met stood up and snapped his fingers down at the spot beside him with an unspoken order. Confusion fluttered through Charlie as it had so many times since he'd been captured by Du'Met. There was also an irritating level of déjà vu and an urge to again point out he wasn't a damn dog, but instead the blond found himself simply obeying.

When Du'Met moved to sit on the side of the bed and opened his pants Charlie took the hint, he didn't even need to be pushed to his knees. Charlie wasn't exactly sure when he's ceased being forced into certain acts by Du'Met, or even if he ever had been forced in the first place, but he'd reached a point when he no longer wished to think about it or how twisted he'd become. Charlie hadn't given head since he was in his thirties but he supposed it was akin to riding a bike and didn't let such a little worry bother him. Later he'd find himself thinking about that twisted part of him anyway and chastise himself for lusting after somebody like Granthem Du'Met, but the blond was touch-starved and desperate for love and release.

Du'Met gripped the younger man's hair tightly to control his face and adjust him as he liked. It started off slow as Charlie swirled his tongue around the tip before he gently placed a kiss to the head of Du'Met's hard length. The killer's lips parted as Charlie's head bobbed up and down almost eagerly. Du'Met wasn't even remotely close though and clung to Charlie's blond locks more harshly. Touch-starved and lost in lust, Charlie's cheeks hollowed while fingers fisted in the fabric of Du'Met's pant legs. Before he knew it Charlie was choking on the hard length filling his mouth to the point tears pricked in the corners of his blue eyes. Any normal man would have been uncontrollably dripping obscene noises, but the masked man wasn't normal in the slightest and didn't so much as grunt. His silence wasn't unusual but Charlie had a desperate urge inside the depths of his heart to be praised, for Du'Met to praise him, even in some small way.

Spit dripped down the corner of Charlie's mouth and finally the killer looked at him properly, dark brown eyes hidden behind a mask found Charlie's tearful blue ones and … something tingled through him, it wasn't the praise he wanted but it was close enough there and then. The Englishman moaned around the base of Du'Met's thick cock; he was hard and desperate, Charlie longed to touch himself but he knew his captive wouldn't approve so he resisted. The tantalising vibrations must have felt good because finally, finally, Du'Met made a noise, a deep, guttural grunt which kicked Charlie's efforts into overdrive. Just a little more and Charlie would have all the praise he silently craved. When Du'Met came it was with another grunt and Charlie swallowed as best he could but some still managed to trickle down his chin while Du'Met carded his fingers through slightly sweaty blond locks in a way that delighted Charlie; a wonderful positive reinforcement.

Du'Met leaned back on his free hand so he could just look at the mess he'd turned his boy into. A mess suited the boy. Eventually the fingers in Charlie's hair moved to tilt his chin up, and it was then that something practically heart-warming happened. Du'Met smiled at him and pulled Charlie up to straddle him. Of course Charlie wasn't short, but Du'Met was so very tall and Charlie felt like he fitted against the older man wonderfully.

When Du'Met's hand found Charlie's length the blond gasped and bucked into his kidnapper's hand. He was close and it didn't take long for Charlie to climax with a cry into Du'Met's neck. It hadn't been loving, frankly it had been quick and methodical to the point there had been next to no emotion whatsoever. Once Charlie had caught his breath Du'Met wiped his hand off on the Brit's chest, kissed him softly and left the bedroom without an utterance.

Charlie tumbled onto his side dressed in a soiled pair of briefs. Twisted, that word honestly didn't do Charlie justice by this point. Yet again Kate's voice belittled him while Charlie told himself to have a new shower. He heard her throwing out words like 'sick bastard' and 'Stockholm Syndrome' with that bite she'd long practised. Charlie knew it was wrong, knew he was weak for not fighting off the older man's lust, but that needy part of him wouldn't let him.

After a while of scolding himself internally and laying in an increasingly sticky puddle, Charlie managed to seek out that second shower. However, when he stepped out Du'Met was back with a measuring tape and Charlie spent the next twenty minutes being moved around and measured for an unknown purpose.

~X~

It had practically been child's play for Du'Met to track down a suitable ferryman for his murder castle test. His victim's name was Gareth McAndrews, a man in his thirties with blue eyes and a strong jaw. Gareth was on his honeymoon with his new bride Samantha – Sam to her friends. They'd be easy to drag away from the cabin they'd rented to act as the ferryman and Samantha would make a fine hostage. Du'Met had already got the acid drip read and waiting, all left over equipment from his plans for Mark and Kate. Those two had slipped through his fingers but Gareth and sweet little Sam wouldn't. Gareth McAndrews would lure Du'Met's latest guests in and then the newly-weds would be disposed of quickly and without a second thought as almost all of his previous ferrymen had been.

Three days it had taken for Du'Met to drive to his destination, he'd been in the pickup so long that it had rained twice and he'd realized the pickup was one of the most uncomfortable vehicles to sleep in he'd ever come across. It was the first time he'd left Charlie alone, but the magnetic lock had been put firmly in place and short of multiple lightning strikes it would remain locked.

The McAndrews had rented one of the most adorable looking cabins on the grounds of a reasonably sized hotel that butted up against the forest. That had made them all the more appealing as targets since he'd have even more shadows to work with. They were enjoying themselves in their bed when Du'Met had finally arrived and Du'Met thought it rude to interrupt what would be their last time together. He'd let them have these last moments of love as a kindness. He already knew the couple had reservations for dinner at the hotel restaurant later that evening, so when they left for dinner he'd slip inside and await their return, toss them in the truck and head back over state lines with nobody any the wiser.

Meanwhile, Du'Met took his tablet from the passenger seat beside him and took a look at the cameras back at the murder castle, more specifically the one of his bedroom which he'd installed one evening while Charlie had been taking a bath. Dark eyes hidden behind the H. H. Holmes mask watched as Charlie appeared from the bathroom and used a towel to dry his graying blond hair. His stubble had made him look a little unkempt but nowhere near the werewolf he'd been before; Du'Met would deal with it when he returned home. To be honest the former federal agent just enjoyed the sight of Charlie dressed only in his pyjama pants with that surprisingly strong chest on display. He was a handsome and well-maintained man despite his age. Beautiful, Charlie was beautiful. The hour was late so Du'Met supposed Charlie would be off to bed in the near future, probably read one of the books he'd gifted his boy then tumble off to sleep. As if to confirm the lateness of the evening Du'Met glanced at the time displayed at the top of the tablet's screen before his attention was turned back to Charlie as he set the towel around his neck. Completely unaware of the cameras, Charlie snagged one of the orange sodas Du'Met had left in the cardboard box, cracked it open and gulped some down. With his thirst satisfied Charlie yanked one of the meals out of the mini fridge and shoved it into the microwave to warm, then wandered back into the bathroom.

Du'Met knew his boy was bored but bored people didn't think about how to escape. Besides, bored was exactly what Du'Met wanted for him, wanted to watch Charlie fall into lonely disappointment. Poor Charlie Lonnit would be so pleased when his master returned to him; when the only person who showed him loving touches and provided pleasure returned. Du'Met smirked just thinking about it.

When the Brit returned it was without the towel and his hair was a rather lovely mess: Du'Met kind of liked that as it made him look younger. Soon the microwave let out a metallic ping and Charlie settled down on the bed with his fairly unappealing meal while Du'Met continued to watch through the cameras.

The bedroom was larger than the one back at his first murder castle, not excessively so but big enough that Du'Met had started to debate getting some more furniture so the room didn't appear quite so drab. A second armchair and a free-standing mirror for Charlie to admire himself in the clothing Du'Met had already ordered for him. A coffee table might have been a decent idea as well, and, of course, a bookshelf was long overdue. Du'Met already knew where he'd put it too, he'd press it up against the wall between the bathroom and closet doors. Yes, that would please his phoenix, make him smile and become even more grateful to Du'Met for his kindness. Yes, a submissive Charlie Lonnit was the best kind of Charlie Lonnit.

The screen went black then and Du'Met tossed the tablet aside, then he adjusted his mask and slipped quickly but quietly out his pickup. The evening air was cool but not cold, cloudy but surprisingly clear, and had smelt vaguely of petrichor. With his bag of tricks in hand, Du'Met slithered up to the cabin's rear where he peeked into a window to see Gareth and Sam kissing but finally dressed and slowly shifting toward the door. As soon as they were gone he'd be able to get to work. When the McAndrews' finally left they were giggling and happy, Du'Met hoped they enjoyed it while they could because it wouldn't happen again.

As soon as he was certain they'd not come back for anything forgotten Du'Met crept inside the honeymooner's cabin and set about turning it into a nightmare. In the bedroom he placed his bag of tools on the post-coital bed and removed what he needed; zip ties, a navy cloth faded but neatly folded and his trusty knife sharpened to within an inch of it's life.

It was an oddly shaped bedroom, semi-triangular almost with yellowy-colored wood paneling and beams. Directly across from the bedroom door was a stone fireplace which had clearly seen a great deal of use, and a lion statue atop the mantle. Between the door and fireplace stood an exceptionally large bed which still lay in ruins after the McAndrews' passionate lovemaking and an ottoman sat at the foot of it. For a honeymoon the room was inviting and luxurious, for a kidnapping it was easily controllable and isolated.

Next he hid the bag away underneath the bed then went to investigate the closet. Smaller than he'd expected and wedged into one of the semi-triangular points of the room. With a sigh he accepted he'd not be squirreling himself away in there, didn't matter, he just needed to be out of sight a few moments when the McAndrews' returned. As annoyingly horror-movie as it was, the underside of the bed would do.

Du'Met sequestered a spare zip tie behind a rather large, and ugly, stag statue that sat on the dresser beside the bedroom door since it always paid to be prepared. Then, to kill a bit of time, he meandered through the McAndrews' luggage to see what there was. The wife, Samantha, had brought even more make-up than Kate Wilder had which actually impressed him in a weird way. She'd brought a few bits of jewelry as well but Du'Met suspected she'd worn the nicer pieces to dinner with her new husband. Samantha's clothing options also involved a lot of bright colors that were simply too loud for such a pale woman, and Du'Met started to think kidnapping these people would do the eyes of the world a favor by killing Samantha McAndrews. With the wife's possessions not turning up anything of interest Du'Met turned to Gareth's items which had a much more muted palette thankfully. Gareth had a fancy electric razor unlike the straight razor the serial killer preferred, but Du'Met had found most victims lured into the castle shared Gareth's preferences. The masculine fragrance he found smelled sickeningly strongly of anise with something underneath that may have been bergamot: It was so strong in fact that Du'Met had to fight off a sneeze for almost a full minute. He shoved the cologne away where it couldn't assault his olfactory senses again only to come across a box with 'Wempe' neatly printed on the front. Du'Met clicked it open fully aware he'd find a watch inside, and, sure enough, there actually was a stunningly beautiful timepiece, a work of art really, inside with a little note atop it from Gareth's father. The note had been addressed 'my boy' and spoke of how proud he was of Gareth and that the Zeitmeister Classic Chronograph was a present to celebrate Sam. This watch wasn't cheep – and how did a watch celebrate a woman? Regardless, Du'Met had to admit it was a very lovely watch and the blue reminded him of Charlie's surprisingly innocent eyes. That gave the murderer an idea: While the blue alligator-leather strap wasn't quite to his tastes it certainly would be to Charlie's. So Du'Met tossed the note in the garbage, closed the lid and tucked it away inside the bag he'd brought with him. Gareth McAndrews wouldn't be needing a watch or even notice it was missing, besides, Charlie would look so lovely in it instead. Yes, it would make his phoenix smile.

Within the bedroom little else was of any interest, the luggage was what anybody would expect so he put everything away where he'd found it, sans watch of course, and made his way into the bathroom. It had been recently refurbished but still had a rustic feel that the hotel's cabins seemed to be geared toward. There was a single window in the bathroom but it was too small to climb out of, that didn't stop Du'Met using the little key to lock the window just in case one of the McAndrews' proved more determined than he'd given them credit for. A quick glance around the room told Du'Met nothing in the bathroom could be used as an improvized weapon unless they wanted to rip the cord out the hairdryer.

He headed back into the bedroom pausing only to shut the door behind himself, it was then that he caught sight of the bed again. The sheets were ruffled, untucked and for a moment Du'Met thought back to the night he'd left the murder castle, of how eager to please Charlie had been and how he'd seemed so happy in Du'Met's arms. Oh the phoenix really had let out some lovely little moans and the killer had soaked them up with glee. When he got back home he'd shave his boy again since it was almost more intimate than the oral sex. So far they'd been rather tame but after he'd killed his tester victims all that would change. Yes, it would be wonderful and Charlie would let out all those sweet little sounds.

Suddenly Du'Met remembered he'd not eaten all day, just kept driving so he could return to his pretty Englishman as soon as possible. He slipped through into the main living area then to the kitchen fridge which eerily illuminated the dark cabin. Raiding a victim's fridge wasn't something he'd normally have stooped to, it seemed a bit too complacent for his liking, but they'd all be gone in a short while and the McAndrews' would be under Du'Met's control before they ever had a chance to realize food was missing from the refrigerator. There wasn't much of a selection, seemed most of their eating was done in restaurants, but there was half a vegetarian pizza in there that he ate while sat on the sofa on the other side of the room. From the sofa he could see through a window to the path which led from the hotel to the cabin's front door so he'd see them returning; they'd not sneak up on him. So Du'Met sat there and munched the cold pizza in the darkness like a phrogger.

The McAndrews' stood no chance of escape, Du'Met had done too much research and controlled things too well to let that happen.

Quite some time after the pizza box had made its way into the trash Gareth and Samantha McAndrews finally returned to their cabin; Du'Met had spotted them on the path and calmly slipped into his hiding spot just as the cabin's front door opened and the lights flicked on. He heard them giggling and knew they'd obviously passed tipsy but that didn't bother the killer since it just made them easier to control. From his hiding spot Du'Met rolled his shoulders, waited and listened.

"No, down boy!" Sam said with a chuckle. "I told you I want a bath and I'm damn well getting one."

Gareth let out a sound of mock irritation. "But what if I get lonely?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll manage."

With that Sam slipped into the bedroom and flicked on the light totally unaware of the fact the Devil hid in wait underneath the bed. He listened intently as the couple went about their evening; the sound of water running in the bathroom and Gareth settling down in the living room after he'd thrown off his shoes. They had no idea of the danger they were in.

Only after Du'Met was fully certain Sam was in the bathtub and Gareth wouldn't be leaving his seat did Du'Met slip out of his hiding place and brought his bag with him. With silent, calculated movements Du'Met took out a small jar of clear liquid which had a hose attached to it, he shoved hose's end under the closed bathroom door. Without a care in the world Du'Met started to pump the room full of chloroform gas, it really wouldn't take long to knock poor Sam out so while he waited for that Du'Met cracked the bedroom door to spy on the husband. Gareth scrolled through his cell phone without a care in the world and Du'Met almost sighed. This would be far easier than he'd previously thought, he might have even managed to returned to his pet early. Satisfied he went back to the little gas contraption he'd engineered and waited another few moments before he turned it off, then the masked serial killer packed it all away again and, as he had with the bedroom door, he cracked the bathroom door open. As expected Sam was in the bath with her arms dangling limply out one side as if she'd tried to escape, good job she had because it was the only thing which had prevented Sam from slipping under the warm water.

With determined steps Du'Met entered the bathroom fully and produced zip ties from his back pocket, Sam shouldn't have woken up any time soon but one could never be too careful. He bound her hands and hauled her unconscious body out of the bath and onto the tiled floor which made a serious amount of sloshing.

"You okay, Sammy?" Gareth called from the living room but, of course, the man's new wife nor Du'Met said a word. "Sammy? Hey, Sam are you okay?"

This was part of Du'Met's plan from the start so he yanked Sam over to the door dripping wet and naked and simply held her up with his trusty blade to her throat. From the living room Gareth called out for his new wife again but when he still got no answer the man finally left his seat and wandered through the cabin with concern.

"Sam, seriously, what's the noise all about? You slip or something?" Gareth ground to a halt when he spotted his wife unconscious and in the hands of a masked intruder. "Oh my God! Who the fuck are you?! What do you want?! I – I have money, just don't hurt my wife."

Du'Met tilted his head then shook it slowly which indicated he wouldn't just hand Sam over any time soon. Via many years of lugging corpses around Du'Met found it easy to rest most of Sam's weight between the door frame and himself so he could grab the zip tie he'd hidden behind that stag statue earlier. He tossed it over to Gareth who had sobered up thanks to the adrenaline, his eyes were wide and panicked. Du'Met nodded his head down to the zip tie and made it painfully obvious what would happen to Sam were her new husband to refuse the silent order. His sharp blade nicked her pale throat, the tiny trickle of blood tumbled down her neck slowly, a tiny droplet which revealed the dam Du'Met could so easily burst. Gareth obeyed and bound himself all while babbling about how he could get Du'Met money and that he didn't have to hurt either of them. This pathetic man had chosen the fates of himself and his bride, he'd had a choice to acquiesce to Du'Met's commands or rush him, Gareth had chosen to bind himself so the bearing had been decided. The McAndrews' were his captives now even if Sam didn't know it yet.

Du'Met nodded to the floor by the window over by the fireplace as far from the bedroom door as they could get once Gareth had used his teeth to tighten the zip tie. Again the silent command was obeyed and Gareth slid down the wall by the fireplace before Du'Met simply dumped Sam down on the floor in a heap. He grabbed his bag of tricks and rummaged a few seconds before he found his taser, then it was lights out for the husband just as it had been for the wife. Fast, efficient and would indeed let him get back to his beautiful phoenix quicker than anticipated.

With everything dealt with Du'Met went to the coat hook by the front door and grabbed Sam's long, tan coat. He wrapped her up in it to cover her nakedness, more for convenience than kindness, then carried her out to his pickup where she was dumped inside without a hint of gentleness; serial killers weren't known for their generosity. Gareth was a fair bit heavier than his wife but that hardly slowed Du'Met down at all and soon he was tossed into the pickup beside his new wife and a green waterproof tarp over them: Between the tarp and the pickup's shell no one would take any notice of his captives, especially after he'd injected them to keep them unconscious.

The third time Du'Met returned to the luxury cabin it was to tidy up after himself, Du'Met wouldn't say he was tidy exactly but he'd never been messy either. Frankly he worked in a sort of controlled chaos that made little sense to anybody else. Du'Met made the bed, emptied the bath, mopped water from the bathroom floor and cleaned all traces of himself from the cabin which included empting the trash pizza box and all; Du'Met even want as far as to unlock the bathroom window again. All phones and devices were turned off, packed into the luggage and loaded into their own vehicle to make it look as though they'd just upped and left. Then Du'Met did a double check of the cabin and turned all the lights off before he left.

There were cliffs only a fifteen minute drive from the hotel so it didn't take long for Du'Met to tip their car over those cliffs into the water. In all honesty the walk back avoiding cameras had been the biggest problem of the night, that said, exercise was good for the body. When he got back to his hidden pickup Gareth and Sam were right where he'd left them, so he slipped into the driver's seat and slowly took off toward his murder castle and precious phoenix.

Du'Met had a ferryman again for when he sent out the invite to those stupid young people from the video competition, Gareth would play Du'Met all to save his wife. Du'Met had done this so many times by this point that he'd become complacent to it. All of this was perfectly normal.