Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hunt, the chase, the rush of adrenaline which came from taking a life in the most violent of ways, that was something which spurred Granthem Du’Met on and made him feel alive in a way being a federal agent never had. Each victim had died knowing there wasn’t a single thing they could do to save themselves; he enjoyed that, the total hopelessness. Being able to inflict that on a person was part of the reason he’d come to so admire H. H. Holmes; the man hadn’t just killed people, he’d done so in a systematic, elegant and artful manner which, even those appalled by true crime had to accept, was impressive. H. H. Holmes had revolutionized murder into streamlined, well-planned fine art that Du’Met respected. His mentor’s kills had been ingenious as well, carefully thought out to the point targets just strolled in through the front door. Du’Met had taken the work of Holmes and Sherman to heart and ultimately had become a killer that surpassed the pair of them; a few more and his kill count would surpass Holmes too. Du’Met’s murders had more virtuosity than any he’d seen in his time with the FBI.

The crew behind The Architects of Murder documentaries never displayed that hopelessness though; they’d taken all his hard work and repudiated at every damn turn with frustrating efficiency. In the beginning it had embittered Du’Met, but quickly he’d come to the realization that this could be the single best hunt he’d ever had; just like that the adrenaline had flooded his blood again.

Originally Charlie hadn’t been all that interesting to Du’Met; he’d done his research and honestly didn’t expect much from a man so narcissistic the word ‘borderline’ hardly applied any longer. The serial killer had just expected Charlie to panic and alienate himself from his team, then quickly fall prey to the furnace. In all honesty, Du’Met had been rather looking forward to watching him burn. Yet, when he’d lured the director and Jamie to his groundskeeper animatronic, Charlie had stood his ground instead of backing off the pressure plate. Bravery; the blond had shown Du’Met a level of bravery he’d not thought Charlie Lonnit capable of. That was the moment Charlie had gone from just another victim to someone actually interesting and worthy of the masked man’s attention; that didn’t happen very often. Then the Englishman had really exceeded Du’Met’s expectations by surviving his furnace trap, and, just like that, Charlie had turned from interesting to fascinating in the killer’s mind; suddenly Du’Met had become keenly aware that the younger man may just have had some genuine potential.

As the evening went on, Du’Met had found himself paying significantly more attention to the blond director than his other unlucky guests. He should have kept his attention firmly on the game of life and death, but Charlie just kept pulling his attention away, so much so that Du’Met had started to think of Charlie as a distraction since he’d failed to kill off any of the others. No, he couldn’t just watch Charlie Lonnit forever, so he’d firmly turned his murderous intent to the rest of the crew. He’d turned the tables on Jamie, Erin and Kate when they’d tried to cage him by luring Jamie and Kate into the glass wall trap. They shouldn’t have found an out from that but oh, Jamie had proven herself surprisingly capable with that screwdriver of hers; if Du’Met hadn’t been so impressed he’d have slammed his latex-coated fist into the concrete walls of his control room.

The roof, the woods, they’d just kept slipping through his fingers every time Du’Met thought he’d gotten them pinned as if there was some kind of guardian angel watching over each of them. Either he’d misjudged the crew and their personalities or they were just unimaginably lucky; he didn’t like the idea of either of those options. Regardless, he had an ax now and the drive to bury it in somebody’s head and watch crimson pour.

Meanwhile Charlie had managed to escape the hotel or horrors, stumbled across Mark and headed to the lighthouse with him. That was where they’d found Erin safe and sound, which had been a bit of a surprise. After everything they’d been through Charlie had expected Erin to be dead, she was too innocent and naïve to have survived, or at least that was what he’d assumed. ‘Well done for still being alive, Erin’ muttered Charlie’s mind. However, his pleasure at finding her alive had died a rapid death when she’d started spouting shit about him being in on Du’Met’s murder plan. She honestly thought he’d help the Holmes-obsessed serial killer? Was she insane? Why would he ever take part in something so evil?

Mark’s betrayal had hurt more than the force they’d used to tie Charlie to that goddamn fence. Anger bubbled deep within the director’s blood along side fear and a multitude of other negative emotions. He’d not survived the fiery pits of hell, a man-sized garbage disposal and a concussion just to be tied to a fucking fence by his own people and left for dead.

Charlie watched as Erin and Mark slipped through a window and into the lighthouse apparently sure leaving their employer to die was the correct decision. Oh when they got off the damn island he’d fire the whole ungrateful lot of them! He screamed and shouted a litany of swear words out into the rainy night; logically he knew keeping quiet would have been significantly safer but his desperation for his team to come back and free him kept Charlie screaming.

Suddenly a twig snapped and Charlie’s mouth clamped closed; a shiver shuddered down his spine and not just because of the bitterness the weather had wrought. His eyes slipped shut because he just knew it was Du’Met, he could feel the older man looming with murderous intent. Right behind him, the murderer was right behind him. Hair stood up on the back of Charlie’s neck and his eyes squeezed closed even more tightly for a moment; maybe if he just wished hard enough Du’Met would go away and Charlie would wake up from this nightmare on his desk with a crick in his neck as usual. The taller man was behind him, Charlie could hear him breathing and feel his presence; there’d be no waking up at his desk for Charlie.

“Please. Please don’t do this.” He begged instinctively as Du’Met came into view ax in hand. “Oh God, please don’t do – please don’t do this!” The ax glinted in the moonlight like it’s own threat. “Don’t kill me.”

Charlie knew he was all tied up and ripe for the gutting, and that knowledge alone had bile rise up Charlie’s throat. Again the moonlight glinted off the ax which somehow managed to be more frightening than when Du’Met had pressed that knife to his nostril; a nostril which still stung where the scab had started to form. The killer’s head tilted, no doubt internally congratulating himself on finding a hog-tied victim just waiting, and Charlie had already used his get out of jail free card to escape the furnace.

Du’Met threw the ax down then with force enough to drive the blade into the soil and cut many a blade of wet grass in twain. Charlie shivered and pleaded, begged to go on living, but those pleas fell on deaf ears. The knife that had already drawn Charlie’s blood once that evening came out again, and had Charlie not been so totally terrified he’d have taken note of how surprisingly clean the blade was.

“Please-” Charlie tried again. “You don’t have to do this. We could all just leave – we’ll never tell anybody.”

The masked man would kill him for sure simply because he was an easy kill. He’d not ended a life all night and it had started to grate on Du’Met; his fingers itched for it.

Natural desperation had the director try to shuffle away but his bonds kept him firmly in place; hog-tied had been a disturbingly accurate description. Panic had set in. Panic had taken over. Panic was all Charlie had any longer. He begged, implored and pleaded with a man who’d murdered over a hundred people, a man who had no desire other than to kill the documentary crew.

“Just wait- just stop! Don’t do this, Mister Du’Met. Please don’t do this!” Suddenly the threatening blade was against his throat in violent warning. Charlie gulped and the knife took the chance to nick his stubbled throat. “Okay. I’m- please don’t do this. I’m sorry – I’ll be good. I’m sorry, Mister Du’Met. Please, I’ll do anything, Sir.”

Well that was a word which gave Granthem Du’Met pause; sir really wasn’t something he’d anticipated from Charlie, but Charlie had been a surprise all evening. He raised an eyebrow behind his one-of-a-kind mask as he pondered just what exactly Charlie deemed to be ‘anything’. However, it was just the pathetic pleading of a desperate sack of meat at the end of the day, so he just continued to glide the sharpened metal over his victim’s body; down the Englishman’s throat to his chest so he could cut the vest and shirt open. The begging started right back up again, but after so many years of killing, Du’Met filtered it into background noise.

“Please don’t do this! You don’t have to. Please just – please, Sir.”

As soon as Du’Met had Charlie’s shirt open he had to pause just to take in the sight of his surprisingly toned body. Very well maintained for a forty-nine-year-old man who’d smoked almost his entire life. Turned out the director didn’t just have a submissive streak but was really rather handsome. A toned chest with hardly a spattering of hair, broad shoulders and supple skin. Yes, very handsome.

Latex-coated fingers pushed his mask up ever so slightly to expose his mouth a little more. At the beginning of his emergence as a serial killer and his Holmes persona, Du’Met had grown the moustache but it honestly hadn’t suited his face and frankly he’d found it annoying so he’d begrudgingly returned to being clean-shaven.

Cold night air attacked Charlie’s exposed chest but his bound wrists prevented him curling in on himself. His naked chest rose and fell rapidly as that knife practically caressed one of his nipples.

“Don’t kill me.” Charlie tried yet again. “I don’t want to die! I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

In an instant Du’Met plastered himself up against Charlie’s chest, an act that crushed Charlie’s tied hands into the chain link fence with such force that he winced. Nowhere to go, the director had literally nowhere to go. Some traitorous part of Charlie’s brain, a quiet part at the very back, noted Du’Met’s height, strength and pure dominance was surprisingly appealing. Charlie should have been ashamed of that, that he liked having such a tall and strong man pressed up against him. Then, like they weren’t killer and victim, Du’Met kissed the blond. A sudden crash of lips which not only took the younger man by surprise but slammed the back of Charlie’s head into the fence. He tried to turn his head away as the Holmes mask dug into his cheeks, but Charlie again felt shame at the knowledge that his murderer was a good kisser. It had been a very long time for Charlie; ‘married to the job’, that was his excuse but in reality he’d never been good at relationships and a religious, overbearing mother had made coming to terms with being bisexual hard for Charlie. He hated it, but a combination of fear and lust had him giving in to the kiss soon enough; it felt nice and his traitorous body wanted it. Some part of him attempted to blame it all on the quantity of adrenaline coursing through his blood and his desperation for a fucking cigarette.

When the kiss finally ended, Charlie just stared at Du’Met’s unwavering eyes and gulped. The knife returned to Charlie’s line of sight and he was certain the serial killer could feel his horror-stricken heartbeat in his own chest. ‘This is it’ said Charlie’s mind. Du’Met had finished playing around and wanted to finally make a kill. Hyperventilating lungs sucked in desperate gulps of air as his brain tried to prepare itself for a knife plunging into his body. With Du’Met’s mask askew, Charlie couldn’t miss the taller man’s smirk; he looked expectant.

“Don’t – please don’t kill me. I will, I’ll do anything, sir.”

The murderer’s head tilted to one side, his mask eerily lit by moonlight, and slowly traced the word ‘anything’ over Charlie’s exposed chest but thankfully didn’t cut into the flesh there. It took a moment for his panicked mind to put the letters together, but once he had Charlie understood the silent question and nodded.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll- I’ll do anything you want, Mister Du’Met. I- I promise.”

Almost lovingly Du’Met carded his knife-less hand through Charlie’s hair with a gentle caress. By this stage Charlie didn’t know what to think; so many mixed signals flew about. One moment he’d thought death was imminent, the next he’d been fighting off pleasure.

“I-”

Du’Met cut the blond man off with a hand firmly over his mouth. Then, with a practised hand, he sheathed his knife. Those dark eyes hidden under his mask, the ones that twinkled with violence, trailed down to Charlie’s crotch; anticipation shuddered through him. Those gloved hands worked quickly to unzip Charlie’s pants and free his cock which grew increasingly interested. Charlie opened his mouth to question but then he took Charlie’s length in hand and gave him a firm stroke; Charlie gasped.

“No. No, this is wrong, you need to stop.” A moan slipped from his lips. “Please don’t.”

He tried to resist the pleasure, but it really had been so very long, and Charlie had been pushed through so many emotions he didn’t know what to feel any longer. The latex felt strange but Du’Met was still pressed flush against him and forcing his tied hands into the base of his back; just the right amount of pain. Fingers threaded back through Charlie’s graying blond hair and yanked his head backward exposing his neck to the darkness of night.

He’d said no, but Charlie hadn’t really meant no, he longed for satisfaction and Du’Met was the only one to provide it. Besides, if this was the ‘anything’ the serial killer wanted from him then Charlie was happy to let him have it. Who knew, maybe the rest of the crew could use the time wisely and escape, something good would come of his shame that way at least. At least that were some of the things Charlie would tell himself later when the humiliation set in.

Firm strokes, his fists digging into his back and Du’Met’s masked face against his skin so he could nibble on Charlie’s stubbled throat. It was quick, dirty and something else that Charlie would later blame on fear. When he spilled all over Du’Met’s hand he heard the older man chuckle to himself; if he thought Charlie pathetic or was just congratulating himself, the blond didn’t know or really care there and then. Finally the hand in his hair released and moved to his throat to force another kiss on him. This time Charlie didn’t refuse, just let it all happen. A kiss was a kiss and Charlie’s touch-starved body soaked up every second of it.

Slowly, so as not to alarm his victim, Du’Met’s other hand trailed up Charlie’s naked chest leaving a line of cum over the skin there. As soon as both hands were at the blond’s throat they started to tighten, steadily at first and then, when Charlie’s eyes widened and flooded with sweet, sweet terror, he squeezed with all his murderous desire.

Choking wasn’t like television shows made it look, it wasn’t a quick squeeze that made a person fall down dead. Choking took time, it took strength and determination; even after unconsciousness the pressure needed to persist until finally the Curator came. Charlie knew all this from his time working on The Architects of Murder episodes, but being on the receiving end of it truly was something else. At first Du’Met’s grasp hurt but that was it, then his heartbeat grew loud, drummed inside his ears and the pressure started; a growing horror like he was drowning. Blue eyes caught Du’Met’s dark ones and there was that twinkle of desire.

This was finally it, Charlie’s death had come. Decisions had been made and they’d guided Charlie to his death. Some roads lead to death and Charlie had wandered down one without a care in the world.

Unable to do a single thing to save himself, Charlie had no choice but to watch the darkness close in at the corner of his eyes, and then, finally everything went black and Charlie’s fate was sealed.

~X~

Pain. Pain was the all-consuming thing which woke Charlie. He coughed and choked, felt as though he were breathing through a wet paper straw, but soon the coughing fit subsided and, though agonizing, Charlie managed to fill his lungs more easily. Realization struck him then, he was still very much alive and, much more alarmingly, being carried. For a split second he let the fact the sun was coming up and the warmth his freezing body was pressed against give him hope this was some rescuer his crew had sent back for him. However, that hope departed when he tilted his eyes upward to find a blurry figure that could have only been Du’Met. Nobody had come to save him, he was still at the mercy of a serial killer; in fact, all that had changed was Charlie was now in said killer’s arms in a fucking princess hold. Charlie Lonnit; Englishman, director, overbearing narcissist, damsel.

His glasses were gone for some reason – ‘probably wants to ensure I can’t run’ – but Charlie was near-sighted so could still tell Du’Met had seen better days. The man’s hat was long gone, his mask now damaged and a large gash across his cheek, the biggest thing Charlie noticed though was that his captive was soaking wet to the point he’s soaked Charlie also.

That horrid, hated part of himself that had enjoyed Du’Met’s touches when he’d been tied to that damn fence started to mutter at the back of his mind again, it told him how well-built this murderer was, how strong his arms were and securely they held Charlie. The chilly night, open shirt and second-hand soaking had left Charlie extremely cold to the point he wanted to snuggle in to the warmth of this mad man. No! No, he’d not, it wasn’t right! No, Charlie wanted to struggle and fight, wanted to flee and find his crew very much alive. Yet he was exhausted and in withdrawal, stiff from so long tied to a chain link fence and escaping the furnace had left his large hands red and raw. It was that he couldn’t escape, not that Charlie liked being all wrapped up in powerful arms. Yes, that was right. Charlie’s body was just exhausted, not a traitor.

Du’Met paused then in his steps and stared down at Charlie reminiscent of how a parent would at a newborn; like he could see something nobody else could. He smiled, a genuine smile which actually reached his eyes, not one of those grins filled with homicidal glee, and for a moment it was as if he was pleased to see Charlie.

The blond didn’t know what to do so he just left his body limp and allowed himself to be carried. Was Charlie the last one alive? Had Du’Met killed his entire team and now wanted to take his time with Charlie since he was the final kill?

When the sinister murder castle’s main door came into view Charlie felt a shiver run down his spine. Every moment he’d spent inside that hotel he’d thought would be his last, then he’d managed to escape and a glimmer of freedom had emerged; odd then that being carried back into the lion’s den didn’t put the fear of God into him and maybe that was why he managed to find his voice.

“Are-” He coughed violently for a moment but the killer didn’t pause in his steps again. “Are they all dead?” Du’Met shook his head and Charlie didn’t know what amazed him more, that Du’Met had answered so readily or that his crew still drew breath. “So… they just abandoned me? All of them?” Again Du’Met nodded. “Those fucking bastards!”

Instantly his anger triggered another coughing fit. Surely his throat was swollen and undoubtedly bruises would soon appear; just another sign he’d survived to go with his burned hands. As his coughs forced him to convulse, Du’Met held Charlie closer, kept him secure in his arms as if he actually cared.

As breaths calmed once more, Charlie’s mind returned to abandonment. He’d always known he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to get along with, he also knew Jamie, Mark, Erin and Kate didn’t like him, but to actually leave him to die was just fucking low. They were all alive though, so he supposed that was something.

Too lost in his thoughts, Charlie didn’t really acknowledge when Du’Met carried him back into the hotel or to where he was being taken. Anger or relief, Charlie’s still oxygen-deprived brain couldn’t quite make a decision. Granthem Du’Met didn’t have that ambivalence though so he had no problems calmly making his way into his lair, the central spider web, which was actually so well lit that it hurt Charlie’s eyes and worsened the blurriness.

The director was carried around the mezzanine and through one of the many nondescript doorways where Charlie found himself abruptly dumped down on a double bed. Cloudy eyes peered around to reveal Charlie was in a bedroom far nicer than the one he’d checked in to. Well decorated but not ostentatious, not that any of that was even remotely important when a vicious murderer blocked the only exit.

With hardly a care in the world, Du’Met stepped to a large steamer trunk at the end of the bed and threw it open while Charlie eyed the open door. He could run, but he was back inside the hotel now with no one around for aid, he couldn’t see properly and his whole body was weak; he’d never make it out again. The blond silently cursed himself, he should have fought when they were outside. How stupid was he?! Then something was placed on his head and Charlie jolted back a little and whatever it was fell into his lap. His hat! His lucky hat! Blue eyes peered up at Du’Met with so many questions only to have his glasses shoved back onto his face and suddenly the world of defined lines was returned to him.

“… Thank you.”

Charlie hadn’t known what to say but it must have been right because the masked man inclined his head as if to say you’re welcome. Slowly, Du’Met brushed a single gloved finger over Charlie’s cheek like a caress, then he bent to kiss him again … and just like that he was out of Charlie’s personal space so he could close the trunk.

For a split second Charlie just stared at his lucky hat, he’d not expected to see it again, the dark blue cap with yellow visor was worn but cared for, and just holding it in his hands calmed Charlie. He returned it to its rightful place atop his head and rose to his feet on shaky legs as Du’Met headed for the door; the killer stopped to look at him and Charlie sat again.

“Yeah, sorry, don’t know what I was thinking.”

Knowing his silent warning had done its job, the former federal agent left the room and a magnetic lock clicked into place. Charlie took a calming breath as fearful blue eyes looked around the bedroom, it had to have been Du’Met’s room since there were no windows and it went right to the control centre; that meant he was sat on a serial killer’s bed.

He’d heard the door lock but that didn’t stop Charlie looking around inside the room. Yes, there was no denying it was Du’Met’s bedroom. Curiosity had him rushing to the trunk his captor had rummaged in only a few moments earlier, but instead of discovering something even remotely useful Charlie only found dozens upon dozens of the same outfit Du’Met had been wearing all night; his murder outfit.

“It’s his fucking costume box.”

By the locked door stood a coat stand from which hung one of those yellow groundskeeper coats, and for a moment bile rose up in his injured throat. When they’d seen the groundskeeper skewered he nor Jamie had known it was just an animatronic; he had to look away. There was a dresser topped with a mirror on the same wall as the locked door, a few basic things like a comb called it home but still nothing that could have been repurposed as a weapon. Yanking a drawer open further crushed Charlie’s hopes because there was little he could do to get away with a pairs of socks and underwear. Another drawer contained a couple of shirts and jeans, so no, there wasn’t anything useful to him in that whole room and Du’Met knew it. Looking at the clothing, Charlie supposed they were for times a H. H. Holmes costume would have caused too many questions.

He caught himself in the mirror then and was suddenly reminded of a stray dog. He was damp from being pressed against a dripping Du’Met, his shirt and blue waistcoat were soot-covered and trashed thanks to the knife’s sharp blade. He needed to shave; his facial hair leaned more toward actual beard rather than his usual stubble. Charlie looked like crap because he desperately needed a goddamn cigarette, but mostly it was the fact his pants still hung open. He’d liked Du’Met’s touch. What was actually wrong with him? No, he pushed those thoughts away; for now he was alive and he wanted to focus on that.

Seeing an opportunity for clean, dry clothes, Charlie tugged off his ruined shirt then simply let it drop at his feet and grabbed the first shirt he found; its dry comfort wouldn’t be something he took for granted ever again. The navy shirt was much too big since Du’Met wasn’t just taller but broader, but that was the least of Charlie’s concerns. Cold fingers fastened the buttons and instantly Charlie felt human again.

He was caged but for the first time since he’d arrived on the island he wasn’t surrounded by traps, and that small comfort got Charlie to sit back down on the bed to rest his tired limbs and assess his situation. If his crew truly were still alive and since Du’Met had been drenched, he was fairly confident they’d gotten off the island. Charlie sighed, maybe they’d send people to look for him, to rescue him. Yeah, they couldn’t have been so heartless as to leave him at the hands of Du’Met, all alone with no hope. They’d send police, detection dogs or maybe some damn marines to take down a deranged serial killer. That was what Charlie wanted to believe but he couldn’t quite convince himself. The girls and Mark had to have known Du’Met was still alive, had to have known he’d come straight for Charlie. Charlie sighed yet again. No, police probably thought they’d be searching for Charlie’s mutilated corpse amongst a plethora of other dead bodies or whatever animatronic he’d been fashioned into.

Chapter Text

Hours went by - or at least he thought it was hours, it was really rather difficult to tell since there weren't any windows in the wallpapered bedroom. Charlie had quickly started to go stir crazy; he'd never been one to just sit still, and he truly didn't like quietude. Charlie hadn't ever enjoyed silence, that was why he talked so much; silence left Charlie in his own head with thoughts he'd have rather forgotten. Stir crazy wasn't his only issue either, nicotine remained at the front of his mind. His fingers twitched and shook, indicative of a smoker pining for another hit of burning tar that Charlie doubted would come. Inside his mind Kate's voice chastised him for his addiction, and he started to wonder if he should have quit years ago; 'Bit late to think about that, Charlie boy'.

Eventually though he'd managed to doze and, just after he'd started to nod off, fear had kicked him back into full awareness. He needed to sleep, had been awake for more hours than he knew, but Du'Met could have returned at any moment and Charlie really would have rather not have woken up to an ax in his stomach. So Charlie forced himself to stay conscious, forced himself to remain alert. He wiggled his toes to keep the blood flowing while he listened to his stomach growl violently. When he thought about it he'd not eaten since breakfast long before he and the crew had gotten into the limo.

Then, with absolutely no warning, the bedroom door flew open and Charlie shuffled back on the bed automatically to keep as much distance between himself and Du'Met as possible. For the first time Charlie saw his captive without his almost trademark apron on, and, though he'd dried off, his clothes were still rumpled and spattered with blood on the chest.

For a few moments the murderer paused to simply look at Charlie who was instantly reminded he'd changed into one of Du'Met's shirts. Du'Met's head tilted and a small smile tugged one corner of his mouth upward; did he like seeing Charlie in his clothes? Maybe that was a good thing in the long run for the blond.

"What- what's wrong?"

Blue-gray eyes watched the killer pull a tape player from his back pocket and held it up like some sinister case of show-and-tell. The button clicked and Kate's voice spilled out, 'we've already got a plan, it's leaving'. Charlie remembered her saying that to him; maybe if they'd just left there and then Charlie could have gotten of the island with them. The message was clear though, Du'Met was leaving and it seemed Charlie had little choice but to go with him. With the tape played, Du'Met pulled open his steamer trunk and tossed the tape player inside only to slam the lid closed again. Charlie watched his captor drag the heavy trunk from the bedroom, all the time internally telling himself to just shove Du'Met and run, but his body stayed rooted to the bed.

Dragging the trunk made a loud, reverberating sound and seemed to quickly annoy the masked killer because, all of a sudden, Du'Met pointed to the other handle of the steamer trunk demandingly and Charlie took the hint. Slowly Charlie pushed himself to his feet, moved to the indicated side and lifted the trunk up, then they carried it out into the bright control room. Again Charlie told himself to run but he'd never get far, there were too many traps.

Curious glances around the nerve centre revealed cables had been coiled up, screens had been taken down from walls and tough boxes lay open filled with various tools and tech. Du'Met had been packing and he'd been doing it with haste. It was then Charlie truly knew in his heart that his crew had indeed escaped, that was the only reason Du'Met would want to flee so quickly; they were alive and the police would be coming. Hell, after how many he'd killed maybe the fucking army would be sent.

Over the next five or so minutes Charlie took silent orders from his jailer to move the trunk along hallways he'd previously been running through alongside Jamie, until finally they broke out into the light of day. A cool breeze did wonders to help the blond feel somewhat human again and the sun's warmth soothed his chilly skin. Wind danced through tall trees like a dryad's symphony and, just for a moment, the director forgot there was a serial killer just beyond arm's length of him. Charlie hadn't ever been one to savor nature before, most of his trips outside were solely for the purpose of going for a smoke or seeking coffee.

Du'Met yanked the trunk then which had Charlie speed up his steps as they made their way to wherever the hell it was Du'Met wanted to dump the trunk. 'Maybe I should run now. Surely all I'd have to do is hide until the cops show up.' Charlie dismissed the idea almost as quickly as he'd come up with it. 'No. No, he'd chase me down before I got out of sight; or worse, he'd fucking shoot me.' Granthem Du'Met still had the bespectacled blond under his thumb, and that was undoubtedly where he'd remain. 'Or you're just a coward', Charlie chastised himself as the killer dropped his side of the steamer trunk, 'a coward too afraid to try bolting'. Suddenly Charlie's window to run firmly closed when Du'Met slapped a cuff onto his wrist and attached it to the trunk handle. Charlie blinked at his wrist; that was that then, he really wouldn't get away.

"Am I that predictable?"

H. H. Holmes' biggest fan smirked at his captive from under his damaged mask for the briefest of seconds, knowing he'd read Charlie like a book, then returned to the trunk and carried on shifting it. It was next dropped at the dock; on one side Charlie saw a burnt out police boat, and on the other was an older looking speedboat which didn't seem to have had much use. Boats, electronics, all those cameras and traps; how did Du'Met pay for it all? Aboard the boat were a multitude of other boxes and trunks probably all filled with the things a serial killer deemed worthy of not being left behind. Not that Charlie knew how to feel about it, but he was one of those things as well.

As soon as the trunk and Charlie were aboard, Du'Met shoved Charlie to his ass and left him to get everything else. Charlie had little choice but to remain seated as he watched the boat fill up with this and that. Each time Du'Met showed up with a new crate or bag, Charlie had to bite his tongue to keep from making some sarcastic comment about the contents; don't piss off the murderer, you twat.

Eventually the time came for Du'Met, and by extension Charlie, to leave the island and the murder castle behind. The masked killer hadn't looked back once as they hurtled away but Charlie had, he'd watched the hotel grow smaller and smaller until it finally faded from sight as though it hadn't ever actually existed in the first place; if only Charlie's nightmare-fuel memories would fade as easily.

His crew was alive, that was what Charlie kept telling himself, they lived. His careless, desperate choice to accept Du'Met's offer without a single moment of hesitation hadn't left them all dead. If only Erin and Mark had believed he'd not been involved with this, not been complicit, he could have gone with them all to safety rather than sitting handcuffed to a trunk on a speedboat. Charlie sighed deeply, a sound barely audibly over the engine. Was this his life now? A packed lunch for a murderer? Was he being kidnapped right now? Was that what was happening? A hostage for if the police spotted Du'Met fleeing? Charlie wasn't as stupid as Kate liked to make out, he knew that by not dying in that furnace trap he'd destroyed Du'Met's planned artwork, ruined it; maybe this was his punishment for that.

~X~

Long after the murder castle had vanished from sight, Du'Met slowed the boat and turned to face Charlie, who sat with his back rested against the hull and his elbow atop the trunk he'd been chained to. When he was approached Charlie didn't bother backing away, he had nowhere to run to, and jumping in to the drink meant taking the trunk with him; and everyone knew that would be a bad move.

With that natural air of intensity, Du'Met crouched down by a black backpack, and, for the first time, Charlie noticed his blue duffel bag lay beside it. No - no, not his blue duffel bag, his had been crushed in the waste disposal; and, just like that, Charlie's spark of pleasant surprise tumbled out the boat and drowned. Out from the black bag came something and then Du'Met went to take a knee by Charlie. The blond lifted a single eyebrow when he was offered a water bottle and a granola bar; he wanted to resist or shove Du'Met's hand away but he'd not eaten since before the limo and his stomach growled loudly with eager anticipation. Dehydrated and starving hungry, Charlie practically snatched them from the killer and chugged down the water.

The bottle was almost entirely empty by the time he paused to breathe and Du'Met had seemingly lost interest in Charlie in favor of writing in a small notepad; 'how much shit does this bastard have in his pockets anyhow? How deep are they?'. Suddenly the notepad was shoved in front of his face and Charlie had to pull his head away just a little to read it properly.

"Not so fast or you'll be sick." Charlie read aloud.

If he told the director that because he was genuinely concerned for his health or because he didn't want vomit sloshing about on the boat's floor Charlie didn't know nor did he care. A headache had developed which was probably a combination of thirst and nicotine withdrawal, but when he went for another gulp, Du'Met's head tilted almost warningly.

"Yeah, yeah, okay."

This time Charlie forced himself just to sip lightly which apparently pleased the murderer because he returned his small notepad to his pocket then retrieved a bottle of water and granola bar for himself. It was odd for Charlie to watch Du'Met, who'd gone back to the wheel, eat, Charlie had just sort of assumed the man sustained himself on fear and blood alone. As soon as Du'Met's back was to Charlie the mask came off as well, another oddity. Blue orbs eyed it suspiciously; how much blood had splattered over that mask since he'd started killing?

"Why won't you let me see your face?" Charlie paled, he'd not meant for that to slip out. Du'Met didn't react at all though so Charlie felt a smugness flare up inside him. The director hadn't ever been able to resist pushing his luck. "Come on, you can't look that bad. You're tall, muscular and strong, 'course you're handsome."

And just why had he said that?! Why had he kept talking? By God, he honestly couldn't resist pushing his luck even remotely.

This time Du'Met did react, his motions paused and his head inclined a little as if listening to every word Charlie muttered, including the way Charlie's mind had clamped shut almost before he'd finished the word 'handsome'.

Unsure of exactly what to do the Brit returned to his snack and pretended he'd never opened his big mouth.

At first, like everyone else, Charlie had just assumed the mask was to further perfect his Holmes character, to blame all the killing on a separate personality rather than accepting responsibility for his own crimes, but now the blond wasn't so sure. True Du'Met emulated H. H. Holmes but he didn't kill the same way, not at all. Holmes had mostly been fuelled by greed where as Du'Met appeared to be driven by the chance to build the perfect trap. He enjoyed playing a game with his victims rather than just dispatching them. No, there was something else to the mask. Could it have been as simple as fear? A masked murderer lacked identity, and people feared the unknown almost universally. No, he'd not show Charlie his face, that would reveal him to be a human being rather than an almost supernatural serial killer.

"You're terrifying no matter which face you show me." Ah, yet more words he'd not intended to let slip from his lips. Yet again Du'Met didn't react but they both knew he'd heard it, and Charlie felt the need to change the subject. "I need to take a piss, you know."

Almost instantly the killer thrust a finger out toward the open water and Charlie sighed, the instruction was pretty clear. It was his only option so Charlie didn't bother to complain, just awkwardly pushed himself up unzipped his pants; difficult when one wrist was cuffed to a steamer trunk. Having Du'Met listen to him take a leak seemed the least of Charlie's current problems.

When the engine roared back to life and the boat took off, Charlie almost fell back on his ass with a grumble. Break was over, the mask was back on and Charlie sat back down with little option but to further accept his kidnapping. He sighed, had all of this been avoidable?

~X~

Eventually the boat came to a stop, the engine shutting off almost deafened the blond. Charlie had zero idea where they were, how far from the hotel they'd gone or even what time it was. Just based on the sun he assumed the hour was somewhere in the late afternoon.

Du'Met didn't say a word, not that Charlie had expected him to, just left the boat and vanished off into the trees. Had all his stuff not still been there Charlie would have thought him unlikely to return. For some time Charlie just stared at leaves dancing in the wind, five minutes, ten, twenty, and then the rumbling of a truck thundered through Charlie's chest as it came into view. A fairly sized box truck which seemed so far from Du'Met's aesthetic that it was almost comical.

"Travelling in something that doesn't scream 'I'm a serial killer' is probably less suspicious." Charlie mumbled to himself.

A fear struck him then, what if this wasn't Du'Met? Would that be better or worse for the Englishman's continued existence? Charlie had no need to panic for who else could have stumbled on them? His captor hopped out of the truck a moment later and set about transferring all the luggage.

This was clearly the end of something, they were off somewhere police wouldn't ever find them, and Charlie couldn't quite be certain he would be going as well. He didn't need a hostage now, Du'Met had escaped the hotel. Making himself useful would be a good idea.

"Want help?" Asked Charlie eagerly. "I can help, you know. I helped with the trunk."

Dark eyes regarded Charlie a moment from behind the damaged Holmes mask as he weighed the situation, then released the blond. Charlie rubbed at his wrist to sooth the pain there while Du'Met loomed with clear admonition.

"I won't run."

Together they loaded the steamer trunk and everything else the killer had brought into the truck. Soon they'd settled into a routine where Charlie remained on the boat and passed Du'Met crates, bags and boxes. The Brit knew if he so much as took a single step off the boat he risked being gutted, so he continued to play the submissive helper.

Once everything was in the truck, Du'Met actually offered a hand to help Charlie onto dry land and ushered him into the box truck. The killer wasted no time setting off for wherever it was they were going. Charlie had no clue if they'd left the country or just the state. Hell, Charlie didn't know how long they'd been in that fucking boat. For all he knew they could have passed into Canada via Lake Huron by now.

Everything was so damn quiet and the road desolate, clearly it wasn't well travelled. Du'Met hadn't just planned out an escape, he'd got it down to a fine art.

Charlie side-eyed his kidnapper, he was sans hat and apron but the mask firmly remained with that gouge cut out of it.

"You should probably take your mask off." He swallowed. "People could see us and seeing a dude with a destroyed H. H. Holmes mask is going to arouse suspicion real quick." Du'Met made no attempt to remove it so Charlie just kept talking. "Well, don't blame me if you get us into a fucking car chase. I was just trying to help. Why every time I try to help does it get thrown back in my fucking face? I mean-"

Suddenly the truck ground to a halt and Du'Met's trusty knife was to Charlie's throat. Not a word left his lips but the order was really rather obvious. Charlie could feel the sharp blade threaten his neck, it even cut through one or two stubbly hairs; if he swallowed he'd surely be nicked.

"Okay," he breathed cautiously. "I get it. I get it. I'm shutting up."

Those devilishly dark eyes looked Charlie up and down a moment, then the knife went away and the box truck started to move once more. Yet again, Charlie had avoided a doom flag. The former FBI agent certainly excelled at dominating a situation, if it wasn't so terrifying Charlie would have been impressed and a little turned on.

The desolate road was lined almost exclusively on one side with large, strong trees that kept Charlie's face shaded. Patches of grass were long and unkempt, the air was clear and they didn't so much as hear the distant engine of a vehicle the whole time. 'There's no one for miles, is there' he asked himself. Du'Met apparently had a natural talent for bugging out.

Not wishing for a repeat of the knife incident, Charlie just stared out the window at the passing trees. Should he have tried to escape? He'd asked himself that so many times already and still didn't have a real answer. Was remaining a good tactic for staying alive or simply proof he was a coward? The others had gotten away from Du'Met and his murder castle so why hadn't Charlie? Maybe if he'd just tried harder he could have freed himself from the fence and fled before the madman found him. Charlie sighed internally. He'd liked Du'Met's touch. Memories fluttered back to the blond, he remembered the feeling of Du'Met's hand around his cock and how good it had been despite the latex gloves. 'You're a fucking coward, Charlie' he growled to himself. 'Fucking disgusting! Who gets off to the asshole trying to kill him?'

Silently he glanced at the older man over the arm of his glasses cautiously for a split second. Tall, muscular but not vainly so, with a commanding presence. Yeah, he was Charlie's type even if his mother had done her best to Sunday-school it out of him. Charlie hated admitting he found his kidnapper appealing. No! No, he was not attracted to Du'Met, that was just ridiculous and the last thing he needed to thing about was his homophobic mother, Pam. He had no desire to think about any of this.

Charlie's mouth opened intending to ask where the hell they were going or something along those lines, but the instant his lips parted Du'Met let out a deep but short growl from the back of his throat, and Charlie's mouth clamped shut again.

Why the taller man had opted to keep him around remained a mystery but at least he was still alive.

Charlie's headache had been eased a little by that bottle of water he'd guzzled down, but the withdrawal refused to give him any respite. Part of Charlie wanted to ask Du'Met to scrounge up some painkillers, but he'd had a knife pressed to his throat enough for one lifetime.

At some point the headache eased just enough for the blond to pass out against the passenger window. Exhaustion had taken him rather than Charlie managing to relax enough to get some real sleep, that was plain to see. All the adrenaline had finally drained from his and tired limbs had surrendered slumber.

When he woke it was dark outside and raindrops clung to the windshield; he'd been out for some hours. The rain had been the thing to wake him, heavy drops that splattered against glass only for wipers to sweep them away. Headlights lit the desolate road, but other than that, everything was dark; even the moon had been obscured by stormy clouds. Charlie snapped awake then; the engine was running but the truck had come to a stop. Blue eyes darted to the drivers seat to find it void of serial killer; and wasn't that terrifying.

"Mister Du'Met?" He called out cautiously but no response came.

He swallowed his trepidation and shifted so he could peer through wet glass better. Charlie paled; there, by the water's edge, was a yellow ferry exactly like the one that had started Charlie's dance with death. His feet carried him out of the box truck uncaring about the rain. His mouth hung agape and body shivered at the night air. Then, when the clouds parted just enough for the moon to shine a moment, blue eyes spotted a distant island and the shadow of a house.

"Oh God, he's got another one."

Bile rose up in the Englishman's throat. How could Du'Met have two hotels? How could he have two fucking hotels?! Had he been thinking logically, Charlie would have questioned where the funds came from for these murder castles, but logic and Charlie hadn't been speaking much lately.

In shock, he stumbled a few steps toward the yellow ferry, his feet squelched into mud and rain dripped down his face and off his glasses. Then, without a single hint of warning, Charlie was tackled to the ground by the walking muscle that was Granthem Du'Met, and pinned to the soggy ground with that all too familiar blade to his throat.

The few rays of moonlight that managed to worm their way bast the dark clouds was of little aid; all they did was glint off that godforsaken knife. 'Is moonlight sadistic now?' The headlights would have done more had the box truck not faced away from them. Fat raindrops soaked the pair, some dribbled off of Du'Met's mask into Charlie's eyes while others stuck his blond hair to his forehead, all while the murderer delighted in seeing the utter terror on the director's face.

"I'm sorry!" Said Charlie a little too quickly and loudly. "I wasn't running, I promise." That was actually true, shock at seeing a second sandbox of agonizing death had left escaping as something of an afterthought. "I'm so sorry, Mister Du'Met sir." He lifted his hands as best he could what with being pinned to the muddy ground. "I'm being good."

Pathetic begging continued while he tried to force himself further back into the dirty earth to put as much distance between himself and the knife as possible; it's savage silver glint almost more fearsome than the killer himself.

Du'Met watched Charlie for the briefest of seconds before he leaned back to sit on his haunches apparently believing Charlie hadn't been in the process of running away. The older man straddled him and had they literally been in any other situation, Charlie probably would have counted his lucky stars to have such a broad, tall and powerful man on top of him.

The panicked heartbeat bouncing around inside Charlie's ears was almost loud enough to drown out the heavy rain and distant rumbles of thunder; the rain had turned into a full-blown storm and clearly would get significantly worse before it got better. Unfazed, Du'Met pushed Charlie's shirt – still the navy one he'd stolen from his captive's dresser – up exposing his stomach and then chest to not only the chilly rain but also the knife that hadn't ever left his throat. Gloved fingers trailed up and down Charlie's surprisingly toned body – effort on the rowing machine had paid off – until suddenly a nipple was tweaked. A groan escaped Charlie's lips without permission and this seemed to be all the encouragement Du'Met needed because he quickly unzipped Charlie's pants and tugged them down just enough to expose the younger man. A wave of déjà vu washed over Charlie. Du'Met sheathing his ever-precent knife actually surprised Charlie but he didn't get long to think about that, not when his masked captive pinned his arms to the floor by the wrists. The former FBI agent kissed Charlie, a long, animalistic kiss more reminiscent of a man who'd been away at war than the careful and calculated serial killer Du'Met presented himself as.

Du'Met quickly treated himself to exploring Charlie's pale body; kisses trailed down Charlie's torso, his nipples were teasingly tended to and nips were peppered here and there all to force more of those little noises from the Brit's lips. This was another of Du'Met's games, Charlie knew that, but the older man's touch felt so good when it didn't come with a knife. That voice which sounded too much like Kate returned then to chastise him further. He couldn't enjoy this. How many had the hands pinning his wrists killed? No, he couldn't just lay there and enjoy it. He pleaded stupidly to be freed from the taller man's hold but the words fell on deaf ears. If Du'Met wanted something, he'd get it, and it seemed Charlie's body wanted it as well.

Dark eyes glanced up at him from behind the Holmes mask and seemingly twinkled with amusement. Next Charlie got what he'd wanted, his wrists were released but Du'Met didn't let go, simply slid his gloved hands down to Charlie's hips, and the anticipation that rumbled through Charlie's body had him moaning the second Du'Met took him into his mouth. The blond's head fell back into the wet ground caking his skin in yet more mud, his fingers clawed at the mud as well, all while a serial killer, a man who had actually tried to kill him, pleasured him. It was wrong, it was so very wrong, but Christ did it feel good. Soon Du'Met had to press Charlie's hips down while lightning and thunder stumbled ever closer.

So good. So close. So perfect. Just a little more. Just a bit more. A bit more and – Du'Met pulled off and peered up at his hostage. Though chilled to the bone, Charlie's cheeks were flushed, his eyes half-lidded and his lips parted to let out such wonderful sounds.

"No, please. Please, Mister Du'Met sir, please." Charlie panted though this time not for his life. "I need – I need you to."

Charlie's mind wasn't even totally sure what it was blabbering on about, it was just spewing out one plea after another desperately, it made Du'Met smirk again though. There was something beautiful about the way Charlie begged and the older man wanted to see as much of it as possible. Since his blond director deserved a reward, Du'Met took Charlie's cock into his latex-coated, and now muddy, hand and stroked him to completion. Du'Met's eyes never left Charlie's flushed face, and each time lightning flashed it lit him up like some fine art on display in a museum.

The blond came with a cry leaving his captive's hand and lower apron stained. If Charlie and logic had returned to speaking terms he'd have surely wondered when Du'Met had put the apron back on.

As the younger man panted, Du'Met lifted his stained hand, examined it for a split second then wiped his hand off on Charlie's face. Mud, rain, sweat and cum stained Charlie as though he were little more than some cheep whore as Du'Met started to rub himself against Charlie's thigh, thrust against him with determination. Charlie's orgasm-clouded form felt Du'Met's bulge against his body, the man could have done literally anything he desired to Charlie but rutting against his inner thigh in a storm was what he settled for. 'Is that good or bad?' Charlie's mind asked him.

Then, as quickly as it had all started, Du'Met stood up leaving Charlie flat on his back on the soaked ground, his navy shirt shoved up under his armpits and cum painted across his face. Du'Met hadn't climaxed, Charlie knew that and, in a way, he felt a little denied.

Apparently prepared to move along with his evening, Du'Met walked to the box truck and turned the engine off which killed the headlights and plunged them into an even inkier void. Charlie's body was heavy and exhausted, his nap in the truck hadn't done much, so he could do nothing when Du'Met grabbed him by the ankle and hauled him through the mud to the ferry where he was dumped beside the steamer trunk. The murderer went to the controls to get them moving.

Charlie stared up at the approaching island. Out of everything Charlie had imagined since answering that phone call, a second murder castle had not been on the list. This madman truly did have way too much money. 'Did he steal it from all his victims?' If that were true then Du'Met would get a real disappointment when he checked Charlie's bank account. Looked like it didn't matter he couldn't keep Lonnit Entertainment in the black any longer.

When they reached the island, Charlie didn't react to his captor picking him up in a princess hold like some kind of damsel again; it was preferable to the ankle-dragging though. Maybe he should have at least considered trying to run, but his body was fatigued and chilled to the core, his legs shaky and frankly he'd still not fully come down from his orgasmic high; at least he'd managed to tuck his dick away though.

Du'Met carried his captive up a path more easily travelled than the one at the other hotel, but the storm had left everything slick and dangerous. Then, once they'd reached the top, Charlie saw the second castle in all its demonic glory. It wasn't exactly the same as the last one, but both radiated a dark aura. When they got inside Charlie saw the lobby had been painstakingly moulded into an exact copy. Du'Met had recreated his re-creation. The lobby truly was the same, exactly the same.

On some level, Charlie was actually impressed with the skill and ingenuity that had gone into the murder castle replica, but to have a second waiting in the wings was both diabolical and really very Ingenious in a sick way.

Charlie was carried through the castle, back into the lion's den as it were, until Du'Met kicked open a door revealing a second nerve centre; not that he was surprised by that at this point. The crew had managed to survive but Du'Met would just go on killing in his spare castle. They were alive, that was the main thing; even Erin who'd convinced Mark to leave him for dead.

Another door was pushed open and Charlie found himself unceremoniously dumped down on a soft bed that had been covered over with a dusty sheet. If this was the second murder castle then the new room had to be Du'Met's second bedroom. It was bigger than the previous one and had a proper closet as well as what Charlie suspected was a bathroom. A dresser stood in the same place as the last one with a matching mirror atop it, though the drawers were all open and empty.

Next think Charlie knew had been cuffed to the wooden bedpost. Silly really, Charlie couldn't have wandered off even if he'd wanted to.

"So this is your bedroom I take it." He said simply to fill the silence; the quietude had gone on much too long already and the storm had been left outside.

Du'Met hardly batted an eye, just left Charlie alone in the dusty bedroom. The blond sighed and stared at where his wrist was cuffed then to the door which had been left open a sliver.. The magnetic lock hadn't clicked in to place, must not have been up and running just yet; okay, the cuffs made more sense now. At least the door being left ajar had provided a touch of light.

The director sighed deeply. Like the last room he'd been confined in, it had no windows, but instead of the bed being pushed up against the wall, this one had access on both sides. A dust sheet had partially slipped off a leather armchair which sat in the corner by the presumed bathroom door, and a closet hung wide open. Apparently Du'Met had bought furniture in bulk and just kept using it everywhere; then again it was an aesthetic murder castle not a home renovation show.

Charlie shivered as the mud started to dry and chill his skin. He felt shame. He'd given in to Du'Met's touches yet again. And why had having his own cum wiped over his face made him purr? Ashamed of himself, Charlie wiped a muddy sleeve over his face to clean it off as best he could. If he stretched he could just see himself in the dresser mirror, a long line of mud went from the right of his forehead to the left of his upper lip but Charlie didn't bother trying to tidy himself up further. He looked like a drowned rat, his hair stuck to his forehead and his stubble had officially turned into a beard and even Charlie admitted he needed to shave. He tilted his head back a little so he could see the cut on his nostril, when he brushed a finger over it he found it scabbed and the pain was practically non-existent now.

Unsure of exactly what else to do, Charlie just sat there in the darkened room while he wondered how his life would have gone if he'd just said no to Du'Met's offer. Then, suddenly, the wall lights flashed on practically blinding Charlie, and the magnetic lock clicked into place automatically.

"Got everything working then." He grumbled to himself.

The blond took another look in the mirror once the blotches had faded from his vision; he really did look like shit.

~X~

Roughly an hour sailed by with Charlie growing increasingly bored, the silence was spirit-crushing, but he supposed Du'Met had gone to bring in all the stuff he'd brought with them. Probably better if all that equipment wasn't left sitting around in a storm.

As they had the last time he'd been locked up inside Du'Met's bedroom, Charlie's thoughts turned to his team. He wondered if they'd still be giving statements to police or if they'd managed to return to their homes for some nightmare-filled sleep. Did Erin regret convincing Mark to tie him up or had they all just decided to collectively believe Charlie had helped plot the entire thing? Hell, Charlie even wondered if Jamie and Erin would really make a go of things now they had their whole lives ahead of them. Maybe it was for the best Du'Met had taken him rather than any of the others. Charlie was alone, had always been alone. Mark and Kate could have a future together if Kate tone her arrogance down a bit, Erin and Jamie could have a future together. Charlie had no one and so was an outlier. He had no partner, had basically given up on dating years ago and even easy one-nighters he'd picked up in bars seemed pointless after a while. He'd expected to die a lonely old man with lungs full of tar.

Oh to have a fucking cigarette, how delightful it would be. Charlie had done his best to ignore his craving for fuck knew how long. His hands had been shaking since Mark had tied him up to that godforsaken fence and his brain couldn't quite bring itself to concentrate on anything too long. To make matters a million times worse, Charlie was freezing from the rain and desperately needed to pee.

If nothing else it looked like he had no choice but to quit smoking, he'd always thought about doing so, his crew had kept telling him to, kept teasing him about it. Charlie had lacked motivation, no option seemed to be decent motivation now. Maybe if he'd had a set of healthy lungs he could have escaped with the others.

"Just took a serial killer to convince me to quit." He grumbled to himself.

Charlie picked at a patch of dried mud on his neck Everywhere had started to grow itchy and he couldn't stop fidgeting. The mud that had dried into the back of his head had clumped his hair, his back had a coating so thick it was practically a second skin and every time he moved it pinched.

At least when he'd helped Du'Met move everything he'd had something for his mind to focus on. With only dry mud and fear to occupy his time Charlie did his best not to go stir crazy. Not to go insane, was that really all he had now? God, he hoped the rest of Lonnit Entertainment did something with their lives because Charlie's had officially gone to shit.

Chapter Text

Eventually the madman returned, strolled in without a care in the world, and Charlie thought he looked … happier? Seemed he'd gotten himself back on murderous track and could carry on with his kill count. The documentary crew had just been an irritating blip for Du'Met and wouldn't delay him any further.

Du'Met looked his captive up and down as Charlie sat in the same spot he'd been handcuffed to. The mud had long since dried to Charlie's skin and had been picked off here and there. Du'Met smiled, a tiny upwards tug to his lips; to him Charlie looked like an adorable scared deer.

The muddy blond may have dried off but Du'Met certainly hadn't, he was still soaking wet from bringing in the equipment and luggage he'd rescued from the last hotel. It had only been about an hour since he'd left Charlie alone and he'd almost forgotten how much of a mess the younger man had been left in; he was undoubtedly hungry as well.

The door swung shut behind the masked man and the magnetic lock clicked into place somewhat sadistically. Powerful steps guided Du'Met across the room where he released Charlie easily, the cuff clanked against the bedpost and Charlie took the opportunity to rub the ache away while Du'Met vanished through the doorway beside the armchair; this time there wasn't any magnetic lock sound.

Unsure if he was aloud to move, Charlie stood and stretched which was both a godsend and a mistake because it helped ease the throbbing in his bones, but standing up so quickly, coupled with his ongoing headache, made him dizzy and he quickly slipped back down to the bed. Charlie had started to think he'd been forgotten about.

When the murderer returned he lingered in the threshold and the younger man couldn't quite decide if the suddenly missing apron and hat were good or bad. Charlie swallowed, nervous under Du'Met's intense gaze.

When the dark-haired man gestured for Charlie to approach it took a few moments for him to convince his feet to move, but as soon as he'd stumbled close enough on shaky legs he was pushed into a brightly lit bathroom. Unlike the rest of the hotel, everything in the bathroom was eerily modern and probably built from scratch; frankly such a modern bathroom was entirely out of place, but Charlie didn't think about that too long. To his right was a bathtub filled almost to the brim with hot water which honestly looked rather inviting. Then, before the Brit could utter a word, Du'Met was stripping Charlie out of his ruined borrowed shirt and Charlie' shivered. The shirt tumbled to the ground; Du'Met had to crouch so he could unlace Charlie's shoes and it was a clear chance to attack, to escape, but for some reason Charlie's body didn't move, just stayed rooted to the spot. Then gloved fingers tugged the Englishman's pants off and stood, Just like that Charlie's opportunity was gone, because being naked with Du'Met on his knees took him straight back to the older man's mouth around his cock.

Charlie shuddered as the elder man stood back to his imposing and alluring height. For a moment fearful blue orbs locked with murderous brown ones, then Du'Met removed Charlie's glasses and set them down on the sink with a porcelain clink.

Silence lingered for a split second before the masked man pointed a single finger at the awaiting bath. To be a hundred percent honest a bath sounded utterly delightful, though he needed to pee first; Charlie had been handcuffed to the bed a while.

"Can I use the toilet please?" He tried to sound polite.

Du'Met didn't bat an eyelid, simply lifted the toilet lid and stared expectantly at Charlie. The blond's initial reaction was to protest profusely, to be offended and back away, but the urge was much too strong and had him passed Du'Met to relieve himself before he knew it. Urinating in front of the other man should have been humiliating but Charlie just didn't have the energy to care by this point. As soon as he was done Du'Met flushed for his captive then ran a gloved hand up Charlie's pale back which sent a tingle of … something up his spine. How was a man who'd savagely killed so many able to touch him so gently? The large hands found the younger man's waist then and manoeuvred him over to the bath again.

Charlie nodded, he knew what Du'Met wanted. "Yeah, I know."

Slowly, on shaky legs, Charlie slipped into the bath's heavenly warm water. As soon as he was settled muscles started to relax and a sigh of delight escaped his parted lips. Those muscles had been overused and abused since meeting Du'Met and deserved some restful peace. Quite how he managed to relax with a serial killer in the room with him, he wasn't sure but he did. Charlie's body just couldn't keep up the level of fear any longer, he didn't have the energy even if Du'Met could have forced his head under at any second. Despite his lack of energy Charlie did manage to surreptitiously keep an eye on the older man – well, he tried to be surreptitious but Du'Met was fully aware.

For a few seconds Charlie thought Du'Met would just stand there and stare, but then he turned and started to strip off his wet, muddy things. His and Charlie's discarded clothing was neatly folded and rested beside the basin with his trusty knife on top. Naked. Du'Met was naked and Charlie was ashamed of just how much attention he paid to the older man's strong body. There was only a light spattering of dark hair over his chest, though he was hairier than Charlie. Several scars littered his body, some were old and faint while others were redder, more pronounced. He'd been killing a long time and people had put up fights before; Charlie already knew they'd not survived.

Still masked, Du'Met cast Charlie one more glance then slipped into the frosted shower and turned on the water. Heavy drops splatted down and finally the mask came off. Charlie tried to see Du'Met's face even though there was frosted glass between them and the killer had his back to him. Didn't every man have a right to see the face of their murderer.

Warm water helped to scrub mud from Charlie's chilled body, that water soon discolored and a leaf Charlie hadn't even known about floated atop the murky lake that was his bath water. Du'Met turned around then and blue eyes snapped straight back to the shower as shampoo was washed from the taller man's hair. Each of his kidnapper's movements were calculated and precise even while showering, the clear indication he'd been alone with his routine way longer than was healthy. All the sweat, mud, rain and cum was slowly cleansed from Charlie's exhausted body; the physical form found some peace finally but the mind kept on screaming different random thoughts out at him. So many strange questions, worries and concerns, but the realization of just how damn domestic the moment was. Silence other than running water, yes, domestic was a good word.

Watching a documentary or reading a true crime book, hell, even when watching YouTube, people only ever heard the dark side of killers; heard about the charming smiles psychopaths flashed at others before they killed their victims; their suave conversation skills and intelligence. However, in reality, serial killers were normally socially awkward megalomaniacs and the suave, charming ones lived more in the realm of Hannibal Lecter. To be perfectly frank, most actual serial killers got away with their crimes for so long because of simple dumb luck or lack of police interdepartmental communication. Granthem Du'Met though, he actually was suave. Charlie had worked on The Architects of Murder long enough to know there was always more to a serial killer than just killing. While sat in that bathtub the blond got to witness one of the quiet moments, the times when this murderer was just himself; an innocent moment of sorts.

"Mister Du'Met sir," began Charlie with an awkward clearing of his throat. "Could I please have some water after this?"

He'd not drunk anything since the boat and Charlie didn't have the first idea how many hours ago that had been.

"Mm-hmm."

It sounded like agreement and caused Charlie to smile and settle further into the muddy water. Whatever was going on with his new living arrangements it seemed that Du'Met intended to keep him alive and fairly well cared for at least. Pleased with his realization, the Englishman turned his attention to the rather limited selection of toiletries sat in the tiled niche. The water might have already turned murky but that didn't mean a good scrub down wasn't still an option. He reached one of the bottles but his hand froze before contact could be made.

"Can- can I use these?" He gestured loosely with his outstretched hand to the niche though, in hindsight, Du'Met probably couldn't see what he'd pointed at. "Please?"

The hum of agreement came again so Charlie reached for the shampoo and popped the cap. It was a bland scent and not something he'd have chosen for himself, but clean was clean. Normally Charlie favored scents like sandalwood, but this smelt almost sterile. Forgettable, it smelt forgettable. He washed his hair and, just as he came up from rinsing the lather out, heard Du'Met shut off the shower. He slipped out, wrapped a white towel around his waist and used another to dry his hair all so Charlie couldn't see his face. Calculated movements that seemed so carefree.

Blue eyes slowly trickled down Du'Met's naked body to see just how many healed scars there were littering his skin. Some were clearly much older than others, most had faded to little more than faint lines while some were raised and discolored. He was hairier than Charlie as well, but not a bear exactly.

The murderer didn't pay Charlie any mind, just continued to go about his day while the blond watched on. Du'Met kept his back to Charlie as he gathered the folded clothes, the knife and glasses before he left the bathroom.

For a moment Charlie wondered if he should get out but the water was still warm and his tired limbs wouldn't let him and besides, his clothes were gone and he'd rather not let leaving a bath be the cause of his death after everything he'd survived. Du'Met had told him he could use the toiletries so Charlie decided to make the most of it and lathered up a wash cloth to clean his worn out body.

As expected the water soon started to grow cold. Cold in that odd way where it still felt warm until one shifted their body and realized the water was actually quite icy. Cooling water was just another thing that wasn't overly important. Anyway, Charlie was surprisingly happy and comfortable in the bath; amazing considering he was a prisoner. For a time he thought about just staying partially submerged forever. To be perfectly frank, hiding in the bath sounded nice, but it wasn't as if Du'Met would let him. Relaxing forever in that bath did seem somewhat quixotic. Charlie remained though, stayed put with the water up to his clavicles until he finally had to accept the water had gone cold and the mud had started trying to stick to him again. Reluctantly he stepped out, which caused the bathwater to slosh about loudly a moment, then dried off with one of the towels and wrapped another around his waist much as the serial killer had done. He pulled the plug and, just for a second, watched the dirty water drain away; as if washing away his memories of the murder castle's torments were that easy. A ring of grime formed around the drain and, almost automatically, he ran the water again to rinse it away because at the back of his brain disused British etiquette told him it was the polite thing to do. Also, anything that stood a chance of keeping Du'Met in a good mood was probably beneficial for Charlie.

Blue orbs glanced around the bathroom; he had no clothes and Du'Met had taken his spectacles and his world of definition along with it, so Charlie settled for wiping steam from the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Good God, he looked awful. Dark circles under his eyes, his blond hair all over the place and his usual stubble had long ago turned into a messy beard that he'd have rather freed his face from. A large, pale hand pulled the medicine cabinet open to see it was practically empty; Q-tips, dental floss, tooth brush and toothpaste all of which was unopened. Nothing to use as a weapon, shame, he'd expected Du'Met to be the sort who used a straight razor. 'Of course he does' said Charlie's mind, 'he just isn't stupid enough to leave it where I'd get hold of it'. With a sigh he shut the cabinet again and finally left the bathroom with slow, cautious steps.

The temperature change between the steamy bathroom and cooler bedroom was somewhat jarring to the point Charlie urged to slip back into the bath. Any relaxation he'd had died a quick death the moment he spotted his blue bag on the bed beside a clean set of clothes Du'Met had obviously laid out for him all nice and neatly.

Charlie frowned deeply. That bath hadn't been about relaxing, easing the pain in his muscles or warming his frozen skin back up. No! It had just been Du'Met cleaning his latest toy of filth. Charlie was a prisoner. How had he almost forgotten that?!

Alone and a little self-conscious, the Brit dressed himself in what had been set out; white shirt and briefs, black dress pants, socks and tie as well as a maroon vest he'd forgotten he'd packed. Charlie had always been partial to a vest, or waistcoat as his English background made him fond of saying. His father had never been without one so Charlie has sort of continued the tradition since it made him feel like his father was still close by. Gentlemanly, that had been his father.

Once again dressed in his own clothes, Charlie felt human once more and actually breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't have his glasses nor any shoes but at least he'd got clean briefs. While in his current situation Charlie would take whatever boon he could get. Although, a smoke break would have been a really nice boon.

The blond rooted through his bag on the off chance his cigarettes had been returned to him but no, they were still gone. All the bag contained was a few changes of clothes he'd brought with him, the bag only contained his red glasses case, sans spectacles of course, a pen, his notebook with all his The Architects of Murder notes in it and the damn sleep mask he'd likely never use. Charlie's other bag was nowhere in sight, that one had been toiletries and practical things. He doubted he'd ever see it again, yet another thing that didn't matter much.

He wasn't sure where Du'Met went or when the masked man would return, and when he half-heartedly tried the door he found it locked up tight. With a sigh tugged his duffel bag off the bed and tossed it down by the dresser with the mirror atop it, then went to sit cross-legged on the bed like a bored child. Bored, was he bored? Being held captive by a serial killer in a second murder castle which was fuck knew where, yet he was bored? Surely panic and strategizing should have been at the front of his mind, but Charlie couldn't see any way out of this situation. Maybe he'd missed his chance to get away from Du'Met.

"You're a coward, Charlie." He chastised himself as he fell back onto the surprisingly soft pillows.

Ultimately he supposed being bored took up much less energy than freaking the fuck out. A nasty film coated his teeth from going so long without brushing, but he didn't go for the toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom simply because his tired legs wouldn't let him move now he'd settled down.

Charlie sighed. Things seemed to involve less pointy objects since they'd arrived at the second castle at least and Charlie would have preferred it remained that way: so the Englishman remained on the bed, body heavy and bruised. He didn't try to bust the door down, didn't try to improvise a weapon or burrow a hole through the wall and slip out like Alcatraz, just lay on the bed and tried not to think about the man who'd kidnapped him – or maybe 'director-napped' would have been a more accurate term.

So damn long passed that Charlie actually slipped into slumber for a while, but, when the magnetic lock released, blue eyes snapped open as Du'Met slipped back in to the bedroom as dramatically and as unannounced as he had every other time they'd met. The masked man stood beside the bed and snapped his fingers down to the spot beside him impatiently. Charlie understood this was an order and it caused him to frown.

"I'm not a dog."

Du'Met's head tilted to the side in that way that told others he was thinking, and think Du'Met did. 'Oh you could be', that was what the head tilt said. 'A sweet little puppy'.

Charlie didn't argue further, just pushed himself up to stand in the spot Du'Met had indicated. It was only when Du'Met knelt down that Charlie saw his shoes in the killers hands. Du'Met slipped them on to the blond's feed easily. They'd been caked in mud – had Du'Met actually cleaned them for him? Then Du'Met was back to his full height and removed Charlie's glasses from his waistcoat pocket and slipped them up his nose. These touches were so gentle, so surprising from a serial killer.

Then, suddenly, Du'Met took Charlie by the hand and guided the younger man out the bedroom and through a few doorways until Charlie found himself back in the familiar hotel halls. This was Du'Met's murder castle 2.0. Charlie stayed quiet, it took some effort but he managed it, managed to keep his sarcastic comments about buying wallpaper in bulk to himself.

Though Du'Met had his hat and mask on, the lack of his apron somehow suggested a casualness to him that upset Charlie's brain; serial killers shouldn't have looked so damn calm and relaxed.

The two men made their way through the hotel halls, one dragged the other by his own volition, until they entered a room off from the eerily familiar lobby. It was a sizeable room with a large table in the middle almost mistakable for the other castle's restaurant. Dust sheets had been partially pulled off the table, just enough for two to comfortably sit at, one at the head and the other to the left. A single taper candle stood proudly lit atop the table and a single plate of food had been neatly placed with a bottle of wine and glasses. It looked all set up for an intimate dinner. Other than the dining table and a gramophone on the left of the room atop a cabinet, the only bit of furniture was a small table over by another door at the back of the room.

Well, it had actually happened, Mister Du'Met had finally shown up for dinner just like Charlie had insisted he would. Du'Met didn't follow his captive into the restaurant though, just stood in the threshold to watch what Charlie would do. The plate drew Charlie's attention and he just had to see what had been prepared. God he hoped the murder wasn't a damn cannibal too. Slices of roast chicken rather than roast human, accompanied by a selection of vegetables. Charlie's mouth salivated and his stomach rumbled at an almost comical volume. Blue orbs flashed to Du'Met who hadn't moved an inch. Charlie wasn't exactly sure what he was meant to do, but eventually settled on sinking into a seat which seemed to be the right decision because Du'Met soon joined him at the head of the table. At the other castle Charlie had sat there, he'd been the patriarch, but he wasn't in charge any longer, just a prisoner, a submissive and he'd apparently accepted it.

Wine was poured for both of them, rich red with a fruity scent. But, when Du'Met saw Charlie just sitting there, he gestured to the plate and, after a moment's hesitation, he took up his cutlery and slowly started to eat. Charlie figured Du'Met would want better traps than simply poisoning food.

"… Thank you, Mister Du'Met."

The meal wasn't exactly Michelin star but it was warm, surprisingly well seasoned and just what his hungry stomach needed. Charlie couldn't prevent the little hum of delight that slipped passed his lips, a hum which caused Du'Met to smirk as he sipped his wine. The serial killer just watched Charlie eat at a speed somewhere between quick and cramming, yet, Charlie still had decorum which was a welcomed surprise. There truly was much more to Charles Lonnit than he'd discovered in his research.

For a time Charlie ate and drank while Du'Met quietly sipped at his wine. In fact, it was only when Charlie popped the last piece of chicken into his mouth and set his knife and fork down, that Du'Met took a small notepad from his back pocket and pushed it toward the blond. Blue eyes snapped down to it like it might have been a landmine. Cautiously he picked it up and read aloud.

"From now on-" Charlie gulped. "From now on you will reside within these walls with me. Your crew abandoned you so you are under my care. " He lifted an eyebrow; was care what Du'Met had decided to call it? He turned the page over to read the rest. " I have much work to do to ensure this castle is prepared for new guests and, when it is, you shall act as my- my ferryman." His head snapped up to the killer. "I can't do that! I can't lead innocent people to their deaths." Du'Met didn't react beyond gesturing for Charlie to yet again turn the page. The blond didn't want to but reluctantly knew he had little choice. "You already herded your crew in to the hotel for me." Oh that made Charlie deflate. He had brought them in, had pushed and insisted all the way. Charlie clenched his eyes shut as he tried to shove away the pain he felt. This time Du'Met tapped the notepad. Part of Charlie wanted to throw it down but he continued knowing it was the simpler option. "In exchange for your services will be perks."

He turned the page once more to find a single sentence; written in capitals were the words; WELCOME HOME, MY PHOENIX. Charlie gaped at the term of – what was this, endearment? A phoenix, was that what Du'Met saw him as? Was that his title for having survived that inferno? So that was it, Charlie's team had escaped back to their lives, blamed him for everything and he remained as Granthem Du'Met's pet. He'd told the killer he wasn't a dog but maybe that was exactly what he was, a plaything for a madman. At least it seemed he'd be a cared for pet. He'd been fed, given a shower and clean clothes. Hell, Du'Met had even cleaned his shoes for him. And he'd touched Charlie in ways hardly anyone ever had. What was actually wrong with him?!

Suddenly Du'Met pushed Charlie's wine glass toward him and Charlie guzzled down a large gulp to calm his mind. Meanwhile, Du'Met cleared the plate and empty bottle into a neat pile. The blond continued to drink down his wine only to freeze when Du'Met brushed two fingers from his left shoulder to the right. It sent a shiver through Charlie's body but he couldn't quite bring himself to figure out if it was with fear or … something else.

"Why me?" The words just slipped out. "Don't you kill everybody? Why am I still here? Shouldn't I be in a trap somewhere or hanging in that factory of yours?" A voice at the back of his mind screamed at him to shut up. "Really, why am I here?"

Silence lingered a moment, an uncomfortable one since there was a serial killer stood right behind him. But then Du'Met bent and tapped a gloved finger to the scab he'd left on Charlie's nostril.

"So what, you cut me once and that is good enough for you?" Next the word 'PHOENIX' was tapped and Charlie stared at it for several moments until it all clicked for him. "… You thought I'd be easy to kill, didn't you? The forty-nine-year-old smoker would be an easy target, right? Jesus, I'm only alive because I impress you." Charlie fell back in his seat as he tried to process it all.

Du'Met stood there admiring the blond; had to admit Charlie had a truly lovely neck, perhaps picking out a collar for it wouldn't be such a bad idea. He left the Brit then to select something for the gramophone. He didn't have much of a choice at his second castle but he could easily rebuild it over time. Du'Met wasn't exactly a connoisseur of classical music and from his research he knew Charlie preferred a heavier style of music from bands such as; AC/DC, Journey and Killing Joke. Charlie didn't complain about the music though, he was far too busy in his head thinking about how sheer dumb luck and quick thinking was the only thing that had piqued Du'Met's interest and allowed him to survive this long. The masked killer decided to pull his guest out of his turmoil if only for his own amusement. He offered Charlie a hand and, since he wasn't as dumb as Kate liked to make him out to be, Charlie took the hint pretty damn quickly.

"I don't know how to dance." He said lamely only for the masked man to thrust his hand further forward in a clear demand. "Okay, fine." He took Du'Met's hand. "But don't stab me if I step on your toes."

Slow dancing would just be another what the fuck moment in a series of what the fuck moments he'd stumbled into since taking the fake Du'Met's call.

The Englishman allowed Du'Met to tug him to his feet and arrange him awkwardly like the animatronics he was so used to posing. He snaked one arm around Charlie's waist and clearly Charlie was the submissive in every way. Slowly Du'Met rotated them in an awkward circle to the music while Charlie tried to figure out what game this was. This dance wasn't about intimacy or togetherness or any of that romantic crap, it was Du'Met proving he could have Charlie do literally anything he wanted no matter how ridiculous it was. If his crew was there he'd have been a laughing stock.

No, he'd never see them again. They'd left Charlie to die. Hell, maybe they'd known he hadn't been complicit and just decided to leave him behind anyway as a sacrifice. Yeah, he could see Kate doing that in a heartbeat. Mark couldn't ever make a decision and Kate was too good at keeping him under her thumb, so she could have him agreeing rather quickly. Charlie didn't think Jamie would have gone that far but if it came down to Charlie or Erin she'd choose Erin every time. Speaking of Erin, the panicky little lamb had chosen the exact wrong moment to grow a pair. She was the reason he'd been taken by Du'Met in the first fucking place. She was the one who'd left him to die. Well, he hoped she lived a long life; a long life he'd distracted Du'Met to give her; a long life knowing she was the one willing to lead people into Du'Met's hands rather than him. 'Fuck you, Erin! Feel the fucking guilt'.

When there was a lull in the dancing, Du'Met pulled Charlie close to his strong chest and the blond peeked up at the elder man as he remembered how Du'Met had already touched him so intimately, with such deviance.

"I have a question, Mister Du'Met." The older man said nothing as expected so Charlie just carried on. "At the ferry you had me under you. You could have done anything to me but you didn't. You just … walked away. Why?" Du'Met continued his silence and Charlie's breathed out a laugh. "Don't tell me that's where you draw your line." The killer nodded so Charlie actually took a second to think about it logically. "You're a hunter. A predator herding prey into ambushes and traps. Rape is about power rather than sex, and you already know you're powerful, don't you? You don't need the rape to make you feel it. In fact you probably fine the very idea of rape distasteful. Only the weak who crave power they don't have actually stoop to raping someone, and those people are beneath you. You know you're powerful without having to force yourself on another. Rape to you isn't a mark of dominance or strength, it is a display of weakness, isn't it?"

Du'Met nodded in a curt, controlled movement and in that moment Charlie knew this serial killer had standards. They were messed up, madman standards but standards nevertheless. Wasn't that odd? Charlie breathed out a laugh, this insane murderer actually had better ethics than a lot of lowlifes. All that said, Charlie had managed to analyse Du'Met rather accurately and there was something to be proud of in that. 'Take that, Kate, I can do this criminology, psychology shit too'.

Du'Met cupped Charlie's cheek then which forced him to gaze up at the elder man who wore a surprisingly soft smile underneath his H. H. Holmes mask. Apparently Charlie had impressed him again, though that appeared to be a double-edged sword because on one hand he'd found a good way to help himself alive, but, on the other hand, if he ever became boring then Charlie would be dead in a heartbeat. Charlie's body deflated; his life belonged to Granthem Du'Met now.

"Oh God, I really am a dog."

Du'Met chuckled at that then pointed back to the notepad, and Charlie knew he meant the 'my phoenix' bit again. 'My phoenix like I'm some kind of blushing bride', grumbled Charlie's mind.

The music came to an end then and all went quiet, but Du'Met's arms didn't release the younger man. It had been so long since he'd been held, since Charlie had felt somebody's arms around him. Du'Met was warm, strong, solid and part of Charlie wanted to just rest his head on Du'Met's chest and accept his fate, but the rest was too ashamed to let himself. So he pushed away and Du'Met let him shift a few steps backward.

Du'Met had to admit he rather enjoyed watching Charlie slowly start to descend. He saw the blond try to resist but Charlie kept giving in to Du'Met's touches and it was clear Charlie could, in time, fully understand the serial killer. Du'Met didn't want a partner, didn't need one, but a pet sounded really rather nice; there had been that strange cat back at the lighthouse that he'd sometimes fed, but this was significantly better.

Finally he released his prisoner and returned to the table where he handed Charlie's wine glass to him to finish. The younger man didn't need much encouragement to drink the remnants down. From his back pocket Du'Met offered Charlie a cigarette and a jet black lighter.

"Oh God yes!" Charlie lit up. "Thank you." He reached for the pack only to grow still. He remembered cigarettes were exactly how Du'Met had lured Charlie into that furnace trap in the first place. He wanted a cigarette, he truly did, but maybe that furnace had been the universe telling him no. "You know what, I'm trying to quit."

For a second Charlie worried that wasn't what the murderer had wanted to hear but then he shrugged and tossed the pack lighter and all onto the dining table without a care and Charlie was grateful for that. Suddenly Charlie missed his golden lighter, Mark had returned it to him but by the time he'd been handcuffed to that steamer trunk Du'Met had stolen it back. His father had gifted him that lighter and he hated the knowledge of never seeing it again. He'd never get to visit his father's grave either and a sudden sadness filled his heart and caused him to shrink in on himself.

"Mister Du'Met sir," Charlie began. "If em – if you've got nothing else planned for this dinner date, could I please go get some sleep?"

The Brit didn't know how much more of this weird evening he could take, Charlie needed a break. Du'Met thought it over for a moment then nodded and gestured for Charlie to follow. Slowly they returned to the bedroom, back to the lion's den. Part of Charlie had half expected a cell but no, he was taken back to a surprisingly soft bed. Once inside Du'Met walked passed him and crouched down to yank a rucksack from underneath the bed, Charlie hadn't ever seen it before but that was hardly important so the blond watched on. Quickly Du'Met fished out what would become his captive's sleep things, just a pair of green pyjama pants and a white t-shirt; Charlie hadn't ever been one for sleeping in a shirt so that wouldn't see much use. The pyjama pants were set out with all the care and attention his other clothes had, but Charlie paid little attention because Du'Met suddenly used two fingers to tilt the blond's chin up to lightly kiss the younger man's lips. Then the killer was gone and Charlie was locked in once more. Was he a captive? A slave? Or was he a pet? Perhaps he was all of the above. Charlie sighed, at least he was alive if nothing else.

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.

Chapter Text

Seven days, a week was his best guess since Charlie wasn't entirely sure how long Du'Met had been gone. He'd kept track of the days based solely in when Du'Met brought him meals but, with him off on his errands, Charlie had only when he got hungry and how much food he'd gone through as any indication. Seven or possibly eight days seemed a good guess based on his stubble growth as well. Didn't matter how many days it had been to be honest, he'd found his mind wondering just what was so important that Du'Met would leave his new pet all alone for multiple a day. He'd seemed to like Charlie, wanted Charlie around and acted surprisingly gentle toward him. Hell, Du'Met had touched the blond more lovingly than anyone else in years. And, despite how much Charlie hated to admit it, he liked Du'Met; liked being held down by those strong arms; liked not having to deal with the stress of deadlines and finances; liked not having to listen to the whining of people who had a way too high opinion of themselves – although that one had mostly been Kate Wilder. The Brit might not have been able to leave but, somehow, Charlie had started to feel like he had more freedom after his kidnapping than when he'd actually been free. He'd survived the traps and the games, he'd full-on impressed a serial killer. Du'Met killed everybody but he'd not killed Charlie, he'd wanted Charlie with him. Yes, the masked man apparently judged Charlie to be important. Besides, it wasn't so bad being held captive: he could shower regularly, eat and sleep whenever the mood took him and Du'Met had even been kind enough to bring him a plethora of tomes to keep him entertained. For God's sake, even his withdrawal had calmed down, the impossible task of quitting smoking – which had been a habit of thirty years – wasn't so impossible any longer. Fuck, being with Du'Met had actually improved Charlie's health and it was nice to feel as though somebody cared even just a little.

Charlie sighed and collapsed on his back down on the bed with his feet still planted on the ground. This was wrong though, right? Du'Met killed people constantly, enjoyed it and wouldn't ever stop – was probably what his little errand was. Yet there Charlie lay wanting him to return almost eagerly. Something wasn't right with Charlie's brain, he shouldn't have wanted Du'Met back and certainly shouldn't have been impatient for it. He should have been kicking the door down and making a break for it while he could; not that Charlie didn't think he'd not be cut to shreds or dropped into a pit the second he was beyond the bedroom door. More disturbing than that thought was that Charlie had come to realize he didn't want to leave the second castle. Nobody would have bothered to look for him, certainly not alive anyway, and his mother was in England and couldn't remember his name half the time so she'd not push police to find him. No, nobody missed him. His crew had used some stupid reasoning to declare him complicit and had abandoned him to his fate. The police would assume him dead, the crew wouldn't look for him, Charlie had no friends and, even if his mother had been able to remember his name, she'd not have cared, being bisexual had just made her only son disgusting to her. Charlie breathed out a laugh then because it seemed ironic that only debt collectors would be inclined to search for the missing Charlie Lonnit and they were the people he'd have rather avoided.

He stared up at the ceiling and pondered what would happen to the studio now Lonnit Entertainment was no more.

"Who am I kidding?" He sighed. "They'll just take the building and rent it out to some other idiot, hopefully one that won't end up presumed dead."

Charlie pushed himself up and grabbed the book he'd been reading. He hoped the former FBI agent showed his masked face soon because Charlie had almost finished his array of books.

~X~

The drive back to the murder castle had been peaceful and involved significantly less traffic so Du'Met had made decent time after the kidnapping of the McAndrews'. Forcing husband and wife inside the hotel hadn't taken much prompting and, since he had very little option, Gareth had agreed to play ferryman rather speedily. The idiot had actually seemed to to believe he'd get out with his wife alive. Then again, that was exactly what Du'Met always led them to believe.

He'd spent the two days after his return to the castle preparing for his intended victims, he made certain everything was running and ready for his test. Never let it be said Granthem Du'Met wasn't a hard worker. Even before he'd become Du'Met he'd possessed a good work ethic.

Du'Met made the beds in the hotel rooms – one of those rooms hadn't even had a bed until recently. He'd carefully set out the guest book that he'd brought with him from his first castle and double checked that the keys were all ready and waiting. Then Du'Met made a point to listen to the latest of the dwindling news reports about Charlie's crew and what latest thing police had released about the search they'd conducted of the first castle. Though his pseudonym had been mentioned here and there the idiot press had thankfully insisted on calling him the 'Holmes Copycat', the 'Great Lakes Ripper' or the 'Murdering Engineer'. None of those names were accurate and the last one was simply ridiculous, however that meant the name Du'Met had gone rather unnoticed. Everybody had heard of BTK but that didn't mean they knew his real name was Dennis Rader. All that said, it might have been a decent idea, it seemed like a wise precaution. After he'd lured those stupid kids in via the video competition Du'Met would shut down again to make improvements and finish the last section, it would be then that he could pick out a backup name and one for Charlie as well. Most of those he lured in weren't true crime buffs so would likely have forgotten the name Granthem Du'Met by the time he contacted them. To be perfectly honest most people were almost always normally predictable morons.

When he'd got nothing left to prepare Du'Met made his way up to the hidden attic room he'd constructed where he now kept the animatronic of Lucinda Munday, his mother. He knew Charlie would freak out of he knew one of those crates he'd helped Du'Met moved had his mother's body in it, let alone that another had held Sherman's. As soon as he stepped inside the motion sensor tripped and Lucinda's berating started as usual, but Du'Met ignored it that day and went to change the tapes for a little variety. Then he went to the computer and pulled up the cameras of his bedroom which was now more Charlie's room than Du'Met's.

The younger man had sat himself on the floor with his back against the bed to eat his lunch which seemed to be one of the cans of soup he'd left his boy. Du'Met couldn't stop the small smile which appeared on his face while he watched the blond. Charlie actually had been a good boy while he was gone, no escape attempts or naughtiness of any kind really, and his withdrawal seemed to have almost entirely faded away. Yes, Charlie deserved the watch Du'Met had stolen. He tugged it out of his pocket as Lucinda mocked him again and Du'Met's smile faded away. Charlie was there to support him now so maybe, one day, he'd not need Lucinda any longer.

For a moment he fought the urge to go to Charlie but Du'Met's work had to come first, his work always came first, and even though he'd got nothing left to prepare he had neglected his animatronics since fleeing the other murder castle. Also, the longer he left Charlie isolated the more desperate he'd become for the older man's return, it had already been over a week. He'd kill or contain the video vacation winners and only then show himself to his pet, and when he did Charlie would finally stop clinging to that metaphorical cliff edge of his morals and start to slip into being the submissive who was desperate to please. Such a lovely pet Charlie was, but if he became what Du'Met hoped then he could be a real companion to him, and until that moment Du'Met hadn't considered or wanted a companion. Of course he'd barred Charlie from being a partner since no matter what happened they couldn't ever be companions – not because Charlie is not worth of it but because Du'Met could never be like another, not even an anchor had kept him down. No, they couldn't ever be partners or equals because they couldn't ever be the same. However, they could be companions. Du'Met would be the only constant in Charlie's life while Charlie remained Du'Met's beautiful phoenix forever. The only one Du'Met didn't kill, the only one worthy of calling the murder castle home and living. Few, if any, would ever be able to have the place Charlie Lonnit had found himself with. Still, that was enough thinking of Charlie, he had horrors to build and he wanted to add a little something extra to the watch. To work!

~X~

Du'Met kept his eyes firmly focused on his new visitors. Summoning them to the castle had been practically child's play. He had so many new traps for them to experience and Du'Met could hardly wait to see the carnage their lives would soon become. Gareth McAndrews had actually put on a pretty good show of seeming confident and genuine when he'd guided them in – natural talent for acting it seemed. Gareth had certainly played the part better than Joseph Morello had. Morello had been jumpy and awkward but Gareth had been embezzling from his father's company for years now and had grown accustom to lying. When police looked in to Gareth's and Samantha's disappearances they'd discover the embezzling and it would raise just enough questions to throw them off the kidnapping idea, then of course they'd find the car and there would be just enough doubt for any idea they came up with be that: kidnapping, fleeing or accident. The embezzlement had been the primary reason Du'Met had chosen the McAndrews' as his victims.

The vacation winners were idiots who suspected nothing and would easily fall prey to his traps. Ultimately that was Du'Met's favorite bit, the moment when it finally dawned on them they'd been dammed the second they'd boarded the cable ferry and the Devil was on the hunt for them. Oh, when they inevitably gave up and the cowards started to beg.

Gareth had been instructed to proceed straight to room 176 once he'd gotten the guest book signed and handed out keys. Told Gareth that room 176 was where his wife would be returned to him and they'd be finally allowed to leave. He wanted the five newcomers not Gareth and his wife, so the dark-haired man had come running as soon as the new prey was out of sight and practically tried to barge through the door in his haste. Unfortunately for Gareth and amusingly for Du'Met the magnetic lock had been in place and he'd simply bounced off almost comically. With a grin Du'Met released the lock from his control room, then headed through his hidden network of shortcuts and into a little room he'd built between two of the guest rooms. It was a little larger than his favorite hidden spot in the last castle and oddly shaped due to a flight of stairs, but mirrors allowed him into either hotel room and he had a good amount of space to store whatever he needed in there. Though he'd recreated several of the original murder castle rooms neither of Du'Met's hotels of horrors were perfect.

In the corner of the secret room, under the angled ceiling caused by the aforementioned staircase, was Sam duct taped to a swivel chair. She had a black hood over her head and only wore the tan coat to cover her naked body, her red hair was an abysmal mess Du'Met had gagged her when she'd not stopped pleading with him to release her – odd, she'd not mentioned freeing Gareth once, never said free us instead of free me.

Slowly Du'Met strode toward Sam and pulled the hood off, the lights were low in the secret room but that didn't stop her squinting. Her face was red, puffy and coated in dried tears and frankly Du'Met thought it ugly. He lifted his trusty blade to her face and brushed it softly down her cheek as the tears started up again, she tried to pathetically beg but the gag thankfully kept her quiet for the most part; Du'Met still nicked her cheek though just to really drive home the idea to keep her mouth shut.

Sam's blood looked so pretty as it dribbled down her cheek, it had been too long since he'd killed and it had started to grate on him. Samantha McAndrews had been boring and dull, nothing like Charlie who'd begged but somehow stood his ground all at the same time. No, nobody could be like his wonderful phoenix.

With Sam quiet Du'Met unlocked the mirror door and wheeled her into room 176 here her husband awaited them anxiously.

"Please give me my wife back." Gareth pleaded.

Sam tried to call out to Gareth but the gag did it's job well. Du'Met proffered a folded slip of paper which Gareth eyed cautiously before he finally grew enough balls to take mostly due to the sharp knife at his wife's throat. Once unfolded he stared at it a moment almost confused before speaking.

"Read – read this aloud." He stuttered. "You are – you are free to leave the hotel – wait really?!" Du'Met simply stared expectantly. "Follow the instructions on the back to reach the ferry and – and operate it. If you speak I will k-" Gareth paled dramatically. "I will kill you both. If you tell anyone on the outside of me or what happened here, I will come for you and … make you watch her die. Do not deviate from the path and instructions I have given you or I will kill you. Good- goodbye, Mister McAndrews. Also, some advice: in future be more aware of your surroundings."

The serial killer nodded clearly pleased that Gareth and Sam had listened and cut Sam free from the chair. With them having no more use to him, Du'Met simply walked back through the mirror door, shut it and faded back into the walls.

For a few moments neither husband nor wife moved like they expected their kidnapper to magically appear again, but when no scary murderer appeared Gareth rushed to Sam's side and ripped the duct tape painfully from her mouth.

"Oh God, get me out of here. Gareth, let's fucking go!"

Panicked and in survival mode, the McAndrews' fled room 176 hand in hand without looking back to the mirror. Together they hauled ass back to the lobby's main door and out into the cool afternoon air. Sam was a petite woman and couldn't quite keep up with her husband's long strides but the grip he had on her hand didn't release. As ordered Gareth kept them to the instructions on the note Du'Met had given him. Along the path, down a small hill, which was actually more of a small slope, and then, just as the cable ferry came into view, the ground gave way beneath them and gravity took them down skewing them on the sharp spikes below.

Sam got of lightly and was dead on impact but Gareth was not so lucky. Gareth lingered on the precipice of death as agony literally shot through his body. He saw a shadow of a man in a hat and knew his end was imminent. Pain, agony, words didn't do the feeling justice. Every nerve ending screamed, each haggard breath birthed a popping sound where a lung had been punctured and the blood that poured down his made Gareth feel as though he'd wet himself. Du'Met's note fluttered down to the bloody floor and it was then that Gareth caught sight of a second piece of paper nailed to the dark wall with a single sentence written upon it in glow in the dark ink. 'I TOLD YOU TO BE MORE OBSERVANT'. Du'Met had warned them, hadn't he. Then, as gravity pulled Gareth and Sam further down the spikes, Gareth's heart finally gave out and he slipped away just as the trap door slapped back up plunging them into darkness.

Du'Met watched every second of this through the cameras from his nerve centre with a smirk. He couldn't dwell on the demise of the McAndrews though so he grabbed his knife and checked it's sharpness before he took a relaxing breath and headed off to start his hunt. The latest prey was his beta test for his new murder castle. The McAndrews would be retrieved soon enough and they'd make lovely spare parts.

~X~

Charlie didn't know if he could take much more of just sitting around in a locked bedroom. He was going fucking insane. All the books had been finished and while not running low on food exactly he would have killed for a vegetable that hadn't been disappointingly microwaved. An orange, that is what he'd started to crave, a nice juicy orange with all the wonderful sweetness and freshness to stave off scurvy. He'd assumed Du'Met would have been back by now and surely he'd have mentioned being gone for such a length of time. Had the cops got him? Fuck, if he'd been arrested then he'd never reveal where he'd hidden Charlie. Hell, no one would ever know Charlie hadn't been killed back when he'd been tied to that fence. If Du'Met didn't return then Charlie would surely die locked in that room and it would become his tomb. No, Du'Met had faked his death before when he'd been still been Hector Munday, he'd not have died so easily and he'd never let himself be captured. Yes, Du'Met would come back to Charlie.

"Yeah, nothing is going to stop Du'Met coming back." The blond nodded to himself. "It's all okay because he'll come back."

Something in the back of his mind told Charlie he still shouldn't have wanted Du'Met back but Charlie ignored it. He needed the killer to come back so Charlie didn't die, that was the only reason he wanted Du'Met's return. Everything would be okay once the masked man had returned and Charlie just to hold out until then. He'd spent so many years being alone, no roommates, no real friends, no lover, not even a cat. Charlie had been practically asexual for years now and he hated it. Every time he'd opened his mouth he said something wrong, relationships never lasted more than a few weeks before they realized they could do better than Charlie or that his work would always come first. Yes, Charlie admitted it, he was something of a workaholic but that was because it was the only constant in his life; the only thing he was really good at. Then again, according to Kate his work was shit. '… looks good on the page' that was what she'd said to Mark up on the balcony. Sure he could be arrogant but that wasn't what defined him like Kate had always made out. Not everything was his fucking fault. Kate had changed half his fucking script for the first season, that was arrogant.

Charlie sighed, he knew he was mentally ranting at himself but he'd finished his books so there wasn't much else to do. The Brit had wanted to save his show when he'd let himself be lured in to Du'Met's trap, but he'd also wanted excitement; being hunted wasn't exactly what he'd been going for but at least it hadn't been boring. Fucking hell, he was probably better off now he was with Du'Met, that was a thought Charlie had found inside his head a few times. He no longer lived with the constant need for a cigarette, ate much more regularly, stressed less and didn't have bill collectors after him. He was better off with a murderer and every time Charlie remembered that he freaked out a little more. What had truly shocked Charlie though was that he didn't fear Du'Met any longer. Sure the masked man could have killed Charlie at any moment but the blond doubted he would at this point. A serial killer treated Charlie with more respect than his crew had. When one looked at it plainly, Du'Met had given Charlie what every working adult dreamt of: three square meals and a nap per day.

Oh God, he wanted the murderer back. Wanted to feel those large hands on him again. Wanted Du'Met's love; if that was what it truly was. Loneliness had started to invade Charlie's body, he felt lonely and it actually hurt. Charlie's last long-term relationship had been back when he'd lived in England and everybody knew just how long ago that had been. It wasn't just that he'd felt lonely either, no it was worse than that, much worse. Charlie fucking missed Du'Met! He missed the serial killer not just human contact in general.

The blue-eyed man tried to calm himself down and decided he'd have a bath, a nice warm bath to sooth his aching muscles and mind. The bathtub filled up quickly while Charlie stripped off his clothing and, right before he stepped into the bath Charlie shook his head to banish thoughts from his mind.

"No more thinking about it."

~X~

While Charlie had his little existential crisis, Du'Met did what he did best and hunted his prey through the castle. Jessie, one of the girls, was already dead. Stupid bitch had panicked, charged off from her friends and fallen down the grand staircase breaking her neck in the process. Du'Met had raised an eyebrow at that because he'd hardly even gotten started and was already down a victim. Good God, the girl had been a danger to herself. How the hell had she survived this long? With Jessie dead a whole section of his traps would just go to waste – travesty, it was a damn travesty. Admittedly he'd chosen a group he'd deemed to be of lesser intellect so he'd known they'd not last long but if his prey started killing themselves then where was the fun? All that said Du'Met wasn't discouraged, he'd just adjust like he always did.

After Jessie was Ashley, she'd thought kicking out a window and climbing up onto the roof was a good idea but she'd got no hope. After the documentary crew had pulled a similar stunt Du'Met had carefully put plans into place to ensure it wouldn't ever happen again. As soon as Ashley had passed by the chimney the steam valve was triggered scalding her; face, eyes, mouth and throat all irrevocably damaged. A new trap for those who thought they could outfox him.

Ashley screamed and tried to shield her face but it little to ease the hot steam's savageness and all was witnessed from the nerve centre. Ashley stumbled, staggered then slipped from the roof, she tumbled down, down, down and splashed into the pond below. Du'Met hadn't been able to stop the small smile which pulled itself up onto his lips, seemed his new steam trap was a marvellous success. Du'Met honestly hadn't expected to see anyone trigger that trap for a while so seeing it so soon was quite a treat. Oh Du'Met always liked a surprise.

The group's resident lovebirds were Shawn and Pip, according to the serial killer's research they'd been together almost five years and seemed to have a very strong relationship, the sort of relationship most aspired to. So, was it any wonder why Du'Met had pushed them toward his latest inspired trap? Together they'd rushed through the maze of hallways in an attempt to escape the masked man stalking them but, just as they turned to the right, the floor gave way and the two were funnelled into two round vats about seven feet high. The lids snapped down to block any escape. It took a split second for the lovers to mentally catch up with what had just happened, but once they had panic set in tenfold. The two vats were cylindrical and transparent, sat hardly a foot apart like something out of an 80s sci-fi movie.

"Shawn, what the fuck is this?" The taller man almost demanded of his boyfriend but before any answer could come Shawn's tank started to fill with cold water pumped in from the Great Lakes surrounding the island.

It bubbled upward violently submerging Shawn up to his knees in seconds and all Pip could so was watch as it started to consume the man he loved. He put up a good fight; kicked, punched and slammed the glass but it refused to give way. He even tried to scamper up to the cap-like lid which Du'Met thought was ingenious but still provided no escape. Du'Met wouldn't have let it be that easy, there wouldn't be any screwdriver tricks like there had been with Jamie and Kate.

"Get me out of here!" Shawn yelled. "Jesus Christ, get me the fuck out of here!"

All that research the serial killer had done had told him Pip would do this, would fight with all his might to save Shawn because he was noble and truly loved his partner; the man was damn right altruistic. Finally though he had to accept he'd not be able to bust free of his cylindrical prison and that was the moment a small podium with a button dropped down from the lid with a printed sign that caused Pip's stomach to drop.

Shawn caused the water – which was now at his waist – to slosh dramatically as he pressed himself against the curved glass.

"What is it? What does it say?"

Du'Met liked these traps, the ones where people had to choose themselves or the life of another. The ultimate game of life, to choose to save their own life or to fight that urge for self-preservation and die so another could live. The ultimate mind game and Du'Met loved every second.

I love you, those were Pip's last words to Shawn before he slammed the button and it retracted up into the lid. For a second nothing happened, then the water bubbled up in Pip's vat like a geyser and the consequences of his actions suddenly dawned on him. People weren't supposed to die in their thirties, they weren't meant to die in a tube of water in a darkened room for a serial killer's pleasure. He wanted to think it didn't matter, that Shawn would survive so it was all worth it, but that didn't stop the fear from surging through him body and soul. He shook uncontrollably, hands shivered in the rising water and vomit tried to force its way up his throat but there hadn't been any dinner so there wasn't much bile to begin with. Shawm smashed against his own glass prison, he screamed and kicked and refused to give up, but Pip had quickly gone deaf to it all. Death. He was going to die and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. He'd dammed himself.

"S- Shawn," began the doomed man with a stutter. "Shawn, I-"

"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare just accept this! He's been fucking with us this whole time and he's not taking you too! Jessie is dead. Will and Ashley are probably dead too by now." Tears rolled down Shawn's face. "Please- please don't-"

"It's okay."

And then the water engulfed Pip and all they could do was stare at each other with love while they still had the chance.

Just as with choking, television didn't do a very good job of depicting drowning. At first Pip felt no pain floated like anybody taking a leisurely swim in a pool, but, as time went on, his lungs started to scream out in desperation for fresh air. Of course he did all he could to force the urge down but it only grew, stronger and stronger and stronger until finally his body shoved his brain aside and forced him to gulp in the icy water surrounding him. Shuddered movements filled his lungs, it burnt and froze all at the same time. Then, with his lover still calling out his name, Pip's life slipped away and became little more than another number for Du'Met. It was all over, the body sank face down to the bottom of the tank; limp, lifeless, like a bug sealed in amber.

Du'Met watched it all from the nerve centre with a small smirk underneath his mask. He let Shawn take the sight in, wanted it to haunt him until the moment Du'Met killed him with his own hands. Eventually the glass tank lifted and Shawn tumbled out onto the concrete with a thud; soaked but physically unharmed.

Du'Met released the door then returned to his hunt. He'd missed this, missed the killing, he'd felt as though he'd been strapped down unable to move. That was all over now, Du'Met had more to kill and then he'd go salvage Gareth and Sam McAndrews for parts.

Chapter Text

Via the mirror in the modest bathroom, Charlie stared at the beard he'd regretfully grown since Du'Met had gone on his little vacation or whatever the fuck it was. Charlie ran a hand through it with a sigh. Charlie felt scruffy, he'd never been one to grow a beard willingly - stubble wasn't an issue but a full-on bear just didn't feel right.

"For fuck's sake, you'd better get back here, Du'Met, I'm turning into a damn wolfman."

From nowhere the squeak of a floorboard reached him and Charlie's head snapped to the doorway to see the murderer himself with his shaving kit held loosely in his left hand as though he'd been magically summoned. Charlie smiled, beamed really because Du'Met had finally returned. Charlie wouldn't starve to death in that small set of rooms, he'd not drift off into madness and start chatting to dolls he'd made from his own beard hair. Du'Met was back!

In a sudden instant Charlie surged with cheerful happiness and it forced him to essentially rush to Du'Met like an eager puppy dog. He threw his arms around Du'Met's strong frame before he'd even realized he'd moved. That Kate-like voice belittled him but in that moment Charlie was just too happy. Of course Du'Met didn't hug him in return but he did lift the hand free of shaving kit to pet Charlie's cheek. Anybody else would have seen this was Du'Met basically petting the Englishman, and later Charlie would realize the same, but there and then Charlie simply focused on not being alone.

Du'Met's chest was strong and firm, warm and surprisingly welcoming almost as if it Charlie had been designed to rest perfectly against him. The blond had denied his loneliness during his captivity to himself right up until that moment.

The former FBI agent simply stood there with an analytical unexpressed underneath his H. H. Holmes mask. This little act of affection showed just how submissive Charlie was deep down and just how effective his forced isolation had been. Yes, in that very second Du'Met knew Charlie was entirely his and so, to truly solidify his hold over Charlie, he rested his chin atop Charlie's blond head and Charlie basically purred. Du'Met smiled, oh he truly did own the director now.

"Where have you been?"

Poor man sounded so desperate but Charlie couldn't bring himself to care any longer. Charlie hadn't really expected an answer so he just allowed himself to enjoy being petted by his captor. Soon though Du'Met moved them along since he wasn't one for displays of affection public or otherwise. He ushered Charlie to sit on the bathtub's edge and set about laying out his kit. The shave was perfectly done, talented movements and smooth confidence that had been practised. Each stroke of the straight razor was almost sensual and soothed Charlie's soul of that painful abandonment he'd been forced to suffer. He rather enjoyed getting his face de-bearded but, when scrutinized, it was Du'Met's warm fingers on his skin which sent shivers down his spine. Long gone was the fear that the murderer would slash his throat on a whim instead replaced by the urge to keen for the older man. Not that he was proud of it, but in one of his darker moments of isolation Charlie had lazily pondered fashioning a replica of Du'Met in the form of a pillow.

Once done Du'Met casually packed away his shaving kit as Charlie had seen him do so a few times before. A shuffling sound caught the older man's attention then and when he glanced to his side he found Charlie knelt before him with a puppy-esque expression and a lovely twinkle of need in his blue eyes. Du'Met flashed his captive a half-smile because clearly solitary confinement had gone above and beyond the killer's expectations. Du'Met's sweet phoenix was desperate for it and he'd been kind enough to give his boy what he wanted.

The older man stepped forward to pet the director's cheek with a rather alien gentleness, just enough to lift Charlie's spirits and then he bypassed the younger man in favor of going to the bedroom fully aware that his loyal puppy would trail after.

The part of Charlie which still urged to fight and struggle like he had to begin with, to be brave and save himself since his crew had abandoned him and because police probably presumed him dead, continued to scream in the recesses of his mind. However, the need to not be alone, the need for comfort, care and love had grown too strong, and only Du'Met could provide any of that now. Du'Met had wanted Charlie to view him as his world, as the only one who could be there for him and Charlie had latched on to Du'Met faster than he could have hoped.

Charlie had been so pleased Du'Met was back that he'd weirdly wanted to reward the older man with an intimacy Charlie should have feared, but Du'Met apparently had other ideas and the depraved part of Charlie was keen to find out what.

Du'Met made a big display of slowly removing Charlie's clothes and Charlie let him while little purrs escaped him. When the blond stood naked before him he finally realized that, while masked, Du'Met wasn't in his hunting outfit – same style of clothes but no apron and a somewhat bluer color palette than normal.

What followed was emotion piled upon emotion for Charlie all wrapped up in dominant touches. He was pinned beneath the elder man who'd forced Charlie's legs apart so he could kneel between them. His mask stayed firmly in place of course but that didn't stop Du'Met bending to kiss Charlie's pale lips before his attention turned lower to the blond's hip which was nibbled on with more roughness than Charlie had been prepared to expect. He'd clearly seen it coming but the actual physical contact took him by surprise.

The sound of his captive's yelp caused Du'Met to grin further; the Devil's grin against smooth flesh. Those usually gloved fingertips brushed up sensitive skin from hip to stomach, over Charlie's heart to clavicle and then finally to the blond's lips. The kiss was bruising, the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted. Nobody could deny Du'Met could be highly violent, that was a foregone conclusion, but he didn't have to force or hurt Charlie to have this intimacy and frankly he didn't want to. He was a serial killer with standards not a lowlife rapist, even if Charlie's consent was somewhat dubious.

Suddenly Charlie gasped into the bruising kiss and Du'Met took the opportunity to slip his tongue into the younger man's mouth and taste him. He was sweet like the chocolate he'd eaten earlier that day as well as something Du'Met could only describe as Charlie Lonnit.

The blond felt his cock twitch with needy want against the killer's clothed leg. Only when the desperate urge for air became too strong to resist did Du'Met release the naked director and sit back on his haunches to just take in the sight of a submissive Charlie. So beautiful, so perfect, so flawless in the older man's eyes.

Charlie gulped at the sight of the bulge in Du'Met's pants. It was evident what he wanted and rapid breathing revealed that Charlie wanted more. With all that animosity for the masked man was gone, for the time being the negative voice in Charlie's brain had been banished too. He wanted attention, pleasure and love and he'd damn well get it; wanted Du'Met to touch him everywhere.

Du'Met pressed another kiss of demand to Charlie's lips before he trailed back down his phoenix's chest. A bite here, a bite there to patches of porcelain flesh until he took a nipple between his teeth to tease with a harshness that had Charlie hiss.

"That hurts." Said Charlie as his hands flew up automatically, but Du'Met caught them and pinned him by the wrists with a strong grasp.

Charlie was at Du'Met's mercy and they both knew it. The killer's attentions hurt but, as time went on, that pain did something to Charlie, it caused a tingle in Charlie's groin and heart. Heat flushed through ever inch of him and soon those bites and tight grip on his wrists had Charlie let his head fall back against the pillows as his body arched into the older man's touch. His hands itched to grasp at something, sheets, Du'Met's hair, the pillows, his sanity, it didn't matter he just urged to grab something. Charlie couldn't though, not with the taller, much more muscular man atop him keeping him pinned.

It happened then, Du'Met hummed and that tingling feeling inside Charlie grew twofold. A sound from Granthem Du'Met had become something Charlie thought of as a personal win, like the murderer had gone out of his way to praise him.

Du'Met sat back on his haunches again this time to see the red flush which had coated Charlie's skin. His captive honestly was beautiful. Most probably would have felt awkward and wanted to cover themselves when under the intense gaze of a violent serial killer, but Charlie had drifted far passed that now.

"… Please, Mister Du'Met Sir." The blond breathed.

A split second passed where cogs were almost visible turning in the older man's mind and then, just like that, he moved from one moment to the next and rid Charlie of his glasses which were set on the night stand before he shuffled down the bed and kissed Charlie's inner thigh. Having been freed from the hash grasp Charlie gave in to his want and snared his fingers in the sheets – tight and desperate to the point his fingernails threatened to bend as Du'Met's semi-painful bites travelled over his inner thighs. Then, with a glance to ensure he had Charlie's full attention, Du'Met took Charlie into his mouth and he arched off the bed so far Du'Met had to hold his hips down.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Oh it had been so long. So very, very fucking long! Actually, if asked later, Charlie wouldn't have been able to remember the last time he'd been sucked off by guy or girl. Du'Met was a little out of practice himself but one didn't complain to the serial killer that had one's cock in their mouth; that and Charlie's eyes had rolled back in his head while wanton moans escaped his throat. His hips continued to try to buck but Du'Met's strong hands kept them in place as he gave Charlie's cockhead a teasing lick just to watch his phoenix squirm in delight.

Another sound escaped Du'Met, a sort of grunt mixed with a hum which Charlie took to mean 'you like that?' and by God did he like it. The Englishman was practically a writhing mess and Du'Met soaked every single second of it up. A large hand trailed up the director's smooth stomach and over his flank simply because he wanted to touch what belonged to him. He'd always been a tactile person since touch had never lied to him. Smooth things were delicate and elegant, and Charlie was mostly smooth to the touch.

Du'Met could feel Charlie dangling on the very edge of orgasm, atop a cliff overlooking the blissful dark waters below and the edge was slippery. Even before he'd decided to take Charlie with him instead of murdering him he'd fantasized about watching the younger man come undone. To be the one who pushed him into that euphoric ocean stroked his ego and had his length strain inside his tailored pants.

"Sir, I'm gonna-"

What remained of Charlie's words never got a chance to slip free because Du'Met doubled his efforts and hardly a moment later the blond came with a strangled moan. Du'Met wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gazed at his panting phoenix. Charlie had become a perfectly debauched mess.

While Charlie lay there panting Du'Met pulled himself up the younger man's chest and locked their lips together, a dominating act which forced Charlie to taste himself on his kidnapper's lips. Charlie's surprisingly toned chest rose and fell, his skin flushed and tinted red.

For the most part fellatio was as far as things had gone between abductor and abductee, but Du'Met was fresh off of a hunt and longed to hear more of Charlie's wonderful noises. The older man carefully got Charlie to release his fingers from the sheets and pressed a little kiss to the palm of one hand, a loving gesture, just enough softness to praise his pet.

Du'Met was still fully dressed but that wouldn't change, Du'Met was the dominant here and wouldn't be stripped of his fine threads.

Slightly hesitantly Charlie reached for the bulge in Du'Met's dark pants and the killer just let him, let the puppy explore. When Charlie took him in hand the older man groaned; yet again Charlie viewed it as praise.

In a sudden moment of pure bravery Charlie leaned forward and started to kiss at Du'Met's neck. Lust had overtaken any logical part of his mind and wouldn't allow it to return for hours yet. He'd been alone so very long and now Du'Met touched him, kissed him,wanted him and Charlie could focus on nothing else.

Almost as soon as the neck kisses had started Du'Met's strong hands had grabbed Charlie's hips so he could thrust against his thigh.

"Fuck me." Charlie breathed with lust and desperation on his tongue. "Sir, please fuck me."

Du'Met's large member twitched against the younger man's thigh, he could get used to Charlie calling him sir. Still, Charlie had asked so politely and had been behaved all the time Du'Met had been gone, so who was he to refuse his phoenix?

Without warning Charlie was thrown back down onto the bed and flipped over by his ankles only to be forced onto all fours. Charlie shivered a moment, the sudden movement had made him cold, but then Du'Met's large hands were back on him and Charlie practically clawed at the pillows. Slowly, as if to torment Charlie, Du'Met teased the flesh of Charlie's backside until he finally slipped a finger into the younger man.

"Fuck!" Charlie gasped.

Du'Met wouldn't give it to the director that easily, had to tease him a little first – though Charlie would have likely assumed it was so Du'Met didn't hurt him. Du'Met slipped another finger into Charlie and curled them ever so slightly, just enough to brush against that sensitive spot deep within the younger man.

"Please, Mister Du'Met! Please!"

When Charlie started to push back on his fingers Du'Met removed them and left Charlie to mourn the loss. Both men knew Charlie hadn't been completely prepped, Du'Met had only gone so far as to ensure nothing would rip; of course Du'Met wanted Charlie to be sore and hurting for days afterwards.

Charlie wasn't forced to mourn long though because soon enough Du'Met had shoved Charlie so his face was in the pillows and his ass firmly in the air, then with spit as the only lube, without single word and only after the tormenting sound of his belt and fly being undone, the serial killer thrust deep into his captive and Charlie howled wantonly into the cream-colored pillows.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck!"

Had Granthem Du'Met been a kind man he'd have given Charlie a moment to adjust to his, rather impressive, size but as everybody who'd ever stepped foot in one of his castles knew, Du'Met was not a kind man and he could embody some Lothario traits when he so chose. His pace was fast and his thrusts deep. Charlie wasn't the only one for who sex had turned into a distant memory.

"Sir, more." Said Charlie, his voice muffled by the pillows.

Charlie had started to view pain in a more positive way since Du'Met had entered his life. Pain wasn't an evil thing, no, it went hand in hand with pleasure and Charlie had started to see pain's worth. It had been said sociopaths were good between the sheets, that their natural instinct for control coupled with their impulsiveness equalled being able to give their partner the good, hard fuck the desired, and by God did Du'Met give Charlie the good, hard fuck he desired. However, if Du'Met was perfectly honest with himself he dangled somewhere closer to psychopath than sociopath.

Du'Met pulled almost all the way out only to slam back into the younger man and force another heavenly cry out of him. His hands gripped Charlie's hips so firmly that there would surely be rounded bruises there in the morning. Oh to bruise Charlie with marks of ownership, marks of ownership that Charlie would eagerly wear with pride – Du'Met had to stop himself finding his climax at that thought alone.

"Harder." Charlie begged then hissed out in sudden pain when Du'Met gave the wanton man exactly what he'd asked for.

Part of Du'Met wanted to see Charlie come undone on his cock, wanted to see those blue eyes roll back in his head and him shudder as his orgasm washed over him, but Charlie hadn't quite become the perfect submissive companion he'd vowed to turn him into just yet and so didn't deserve that sort of reward. Shame, he really would have liked to see that euphoric face. His thrusts grew erratic as his own orgasm neared, then, with a hand full of Charlie's blond locks to force his back to arch, Du'Met felt his balls pull tight against his body, his knees trembled and spilled inside Charlie. The younger man tumbled over the edge a moment later.

Charlie collapsed like the sweaty, debauched wreck he was. Mews and gorgeous moans slipped from his lips while Du'Met admired the lascivious masterpiece he'd created. Charlie didn't move for a long time, just lay there desperately filling his lungs with air, but Du'Met paused only long enough to steady his legs and tuck himself away. Then he went to the bathroom and returned with a cloth to tidy his phoenix up. The sight of Charlie so grateful was utterly adorable, he'd truly been well behaved while Du'Met had been off kidnapping the McAndrews' and then murdering his latest group of five. Charlie had pleased his captor. Good boy.

The blond reached for him then as if they were long-time lovers rather than prisoner and jailer. Oh sweet Charlie Lonnit had gone far beyond Du'Met's expectations. Du'Met didn't take the blond's hand nor did he settle on the bed with him, instead Du'Met left the bedroom only to return with a fancy brown garment box in his hands. The murderer stood by the bed and waited quietly until Charlie had the strength and mental awareness to push himself into a seated position. How Du'Met could go from orgasmic bliss to business-as-usual mode so quickly was beyond the director.

"Is that a gift? For me?" Charlie asked curiously and Du'Met nodded which had Charlie perk up.

Du'Met set the garment box down so Charlie could flip the lid open. There underneath several sheets of sage-colored tissue paper was a suit, but not just any suit, this one was in the style of Du'Met's preferred era. Jacket, tie, pants, waistcoat and shirt all carefully laid out in the box like a treasure; there was even a pair of briefs folded small in the corner. The suit itself was a blue herringbone so dark it was almost black with a matching tie, the shirt white and crisp and the waistcoat had a silken gray back. Clearly no expense had been spared in its construction and the sight of it made Charlie's heart flutter. In that moment Charlie realized he was more than a hostage or prisoner, he was actually wanted and it had been so very long since someone had genuinely wanted him in their life.

"Thank you."

Almost automatically Charlie stretched up to kiss the bit of Du'Met's cheek not covered by H. H. Holmes mask, then he started to dress with calculated care. Du'Met remained fixed to the spot and just watched his phoenix enjoy his present. He'd paid handsomely for Charlie's new wardrobe, which was far more than a single outfit, and so he'd damn well watch Charlie don it. Long ago the killer had rooted about in the duffle bag of Charlie's clothes and, while the clothes weren't tattered and his fashion sense reasonable, Du'Met had concluded they dampened Charlie's natural allure. The many choices Du'Met had commissioned for him though, oh they'd leave him far beyond good-looking. Du'Met left for a split second only to return with a pair of brown leather shoes that he neatly sat at Charlie's feet.

When the blond had finished pushing the knot of his tie into his collar and had laced the shoes up he turned with a smile to face the older man.

"What do you think?"

Out of habit, Du'Met went to grab a notepad from his back pocket but there wasn't one nor was there any tape recorder, so, after a second of quick thinking, Du'Met pointed to the letters on the garment box's lid in turn. The logo was for Du'Met's favored tailors: Gentleman Hashimoto-Vyrden. Slowly he spelt out 'very handsome' which had Charlie's grin widen.

When he'd left to kidnap the McAndrews' Charlie had been sullen and pretending he wasn't holding out for rescue. Now though the isolation had done it's duty and Charlie vied for Du'Met's attention and approval. Would the wonders of Stockholm Syndrome ever cease? All that said, even Du'Met was surprised by how quickly Charlie had shifted to the desired way of thinking. But, since the blond was so happy and Du'Met had put effort into these rewarding gifts, he pulled the Wempe watch box from the corner of the garment box and handed it to Charlie. He'd not been wearing a watch when he'd arrived at the other castle, probably just relied on his cell phone to tell him the time, and not having a watch had aided Du'Met in isolating Charlie, but now he felt the watch would complete the look for his phoenix.

Charlie sucked in a breath when he opened the box because he couldn't quite comprehend how he'd earned such lovely things. He was shocked at just how stunning the timepiece was and the blue alligator-leather strap was something of a statement against his dark suit. Slowly he flipped it over when Du'Met indicated for him to do so and found the serial killer had engraved 'My Phoenix' on the back. Du'Met had only done it to further solidify Charlie's attachment to him but the blond didn't need to know that or that him wearing it would increase Du'Met's feeling of possession.

"This is beautiful, thank you." Said Charlie as he buckled the strap on his wrist. "I was in such a hurry to get the team ready for pick up that I forgot to put one on when…" Charlie trailed off lamely but the older man knew something along the lines of 'when you kidnapped me' had just gone unsaid.

~X~

That night Du'Met allowed Charlie to leave the bedroom for the first time in over a week. He had calmly led him down to the restaurant for dinner – a room he'd stabbed a woman to death in earlier that day. They'd eaten a simple meal of Chicken Alfredo, or at least Charlie had, Du'Met had spent most of the time just watching his pet. Du'Met didn't think himself a particularly good cook, he certainly didn't survive off microwave ramen but he'd emulated H. H. Holmes rather than Hannibal Lecter. That said, Charlie truly enjoyed his meal and having company for dinner for a change.

The older man thought Charlie beautiful in his new clothes and knew he'd get to see this beauty ever day as soon as he hung all the other suits up in Charlie's closet. The whole evening had left the killer in an exceedingly good mood. The McAndrews' had basically dealt with themselves and the five video vacation winners he'd lured in were all dead. Sure, a man's body still floated in a watery tank but he could deal with that in the morning. That evening wasn't for body clean up or tinkering with his animatronics or even research on his next group of doomed guests, no, it was for him to shower his well-behaved phoenix with the attention he so craved, thirsted for.

It was while munching his last bite of pasta that Charlie's blue eyes spotted Du'Met just gazing at him from behind his mask and it caused him to pause mid-chew. Worry quickly pooled in those blue eyes of his.

"Is- Is everything okay, Mister Du'Met?" He swallowed. "Sir?"

Oh that word sounded so good in Charlie's English accent. The sir seemed to have been born from Charlie's fear rather than an unfeigned desire to be polite, Du'Met didn't mind though, not after he'd heard the title laced with Charlie's lusty need.

He nodded to set his pet's mind at rest then prompted Charlie to finish his wine as he leant back in his chair. He'd never had dinners eaten in a peaceful silence when he'd been a child, not with a mother like Lucinda Munday. She'd always yelled at him for eating too loudly or squeaking his fork against the plate, or any other number of ridiculous, trivial things. Charlie though, with Charlie things were quiet and content, no raised voices or demands for conversation. However, the longer Du'Met watched Charlie the more he was forced to remember that Charlie wasn't like him, he needed some sound to fill the room, he wanted to talk, especially after the week Du'Met had left him all alone upstairs.

Eventually the blond decided to refill their wine glasses – 'Sweet boy' muttered Du'Met's mind – but before he'd managed to fully grasp the bottle, Du'Met had pushed away from the table slightly and patted his lap invitingly. Charlie had hesitated a moment, worried his lip with his teeth even, but soon he went to settle in the older man's lap. He almost looked like a little child perched in his daddy's lap like a good boy but Charlie tried not to think about that.

The silence continued to linger on until Charlie just couldn't take it any longer, he had to say something, the urge had almost become painful.

"Thank you for dinner." Was what his mind chose to utter and Du'Met hummed slightly in acknowledgement before pressing a wine-scented kiss to Charlie's temple. "And for the watch. It's because I was good, right? The watch is my reward."

Yes, Du'Met had promised a reward for good behavior when he'd left, though he'd originally intended for it to be the suit, not the suit and such an expensive watch.

Du'Met felt how awkward Charlie felt sitting in his lap but had no intention of letting him go and as if to prove that he tightened his arm around Charlie's waist. The Brit was touch-starved but Du'Met would soon have him programmed to yearn for only his touch, only his attention and love. He honestly did enjoy the power he had over his pet. So well trained.

"Could I – no, it doesn't matter." Charlie practically deflated which had the former FBI agent quirk an eyebrow behind his mask. When Charlie didn't continue Du'Met just stared at him expectantly until he broke. "… Could I go outside? Please, Mister Du'Met?"

The younger man's tone was practically adorable to him, not as good as when he begged but still rather appealing. For a few seconds Du'Met thought the request over. They were on an island so Charlie wouldn't have found any method of escape but there were some spare parts strewn around that may have made a decent weapon in a pinch. Du'Met reminded himself he was supposed to be indulging his phoenix though and going outside after so long locked in the bedroom certainly would classify as indulging.

Speaking of the bedroom, something had to be done, it had been designed originally as somewhere for Du'Met to lay his head between hunts rather than to imprison Charlie. As things were Du'Met would have to block off another bedroom if he wanted one for himself but none of those had their own bathroom. That was a problem for another day's Du'Met.

While Du'Met had his internal conversation Charlie's hope stumbled into an early grave, he'd really not expected permission to begin with. His eyes were downcast when Du'Met nodded though so he didn't see the first time, only when Du'Met had tilted his chin up with two fingers.

"Wait, really?!"

The killer nodded for a third time and made to stand up which forced Charlie to do the same. Easily he handed Charlie his wine glass before grabbing his own and the bottle, then, like he wasn't giving Charlie an opportunity to charge off, they made their way out the restaurant through to the lobby door. Charlie had expected it to be locked but Du'Met just pushed it open with his elbow and nodded for Charlie to go first. For the briefest of moments he hesitated in case it was yet another trap, but when he stepped over the threshold into the fresh night air nothing deadly happened. Charlie quickly filled his lungs with the cool breeze and scent of wet grass, obviously it had rained in the recent past. His blue eyes slipped shut and his head fell back; outside, Charlie was outside! Eventually though he felt eyes on him and, sure enough, when he glanced at Du'Met the man had that expectancy in his dark orbs again. He offered Charlie his arm rather gentlemanly and though Charlie's first instinct had been to point out he wasn't a lady from a Jane Austin novel, he ended up just looping his arm with Du'Met's.

Together they made their way along a path, one not so overgrown as those of the other castle, toward what turned out to be a gazebo. Truth be told Du'Met preferred the one he'd had in the maze at his first murder castle, but the way this one overlooked the cliff and the sea was good too he supposed. Pretty but of little value to his games. As soon as they'd reached it Charlie had slipped from Du'Met's side and up to peer over the edge at the waters below; something about that drop was freeing rather than scary to the blond. Du'Met let his phoenix have his happy moment as he approached, he could always move silently when he wanted to and quickly managed to press Charlie into the rail so his chest was flush to Charlie's back. If he'd wanted Charlie to flinch or not Du'Met wasn't entirely sure. Pressed between a railing keeping him from tumbling to certain death and a serial killer, but Charlie didn't tense or panic at all. Proud, maybe he was proud of the blond for that.

"Thank you for this, I've missed fresh air."

Du'Met just hummed since he knew it would vibrate through his chest and into Charlie's back. The two stood there a time and sipped their wine until Du'Met poured the last of the bottle into each glass, and then they stood there some more. Charlie had his fresh air but Du'Met still had him caged in. Eventually the wine was drunk and a tipsy Charlie had settled against the older man's firm chest. It had been so long since Du'Met had felt so at ease around another human being that he'd rested his chin atop Charlie's head almost before he knew it.

"You're not leaving again, are you?" He asked breaking the silence. "You're back now. You won't leave me again?"

Du'Met grinned darkly. Charlie prioritized company over fleeing now, there wouldn't be any more escape attempts. He wanted to be with Du'Met. Oh Charlie had been such an easy puppy to train. The smoking withdrawal had aided his conditioning wonderfully but since Du'Met often indulged in a cigarette he suspected Charlie would fall into old habits sooner or later. From now on Du'Met would be everything to Charlie Lonnit, his master, his lover, his constant, while Charlie would be Du'Met's ferryman and perfect submissive phoenix.

Du'Met set his empty wine glass down on the railing next to Charlie's then reached his hands up to remove his mask which he proffered to Charlie. His face thanked him for giving it chance to breathe. Charlie was smart enough not to attempt looking up, just took the mask.

"Why-?"

The blond never got to finish asking that question because Du'Met started to kiss and nibble at his neck; that act was probably an answer in itself. Du'Met's mouth felt good just as it had when they'd had sex, the way his hands slipped down to rest at Charlie's hips was rather nice too. Each touch only worked to make Charlie crave his attention more and soon he'd started to push back against the older man's crotch unknowingly. The documentary crew had been disappointing in terms of how many he'd managed to kill, but having Charlie was more than enough to counter his disappointment. The kisses and nips continued even when a wine glass fell from the railing into the grass. He cared not for one wine glass, he had others. Du'Met took Charlie's earlobe into his mouth and delighted in the purr which escaped his boy. He only took his lips from Charlie's skin to admire his suit again. While he tended to stick to darker color palettes of browns, grays and muted greens, Du'Met had selected blues and blacks for Charlie with the occasional flare of color. Blue was certainly Charlie's color since it brought out those lovely eyes and somehow made his hair blonder. The murder ran large hands up over the fabrics then, without word nor warning, he kicked Charlie's feet wide apart and positioned him so he could tug Charlie's pants down enough to expose him. Charlie tried to question but the words became deep moans when Du'Met took him in hand and started to jerk him off in full-view of the moonlit night.

Charlie's grip on Du'Met's Holmes mask tightened as his pleasure grew and his hair was tugged on. He was still a little sensitive from earlier so this wouldn't last long and both men knew it. Soon Charlie's free hand snaked up to cup Du'Met's neck.

"Sir, please." He pleaded; pleaded for what exactly he didn't know.

Then he came with a shudder and clung to the taller man like a safety net which basically had to hold him up. Du'Met's mental pondering had been correct, Charlie did look gorgeous climaxing in moonlight. For a time they just stood there; Charlie got his breath back and Du'Met revelled in that possessive feeling he so enjoyed, but that moment had to end, and when it did Charlie spoke.

"Can – can we go inside now?"

While he would have liked to stay outside for longer, Du'Met knew Charlie had started to grow cold and his legs still shook a little; that and it would likely rain again that night. So, after tugging up Charlie's dress pants and returning his mask to its rightful place, he lifted the blond up and carried him back into the hotel. Charlie being carried in Du'Met's arms reminded them both of when they'd fled the first castle and Charlie had woken up in those strong arms.

At first Du'Met hadn't known if Charlie remaining with him had been a viable option, but those worries had long since faded away.

Chapter Text

Things were different when they'd returned to the bedroom after dinner and their gazebo escapade. Charlie had obviously assumed Du'met would just dump him down on the bed and lock the door on his way out but that didn't happen. Du'Met didn't even try to leave, instead, he slowly started to remove his clothes and neatly folded them on the night stand furthest from the door. Charlie, unsure of what else to do, simply watched as each new layer was shed with confusion until Du'Met was entirely naked save for his mask – an amusing sight if he'd not been a deadly serial killer. If he was perfectly honest with himself he had to admit seeing Du'Met so … relaxed was rather nice. He was a broad and tall man, not a bodybuilder by any stretch of the word but still toned and strong to a level unusual for his age. Charlie had seen him naked once before when he'd been in the shower and just like then Charlie had to admit Du'Met ticked every box for Charlie's physical type. What had shocked him most was that Charlie had started to find the person underneath the murderer attractive as well.

Du'Met stalked across the room until he reached Charlie so he could undress him. Each movement as calm and calculated as every other of his actions.

In a way Charlie felt like one of Du'Met's animatronics – had Du'Met been like this when he'd dressed Charlie's copy for dinner? The tie came loose with a swoosh and was tossed it down top of the garment box which had been sat on the armchair by the bathroom door. The suit jacket and waistcoat followed soon after and Charlie was left with his shirt hanging open before a man who'd repeatedly tried to kill him. Charlie's brain was all over the place, he didn't know what he felt now, if he hated Du'Met or felt something … else. He didn't know and frankly he didn't care and that was what had the blond stretch up to kiss Du'Met's lips softly, a loving display Charlie had shocked himself with.

With all that dominant power in Du'Met's strong arms it wasn't any surprise that the shove Du'Met gave him knocked Charlie down flat onto the bed, but before he could push himself up on his elbows, Du'Met had settled under the covers with him.

Charlie swallowed. "What are- em. What are we doing?"

The blond's brow furrowed deeply as the masked man silently tucked him in; the whole situation was awkward but he didn't argue and just let Du'Met do as he pleased. Didn't – didn't couples do this not … whatever Charlie and Du'Met were. Charlie's blue eyes shot open wide as his brain screamed out 'wait, are we a couple?!' No, that was all totally ridiculous and totally out the realm of possibility.

Charlie jarred out of his internal mumblings then when Du'Met placed his mask down on his night stand with his clothes. His mask, Du'Met had taken his mask off. Granthem Du'Met had taken his fucking mask off! For almost a full ten seconds Charlie fought the urge to look at his bare face. 'Am I allowed to do that? Can I do that? Can I look at him?'. He'd removed the Holmes mask so casually and that was actually more shocking than anything else. Charlie was sat in bed with a man who'd killed so many innocent people, would glancing at his face be the straw that broke the camel's back? However, if that was what finally got his throat slit at least Charlie would die knowing what his executioner looked like. So, after a moment to steady his heart rate, Charlie turned his head and finally saw Du'Met's face. His breath caught in his throat. Du'Met was handsome, had a defined jawline and dark eyes of ebony. Handsome, strong, broad and taller than Charlie in that way that left him dominated. Charlie had always preferred a guy who was bigger than him, he'd been scrawny as a younger man so they'd been easy to track down, but as he'd gotten older and put on a bit of muscle himself, they'd been fewer and fewer. Charlie sighed internally, he wasn't that baby-faced little twink any longer.

"I- I can see your face." The words poured out of Charlie's mouth almost idiotically and Du'Met just nodded. "I can see your face."

Then he was shoved to rest his head against the pillows and the lights were put out before Du'Met rolled onto his side. Du'Met might have been ready to get some sleep but Charlie's brain hurtled through questions, thoughts and suspicions as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. How many people had seen Du'Met's face? Surely he had to show his face to people when he left the island, he'd obviously not be able to wear it without arousing too many questions. Back when he'd still been Hector Munday he would have people seeing him, speaking to him, every day. Then it dawned on him, this was a reward, Charlie had earned Du'Met's trust enough that the disguise, the character, wasn't needed any longer. Something inside the director fluttered. He wasn't just a pet, Du'Met actually trusted him. Or perhaps Charlie had just over-thought the whole situation and it was simply that Du'Met wasn't deranged enough to sleep in his H. H. Holmes mask. Then there was the whole sleeping bit of Charlie's internal freak out, all the time he'd been locked in the bedroom at the second hotel Charlie had slept alone. Of course he knew he'd essentially moved into Du'Met's bedroom but he'd just sort of assumed the killer had bedded down in one of the other numerous rooms; Du'Met's steamer trunk of clothes hadn't shown up in the bedroom after all. Yet Charlie supposed it reasonable that a man would want to sleep in his own damn bed – unless it was Charlie's bed, the one back at his apartment had been a concrete slab of a mattress, which was probably why he'd crashed at his desk most of the time. In all honesty the bed in his prison cell was the nicest, comfiest place he'd slept in years.

The urge to say something, to fill the void, to make some sort of comment, flooded back to Charlie. He'd always been a talker, as a child it had been good for him since he'd been quick-witted too, but as a teen and adult it had done more bad than good, gotten him into trouble and angered people. However, before he'd been able to say a word, Du'Met, without cracking a single eye open, rolled onto his back, grabbed Charlie's head and forced it down onto Du'Met's chest. He wanted Charlie to sleep and it wouldn't hurt to let him feel cared about for a little while longer. The killer hadn't ever been an affectionate person but many people let their dogs sleep in bed with them.

Charlie would have liked to have gotten some rest, his legs were still a little weak and a good meal always made Charlie tired, but how could he sleep when he was essentially cuddled up to a calculated murderer? Du'Met didn't seem to think Charlie would get the idea to attempt killing him and, when he paused to think about it, he didn't want to kill Du'Met and … it was pleasant to be held by somebody.

"Goodnight," he muttered simply because he needed to say something.

Du'Met didn't respond but his heartbeat soothed the blond to sleep.

~X~

When Charlie awoke he rested on one elbow and rubbed his eyes to banish the last of his sleepiness away, but the thing that really woke Charlie up was the fact that the door was wide open. Wide open! Charlie could see straight out into the control hub. The door was fucking open and Du'Met wasn't anywhere to be seen. To say he felt unnerved would have been an understatement. He didn't take his eyes from the door as he patted around for his glasses and slipped them on, almost as if he'd expected the door to magically close if he looked away.

Last night captor and captive had spent the night together, and no matter what that Kate voice in the back of his brain said, Charlie had actually slept rather well. When he'd first arrived he'd felt like a prisoner but, bizarrely, Charlie now felt at least somewhat cared for. He shouldn't have wanted Du'Met but that didn't seem to have stopped him doing so anyway.

Slowly, suspiciously really, Charlie slipped out of bed and quietly threw on a pair of pyjama pants before he oh so slowly approached the open doorway because surely Du'Met was watching. Du'Met was always watching. For a few moments he stared at the threshold judgmentally as though it were the portal to another real, but ultimately it was just an open door. Beyond the whirring of a few electronics fans no sounds came from the nerve centre and frankly Charlie found that wary.

"This is a test, right?" Yeah, it had to be a test, he refused to believe a man such as Du'Met would be forgetful enough to leave a hostage's door open. "Totally a test."

Not quite brave enough to step over the threshold, Charlie poked his head out since he doubted there would be a trap ready to knock his head off; that would have been an anticlimactic way to go after everything that had happened between them recently.

Out in the control room nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, or at least what Charlie assumed wasn't out of the ordinary. Du'Met still wasn't anywhere to be seen but Charlie didn't trust that he wasn't lurking. Charlie had found himself between a rock and an angry serial killer. The door had been open for a reason and that reason could have only been one of two things; but the stay put like a good boy reason seemed far more likely than the one saying he had free rein of the hotel. Yeah, Charlie opted to play it safe and be a good little puppy.

The blond cleared his throat. "Mister Du'Met, sir?" He called out because surely he'd passed this test by staying in the bedroom, though no answer came and those fans continued to whirr. "Du'Met!?" He called out again, this time louder.

Perhaps he'd not passed the test, fucking hell there may not have even been a test. No, Charlie wouldn't play this game, he'd get dressed and wait for Du'Met to lose interest and show himself. Mind made up, Charlie went to the closet but instead of his normal clothes he found the closet entirely filled with new suits. He removed a bottle-green one skeptically and lifted an eyebrow. It was too small to be one of Du'Met's and honestly he didn't seem like the sort to wear a bottle-green suit.

"Wait, are these for me?"

He quickly checked the label on the suit jacket's inner and sure enough it read Gentleman Hashimoto-Vyrden just as the garment box had. Each and every other suit had the same tailor's name and when Charlie consulted the dresser he discovered it had new shirts, ties, underwear and suspenders in it rather than Charlie's few original garments. Yes, they were for Charlie, Du'Met had given him a whole new wardrobe and smuggled it all into the closet while Charlie slept like some kind of murder-y Santa. The Englishman didn't want to think about it any further so he quickly dressed in the bottle-green suit, but he was Charlie not Du'Met no matter the amount of fancy suits he had now, so Charlie threw on his lucky hat as well.

Yet again Charlie looked at the door, maybe he was meant to go out? 'Or he's playing the fucking long game with me', he sighed and grabbed his lovely new watch. 10:02, Du'Met had probably been up for hours and Charlie was surprised he'd snoozed so late. The watch was flipped over then to show the 'My Phoenix' engraving. A phoenix, was that truly how the older man saw him? Though Charlie had escaped that fiery death trap so it seemed a fairly apt description. The watch, the suits, the dinner, letting him outside, the holding him while they slept; did all of that honestly mean Du'Met cared about him in his own strange way? Could he maybe be … loved? Just a little bit loved? After all the door was open and Charlie hadn't been drugged or cuffed to anything.

Still a little uncertain Charlie approached the threshold again so he could poke his head out. It was significantly brighter in the nerve centre than anywhere else in the hotel and the scent of coffee wafted to him gently, post-it notes were stuck in various places such as on walls and filing cabinets and a desk on the other side of the room reminded Charlie of his own when he'd been researching for his show. Suddenly a shuffling sound caught his attention and the blond's eyes snapped to the upper level where he spotted Du'Met leant against the railing with a perfect view of the bedroom door and Charlie. God, he'd probably been there the entire time to watch Charlie sift through scenarios and see what he'd do; just leant there like a gargoyle on a church. He'd been right, Du'Met was always watching.

The two stared at one another a moment, in fact almost ten seconds passed before Charlie realized Du'Met hadn't donned his mask. 'No mask is going to be a regular thing then' said his mind. Du'Met curled a finger at Charlie ordering him up to the next level and Charlie obeyed with hardly any hesitation, it was as though a forcefield had given way and Charlie was soon up the gray concrete staircase to Du'Met's who'd moved to a large control panel.

"Em, morning." He greeted and Du'Met hummed in acknowledgement.

Blue eyes stared at the array of cameras on the screen, of the lobby, the restaurant, a strange room with a set of cylindrical tanks in them and a whole host of other rooms, though some rooms looked more death-y than others. Most were static cameras but some rolled back and forth and even those were at odd angles. After long enough of just staring at them Charlie felt that need to talk that anxiety caused. Talking was a nervous habit for Charlie, words just poured out uncontrollably, but since Du'Met had come into his life Charlie had learned to rein himself in a bit.

"You should move those if you want better shots. You'd get some more effective shots too if you had cameras low." Charlie hadn't meant to be quite so blunt but he'd said it now. "You know, if you want. Not my cameras."

Du'Met glanced from the younger man to the screens then back to Charlie as though assessing something and Charlie hoped he hadn't said the wrong thing because he'd literally just got some privileges. He'd been with Du'Met long enough to learn not to interrupt when the older man was thinking but whatever he'd been mulling over must have concluded quickly because Du'Met yanked Charlie to him by his tie to capture his lips for a kiss that Charlie found himself melting into. Then, as quickly as it had all begun Du'Met just walked away. For a moment Charlie peered around at how much tech Du'Met had gathered for his games, an excessive and slightly impressive and intimidating quantity. When Du'Met did something he didn't do it half-heartedly.

Suddenly a notepad was pushed into Charlie's eyeline and what it said caused Charlie to lift an eyebrow because surely the cunning murderer couldn't have been serious.

"Em – 'Use the radio and tell me where to move them.' Huh? I mean, they're your cameras, I don't want to intrude or anything. You like things a specific way, I get that, I'm the same. You know, don't want folk coming in and fucking up your system just because they think they know better and all. But-"

A strong, gloved hand clamped down over Charie's mouth then, he'd been doing it again, his waterfall style of talking where words just poured out without any sign of end. For a second Du'Met's eyes were dark and Charlie gulped, but then homicidal thoughts drained away and the hand was removed so he could point again to the notepad Charlie had just read aloud.

"You sure?" Asked the blond quietly.

Du'Met nodded, pointed to the radios sat in their charging dock and then just walked away with only a pause to tap one of the many buttons on the control panel, which seemed to release one of the magnetic door locks, and grab his mask so the cameras didn't see his face. And just like that Charlie was alone in Du'Met's murder castle control room. Alone in the control room, did that mean he could block the killer in some dimly-lit corner of the hotel and make a break for it, lock him in one of his own traps or at least separate them. Although, Charlie didn't know how to use half of this shit: Jamie would have known.

"Nope, not going to risk that, not when he just started to, I don't know, be nice to me."

The director was somewhat unsure of what had decided to go on in Du'Met's brain but then the man himself appeared on one of the cameras with an old-fashioned wooden ladder in his strong arms. The room was fairly dark but then light flooded what turned out to be a tunnel entrance reminiscent of creepy Nazi tunnels or those from early 19th century hospitals that had been used to transport the dead. The ladder was set up and Du'Met climbed to the top so his masked face was right in front of the camera. After a few seconds of nothing Du'Met made a gesturing motion at the camera fully aware Charlie could see him and the blond took the hint.

"Oh yeah, right." He grabbed one of the radios from the charging dock and spoke into it. "Sorry. Em, a little to the left. No -no, sorry, I mean my left, your right." Charlie saw Du'Met sigh before he adjusted the camera again. "Up a bit. Yeah, that's a great angle 'cause you can see the whole room."

Mark had a damn good eye, he was a fantastic cameraman and even better photographer, but Charlie knew how to set up a good shot too. He might never have gotten his big break but he wasn't a bad director when his crew acted their age and did as he fucking told them.

The camera adjustments went on for a while since the hotel literally had dozens of them but after about forty-five minutes Charlie had settled back into his normal leadership role. He was genuinely happy because directing was what he knew best despite what Kate thought. For Charlie it may have felt like old times but he suspected Du'Met had only allowed this because two sets of hands were better than one and all that.

A lightbulb flickered on inside Charlie's mind then. Du'Met would never stop killing and any attempts to force him to stop would only result in Charlie's own death. Charlie also knew he couldn't escape Du'Met and his second murder castle. Hell, who knew if he had a third one just waiting in the wings. However, Charlie had a new-found freedom and the things Du'Met had made him feel – Charlie didn't want to escape any longer and that realization should have bothered him far more than it had. Granthem Du'Met, Hector Munday, whatever name he wanted to use, the man had done horrible things to innocent people, but sleeping beside the older man had felt rather nice and it had made him feel oddly safe. That lightbulb flickered again because maybe this was the big break he'd searched for over twenty years in the States. Du'Met had all these cameras and didn't seem to mind Charlie's input. Charlie had always longed to make something meaningful, something striking and powerful, something that stopped people in their tracks. The Architects of Murder had just been a boring documentary reporting facts anyone with half a brain could have googled, but, with Du'Met's camera system, he would be able to make a blow-by-blow. A masterpiece! Finally he had the chance to create something truly worthy of his vision. Oh yes, a masterpiece. Charlie found himself stood a little taller as pride flooded him. He straightened his lucky hat and got back to work excitedly.

~X~

6 Months Later

Charlie watched as a group of thee ran through the hotel's halls, they weren't an issue, Du'Met was dealing with them by pushing them toward one of his many traps. One of the group was already dead having triggered Du'Met's latest ingenious invention which electrified the floor and the only woman amongst them – Sarah, according to Du'Met's research – had been locked down in the maintenance tunnels under the castle. She used her cell as a flashlight and jumped at every drip of water and even her own footsteps.

Just last week Charlie had installed the lovely night vision cameras Du'Met had gifted him with after he'd suggested an upgrade about a month back. In the beginning Charlie had only mentioned things here and there because he couldn't take the quietudes that often stretched between them awkwardly, but Du'Met had seemed to genuinely listen and take note of Charlie's ideas, and, quite often, those ideas would turn to reality fairly quickly.

The blond smiled slightly, the footage was perfect and would look brilliant once he'd edited everything together. Sure he wasn't Mark or Jamie, but this was Charlie's masterpiece not theirs. Sarah shuffled through the tunnels like a frightened rabbit and Charlie watched quietly while he sipped his coffee from the control room. Researching had taken Du'Met ages, and frankly Charlie had admired his dedication, but now they were actually in the hotel Charlie had found he'd missed directing much more than he'd thought. Du'Met did his thing while Charlie recorded everything in the exact way he wanted, not some jumped-up presenter who'd caked herself in foundation and insisted she knew everything.

The nerve centre had, over the months, become more Charlie's area than Du'Met's; in fact half the time Charlie mentally termed it the 'director's suite'. It was his space now whether Du'Met had actually wanted that or not. Regardless Du'Met had the whole hotel and all the traps to spring, he could give up the cameras to Charlie surely.

He took a sip of his black coffee. "Come on, a little faster now, love." Charlie sighed deeply before he placed his mug back down. "Trigger the animatronic at the end already. Du'Met did spend so long working on it."

This was Du'Met's first group since he'd murdered the McAndrews and his tester prey, since then he'd just been focused on perfecting his traps and getting as much of the castle up and running as he could. It wasn't exactly clear precisely when Charlie had stopped caring about the fact people died in the murder castle. At first he'd been somewhat reluctant but the lure of directing such raw material had overwhelmed Charlie to the point he didn't even think of them as real people any longer. Dissociating, that was how Charlie had firmly separated himself from the fact he was recording people being hunted down and murdered. Seeing people through a screen had desensitized him completely. Charlie was behind the camera away from the death as if he were just watching a movie, though being borderline narcissistic had made adjusting to his new role rather surprisingly easy. Charlie had the chance to film as he pleased and Du'Met provided Charlie with all the attention and companionship he needed while Charlie did the same for Du'Met. If one was being perfectly truthful though, as long as Charlie wasn't in danger he didn't actually care what happened to those around him, hadn't when the crew had gathered for dinner in the first murder castle and didn't now.

Suddenly the woman triggered the animatronic at the end of the dark maintenance tunnel, it jumped out and screamed at her. Sarah flattened herself against the cold, dusty wall while she continued to scream and scream and fucking scream.

Charlie chuckled. "Oh it's better than Halloween down there."

A door on the lower level clicked shut then and the blond heard Du'Met climb the stairs, each step heavy and spaced evenly until he was directly behind the younger man. Since he'd been granted freedom Du'Met had essentially let Charlie wander where he pleased fully aware that Du'Met would track him down if he decided to run. Charlie cast the killer a glance, his bowler hat was on as was his trademark mask, and a little blood had partly dried on his apron.

"Did you shove two of them into your water tank trap?" Du'Met nodded. "Where's the third?"

Just like every other time Du'Met said nothing, instead he held up two fingers than added a third so Charlie knew to flick to camera twenty-three. He did so just in time to see one of the men, Jerome if Charlie remembered correctly, pass by slowly. Du'Met stepped toward the control panel and Charlie tried not to shudder at the imposing sexiness he gave off. A gloved finger pushed one of the blue buttons and instantly a door before Jerome popped open with an alarming squeak. Both killer and director watched as Jerome eyed the dark staircase suspiciously before he finally descended it.

"Are you really sending him down to the freezer? That's the same trap you used on me." Had Charlie just felt a spark of … jealousy? No, nope, that was ridiculous and Charlie refused to think about it. So what if Jerome was fifteen years younger than Charlie and had an ass to be proud of. No, he'd just cover up the moment and move on. "Not getting rid of me, are you?"

Du'Met's eyes twitched to the blond. Frankly he thought Charlie's concerns adorable, but his phoenix had nothing to worry about, by this point Du'Met knew Charlie belonged by his side so he'd not dispose of the younger man any time soon. All that said, it was still amusing to watch Charlie fret. His boy needed some reassurance though and Du'Met had a spare minute in between kills, so he pushed his mask up just a touch then leant in to kiss Charlie who hummed happily. 'Silly little puppydog' muttered Du'Met's mind. When they broke apart Du'Met took a moment to stare into those lovely blue orbs before he righted his mask again.

"The girl, em, Sarah." Began Charlie as he tried to act as though Du'Met didn't make him weak at the knees. "She's still in the tunnels. Seems your latest animatronic was a success, her reaction was priceless. Are you sure you want to let her outside though? The rain is really coming down out there and I might not get the best footage."

The serial killer just nodded because he had a plan, he always had a plan. As if to prove that he poked another button and the water tank flashed onto the screen. The two trapped men didn't have long left to decide who lived and who died and Charlie had made a silent bet with himself about an hour ago as to which one drowned. The two men had been spouting insults at one another since they'd arrived but now lives were in jeopardy and Du'Met wanted to know just how deep all that hate actually ran; even Charlie could see that abhorring feeling was to the core so it was no surprise when Asshole A chose to press the button and let Asshole B die.

Together Charlie and Du'Met watched Asshole B's last moments; watched as he thrashed around frantically; watched as his body forced him to gulp down air; watched as Asshole A was released and realized the monster he'd become. The expression of horror was just precious and Charlie knew it would be perfect for his documentary.

Charlie caught Du'Met's gloved hand in his own. "I'm going to edit some of the footage."

With that the director wandered away while Du'Met watched him subreptitiously out the corner of his murderous eye. He'd always known Charlie's narcissism and utter desperation for loving human contact would speed his submissiveness up nicely but the Brit truly had exceeded even Du'Met's expectations. A surprised Du'Met wasn't something that happened often, but Charlie Lonnit just kept doing it and the killer found that refreshing. A phoenix, Charlie really was his phoenix. If asked directly Charlie would have likely denied he was a dark soul capable of killing but Du'Met knew just how uncaring about others Charlie could be when it suited him. Only by living with Charlie had Du'Met seen just how many sociopathic tendencies Charlie actually displayed: impulsive, quick to respond to anger with more anger, highly Machiavellian and had a need to control those around him. Truly the only major sociopathic tendency Charlie hadn't displayed was a propensity for physical violence. Yes, Charlie was a delightfully twisted man and Du'Met enjoyed seeing just how twisted he could get.

The masked murderer couldn't stand there all day thinking fondly of his pet though, he had work to do and people to hunt and that was exactly what he'd do. With a roll of his shoulders Du'Met turned his attention to Jerome as he searched around the freezer. When Du'Met had lured Charlie down there he'd planned on burning him alive, but Jerome wouldn't suffer the same fate, instead he'd suffer an arguably worse one because if he wasn't smart Jerome would find himself buried alive. Jerome wouldn't be smart though, so Du'Met slowly left the control room to see the show. Asshole A would stumble around the hotel soaking wet in despair for a while until Du'Met was done with Jerome and Sarah would trip motion sensors here and then so they'd easily keep track of her. Sarah being outside wouldn't be an issue, you know, unless she caught a cold. Yes, Sarah and Asshole A would be the ones to stain his blade crimson.

Chapter Text

Since Du'Met had been so eager to test each of his new traps and get as much of the hotel repaired and functioning as possible, he'd been less focused on the calibre of people he lured into his clutches, they were just test subjects rather than prey for a real hunt. He'd been through two groups in three months, both had been contractors doing building work, and sure enough, as they ticked over into a new month, Du'Met had brought in a third pushing him over his personal goal of two hundred kills. That was how Du'Met had found himself stood staring at the man he'd locked inside the gas chamber, a man who stared with horror at his sister strapped to a gurney. Du'Met had been through this exact scenario dozens of times, it was old hat to him but for his victims the fear was fresh. Charlie still wasn't ready to play ferryman for him and Du'Met would have rather had Charlie be the ferryman willingly; that idea pleased him more. Doing everything so softly-softly was irritating but softly-softly worked well with Charlie and so Du'Met would live with it a while longer.

The masked man waited patiently for his male captive to go through the script he'd had many read. It had always been rather interesting to see how differently each new ferryman read it despite it being the same set of words just rearranged for a new audience. Some managed to sound convincing while others refused to take their eyes from whoever was strapped to the gurney as they anxiously tried to save their loved one.

As soon as the call ended Du'Met smirked behind his mask and unhooked the acid drip as a show of good faith that provided comfort and made his ferryman more likely to actually believe they'd be released. It was that moment the door opened and Charlie stepped inside with a tablet in his hands and his lucky cap atop his head as the only anomaly to his old-fashioned suit.

"Camera thirty-six is down." Said the blond, his attention on his tablet rather than the terrified victims. "I'll have to go outside to fix it, just wanted to let you know."

Yes, Charlie always did that, it was a by-product of the fear he still had for Du'Met. Charlie would consistently alert Du'Met to where he was going and how long he'd be gone so the killer didn't get the wrong idea and think Charlie had finally decided to attempt fleeing the castle. Though pointless since there were so many cameras, Du'Met did enjoy the reminder that deep down the man who'd come to think of him with such fondness and devotion continued to be frightened of him.

"How many of you fuckers are there!?" The man in the gas chamber snarled. "Just let us fucking go."

Charlie sighed but didn't cast the man a look. "Please be quiet." To Charlie these people were little more than props now, almost like the animatronics. Charlie wiggled the tablet at Du'Met. "Is that okay? To go outside?"

Du'Met gave a curt nod and Charlie happily carried on with his day. He walked down long, dimly lit hallways of concrete in which nestled eerie shadows, until he slipped into the more authentic looking hotel hallways. When not hunting all the sliding walls remained open simply for convenience's sake, and it always surprised Charlie at just how big the castle was – how much bigger than the first castle it was Charlie had no idea. Soon he exited the main door and was greeted by fresh air and orangey sun. Even though he was welcome to go outside Charlie had little reason to since he had so many cameras to position and footage to edit. He'd not really been an outdoorsy person to begin with unless it involved a smoke. Speaking of cigarettes, Charlie had managed to quit thanks to his captivity but Du'Met smoked and Charlie had soon fallen back into old habits: Or at least he had to some degree, Du'Met's smoking was significantly more casual than Charlie's had been and now the two tended to have the occasional smoke break together rather than Charlie climbing the walls until he got a new cancer stick lit. So, as the sun warmed Charlie's pale skin, he tucked the tablet under his arm, pulled a pack that was almost full from his back pocket and lit one with his golden lighter; the lighter Du'Met had finally returned to him. The smoke burnt his lungs in that way every addict came to enjoy.

With long strides the blond made his way through the gardens to the unkempt sections hidden behind the castle that Charlie thought Du'Met wanted to turn into a maze of some kind. There lay an ancient garden shed shrouded in ivy. It looked as though the ivy was the only thing which held the shed together, but that didn't stop Charlie setting his tablet down on the dry fountain and ripping the shed door open. It was something of a JDLR shed – just doesn't look right – but, being English, Charlie preferred the word dodgy. Out from the spider nest came an old wooden ladder, the sight of which caused Charlie to lament his decision not to bring one of the sturdier metal ladders from the castle's lower levels. Charlie ignored his worries though and instead set the ladder up on the inside of the dry fountain and climbed up it to reach the damaged camera mounted on the dog sculpture which sat atop the fountain.

Charlie wasn't Mark but he could fix a damn camera, he'd read almost every instruction manual Du'Met had left out underneath his Future Vision books and had managed to become somewhat savvy fairly quickly. The director had impressed himself with how quickly he'd learnt frankly.

"Ah fuck, it got wet." He grumbled to himself with his cigarette hanging from his lips.

The small camera was removed from the dog sculpture and placed beside his tablet so Charlie could return the ladder to the spider nest it had come from. Blue eyes glanced up at the setting sun, darkness would dominate soon and Du'Met would be in his element. Night owls, the pair of them. Perhaps he'd convince Du'Met to eat out in the gazebo for a change. Charlie finished his cigarette, breathed out large clouds of smoke that drifted off into the distance with the breeze before the butt was crushed underfoot.

"All right, let's get you inside."

Charlie grabbed his tablet and the camera which he'd take inside to dry properly – if he couldn't fix it he was sure Du'Met would be able to. His walk back to the hotel's main door was slow and more of a meander than a walk, directing and editing was a long-drawn-out task so it would be a while before he found himself out for a stroll again. Du'Met tinkered away inside and Charlie rather liked the post-cigarette bliss, so he enjoyed his quiet walk. Thankfully he'd paid attention to Du'Met's lesson on where all the pitfall traps were so those didn't pose a danger to him on his walk.

Sometimes he wondered what his crew got up to in the almost seven months since everything had happen. Charlie had no doubt Mark and Jamie had enough skill to make something of themselves, Erin was much too timid even after her little outburst and insistence Charlie was tied to that fence and left to die. Then there was Kate, she certainly had ambition but her selfishness and habit of quickly alienating herself form just about everybody around her would likely be her downfall. Of course the redhead would keep trying, that was to be admired, but she'd never make it big and eventually end up like Charlie had been – middle-aged and depressed wondering where that big break had gotten to. Mark and Jamie though, yes, to them he wished the very best of luck.

Charlie's past no longer seemed relevant, he'd found himself in the perfect role and Du'Met had placed a bookshelf on the upper floor of the control room which Charlie would slowly fill with his completed documentary films. He had some more trial and error to go through but Charlie's masterpieces would fill him with pride. Finally his work wasn't just slapping something together and hoping for the best. The blond had eventually managed to get the perfect camera angles and Du'Met had actually listened to him when he'd asked the killer to avoid blocking them during his hunts.

Waves crashed distantly against the cliffs and somewhere off to the west a bird squawked. Outside the castle things lived, inside things died. Sometimes Charlie forgot about the sounds of nature. He remembered the time after that first dinner in the restaurant when Du'Met had taken him out to the oddly adorable gazebo. The memory was one of those warming ones, like fresh tea on a wintery night, and before he knew it Charlie had wandered to the gazebo itself rather than back into the hotel. As he leant on the rail Charlie's blue eyes caught sight of something reflecting in the grass between the gazebo and the cliff and it caused his brow to furrow. There was no chance of picking it up since if he tried he'd surely tumble over the cliff to his death, but that didn't prevent Charlie turning his lucky hat around and leaning over the wooden railing to gain a better look. Wine glass, it was an empty wine glass. Suddenly he remembered dropping it long ago and grinned because that was the first night he'd felt as though he and Du'Met were on the same page, like they were something other than prisoner and jailer, like the serial killer cared about him. Suddenly a squeak jolted the middle-aged man out of his thoughts and his head snapped around to see Du'Met sans mask and hat, though he still wore his apron.

"Oh, it's you. You scared me." Du'Met smirked because he enjoyed spooking the younger man here and there. A strong arm was snaked around the blond's waist as the sun finally dipped below the horizon causing the sky to fracture into various shades of orange, yellow and red. Charlie settled against the taller man for that comforting touch he craved. "Do you have your ferryman?" Du'Met nodded in the affirmative and Charlie knew he'd not have very long to finish editing his footage before the next batch of victims arrived. "Will you take a break after this next lot are dealt with? I can't keep up with my editing and surely you can't keep this up much longer either."

Du'Met nodded again and Charlie took that to mean he would indeed be taking a break, but a moment later the killer started to tap on Charlie's upper arm to spell out 'one more' and Charlie knew that meant Du'Met had already planned another set of deaths. Two groups, the next group and another after that, then and only then would they have that break Charlie wanted.

As soon as he'd reached his target number of victims he'd perked up: Charlie had thought that Du'Met would speak for a second or two on that day. As far as the Brit had been able to tell Du'Met's silence was a sort of selective muteness; he'd hum, clear his throat and growl from time to time but never actually spoke a word and Charlie had decide trying to force him was a waste of time. If a new victim total target had been set or if he simply wanted to watch the number swell from now on Charlie had no clue. Either way Charlie knew he'd have many sequels to direct. Since he'd gained control of the cameras Charlie had been essentially practising with them, the footage he had of the last four groups of prey was what he'd mentally dubbed 'the making-of footage'.

Apparently he'd been outside too long because Du'Met coaxed him away from the gazebo, the discarded wine glass and back into the hotel of horrors. How such a place of death had become home was yet another question the Englishman had banished to the back of his mind.

~X~

The arrival of the latest lot of soon-to-be murdered victims was something Charlie watched from one of the second floor bedrooms in the hotel. Five people totally unaware they were going to their doom and a ferryman who wanted nothing more than to keep himself and his sister alive. Charlie remembered how excited he'd been when he'd been in their position; had thought his show was saved and his financial situation along with it. Of course none of that had ever happened and finances were the last thing on Charlie's mind now. The Architects of Murder might not have been saved but Charlie had still managed to find his big break in a way. The Englishman's journey from the outside world to Du'Met's land of nightmares had been almost an entire year ago now on a different island in a different murder castle and they all knew Charlie wasn't the same person he'd been back then.

Charlie leant against the windowpane so he could gain a better look at his lover's new set of victims. Three men and two women – one of said women had long hair in an alarming shade of pink easily seen from even a mile away. That hair would make one hell of a focal for his last test of the cameras, especially if she ended up down in the dimly lit maintenance tunnels. Where Du'Met had gotten to was a mystery, but if Charlie had to guess it would be that the killer was dressed in one of those damn groundskeeper rain slickers moving luggage about.

The first time Du'Met had gone to get a group of sitting ducks without locking Charlie up in the bedroom had solidified Charlie's faith and need for the older man. He'd been alone with free rein over the murder castle, he could have done anything; fled in the spare speedboat, tried to turn Du'Met's traps against him, anything. Those ideas hadn't ever reached Charlie's mind though, instead he'd been hyper focused on ensuring all the exterior cameras were waterproof and that there was a nice bottle of wine waiting for when Du'Met returned home. Home. When the Brit had started thinking of the second murder castle as home he'd actually paused mentally. He'd not had a genuine home since he'd been a child and the only thing to make it an actual home was his doting father. Foolishly Charlie had hoped his move to America would have given him a new place to call home but it hadn't, he'd just slipped back into mundane loneliness and buried himself deep down in his work. The murder castle Du'Met had built though, this place of death, torture and darkness had become home to Charlie, had become somewhere he could be himself and make his art. All in all it was rather nice to have a real home again.

A breath was taken by the forty-nine-year-old man, one that came with a roll of his shoulders and a large hand down his face. Du'Met had thrown himself into his work and Charlie knew he should do the same so slowly made his way back to the control centre. Of course all the traps, animatronics and all the real scary stuff was Du'Met's department but Charlie was the murder castle's director now and would watch everything from behind the camera with the recording equipment as was his rightful place.

Charlie made it into the nerve centre just as the ferryman finally got Du'Met's contestants over the lobby threshold. As soon as the door closed behind them their fates were sealed. There he was the omniscient overseer of Du'Met's empire and Charlie felt powerful. Du'Met got off on killing, on outsmarting those he deemed to be worthless morons, but Charlie's need for power was a little different, he didn't need to kill, he simply needed to sit leisurely in his place of authority and Du'Met had given that to Charlie in droves.

Blue eyes peered to the empty bookshelf, his making-of footage wasn't nearly good enough to sit on those shelves, but eventually many a triumphant documentary would call the shelf home. Masterpieces to be proud of, so very proud. Those blue eyes turned back to the cameras and the family ripe for the killing. The ferryman handed them all their keys and had them sign the guestbook as all did, his own name was in that book after all. With a sigh he supposed he should have tracked down his well-dressed lover to see if he had any plans to cremate the pink-haired woman. That hideously bright hair couldn't go out so poorly, so dismally and underwhelming.

He grabbed the radio and spoke in a clear tone. "Hey Granthem, where are you?"

Oh that had Charlie ground to a halt. Granthem, he'd called the serial killer by his first name – well, the named he'd chosen to use for his reinvention anyway. For a moment that anxiety and panic flared back up inside him because if Du'Met had objection to such a thing it would not turn out well for Charlie. However, just when Charlie had started to stumbled much too far into his head, a tapping came through the radio to spell out 'WKR'. Since not speaking was something of an issue for radio communication, Du'Met had quickly found the genius fix of using Morse code, and, because he was a man with little interest in codebreaking, Charlie hadn't known a single thing about Morse code and had ended up feeling like a student as he'd memorized each letter and number. If he was honest with himself Charlie had been fairly impressed with how quickly he'd picked it up. While it was totally unexpected, Du'Met and Charlie actually made a rather competent team and knew when to leave one another to their preferred art form.

WKR had become Du'Met's shorthand for workroom so Charlie made his way down there after he'd made certain the ferryman had gone to the designated hotel room to await release and promptly locked him in. Disturbing was the word most would use to describe Du'Met's workroom, blood-curdling and disgusting were some others, and Charlie had used those words in the beginning as well but after his months of freedom it had faded to mildly creepy.

The blond slipped inside the room lit sporadically by small lights here and there in an oddly intimate fashion. Blue eyes quickly found Du'Met putting the finishing touches on one of the animatronics he'd use for his big dinner reveal. It hadn't taken the director very long to realize dinner was Du'Met's preferred way of letting his victims in on the game and pulled the rug out from under them. Charlie rather liked the sort of ceremonial aspect of it that really resonated well on screen.

The former FBI agent sat with his back to Charlie, his mask was on but the bowler hat had been placed beside him on the work bench with his radio. He'd clearly gotten engrossed with his work – Charlie understood that, respected it even. Would have been nice if the staff of Lonnit Entertainment had possessed even half of that work ethic.

"Your guests are in their rooms and the ferryman is boxed in like you wanted."

Du'Met's fingers stilled and his back straightened before he turned to face his former captive. Gradually Charlie had figured out what each of Du'Met's expressions said even when he wore his mask. A demonic twinkle in his eye meant that feeling of superiority caused by killing surged within him, a head tilt indicated a question or confusion, if his face turned to stone he was angry, and a smirk was a clear sign of amusement be that murderous glee or some other form of humor. The current blend of smirk and twinkle told Charlie he couldn't wait to start his hunt. Long strides guided him across the room until he was directly in front of the younger man, he pushed his mask up and placed a kiss to Charlie's lips, a kiss Charlie's need for attention made him melt into.

"I wanted to know if you were going to use the fire trap on the pink-haired one." Said Charlie when they separated and Du'Met did that little head tilt. "Her hair is too eye-catching to be burnt. It would look so much better on camera splayed out somehow. Hell, it could be a trailer-worthy shot. Are you planning to burn her like me?" Du'Met shook his head and stood so he could grab one of the many notepads that lay around the workroom, jotted down a few words and proffered it to Charlie. "What do you mean you can't use the crematorium trap again? Why is it suddenly so special?" Du'Met wrote more in that sharp handwriting of his and Charlie was genuinely shocked when he read the word 'you' on the page. Charlie slipped from confused to delighted as a grin pulled its way onto his face because suddenly he felt so loved. "Because I'm your phoenix."

It hadn't quite been a question but Du'Met nodded regardless and cupped the blond's cheek in his gloved hand. Yes, Charlie really had become his complicit phoenix and the killer couldn't have been more delighted. Eventually he'd have no need to leave two alive with each hunt to provide him a ferryman, Charlie would do it willingly and Du'Met couldn't wait for that day.

"I love you."

The words slipped out without him even realizing it and something fluttered inside Charlie's heart as Du'Met's hand slipped down to the younger man's neck. Charlie had been lonely for so very long and with Du'Met satisfying his desperate need for affectionate human touch was it any wonder he'd fallen in love so easily.

Suddenly Charlie was yanked by the neck back to the taller man and pressed flush against his strong chest so Du'Met could kiss Charlie again. His pet had been so wonderfully good for him and Du'Met was proud. How Du'Met could have killed so many people but still be loving with him Charlie didn't know, in fact he'd long ago stopped asking himself questions like that since they did nothing to aid him.

Without warning one of the animatronics Du'Met occasionally tinkered with burst to life like a demonic jack-in-the-box, started waving it's hand up and down and Charlie nearly jumped out of his goddamn skin – and didn't that earn a chuckle from the killer before he went to silence his creation.

"Yeah," breathed the blond. "You fix that and I'll go get some B-roll."

Happy not to spend any longer lingering around Du'Met's grotesque inventions, Charlie wandered away from the workroom and back toward the control room. Feet guided him on autopilot while Charlie's blue eyes examined the watch he always wore with the 'My Phoenix' engraving on the back. He'd never really had friends and all Charlie's relationships had ended rather quickly with arguments and declarations of hate, so Du'Met's attention and perceived care made Charlie feel loved and valued. Nobody should have ever underestimated the power of being loved by someone they cared about. He'd gone from a man dying of old, lonely motherfucker to somebody who felt as though he wasn't on his own, like somebody cared about him.

~X~

With his tester footage dealt with and edited, Charlie had decided to watch it all back on the large screen in the control room like an artist viewing his latest completed painting. As the end neared Charlie called out to the serial killer he'd somehow started to love and after a moment Du'Met ascended the stairs from the lower level to join the blond; he'd left his mask and hat down there though. As soon as he came into view Charlie excitedly rushed over and grabbed Du'Met by his shirt sleeve to tug him closer.

"Come on, come on. This is my favorite scene! You're going to love this, it really captures something – I don't even know, just look at it."

He continued to tug on Du'Met's shirt like an excited child but clearly the killer had allowed that long enough because an irritated grunt escaped him before he smoothly twisted Charlie's arm behind his back and shoved him into the wall beside a filing cabinet with so much force all the air was knocked out of Charlie's lungs, any more and Charlie's wrist would have snapped.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Calming down. I'm calm, sorry, Mister Du'Met sir." Du'Met growled deep in the back of his throat and pressed himself against Charlie's backside, it put more presser on Charlie's trapped wrist and sparked memories of being tied to that fence in the coldness of night. It hurt but Charlie had come to enjoy these little bursts of pain, those ones which teetered on the line between pain and pleasure. "Let me show you the last scene, then you can play with me." That got another growl. "Okay, I'm sorry, I know I don't make the rules. I'll be good, I just want you to see what I've made."

That comment got Du'Met to finally release his lover, he understood the desire for one's work to be viewed and valued. Back when he'd been Special Agent Hector Munday he'd found everything he did was just taken for granted – hell, even before he'd gotten the Special Agent title everything had been taken for granted or condemned as worthless – but his work as Du'Met was just for him and a point of pride, so he understood Charlie's desire for his work to be seen. That was what had Du'Met finally release the younger man and go to the large screen to wait patiently.

Charlie rubbed at his wrist to ease some of the searing pain that would likely linger for hours before he hit play so they could watch the last scene together. He'd finally figured out exactly how to get the best pieces of footage, knew the exact amount of time between suspense and boring. His making-of footage had taught him a great deal and he was now ready to film properly, to actually direct a full documentary of Du'Met's murders and this single scene confirmed it.

Down in the maintenance tunnels was a flooded section that Du'Met had yet to clear of water and tidy up and so had been being used as a wading pool of sorts because apparently knee-deep water added to the ambiance and fear value. What Charlie hadn't known was that the water was just deep enough for a body to float on, and float the pink-haired woman did. Du'Met had cornered her and plunged his knife in over and over and over again until the screaming and thrashing had finally ceased. That was what Charlie had captured, a lifeless body floating in those savage, tunnels, water stained red and that neon pink hair splayed out around her head with a single light underneath the water illuminating the kill Du'Met had made. Just as Charlie had hoped the pink hair was eye-catching and had filled his final scene with a loss of innocence as well as a loss of life.

"Isn't it a beautiful end? That hair says she was a bright person, someone happy and full of life, but now she's dead and surrounded by blood. It's emotive and tells the tale of how nobody is safe from Death, he comes for everybody eventually." The blond rested against Du'Met a little while the killer pondered just how much of a marvel Charlie's depraved mine truly was. "Thank you for doing it so artistically."

Du'Met offered his lover a small smile. He'd originally intended to put her in his new pendulum trap – all very Edgar Allan Poe – but after Charlie had shown so much interest and been quite so needy about the whole thing, he'd changed his plans. Sure it had irritated the madman who enjoyed having everything researched and under control, but relationships were about making compromises so Du'Met had compromised and had to admit Charlie's footage had come out rather dramatic and effective. Du'Met had killed and Charlie had gotten his perfect shot just like he'd wanted, they were both happy and compromise had proven its worth because their relationship was stronger than ever. Oh that made Du'Met mentally pause because relationship wasn't a word he often thought about. It was different so different that Du'Met's mind actually stuttered for a moment. When he'd originally kidnapped Charlie he'd decided to make him a companion since they'd never be equals but … things hadn't gone as he'd anticipated and now Charlie had started actively taking part in the hunts, sure he hadn't killed anybody but he'd certainly not tried to stop Du'Met. 'Are we actually partners now?' the killer asked inside his mind, it would take a while to truly answer that.

"Hey, Granthem?" The killer pulled himself out of his mind and looked down to his lover who seemed uncharacteristically nervous. "I think- I think I might be … ready, you know, to be – to be your ferryman."

Du'Met's dark eyes lit up because maybe it wouldn't take a long time to work out if they were actually partners or not after all. Eight and a half months, Charlie had been with Du'Met eight and a half months and he'd already decided he was prepared to be the ferryman. Oh all Du'Met's patience and his softly-softly approach had paid off because the director had actually come around to the idea without being forced. Fuck, being patient had almost driven Du'Met insane! He'd had many an internal conversation with himself about it, but the waiting had finally ended and Charlie had willingly become complicit. Du'Met's body flooded with something he soon realized was happiness, a happiness he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. It wasn't like when he killed, it wasn't that high but something more … intimate – No intimate wasn't the right word, there wasn't anything more intimate than plunging a blade into someone's terrified body and watching the light leave their eyes, but Du'Met couldn't think of any other word better suited.

"Is – is that okay?" Questioned Charlie when Du'Met had been mentally absent too long.

Was it okay? It was much, much more than okay. With delight Du'Met snared the shorter man in his arms and crashed their lips together for a passionate kiss most wouldn't have thought the former federal agent capable of. Their tongues met in a battle for dominance that Du'Met quickly won, their foreheads touched every now and again when they separated for air before their lips brushed against each other's once more. The Englishman's scent flooded Du'Met's senses, their kiss wasn't innocent more like a tease, hot, fiery, passionate and demanding.

Before either of them knew it Charlie had been forced down onto the hard floor with a thud. Blue eyes peered upwards to find the killer's face dark and dominant, those ebony orbs Charlie had grown so fond of had totally filled with lust and expectants. Charlie loved that look because it made him feel desirable and cared about, it also had him hard almost instantly. Du'Met reached for his belt and started to unbuckle it which spurred Charlie into shoving his own pants down with a needy whimper. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt a little bad for the mistreatment of his 1890s suit Du'Met had so kindly purchased, but getting the older man inside him was significantly more important. As soon as Du'Met's belt was open he fell to his knees and forced Charlie onto all fours like a bitch in heat; Charlie basically presented for his homicidal lover. A large hand ran down Charlie's ass before a finger slipped inside him followed closely by a second and then a third. Fortunately he was still rather loose from the night before and just as wanton as he'd been then.

"Sir, please." He thrust back into the older man's touch as Du'Met released a throaty laugh. "Please."

Then, suddenly, Du'Met's fingers were replaced with his cock and Du'Met took him like the wanton whore Charlie could be. It was rough and fast, more about the feelings that had welled up inside the serial killer than anything to do with Charlie's breathy moans, but none of that stopped Charlie feeling loved. Du'Met had wanted him to stay, to always stay with him, and Charlie would because this castle of death had become home and a man who'd once tried rather hard to kill him had become where Charlie kept his heart.

The killer yanked Charlie back by the scruff of his neck so he could nibble on Charlie's earlobe and the hand which had been on his hip took Charlie's desperate cock in hand.

"Oh fuck yes! Granthem, yes." Charlie cried while the taller man jerked him off. "I love you."

It was all over much too quickly though and Du'Met tucked himself away while he panted and gazed at the mess he'd turned the younger man into on the floor. The Brit was a gorgeous mess of flushed skin, ruffled clothing and cum, a lovely sight that Du'Met committed to memory. Charlie had said a few times now that he loved Du'Met but the killer hadn't really believed him at first – his mother hadn't ever loved him, friends and lovers hadn't ever really loved him so why should Charlie's love been real? However, as Charlie lay there catching his breath he caught Du'Met's eye and a little smile of genuine happiness crossed his face. In that second Du'Met started to wonder if maybe that love was real after all.

Somehow Du'Met managed to shut off his thoughts long enough to find a cloth to clean his phoenix up with then, after Charlie had straightened his clothing, Du'Met helped him to his feet and cupped his cheek lovingly so he could kiss him again. Charlie was touch-starved but Du'Met was love-starved and maybe, just maybe, being together would be good for the both of them.

When the kiss naturally ended Du'Met walked away with a gesture for the blond to follow. They headed down the concrete steps to the lower level of the control room, where he grabbed his H. H. Holmes mask, then through a door, a winding hallway and another set of steps until they entered the room Du'Met used to have his last surviving victims make the call posing as Du'Met. In the cell behind the gas chamber where two people of about thirty, both of Asian descent, clearly another sibling duo. Du'Met had caged them up ready for when it came time to use the yellow cable ferry.

The two men stood before the dusty cell, one with confusion and one with determination, while the brother put himself between his sister and danger. Charlie just watched, while Du'Met slowly forced them into the gas chamber.

"What the fuck is this?" Demanded the brother through the glass. "Why are you doing this?! Just let us go, you sick fucking fags!"

Much to Du'Met's, and Charlie's, surprise it was the blond who flew into a rage at that insult. His mother had used that word almost daily when she'd discovered his interest in men and had somehow managed to sharpen the word to a razor's edge. Leaving England had been partly to get away from her and that word so full of hate. When she'd started to lose her mind he'd been glad because that woman just disappearing would have been its own weird justice.

"Don't fucking say that! Don't ever fucking say that word!"

With that rage still inside him Charlie flicked the switch releasing the gas and ending their lives before Du'Met could. Charlie gulped because seeing it through a camera and seeing it in person were two totally different things. He'd just killed two people, he was actually a murderer now.

Blue horrified eyes searched out Du'Met for guidance. "Granthem, I didn't-"

Du'Met cut the younger man off by pulling him into his strong chest for a hug. His phoenix had made him so very proud and deserved all the praise he wanted. Of course Du'Met had planed to end the lives of his latest captives, he'd wanted Charlie to understand that he had faith he could be the perfect ferryman, but Charlie had yet again exceeded his expectations. His mentor had once told Du'Met that the most beautiful thing he ever made was nothing compared to killing a person, and Du'Met had believed Sherman, right up until he'd seen the beauty of what he'd turned Charlie Lonnit into.

The blond shivered a shock set in, all the time he'd been recording Du'Met's hunts he'd seen them as little more than characters in his documentaries but now he'd actually killed people. Charlie wasn't just complicit but completely and totally an active participant in the horrors of the murder castle.

"I'm proud of you. I love you."

Charlie's head snapped up with an expression of awe so quickly it almost snapped. Shock of the horrid crime he'd just committed shifted firmly to the words Du'Met had so quietly uttered.

"You spoke! You fucking spoke!" The director's mouth hung open agape, for once he was at a loss for words.

Du'Met's voice had been so deep and dominant, a perfect baritone that Charlie had long ago given up on hearing. Yes, the older man's voice was more amazing that Charlie had let himself imagine. A voice laced with power and authority made slightly gruff by cigarettes. Erin didn't know it but she'd been correct about why Du'Met had opted to remain silent. However, he had no qualms letting Charlie see him for who he was.

The serial killer smirked down at his lover. He'd never liked to talk, of course he had to for day-to-day existence but they'd been necessary words, he'd never said two words when one would have sufficed. As a child he'd never been able to get a word in edgeways and so speech wasn't something that had been overly mandatory. However, Charlie had deserved to hear those words so, for the first time in almost a year, Du'Met had voiced something. Besides, his voice had apparently done something to Charlie, had made him shudder with … something, want maybe?

A small, primal part of his mind that humans just loved telling themselves they'd evolved beyond long ago, told Charlie to drop to his knees and await a command. It was almost criminal for a man with such a wonderfully deep voice to never use it in Charlie's mind. Du'Met had let Charlie hear it and it made it feel special. How long had it been since Du'Met had last uttered a proper word let alone two whole sentences? And it was Charlie they'd been said to, Charlie who'd earned such caring words. Du'Met was proud of him. Du'Met loved him! Charlie was loved. Amazing how the fact he'd just become a murderer had been so easily pushed aide so the blond's whole mind could focus on his dominant lover.

The unlikely couple continued to stare at one another for a short time as they each sifted through thoughts and emotions, while they savored the moment. Charlie suddenly remembered the deaths he'd just caused and a shiver ran down his spine, he'd never been a violent person, preferred to spit insults as someone rather than throwing a punch, and he'd not felt that enjoyment he assumed Du'Met got out of killing. A reactional killing, that was Charlie's crime and while it hadn't made him feel good it actually hadn't made him feel as bad as one would expect. Actually, with Du'Met there to comfort him, Charlie found he didn't care all that much about what he'd dine, and that would be something he unpacked at a much later date.

"You know I love you too, right?" Du'Met's head tilted. "I shouldn't since you tried to kill me, since you tried to kill my crew, but I still love you, Granthem." Charlie confessed. "I spent years rebuffing anyone who told me I had sociopathic tendencies, denying I'm a borderline narcissist, but with you there's no need. I am those things and you love me. You are a serial killer and I love you. Maybe we're deranged or evil but I'm … happy."

Du'Met had discovered Charlie's ramblings had two settings: irritating and adorable. The irritating ramblings were normally shut down really rather quickly, but Du'Met often let the adorable ones continue.

The pair still lingered in the hug so tightened his arms around the taller man but all too quickly Charlie's head snapped up with eyes full of seriousness.

"I have a rule though." That got the murderer to raise a questioning eyebrow because Charlie didn't make the rules and certainly had no right to demands, although he decided to hear him out. "No kids. I – I can't help you do that to kids, I'll be your ferryman if you promise me you'll never kill another child. Dead kids will destroy my footage as well. Deal?"

Du'Met pondered it for a moment, he'd got no qualms killing kids, they were nothing more than small humans to him. Charlie apparently thought differently though and since kids weren't really all that fun to hunt through his castle – normally were just a tool he used to force his next ferryman into doing as he was told. No, Du'Met had no particular want to kill children so he nodded in the affirmative then lifted Charlie's hand and used Morse code to spell out 'PROMISE'.

"Thank you." Du'Met had his ferryman and Charlie had his agreement; Du'Met couldn't wait to select his next victims and see his sweet phoenix in action. "Is there some kind of script you want me to read or shall I just say whatever gets them onto the ferry? That Morello guy didn't seem very rehearsed." Du'Met tapped out 'make up'. "Guessed so."

There would be plenty of time for Charlie to figure if he wanted to plan something or just wing it; knowing Charlie Lonnit he'd wing it.

Chapter Text

Since the call had already been made, Du'Met had rushed around after the death of the two captives. He had to leave so he could go get them on time because if he was too late questions would arise and he couldn't allow that. So Charlie simply wandered off to the kitchen as his lover zipped about and tried not to slip into his thoughts. Charlie wasn't as dumb as Kate had often made out, so the reason the blond had agreed to be Du'Met's ferryman was incredibly obvious. The feeling of accomplishment Charlie had been basking in had been wonderful and allowed Charlie to totally forget about the murders he'd committed; the blood on his hands. He'd made the man he loved happy and Du'Met had showered him with praise in his own silent way.

After Charlie had helped himself to the pot of coffee Du'Met had made hardly half an hour before they'd gone down to the gas chamber, the killer suddenly grabbed him by the wrist and guided Charlie from the kitchen up to the control room's middle level where they came to a halt in front of one of the many tables Du'Met had cluttered with research and oddments. Fortunately for a confused Charlie, he'd brought his coffee mug with him and sipped while Du'Met showed him whatever he wanted to show him since time was of the essence.

A red lock box was flipped open after Du'Met had pushed the folder dedicated to research on his next set of victims, as well as the correspondence for random things such as the suits he'd ordered from Gentleman Hashimoto-Vyrden, aside. Inside the lock box were a number of items but the one Charlie's eyes spotted first was the FBI badge that Du'Met kept mostly for prosperity's sake but ignored most of the time. The FBI raid jacket that Charlie had first found in the basement after escaping the furnace trap had since been neatly folded and placed in the bottom drawer of the dresser in their bedroom as equally ignored as the badge. However, Charlie's attention was pulled away from the badge when Du'Met thrust a brown envelope toward him. For a split second he eyed it suspiciously then set his mug of cooling black coffee down and took the proffered envelope. Inside the blond found a passport providing duel citizenship between the UK and USA, as well as a new driver's licence.

"Colin Rathelin." Charlie lifted an eyebrow. "Not as fancy as Granthem Du'Met now is it?"

Charlie peered closer at the picture Du'Met had used for Charlie's fake ID, when the killer had taken it he'd got no idea but wasn't surprised by it after so long in Du'Met's company. The sudden burst of love and happiness which surged inside Charlie's heart actually surprised him, but that passport and licence further solidified that Du'Met had zero intentions of leaving Charlie behind if he ever had to run again. They were in this together for the long haul as partners.

"I think I can make Colin Rathelin work."

That got a smile like an unspoken vow between them from Du'Met. At the very start of his time with the killer, Charlie had questioned the morality of his actions and tried to keep them separate, good, better than Du'Met but Charlie had long ago ended that way of thinking quite some time ago. There wasn't any point in dissimulating or deluding himself any longer. Kate Wilder might have been a self-centred bitch who pretended she wasn't traumatized by what had happened to her friend, but there was one thing she'd been correct about just as Du'Met had been: Charlie was a narcissist and since he'd let them, his sociopathic tendencies had come out from the woodwork. The blond hadn't been complicit back on October 27th but that had been a lifetime ago and Charlie had different priorities now. He was the Watson to Du'Met's Holmes now, okay so maybe he was mixing things up a bit with that saying but it sounded oddly poetic so Charlie's mind rolled with it.

The middle-aged man slipped everything back into the brown envelope and set it down beside the open lock box before he flashed a smirk up at his tall lover.

"So," he began as he grabbed his coffee once more. "Does this mean you've invented some swanky

backstory for Colin Rathelin? Something fun and exciting, or do I get to dream something up?" Du'Met pointed at the blond which made him smile. "Ooh good. Maybe I'm English nobility outed from the country for being the family's black sheep?" He teased but Du'Met didn't look keen. "Yeah, yeah, I'll rein it in a bit. I know I shouldn't make myself stand out. Guess this means Charlie Lonnit really is dead to the world then. Doesn't matter, you and I know the truth."

Du'Met was far from stupid, he could tell Charlie actually felt a little mournful about the situation, didn't prompt him about it though.

Charlie drank the last of his coffee and changed the subject. "I'm going to find something to eat, do you want something?" Du'Met shook his head then pointed at the door. "Yeah, you should probably get going."

With a kiss he was gone both because he was hungry and because he knew Du'Met wouldn't linger much longer, as well as because Charlie wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a while. On the one hand Charlie was upset because the person he'd been all his life wouldn't ever exist in the outside world again, yet, on the other hand, Du'Met had taken the time to supply Charlie with fake information which meant Du'Met didn't plan to confine him to the hotel forever. This was the ultimate evidence that Du'Met cared about him in Charlie's eyes.

~X~

Yet again Du'Met had used his prized ruse to bring in new victims, had told them they'd won and, as usual, it had worked because people were mostly idiots who didn't go looking gift horses in the mouth. It would take a several hours for Du'Met to return – of course Charlie had expected that since he'd spent just over two hours in that limo himself. When they did arrive it would be Charlie's big moment.

Charlie knew Du'Met would alert him when he was there and he wasn't the sort to painstakingly work out what to say, he worked better on the fly. So, with time to kill Charlie ate and took a shower then selected a new suit from the selection Du'Met had given him and dressed before he'd slipped out to the gazebo with some more coffee and a cigarette. That gazebo had become his and Du'Met's spot in a strange way, every time Charlie sat there he felt free and happier than he had been in the last twenty years.

That first deep breath of smoke had Charlie's shoulders relax while birds squawked distantly. Back when he'd been in isolation Charlie had genuinely wanted to quit but Charlie had realistically known it wouldn't stick. However, this time around Charlie didn't chain smoke as a coping mechanism, he only had one or two cigarettes a day now; a casual smoke rather than a guy sucking down tar simply to keep his hands occupied and because no one cared enough to stop him.

"Big day." He said to himself as a plume of smoke escaped his parted lips.

Ironic that a man who normally wouldn't shut his mouth had hardly said a single word to anybody in almost a full year. Charlie could be charming when he wanted to be though and had no doubt he could coax this last lot of prey onto the cable ferry and he'd do it significantly more convincingly than Joseph Morello had; no one would slip off for a look-see like he'd made Jamie and Kate do. No, Charlie would smile and joke and tell them all how lucky they were to have won the vacation for five, he'd point out the gazebo during the crossing and go on about how lovely a spot it was. Charlie wouldn't arouse suspicion and he'd make Du'Met proud. Acting as ferryman would be Charlie's cameo in his documentaries.

"Colin Rathelin." He said to practise the name, then the blond straightened up, donned a charismatic smile and thrust his hand out. "Hello, I'm Colin Rathelin." Charlie shook his head. "Nah, too formal." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Colin. Oh yeah, that's the one. Keep it all smiles and twinkly eyes, Charlie. Colin is a nice guy, he's likeable and disarming. Nothing suspicious about Colin Rathelin, and why would there be? Just a friendly guy in glasses." The blond frowned. "No, no glasses." When Charlie stopped to think about it any pictures the press had gotten hold of would have likely shown Charlie in his glasses so not wearing them seemed like a good idea. "Okay, Colin doesn't wear glasses and doesn't have a lucky hat either."

No hat or glasses seemed safer, couldn't risk giving the game away and angering his beloved Du'Met; not after the killer had put so much faith and trust in him. Charlie couldn't fail or his documentary would be ruined and that was a crime he'd never allow to occur.

The blond's head fell back to stare up at the roof of the gazebo only to notice a disturbing amount of cobwebs up there as well as a rather ominous spider which sat in the corner. While not a big problem – he wasn't afraid of spiders or anything – he did find himself abnormally aware of it and any movement it thought about making once he'd noticed it. 'After this film I'll use the break time to give this thing a once-over' he mused to himself. Tidy wasn't one of Charlie's virtues, he'd always worked in a sort of controlled chaos much as Du'Met did, but the gazebo had become important to Charlie so he'd not let it rot away or turn into a spider nest like the shed had. Charlie chuckled, in a strange way the black spider reminded him of Du'Met since it had done such an amazing job of looming in the shadows.

"I guess you can stay, Spider Du'Met. I'll see about getting you a teeny bowler hat."

All of Charlie's attention tilted back to the serial killer then as he crushed the butt of his cigarette underfoot. That pendulum trap he'd not had chance to use last time would surely see some action, of that Charlie had no doubt. That particular trap had taken him months to build he'd not allow another opportunity to use it sail on by. Frankly Charlie couldn't blame him, he liked to play with his new toys as quickly as possible too.

The Englishman gradually drank his soda and lamented not bringing an ashtray with him, he'd bring one out when he did that once-over he'd planed. Blue eyes stared out at the open water and clouds as they drifted lazily across the sky. When there wasn't a terrifying aura of fear and blood splattered all over the floors, Du'Met's murder castle was actually rather peaceful. Also, if he pretended a little, the view was reminiscent of childhood vacations in Newquay. Those English vacations had meant so much to Charlie, his father had always made sure there was at least one day where he and Charlie would slip off to eat junk food and play in the arcades. Charlie truly missed his father.

It was when Charlie was in the process of shifting his thoughts from childhood's hour and his father that a lightbulb pinged above his head. A camera! The only place Du'Met didn't have a camera was on the ferry – which was something of a surprise when the blond stopped to think about it, although it might have had something to do with waterproofing. However, Charlie had the perfect pinhole cameras thanks to Du'Met. Waterproof and tiny, they'd be utterly perfect to fit to the cable ferry, they'd be able to record the arrivals in high definition and capture Charlie's cameo!

With a sudden burst of energy Charlie downed what was left of his soda and hurried back inside the hotel of horrors and down to the storage room just off of Du'Met's workroom where they kept various cables, scrap and old parts left over from the animatronics; there was also a disturbing cart of mannequin limbs too. In the beginning the room had freaked the ever-loving shit out of Charlie but he'd soon grown used to the limb bucket, so didn't even bat an eye while he rooted through the shelves until he discovered the crate the pinhole cameras had been packed into.

"Success." He smirked.

With his prize Charlie went to the ferry after grabbing his tools from the control room, then started looking here and there for the best angles. Rain had been in the forecast and those lazy clouds had indeed started to grow rather dismal, so Charlie factored that in when he decided to mount two of the cameras on either end of the pilot's house roof: Up there they'd get a good shot of both ends of the ferry, and a third camera inside the pilot's house would cover the blind spot in the middle.

"Should have brought the fucking ladder." Grumbled Charlie. Both the ladders where all the way back up the path and Charlie had done enough cardio for one day, so instead he just struggled and persisted. Somehow he managed to wedge his feet, one on the edge of the pilot's house window and the other on the gunwale. "Almost there. Almost – come on you bastard!" Charlie worked quickly mainly because it fucking hurt being squished up against the house's sharp corners. "Yes!"

Without warning his foot slipped off the gunwale and Charlie plummeted into the cold water with a splash and gratuitous litany of swear words. The middle-aged man thrashed around for a second, it had been years since he'd gone for a swim, but soon managed to flounder back to shore where he hauled himself from the drink. As soon as he'd reached safety Charlie took a deep breath and glanced up at the ferry as though it were a damn traitor. Still, the cable ferry had been docked so it hadn't been too exhausting.

The swim wasn't Charlie's problem though, the fact his suit had been soaked was. He'd chosen it specifically because it was his favorite and he'd wanted to look the part when the prey showed up. He sighed deeply as he wrung his tie out.

"At least I'm not wearing tweed."

Regardless of his impromptu swim the cameras were up and secured so, after he'd gathered up his tools, Charlie returned to his bedroom dripping as he went. As soon as he was inside he toed his shoes off and dumped his wet things in the hamper – Charlie quietly hoped Du'Met didn't ask why the laundry was wet. Although, Du'Met killed people, he wasn't likely to throw a tantrum over a few bits of wet clothing. That dealt with, he took a second shower because God only knew what dirt lurked in that water. He'd chosen his favorite suit originally but since that was out he selected the blue herringbone one Du'Met had first gifted him with.

"Note to self: always take the ladder from now on." Charlie muttered quietly as he dressed and knotted his tie.

Though Charlie tried to deny it even to himself, he was nervous for his upcoming performance. Charlie did his best work behind the cameras and honestly didn't think himself overly photogenic, he'd never had any reason to be in front of the camera before and now that he had no choice Charlie found himself flicking back and forth between overly confident and thinking he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Screwing up wasn't an option, not only would his recording plans be ruined but he would have been shamed in the eyes of Du'Met, Charlie had no desire to look like little more than a tag-along, someone incapable of working alongside a visionary like Du'Met. Charlie couldn't lose the trust his lover had given him, Charlie couldn't lose the opportunity to earn Du'Met's sweet praise.

"Book! Just read a fucking book." Charlie told himself, it would kill some time and take his mind off things by letting him calm down.

So read a book was what Charlie did, he grabbed The Castle Of Ontario from the night stand, a novel he'd gotten approximately half way through, and fell into the armchair by the bathroom door for a while. Charlie hoped that T. S. Hartley published something new soon because he'd rather enjoyed The Yellow Cross as well as The Shroud Of Innocence. He rested the bookmark on the arm. Before coming to the hotel he'd have just dog-eared the page and moved on but the one and only time he'd done that in front of Du'Met he'd been glared at with those murderous eyes, the blond hadn't dared do it again and was silently provided a bookmark the next morning. Seemed that murder, dismemberment and mutilation of corpses was perfectly acceptable, but bending the page of an innocent book was a step too far in Du'Met's opinion. Frankly that knowledge amused Charlie after so many months at the castle and brought a little smile to his face.

~X~

Some hours later Charlie jolted from his tome to the sound of his phone beeping. That cell phone had been a point of pride for Charlie because Du'Met had given it to him right after he'd been given the freedom to walk around the hotel, it represented trust to Charlie. He flicked the book closed with a single finger marking his place and fished the cell out of his pocket.

Seemed Du'Met was ahead of schedule which didn't surprise Charlie in the slightest. Two hours gave Charlie plenty of time to finish his book and grab something to drink. It had just gone 10am, a reasonable hour, but when Du'Met had called his newest victims the hour had been very unreasonable. The reason for calling so early had confused Charlie at first, but he'd only had his own call to compare it all too. Later Charlie had realized the call had been made quite so early to further reduce the likelihood of them telling anybody and gave Du'Met time to go get them.

Charlie shot back a text quickly acknowledging his lover, because leaving a man like Granthem Du'Met on read was a stupidly brave thing to do, then tucked his phone away and returned to his book until he finished the chapter, then slipped the bookmark back inside and placed the tome on his night stand. He went to take a leak then got that drink he'd wanted all before he spent almost twenty minutes deciding if he should have gone to greet everyone in the full suit or just his shirtsleeves; eventually the shirtsleeves won. The jacket seemed a little bit too formal for the friendly image Charlie wanted Colin to have, that was part of the reason he'd decided he'd smile more too. Practically fifty, the Englishman was practically fifty now and even though he'd spent most of his life as a heavy smoker and caffeine addict, he could boast that he was still in pretty good shape. Maybe he'd have to ask Du'Met for a rowing machine. All that said, he wasn't anything like the former FBI agent though. That man was eight years Charlie's senior but by God he didn't look it; tall, strong, broad and a chest that made Charlie weak at the knees.

"Ironic that a serial killer takes better care of me that I did. Clean-shaven and dressed in fancy suits now."

Dressed and with his thirst quenched, Charlie set about double checking that everything was prepared and ready to go for when that limo showed up. Frankly he didn't know what else to do, he'd never done sitting still well but he'd run out of things to do, there wasn't anything left beyond get them onto the ferry. As soon as they were in the building Du'Met would take over so Charlie could return to his screens. Before Du'Met had left he'd set up that damn groundskeeper animatronic rain slicker and all, the killer used it on every single one of his hunts to really drive home the realization that Du'Met was going to kill everyone with extreme violence. Though he'd never voiced it, Charlie suspected his lover knew just how much Charlie hated that animatronic; it reminded him of the worst fear he'd ever felt even if he had ended up in love with the man who'd caused that fear.

Since he was desperate for something to occupy his time, Charlie travelled around to each of the hotel rooms which had been set up for the victims. Of course they'd not actually end up sleeping there, but Charlie had taken to making the rooms look much less duplicitous than when Charlie and his crew had arrived; besides, if the rooms looked more presentable it would provided better opening shots for Charlie. Sure enough when Charlie entered the bedrooms they smelt stuffy so Charlie opened the windows.

"When did I become the fucking maid?" Charlie questioned himself with only mild irritation. "Should probably double check the lobby."

Charlie did just that. It was aimless wandering by a man who still hadn't worked out if he'd gotten in over his head or not. Strange that it had taken quite so long for Charlie to feel that way.

"Maybe we should get a dog or something." He mused as he descended the stairs and slipped behind the lobby desk. "The place would be less deadly quiet that way."

A dog sounded nice but he really doubted Du'Met would go for that, he didn't seem like the most animal-friendly of people.

The keys were all hung and ready, the guest book lay on the desk with a pen atop it and Charlie knew there was really nothing else he could do. Nerves, that was why Charlie had started micro managing everything. For years Charlie had manipulated people like Erin Keenan into doing what he wanted for him and Lonnit Entertainment though so Charlie's nerves didn't matter because it wouldn't be Charlie who greeted them, it would be Colin. Colin would get them onto the cable ferry and into the castle and he'd do it with ten times the finesse Joseph Morello had shown.

For a second time Charlie's cell pinged and he sighed once he'd fished out out of his pocket.

" 'Ahead of schedule', why am I not surprised? Okay, okay, the time has come and you can do this."

The 'go get them, phoenix' bit caused a flutter of delight inside the blond, Charlie always soaked up every kind word and hint of praise Du'Met tossed his way.

Fully aware that keeping his lover's guests waiting was a clear no-no, Charlie went directly to the ferry. Show time. Long ago Charlie would have refused to aid Du'Met, would have never helped him to kill, but those days were a dim and distant memory now and all Charlie cared about was being praised by Du'Met and his documentary films. Sympathy and morality were just things that had been tossed out the window now, faded voices of reason that weren't of any use to him. It was the lives of these people or his art, so Charlie took a leaf out of Du'Met's book and chose his art. Yes, it truly was show time.

Chapter Text

Lucille

Dock

11:54am | August 3

The ferry came to a stop on the other shore just as the sky started to darken indicative of rain. Du'Met would have parked the limo wherever it was he kept the limo and headed back on the other boat by now. Roles had been reversed and it was Charlie on the side of freedom. Trepidation rumbled through the blond as he took that first step onto dry land as it was the first time he'd been off the island in almost a full year, since Du'Met had kidnapped him. That exact moment was where Du'Met's true trust in Charlie showed itself. He could have just alerted the victims and run off to safety with them, but no, Charlie had no desire to do that. Charlie wasn't just some silly victim, especially when he had such perfect documentaries to film and a man who loved him.

Eyes flicked to Charlie then and he ignored the tingle of apprehension inside his heart, pulled on his charming smile and disembarked the ferry. Charlie could do this and he'd do it well. 'Charming and likeable!' he told himself as he approached the group. Charlie already knew their names of course, Du'Met had done his research and Charlie liked to show a quick run-down at the start of his footage since it had made keeping track easier.

Lucille Patterson was the young woman who'd received the invitation, the one who'd unknowingly brought her family to the door of a murderer; a pretty, kind-hearted woman of twenty-seven who was something of a free spirit. Eloise and Heidi were the two younger sisters of Lucille wit the twenty-one-year-old Heidi being significantly arrogant and self-centred while Eloise played the role of mediator middle sibling. Lastly in the group was Rick, Eloise's husband and a truly handsome man in Charlie's opinion. He was African-American and tall, not quite as muscular as Charlie normally liked but those ebony eyes of his were quite striking. The only question was where Greg had gotten to, Charlie couldn't see him and Charlie did his best to hide his worry. Greg was Lucille's husband and reminded Charlie of when he'd been young, the man was equally focussed on work but did genuinely love his wife.

"Hi there, how are we today?" He began casually with a bright smile which faltered a little when Lucille's brow furrowed.

"You're em, you're not who I spoke to on the phone this morning. Mister Du'Met said he'd meet us here."

"English accent gave it away, did it?" Charlie chuckled because they'd expected that question. "No, I'm not Granthem, my name is Colin Rathelin. I'm – he's my husband." Oh that had just come out, but once it had the lie seemed like a logical story to tell, believable and less suspicious than other falsehoods. "I'm sorry the call came so early, Granthem spends a lot of time in other time zones and often forgets he's waking people up." He thrust his hand out for Lucille to shake. "Granthem had intended to come meet you himself but a small problem with work came up so he asked me to come greet you instead. I hope that's all right."

The brunette woman perked up upon hearing Charlie's lies and explanations and the other three didn't seem suspicious either. Charlie's question as to where Greg was lingered though.

"Oh yeah, perfectly fine. Sorry, it's just this all happened so fast and we're a little sleep deprived."

"Didn't think you'd win?"

Du'Met occasionally ran online competitions for various things with secret first prizes. Since everything was online these days Du'Met had decided to update along with the times.

Eloise suddenly stepped forward then and Charlie showed her another one of the charismatic smiles he'd practised.

"You should have seen how excited she was when your husband called. I'd not even realized she'd entered."

"Well, let's get you over to the island so we can get that vacations started."

Charlie gestured to the cable ferry as though it weren't Charon's boat and attempted to look encouraging but then Heidi stomped forward with an expression of disgruntlement.

"Your driver took our phones." She complained. "Our phones. He just left us here, too."

Oh yeah, her death couldn't come soon enough.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. Mark's been having some problems lately, I'll speak with him. As for your phones, Granthem is a very private person and believes that while at the hotel visitors should shut out social media and just enjoy their time together. He's got an old soul." Heidi's mouth opened for more complaints to pour out but Charlie just kept talking, if there was one thing Charlie could do it was talk. "Your phones are in a secure lock box in the limo which is now inside a very secure garage. They're perfectly safe and will be returned promptly when you leave. If you find yourselves needing to make a call, there is one at the lobby desk you're very welcome to use, day or night."

Rick nodded. "That sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Shutting off for a while will be good for us all. Heidi, you might like it."

The younger woman scowled at that comment but again Charlie wasn't surprised, he already knew Rick and Heidi couldn't stand one another. Frankly Charlie thought many of her cruel jabs bordered on being racially offensive. Although, guests who couldn't stand one another were what Du'Met targeted, it made them much more interesting to hunt and taunt.

"After you." He gestured to the ferry yet again and this time they seemed to take the hint.

"Thank you, Mister Rathelin."

"Colin, please."

A friendly guy, that was who Colin Rathelin was, and nice guys didn't insist on formality from his guests. So, Charlie ushered them onto the ferry while Lucille gazed off at a clustered of trees expectantly; suddenly all that worry as to where her husband had wandered off to faded because Charlie realized he'd likely slipped off to pee or something else as mundane.

"Greg!" Lucille cried. "The ferry is here!"

The husband appeared then and Charlie paled, his stomach dropped and his mouth hung open before he got control of himself. In Greg's arms was a sixth member of the group, a young child who looked to be around three years. He might have gotten control of his expression but on the inside he'd grown angry and concerned. No children was the single request he'd made of his lover, one request which had been totally disregarded. It was all too late for Charlie to suddenly change his mind or deviate from the plan though, true be told he wasn't entirely sure what to do, so Charlie just got them onto the ferry and took off toward the island.

Charlie tried to keep his eyes off the kid, tried not to feel the betrayal which stabbed him in the back, but Greg approached him with a polite greeting and the child in his arms after a quick conversation with his wife.

"I hope us bringing Rosalie isn't too much of an issue for you, Mister Rathelin. I know Mister Du'Met said this prize was only for five, but we couldn't get a sitter on such short notice. Normally we'd leave Rosalie with her Aunt Ellie but that obviously wasn't an option."

Charlie swallowed. "No, nah, it's perfectly fine. She's a very beautiful little girl, how old is she?"

"She's four, just turned." The child bounced happily in his arms without a care in the world. "Can you say hello to the nice man for Daddy?"

"… 'ello."

"Hi, little one."

Charlie had gotten them on the ferry but with one more person than he'd intended. He'd not wanted to hurt children, even Charlie wasn't that heartless, but there wasn't any way out of it now and for the first time since he'd entered Du'Met's world questioned what he was doing. When he'd agreed to be the ferryman Charlie had given one condition, and Du'Met had ignored it entirely.

Lucille left her sisters and brother-in-law in favor of joining her husband, daughter and Charlie. Just as with the rest of her family she seemed excited about their free vacation, as totally oblivious as everybody else. Hell, even the birds which roosted on the island knew more than the people around Charlie.

"Your husband inherited the hotel, is that right?"

"Yes." He confirmed. "He got it about a decade ago now. It was a bit rundown when we arrived but together we really turned this place into something special. There's nothing like this anywhere else."

Colin Rathelin might have been a genuine person with a good nature, but he was just a mask worn by the narcissistic Charlie Lonnit, just like the Holmes mask Du'Met favored. That narcissism and growing display of sociopathic tendencies was what caused Charlie to pepper his comments with breaths of the truth, tiny hints only an insider would ever notice.

"Do you live here or…?" Lucille trailed off while she petted her daughter's auburn hair.

Charlie nodded. "We do, yeah. The hotel sort of took over our lives. Sometimes I feel like I can't leave."

Lucille smiled sweetly – in a strange way it was something of an honor to see her smile, she'd not be bestowing many more of them on people.

"Sounds like you've been married a while."

It hadn't been part of the lie Charlie had planned, but he actually rather liked thinking of Du'Met as his husband because it would be the ultimate symbol of how united killer and director had become. Just knowing these people believed they already had that ultimate symbol had an odd pride swell inside Charlie.

"Longer than people thought we would be. Our relationship sort of crept up on us." Explained the blond with a smile. "In the beginning we kept trying to kill each other."

Greg and his wife chuckled thinking that had been a joke, they'd got no idea just how many times Du'Met had actually tried to end Charlie's life with vehement determination. Was chance what had let Charlie live so long or had he been fated to spend the rest of his life at the murderer's side?

"Luci and I went through a phase like that a while back, I was working too much."

"Yeah," began the brunette. "Vacations keep us sane now, especially since Rosalie came along."

Charlie couldn't have cared less about their relationship status, they were barely 3D characters for the star of his films to kill. The moral question of how much a life was worth wasn't something Charlie asked himself these days and frankly he hoped they hurried up and reached the island before he gave himself away because smiling nicely wasn't something which came naturally to Charlie Lonnit.

Soon the subject changed when the ferry finally came to a stop and everybody disembarked with their luggage – a rather large amount of luggage since children apparently needed so much junk and Heidi had packed more make-up than even Kate would have thought necessary. None of that mattered in the slightest, it would all go into the disposal soon enough. The likelihood of Charlie rooting through their stuff first to see if these people had brought a book with them was through the roof though.

"Right, go ahead and leave your luggage here." That got five sets of eyes to turn to him with questions. "Our groundskeeper will take everything up for you. It'll probably make it up before you do."

The jovial smile and twinkle in his blue eyes had completely disarmed these blithering idiots because nobody questioned Charlie.

"It's very quiet here." Eloise commented. "Peaceful."

"My husband enjoys quiet."

Charlie guided the group up to the hotel quickly claiming a worry that the heavens could open at any second, but he still noticed Rick and Greg look back just in time to spot Du'Met dressed in a yellow rain slicker load up their luggage and take it away.

"For an island hotel, that's a pretty secure fence." Said Rick but Charlie continued to smile despite having wondered about the fence himself at the first murder castle.

"Granthem has a collection of antiques," he lied smoothly. "Some of his books and paintings are really rather rare and, as you can imagine, worth a fortune. Having the fence keeps the insurance premiums down.'

Though a logical and perfectly understandable explanation, it didn't stop Heidi muttering under her breath from the back of the small group.

"Still a creepy fucking fence."

At some point on their journey to the gates of hell Rosalie had been passed from father to mother but Charlie paid that little attention; still didn't know how to mentally deal with the child's presence. Instead of all that Charlie pointed out his adored gazebo off to their right.

"Tomorrow we'll have a little cocktail evening out there. I promise, the gazebo is beautiful."

Of course they'd never see the gazebo, never set foot in it, but they didn't need to know that. The gazebo was only for Charlie and Du'Met.

"Sounds nice." Said Rick, but Charlie supposed that was mostly down to the word cocktail.

Once they'd stepped inside the two older sisters and Greg peered around the lobby with oohs and ahhs while Heidi continued to scowl about her lack of a phone and Rick took mental note that their luggage had indeed made it there before them.

"If you all wouldn't mind signing in." Commented Charlie as he slipped behind the desk and flipped the guest book open.

"Wow, this really is old school." Heidi announced like it was something to be ashamed of and shoved Rick out the way so she could sign the book first. "Let's get this over with."

Yes, Charlie looked forward to her death. He handed over keys once all had signed the guest book, Du'Met had left him with specific instructions as to who got which key and Charlie made sure to follow them. He offered a few more throw away comments about this and that like a good host but his mind returned to Rosalie Patterson. A four-year-old girl that never should have been there in the first place. Du'Met had promised there wouldn't be any children. He'd promised yet there Charlie was looking at an innocent little girl.

"Do you know when we'll meet Mister Du'Met?" Greg asked.

"Dinner will be served at eight o'clock sharp, you'll see him then. Granthem is probably engrossed in his work, but don't worry, I'll drag him away for you. The restaurant is just through there-" Charlie gestured to his right where the double doors lay. "The bar is through there as well."

The mention of a bar perked Rick up almost as much as the thought of cigarettes had with Charlie back when he'd been a guest. Even Heidi came back down the stairs she'd gotten already half way up.

"Any chance of a drink? It's been a long drive and a drink sounds real good right about now."

The bar wasn't part of the plan, nor did Charlie think Du'Met would totally approve, but refusing them seemed like too much of a risk. However the place was fully stocked and Charlie had tended bar when he'd first shown up in America in order to put food on the table, so he ended up guiding them into the bar and poured them all drinks while they chit-chatted about unimportant things. Fortunately Du'Met had caught the glance his lover had given to one of the cameras and taken the hint to unlock the doors.

"Okay, I have to fucking ask: What the actual fuck is that?" Heidi demanded.

Charlie glanced to the animatronic beside him at the bar. Du'Met had packed it up into one of the boxes Charlie had helped his lover abscond with. Sure it was creepy but far from the deadliest thing in the hotel.

"Don't mind him, he's an antique my husband decided he liked way back when. It's strange but it won't hurt you." He moved the subject along. "I'll go get some juice for the little one."

After another charming smile Charlie slipped away to the control centre because he remembered Du'Met had replaced the bottle of orange juice they kept in the mini fridge there. As soon as he got through the door he spotted Du'Met at the control panel and that betrayal flared up deep inside his soul again. In an instant he'd rushed over to confront him with hurt in his accented voice.

"You promised me no kids and the first time – the first fucking time I play ferryman for you, you throw our deal out the goddamn window."

In hindsight, screaming in the face of a serial killer who'd broken two hundred kills, wasn't the wisest of acts, and before Charlie knew it he'd been slammed against the concrete wall by the throat. Du'Met's grasp was strong and unwavering, just a little tighter and Charlie's life would have been over. Charlie couldn't have escaped even if he'd wanted to so he tried to ignore the sting in the back of his head where it had struck the wall. Blue eyes watched as Du'Met removed one of his notebooks from his back pocket and shoved it into Charlie's hands. The order to read aloud was fairly evident.

" 'I know you're angry about the child.' Yeah no shit, Granthem! 'I instructed them to bring five adults in accordance with our deal, but by the time I found out about the girl it was too late to turn back. I did not break our deal, I had no intention of the Patterson's bringing their daughter.' "

Charlie sighed because he actually believed the taller man who still pinned him to the wall. Other than using a child to ensure a ferryman's compliance Du'Met had little use for a child, especially one at the tender age of four. It wasn't as though Du'Met intentionally targetted kids after all, so he peered up at his lover silently for a second.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Granthem." Finally the Englishman was released but it came with a turning gesture that instructed Charlie to turn the page because of course Du'Met had thought about all of this already. " 'I won't make you hurt her and I have no desire to do so myself. Dealing with this will be quite simple.' "

As he spoke Du'Met's words the painful betrayal faded away slowly and guilt filled the hole because he never should have thought Du'Met to go back on his word. Truth be told Du'Met was actually rather trustworthy and once he'd made a deal he honored it. Sure, if someone had made a deal but left it open to speculation or loopholes he'd use that against them, but for the most part he stuck to his word.

Charlie continued. " 'Greg and Lucille will set their daughter down to sleep and leave her alone while they are in the restaurant. When they do, you will simply remove the child and keep her in our bedroom until I have finished killing. Afterwards, I will take her to a location off the island where she can be abandoned near people who will see she is cared for.' " Charlie nodded. "Okay, sounds fair. I'm coming with you when you do though." A brief pause lingered between them a second before Du'Met nodded in agreement. "Okay, we're all good again."

Charlie made to walk away then and grab that orange juice before their guests started to wonder where the man they called Colin had gotten to. Yet, before he'd even made it a full step, Du'Met had grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him back to trap the younger man. Lips pressed to Charlie's for a demanding kiss, Du'Met's tongue found its way into Charlie's mouth and the blond practically melted. Then everything was over, Du'Met had returned to the control panel in an instant and Charlie had no choice but to gather his thoughts, grab the juice and hurry back to the bar. Thankfully Charlie hadn't been missed, the group had slipped into causal conversation and only glanced at him when he rejoined them.

"Here we are, sorry that took so long." Quickly he poured some of the orange juice into a tumbler glass and pushed it toward the four-year-old child. "There you go, little one."

Greg nudged his daughter. "Say thank you, Rosalie."

"… Thanks."

"Tell me," began the youngest sister – and the one Charlie wanted dead the most. "The hell is with that counter on the stairs?"

He'd ignored that when he'd been a guest, just registered it as a little strange then moved on.

"It's a novelty thing really, just counts how many groups we've had stay with us over the years."

Meanwhile Du'Met watched and waited from his nerve centre like the omnipotent god of murder he'd turned himself into. He listened as Charlie played his role well and enjoyed just how oblivious they all were. The masked man had to admit he was proud of his phoenix, even if the kid had been a shock and point of pain for him. Du'Met had always known Charlie would make the perfect ferryman, but he'd intended to use Mark Nestor simply because he would have been easier to control and because he'd liked the idea of burning Charlie alive far too much. No, he couldn't ever kill his precious phoenix now, not when he was so proud and eager to see just how much darkness truly lurked inside the Brit.

Charlie had long since come to understand that Du'Met was the dominant of their relationship, and that meant that, while Charlie was entitled to his opinions and objections, Du'Met reserved the right to put Charlie in his place. That was what had happened during their little spat, just enough force to remind the blond who was in charge. At first Charlie hadn't been too pleased about the situation, but the praise and attention he got whenever he'd pleased the older man had quickly gotten him in line.

Yes, Granthem Du'Met had everything he wanted; adorably dark submissive who melted every time he got a head pat, a plethora of victims to choose from and a hotel of horror that even the Devil himself would have been proud of. With a smirk he placed his bowler hat on and got to work.

~X~

Just as the clock ticked over to 7:50 Lucille and Greg finally got Rosalie to settle down for bed, she should have been asleep by now but all the new sights, smells and the excitement had kept her insisting she wasn't tired. Rosalie had always been a strange child, she hardly ever cried and didn't seem overly interested in people, but that didn't mean she wasn't a curious or intelligent child. Lucille had just decided her daughter took more after Greg than herself. Regardless, Rosalie had gone to sleep so her parents quickly made their escape down to the restaurant for dinner like the nice Mister Rathelin had instructed them to.

Nobody knew of the two men who watched them through numerous hidden cameras, or that they listened to every stray word as well. As soon as the Pattersons had left their sleeping daughter unattended Charlie seized his chance and left his lover in favor of slipping through the hidden halls and down a flight of stairs until he found the mirror which provided access to the child's room. He paused a moment just to assure himself no one would suddenly return for something forgotten, then opened the mirror and walked to the foot of Rosalie's bed. The girl was curled up on her side with a purple teddy bear cuddled close – innocent, she looked innocent.

Charlie hadn't ever held a child before so he was surprised by just how light she was as he lifted her sleeping form up into his arms, as he did her bear slipped from her grasp. Rosalie showed no sign of waking but Charlie suspected that had something to do with the drugs Du'Met had slipped into the meal Charlie had delivered an hour ago; since drugging children wasn't something the killer did often, he'd left the dose a little weak hence why she'd taken quite so long to drift off.

Carefully he took her back through the network of hidden hallways and up that flight of stairs to the bedroom he shared with his lover where he set Rosalie down gently. Charlie covered her over with the sheets then returned to the hotel room to grab the kid's bear and the bright pink bag filled with her stuff, that pink bag soon found itself dumped on the armchair Charlie had done a lot of reading in earlier that morning while the bear was returned to Rosalie's arms.

"There you go." Said Charlie quietly despite knowing she'd not wake. "You'll be safe here away from all the bloodshed. Word of advice for when you get older though: Serial killers normally get to kill as many as they do because people are stupid, so if somebody offers you something too good to be true, it probably is."

Unsure of what else to do for the little girl he returned to his cameras and omniscience, but before he did Charlie decided to leave the door open a crack so a sliver of light lit the room and so he was able to hear her if she did rouse from her drugged dreamland. Since he had no desire for her to get loose in the control nexus Charlie also hauled a box of various tools, cables and whatnot; the box was heavy and fairly tall so Rosalie stood no chance of moving or climbing over it. He hoped that kept the kid in one place because murdering a hotel full of people seemed a significantly harder task when babysitting an unrestrained child. Baby prison had better do it's job, it had better work because if she got out or broke something Charlie wasn't sure what Du'Met would do. Yes, he'd promised not to kill the child or any other and Du'Met kept his word, but killing wasn't the he could do to a person.

As he returned to the cameras and controls Charlie pondered if he should have left her something to occupy herself or maybe left the bathroom light on instead. It was no secret that Charlie had zero idea how to properly care for a child, it wasn't that he didn't like kids exactly just that he'd never spent any time with them; Charlie had no siblings and obviously wasn't a father himself. Maybe the Brit had begun to worry over nothing like a mountain out of a mole hill situation or sophistry. Rosalie would be gone soon, safely in a place with people who'd care for her and she'd never have to know her parents and immediate family had been slaughtered by an eerily capable serial killer and his complicit director lovingly referred to as a phoenix. No, Rosalie wouldn't ever have to know that pain, just another girl abandoned by incapable or disinterested parents. Mundane, her life would be mundane after that and Du'Met's promise not to murder children would be intact.

When his attention finally returned to his work, Charlie checked the camera in the restaurant and smirked because they'd finally started to wonder why Du'Met and his husband hadn't shown up for dinner. At first Charlie had been somewhat anxious that alerting the guests to the fact there were two of them on the island rather than just the mysterious Du'Met, but his lover hadn't seemed overly concerned – maybe because he'd not be keeping any of these people alive to play ferryman.

A door to the west side of the hotel opened then and the former federal agent stepped into Charlie's peripheral vision until he stopped by his side. A director and his leading man behind the scenes.

"The girl, Rosalie, is in our room. She's asleep like you wanted."

Du'Met nodded to acknowledge the words but didn't take his dark eyes away from the screen. Together they listened as more questions as to their hosts' whereabouts arose, then to Heidi cracking a truly tasteless joke about Colin and Du'Met fucking and forgetting about their guests entirely. The killer clicked his tongue because he found the joke distasteful and uncouth.

~X~

Eloise

Restaurant

20:16pm | August 3

Meanwhile down in the restaurant Heidi's sisters had found the joke funny either. Rick and Greg rolled their eyes at one another, Lucille grimaced and Eloise sighed deeply as she piped up.

"Heidi, please be nice to our hosts. Colin seems very pleasant and Mister Du'Met didn't have to offer a long weekend in his hotel as the first prise to the art competition Luci won." There went Eloise being the calm middle sibling again.

Lucille's brow furrowed as she took a sip of wine. "I am wondering where they are though. Colin seemed so certain that dinner would be eight exactly."

"Who knows," Greg shrugged. "Maybe whatever that work thing he mentioned was worse than he thought or something."

"Could have told us though." Grumbled Rick, but the second half of his sentence was simply talked over by the arrogant Heidi.

"I haven't seen anybody else since we got here and that bar was dusty as fuck – it was giving off some serious horror movie vibes to. It's fucking weird here and creepy as shit."

"Oh it's not that bad. Just because they're a few minutes late doesn't mean this is a cheep B-movie. Why are you always so negative and fatalistic?"

Lucille set her empty glass down. "Because she takes after our dad, Ellie, that's why."

"Shut up!" The youngest sister snapped. "I do not."

It was fairly obvious that the men of the group had endured about as much of their sister-in-law's crap as they could take. As the youngest she'd always been spoilt and loved to be the centre of attention, so not having access to social media was probably physically painful for her. Aww, so sad.

Rick glanced at his watch. "Guys, it's 8:22. I mean, should we go look for them or something?"

"Told you they're fucking."

~X~

Back in the control room Charlie grumbled because this girl just kept triggering his slap button and Heidi's death might have actually made the world a better place.

"I know you always have a plan on who to kill, when and where," began Charlie, "but, for the love of God, kill that one first. Although, letting her live will increase the audience's hate of her and make the inevitable death all the more impactful." Du'Met peered at Charlie. "Okay, so I know you and I are the only ones who ever get to watch my documentaries, but that's neither here nor there. Besides-"

Charlie was abruptly cut off by Du'Met who placed a latex-coated hand over his mouth and shoved him up against the desk which hurt the back of his legs. It was a silent order to shut up so Charlie obeyed and fell quiet as his lover pointed back to the screen where the guests had finally gone looking for Du'Met and Colin. Blue and brown orbs watched as they called out for the husbands around the lobby before they climbed the stairs to continue their search. Charlie remembered that growing concern as he'd felt it himself once upon a time knew that soon it would grow into panic and then full-blown terror as it dawned on them just how soon death would come.

Lucille poked her head into her hotel room as they continued to call out for their hosts and that was when Lucille's growing concern tipped into panic because Rosalie, her only child, was gone. She burst into the room screaming out for her daughter: The noise was spine-chilling but Charlie saw his lover grin darkly and realized that Du'Met had still used the child to maximum effect without having to harm her. Frankly Charlie should have expected something like that from a man as strategic and conniving as Granthem Du'Met; he'd promised not to kill children but he'd never promised not to use them to inflict fear.

"Go on." Charlie said after he'd slipped away from Du'Met's gloved hand. "Have fun, I know you want to." Murder-y eyes softened as they turned to face the director: Those eyes had terrified Charlie to begin with but now he only smiled at the excitement Charlie saw in them. "Paint me a pretty picture."

Du'Met hadn't ever needed encouragement but still he smiled at his sweet phoenix, kissed his pale lips then strutted away to do his thing while Charlie remained at his post.

Chapter Text

Rick

2ND Floor Corridors

20:56pm | August 3

Husband clung to wife as utter terror coursed through her, Lucille's heart beat a mile a minute while her mind did its very best not to descend into total panic. Rosalie Patterson was missing from her bed and their hosts might as well have been ghosts because Colin Rathelin nor his mysterious husband had shown themselves despite the group's yelling and screaming. As soon as they'd found Rosalie's bed empty the aunts and uncle had broken off searching, had called out her name and tried every door they came to – all of which were locked of course.

"I can't find her anywhere." Announced Rick as he returned from one of the labyrinthine passageways. "She's not in the halls and most of the doors are fuckin' locked."

Eloise, who'd practically ripped the hotel room apart as if Rosalie had somehow crammed herself between a wardrobe and wall, finally gave up and went to stand by her husband.

"Her things are gone: no bag, no bear, no nothing."

"What the actual fuck is going on here?!" Demanded Heidi. "Jesus Christ, this is a motherfucking horror movie!"

"Calm down, Heidi." Groaned the black man. "If you could give up being the centre of attention for just two fucking minutes that would be great."

"Go to hell, Rick!"

With that Heidi stormed off as she grumbled something about never having wanted to make the trip anyway – odd then that Heidi was the one who'd had her things packed and ready to go first. Neither her sisters nor her brothers-in-law opted to go after her, to mention anything about sticking together, they just watched her march away childishly as they had many times before.

"Why must you two always provoke each other?" Eloise slapped her husband's arm. "Rosalie is missing."

At least Rick had the decency to look mildly ashamed of himself. "You're right, Ellie, I'm sorry. She just gets to me and always has, you know that. Everythin' always has to be about Heidi. I mean she didn't get her way at our weddin' so she threw a fuckin' fit."

Eloise held her hand up, she understood her husband's annoyance with Heidi but none of them needed it there and then.

"Can we deal with this later?"

Greg paled then and his body turned ridgid. "What if Rathelin has her? He's the only person we've seen on this rock other than the groundskeeper. Hell, maybe the husband doesn't even exist and he is actually Du'Met. I don't know, maybe the English thing was just some shitty accent – I mean did he even sound properly English?"

"Dude, you saying he's some kind of serial killer or somethin'?"

"Shut up!" Lucille suddenly screamed and all attention snapped to the crying woman. "Where's my little girl?"

Though the black man was taller and more muscular, it was clearly Greg who filled the role of family patriarch. He was the one with a mostly cool head and, being the eldest of the group, gave of a perceived aura of authority that he'd learned to use to put his family at ease. However, his only daughter had vanished from the safety of her own bed and Greg didn't know how to fix it, so that aura and confidence he displayed to calm his family did nothing to sooth himself.

"Okay, if no one's gonna come out here, we'll just have to go looking. I'll rip this fucking place apart if I have to."

Eloise gestured to the hallway her sister had stormed down only a few moments previous. "What about Heidi?"

"She'll come back when she wants a top up of attention."

"Rick-"

"I said shut up!" Lucille cut off her sister with another yell and Greg took the chance to carry on explaining his plan.

"Rick, go with Luci and check upstairs. Ellie, you come with me. I feel like seeing what's in those other rooms in the lobby and I wanna use that phone. Anyone sees Heidi, just bring her back with you."

The confused, slightly terrified, guests finally had a plan even if it was the most obvious one in the world. They had to do something even if it was the stupid, obvious thing birthed from a combination of panic and rage. None of them knew just how easily they'd played into Du'Met's hands – hell, they weren't even a hundred percent sure Du'Met was a real person.

Intent on finding her four-year-old daughter, Lucille made her way upstairs ahead of Rick toward the balcony, he'd have rather played masculine protector but a scared mother on the war path was a frightening thing and Rick doubted Lucille really needed his protection there and then.

The man and woman both knitted their brow when they saw the state of the upper floor. Though not fallen to ruin or disgusting it seemed nobody had taken care of the rooms up there. Everything had a thick layer of dust and a white-framed anatomical picture had fallen from the wall to lay face up by a door. What they took to be a library due to the empty bookshelves lining the walls, had been littered with various boxes and dust; there was also a rather alarming hole in one of the interior walls. When Rick curiously opened one of the cardboard boxes he found it filled with books and suddenly the library didn't seem so forgotten, more like it hadn't been set up. Lucille and Rick didn't linger long, Colin had told them that the hotel was essentially a labor of love so an unfinished library didn't seem too suspicious; certainly no more than the fact Rosalie wasn't anywhere to be found.

On a hook in the room with the fallen anatomical drawing outside, they found a key marked 'Balcony' and quickly let themselves through the locked door only for Lucille to call out loudly for her daughter and, much to Lucille's growing fear, no response came. That balcony had allowed her voice to carry through so much of the hotel yet still Rosalie hadn't answered.

"This place is really weird. What did Du'Met actually fuckin' say to you when he called?"

Lucille paused and dragged a hand down her face. "I don't know – he was all polite and charming, guess. I've never won anything before, especially for my digital art. I was just proud of myself."

"You should have ask more questions. Why did we think it was okay to just pack our shit and duck out for the weekend? Christ, no one's gonna notice we're gone until me and Greg don't show up for work."

"I don't care about that right now, Rick. Stop acting like we've been kidnapped. I just want to find Rosalie and then ask that Colin guy what the fuck is going on here." She gestured wildly to the balcony. "Why did we even come up here? Rosalie couldn't have gotten up here."

"No harm in lookin', right?"

"And what the hell is that creepy thing?"

Two sets of eyes, one gray and the other a dark brown, slowly approached an innocent looking bowler hat sat alone under a display light. The library had been a bomb site but this hat was clean and cared for like a museum piece, as was the old watch and necklace on display next to it. The pair peered closer to read the plaque and that was when really started to grow worried.

"H. H. Holmes. Isn't he that murderer? The one who built a castle to do it?"

Before Lucille could comment the animatronic jumped up to scare the life out of them. Lucille stumbled backward into the railing while Rick let out a series of blasphemies. They didn't stay to see if anything else would move, lunge or pop up, just cleared out from the balcony as fast as their legs would take them.

~X~

Greg

1ST Floor Corridors

21:19pm | August 3

Greg and Eloise, who'd gone back down to the lobby, had discovered two things very quickly: that phone their host has spoken of didn't work was the first, that Du'Met and Rathelin had a thing about locking doors was the second. When they had discovered an open door it had been to a dark hallway which somehow screamed at them to stay out, but they needed to find Rosalie so entered the darkness anyway.

"What's that sound?" Eloise asked quickly, fear evident in her voice. "Is that a person?"

"It sounds like, I don't know, talking. That's not Rosalie."

"Maybe it's Colin and his husband?"

With a renewed hope they carried on down the poorly lit halls until they reached a closed door behind which drifted the muffled voice they'd heard. Greg pushed the door open and they stepped inside just as Eloise spotted the glistening of a handprint on said door.

"Is that blood?"

An answer to Eloise's question never came, because a series of floodlights suddenly burst to life illuminating not only the room but the groundskeeper tied to a chair behind a wall of wire mesh. He screamed and begged not to die, thrashed about and pleaded some more.

"What the fuck?!"

They tried to back up but the door slammed shut trapping them inside staring at this poor man who'd clearly already taken a beating if the yellow rain slicker was anything to go by.

"Greg, what is this? Oh my God, what the fuck is happening?"

The two grabbed one another's hands as if it would provide some invisible later of protection and slowly approached the bound groundskeeper. Before entering that room they'd been alarmed, sure, but it was the sort of alarm one got when they'd lost their kid at the market, seeing this beaten man took them far beyond alarmed. This man had moved their things earlier, Greg had seen him. What the hell had the man done to deserve this and how were Greg and Eloise meant to stop it?

A click sounded as Greg set foot on a pressure plate and Eloise screamed when a scythe released and threatened to plunge into an innocent man's heart.

"Jesus Christ, don't move! Greg, don't fucking move." Her terrified brown eyes looked up and down Greg's body, from the pressure plate to the groundskeeper then to the scythe itself before back to Greg's feet. "I think- I think if you step off the plate that … thing will kill him."

"Kill? What the fuck is this? Why would anybody do this?!"

Out from the shadows came a man dressed in a bowler hat and leather apron, a man with deadly eyes hidden behind a half mask of H. H. Holmes. In the tall man's hand was a knife of unimaginable sharpness, a knife which had killed so many and a knife that sparked dread in the hearts of all who saw it.

Instinctively Greg went to step back as the masked killer lifted his knife, but paused because if he did the groundskeeper would breathe his last breath. The murderer watched Greg with a smirk clearly keen to see how the other man fared in this little test of bravery. The frightful blade slowly slipped through the hole in the mesh and Eloise didn't think, she simply grabbed Greg by the arm and together they fled the horrific room just as the scythe slammed into the bound man's body. Alone, the serial killer peered at the groundskeeper; it seemed clear Eloise and Greg had prioritized their own lives as most did, they'd not stood their ground like his phoenix.

~X~

Heidi

Sub Basement

20:50pm | August 3

Meanwhile, in another part of the hotel, Heidi had gotten herself a little turned around. At first she'd been positive she knew her way back to her family, but when she'd gone back along the halls she'd been met by a dead end. Her tactic of yanking on doors until she found an open one then stepping through it hadn't worked out too well for her either because she truly had no idea where she'd ended up. Heidi hadn't been able to shake the feeling of being watched either, every time she'd turned a corner she'd half expected to find someone stood there staring at her.

"Should have just stayed with the others." She bemoaned to herself as her hands itched for a cell phone she didn't have. "Fuck this place."

A click-like sound reached her then and Heidi stopped dead, she didn't know what the noise was but it seemed strangely ominous. Heidi had always put on a show of being an unshakable bitch but at her core Heidi wasn't all that brave, she wasn't strong or determined, frankly she was kind of pathetic and it was why she'd always used hostility as a defence mechanism. Heidi hadn't spent any real time with her sisters or niece in over a year so she'd leapt at the chance to sail off to some secluded hotel for a long weekend with them; now she'd come to regret her eagerness because why the actual fuck hadn't she questioned why this invitation was all so sudden?

Eventually Heidi pulled on the wrong doorknob because, with another of those spine-chilling clicks, the floor gave way beneath her feet and she went sliding. Nails painted with green polish snapped and bent as she desperately clawed for something, anything, to end her descent into Tartarus, but no purchase came and soon Heidi slammed hard into dusty concrete and everything faded to black.

Many minutes she lay there defencelessly in her unconsciousness, so defenceless in fact that she had no idea when Du'Met stepped inside the cell nor when he grabbed her by the ankle and hauled her down the chilly halls. No, Heidi didn't see any of what happened in the five minutes after she'd dropped from the tunnel of death.

After a time mascara-coated eyelids fluttered open to a dark room lit angrily by red emergency lights. Her skin shivered and, despite her headache, Heidi snapped to full awareness because somebody had stripped her down to naught but her bra and panties. She cuddled in on herself to hide her nakedness as he heartbeat grew faster and fearful. Who had done this to her? How had this happened to her? What was happening inside this insane asylum?

"Hello?" Called Heidi but no response came and she didn't know how that silence made her feel. "Is anyone there?"

Nothing, not a single sound, not even a solitary drip from a pipe. Since remaining seemed like a great way to freeze to death, Heidi pushed herself to her feet. In the corner of the cinder block room was a passageway of such extreme narrowness that the thin woman had to turn sideways to shimmy her way through. Then, as she managed to push through to another small, square room with those angry red lights, Heidi stood on something sharp. She hissed in pain and stumbled back into the wall only to rip whatever she'd stepped on from her foot. Glass, a tiny shard of glass probably from a windowpane. An accident her mind insisted, but when Heidi really looked at the ground it practically sparkled where piles of broken glass had been strewn about, so no, this hadn't been an accident, it had been carefully planned by a fucking madman. Carefully she tried to brush the glass aside with her foot, then her hand, but there was just so much that it was impossible to fully clean a section big enough to walk through and soon had to accept the constant jabs of glass from broken this and that assaulting her feet. How did she get out? There weren't any signs and each passageway was as narrow as the one before it. Some jutted off to the left, others the right and only when she found a room with glass already partially ploughed did Heidi realize she wasn't just in a trap, she was in a maze and had gone around in a circle.

"Let me the fuck out of here! You're that Colin asshole, I know who you are. Just let me out!" She demanded, screamed up at the low ceilings as if her captor would suddenly grow a heart. "Let me out, you bastard!"

No suddenly remorseful Du'Met appeared though and Heidi had always been that act first, think later type who didn't need anybody to save her, so Heidi ignored the silence and pushed on. Eventually she shimmied into a new room – a new one, it was almost circular and had two passageways instead of one. Her feet screamed at her to sit and tend to them, to ease the bleeding which steadily grew worse, but there wasn't anywhere to sit not coated in glass and Heidi couldn't just wait around hoping her sisters and brothers-in-law would find her. She'd chosen to wander off on her own like an idiot and now she had to save herself. So with a hiss of pain and tears stained black from her mascara running down her cheeks, Heidi forced herself to keep going because there had to be an exit. There would be an exit, if somebody had put her in the maze then there had to be a way out – shame she'd never seen the outline of a trap door in the room she'd awoken in.

After a few hesitant seconds Heidi opted to take the rightmost passageway but, as she approached, there was a guttural scream a woman launched out of the darkness at her screeching and with eyes as violently red as the emergency lights.

"Fuck!"

Heidi stumbled backward into the shards of glass, and sliced her elbow, thighs and lower back open on bits of broken bottles. Blood oozed from the wounds and down her skin – odd that the warmth it brought actually pleased her chilled skin. Heidi sucked in desperate gulps of air as she stared at this … thing which had just attacked her. It continued to scream but moved no closer and the longer she stared at it the less alive it appeared. The woman's face was snared in metal which seemingly kept her mouth open so she could continue screaming, but her eyes were cloudy and scraps of skin had rotted away leaving her cheekbones and jaw exposed.

"Oh my God, what did this psycho do to you?"

Ever so carefully the twenty-one-year-old woman got to her feet while the animatronic continued to scream like a rabid dog and looked over to the leftmost passage. Heidi didn't want to go, didn't want another mutilated corpse to hurtle out of the dark, but what other choice had she? Rosalie! Thoughts of her young niece rushed into Heidi's mind then and she gagged – Heidi had to get out before this deranged killer did this to Rosalie or any of her family for that matter. That thought alone renewed Heidi's courage and was what had her over the glass despite the agony and through the passage and the next one and the next one. Passed the corpses used as jump scares, the copious amounts of glass and unending loops until finally, finally, she came face to face with a metal door which reminded her vaguely of a bulkhead door on a ship. Exit! She'd found the fucking exit! Heidi's heart soared with relief, delight and gratitude to a god she'd not believed in before arriving on the island. The tears came forth anew while adrenaline wore off and the stinging pain of her cuts turned to a throbbing, then to an searing burn of torment. Ignoring the pain in her feet, Heidi rushed the last few steps to the door and pulled on the handle desperately, but then it snapped off and the sense of déjà vu had Heidi's heart drop into her stomach. Yet again the floor opened up beneath her and she stumbled down into a cone-shaped pit filled with yet more pieces of sharp glass. She cried out as the merciless glass left cuts on every inch of her pale body. Quickly she surged upward in an attempt to free herself from the glass' savage bite, but, just as Heidi's hand managed to gain purchase everything got much, much worse. The cone-shaped pit slowly started to rotate grinding the glass together and young Heidi along with it. At first hands flailed about above her head but soon the glass pit started to turn red and, eventually, Heidi's frantic and frenzied cries for help fell silent, the only indication she'd ever walked the halls at all being the various smears of blood she'd left behind and a broken door handle laying on the ground. After all, some decisions saved lives while others led to death.

~X~

Charlie Lonnit had been flicking threw the cameras as Heidi had fallen into the glass grinder, which meant he was the only person who saw her die. Since Du'Met had been off moving animatronics about, he went to the whiteboard they kept on the wall and calmly put a line through 'Glass Maze' in Heidi's column.

There were four main types of serial killer as any half-decent psychologist would know: Visionaries, who believed they were being commanded to kill by a person or entity. These killers normally suffered from some form of psychosis, often hallucinated and were very disorganized. Herbert Mullin was one such visionary serial killer who'd murdered thirteen people all to prevent earthquakes. Then there were the mission-orientated ones who chose to kill in order to rid the world of a specific group, and often thought they were doing the world a favor. Mission-orientated serial killers wouldn't stop until they were stopped and could be both meticulous and obsessive in their feelings of hate. Joseph Paul Franklin, being a neo-Nazi, took it upon himself to kill numerous men simply because of the color of their skin as well as their Caucasian girlfriends. Control serial killers were by far the most common type, and did all manner of horrendous things simply to feel powerful and dispel feelings of inadequacy inside themselves, to pretend they weren't petrified of rejection. These murderers tended to be organized and would only engage in rape or necrophilia to further dominate and control their victim; unless, of course, they had a fetish for it. They were normally surprisingly calm, charismatic and even patient – after all, everybody knew how disarming Ted Bundy had been. Lastly was the hedonistic serial killer which broke down into three subcategories: Lust, Thrill and Comfort. Comfort killers were fairly self-explanatory, they killed for money and material gain with the kill simply being a means to an end; like a husband killing his wife for the insurance. Lust killers – with Jeffrey Dahmer probably being the most famous of them – murdered to satisfy their own sexual needs and would often fantasize for years before building up enough courage to actually take a life. They'd rape, mutilate and stab all to get themselves off, and, as the killing continued, they'd have to find some new exciting way to end a life as they chased after that pleasure like a drug. Thrill serial killers were the last of the subcategories and arguably the most terrifying because they killed solely to kill, to hunt and feel that rush of excitement as their victim's fear grew and banish the inadequacy they felt just like control killers. They'd murder anyone regardless of who they were or where they came from simply to watch somebody die.

Charlie couldn't in good conscience, label himself as any of the four types of serial killer despite how many people he'd helped Du'Met to kill. Then again, Charlie had no desire to be a serial killer, he was a director, a man tasked with turning the horror into recorded art. So no, Charlie didn't see himself as a serial killer as he set the whiteboard pen down and never would. Du'Met though, he obviously fell mostly into the thrill subcategory of a hedonistic serial killer. The man prided himself on murdering people, he loved watching their last moments and knowing he was the one who'd ended their lives. Du'Met relished in the hunt. And, after slowly learning more about Lucinda Munday, Charlie had realized just how powerless Du'Met had felt around her. However, it was Du'Met's enjoyment of mutilating the bodies into his animatronics which showed he sat on the fence between hedonistic and control killer. From everything Charlie had learnt of serial killers, and what Kate had screamed at him in many of her I-know-better fits, thrill killers lost all interest in victims once they were dead, but Du'Met played with them, and ultimately Charlie had stopped trying to force Du'Met into a box because an artistic genus could never fully be categorized.

Blue eyes peered over to the blocked bedroom door where he'd left little Rosalie Patterson. She'd continued to slumber ever since Charlie had carried her in there and he had to ask himself if Du'Met's request to record anything the girl said had actually been a request or an order, because if it was an order then Charlie would have to wake her up at some point and he'd have rather avoided that. Still, because he loved the masked man and craved praise, Charlie took a recorder into the bedroom and left it running on a night stand. Her Aunt Heidi was gone but the hunt was far from over.

Chapter Text

By some miracle, Rick, Greg, Eloise and Lucille had managed to stumbled across one another in the wallpapered halls – well, it was more of a slam then a stumble since the two men practically scrambled over one another as the two groups had hurtled around a corner. A few seconds passed before they realized who each other was, but once they had a collective sigh of relief escaped them. They'd wanted a nice weekend vacation as a family where they could forget the stresses of work and their day-to-day lives, yet after the horror's they'd experienced in such a short amount of time, those stresses seemed almost non-existent.

"Oh my God." Exclaimed Eloise breathlessly. "Are you okay? We have to get the fuck out of here!"

Lucille shook her head quickly. "We have to fine Rosalie."

"There's some fucking serial killer with a fucking knife back there." The black man thrust a finger back down the hall. "He just killed the fucking groundskeeper and we're next."

"What?"

"He killed someone, Rick."

"Who did?" Lucille had seen a scary murder dummy, she'd not seen anything genuinely violent.

Greg threw his hands up. "Du'Met, Rathelin, I don't fucking know – maybe they're the same damn person. I've only seen Rathelin and the groundskeeper and now he's dead." When Rick stupidly asked if Greg was sure he found himself glared at. "A goddamn scythe just went through his motherfucking chest! Yes, I'm fucking sure."

The eldest sister managed to calm down first – probably due to her being hyper-focused on her daughter. People called it 'mama bear mode' for a reason.

"Okay, okay, we have to find Rosalie. We find her and Heidi then we get the hell out."

"Agreed." Said Eloise almost before Lucille had finished talking. "I'm not staying here with some murderer one more second than I have to."

Greg may have been the patriarch of their family but Rick was the smart one, always had been and always would be; that was how he ended up poking the holes in their plan. Part of him hated himself for bringing it up and adding to the terror of his loved ones, but it had to be said and nobody else looked as though they intended to.

"How do we get off the island? That ferry needs a key and I bet you that deranged bastard has it."

Greg shrugged. "Boat. Du'Met and Rathelin, or however many of them there are, had to get here so of course they have a boat. We just have to find the dock."

"I just want Rosalie."

Charlie watched all of this from his collection of cameras but found himself wondering if he and the other members of Lonnit Entertainment had looked quite so pathetic; so panicked and hectic. Charlie was better than that now, he'd evolved into something better, something stronger and Charlie was proud of his transformation.

Crying drew the blond's attention then and his head snapped back to his bedroom door; seemed the drugs had worn off earlier than expected. For a moment he thought about just ignoring her but that would surely only cause more problems.

"Mommy!" The child cried, voice loud and laced with desperation. "Mommy!"

Slowly Charlie shifted the large box he'd used to block the door and headed inside where he found Rosalie red-faced with her purple teddy bear squeezed close to her chest. Charlie couldn't help but think her so small and adorable.

"Hi, sweetheart." Charlie began with as gentle a voice as he could muster. "No need for tears."

Quickly he rummaged around in her bag which he'd taken along with the little girl, and soon discovered a juice box that he jabbed the straw into as he went to perch on the bed.

"Where's Mommy?"

The blond's head tilted a little as he tried to figure out how exactly to phrase his answer. Just telling her he and his lover were in the process of brutally murdering her entire family wouldn't have ended well.

"She's gone away for a while, darling. You'll be okay with me though."

Rosalie's brow furrowed. "Who are you?"

He may have been guilty of not always thinking things through but Charlie wasn't dumb enough to tell a four-year-old girl his name, real or fake, so he scooted around the subject.

"I'm the one with the juice." He smiled. "Here."

Rosalie stared at the juice box with teary eyes a moment, almost with suspicion, then she took it and started to sip. The juice box distracted Rosalie which was just what Charlie had wanted. Children were normally easily distracted with such trivial things and Rosalie Patterson was no different.

The blond stared at her quietly. Charlie didn't hate kids, had nothing against them or anything like that, he'd just never really spent that much time around children even when he was one himself. To be honest he never really thought about children; they were something which existed but didn't enter Charlie's world. He'd honestly never expected to ever have one of his own but at least he apparently had enough skill to keep little Rosalie calm rather than her screaming the building down and upsetting his lover.

While she sipped her drink, Charlie pulled the covers back and fluffed a pillow before he flashed her a smile.

"Ready to go back to sleep, sweetheart?" Asked the Englishman in a calm, level voice.

"Daddy reads stories."

Charlie lifted an eyebrow. This was a strange child, right? She'd gone from demanding her mother to wanting stories, she'd not even thought to question what he'd meant by 'she's gone away' just carried on like it didn't matter. Sure, kids weren't known for their scrutinized form of thinking but with Rosalie it seemed more like … she didn't care. Regardless, Charlie didn't think any of his or Du'Met's books were appropriate for a child of four and, of course, he wasn't her daddy. Yet, that said, he had no desire to start up an argument with a bratty kid.

"Em, okay." He said dragging the second word out. "I guess I can tell you a story, but you have to go to sleep after, yeah?"

After her nod of agreement Charlie settled into the most poorly remembered version of Beauty and the Beast ever told. He'd never been one for fairy tales and Disney's insistence on shoving songs into everything to sell yet another soundtrack had put him off them all the more. Still, the basic plot was universally known and Charlie managed to stumble through in a fairly satisfactory manner because Rosalie did let Charlie pull the covers over her once he was done. It may have been true that they'd drugged her but Rosalie was still a girl of four and had been through a long day, so it wasn't much of a surprise when she slipped off into slumber once more though this time without a helping hand of drugs.

With a small sense of relief, Charlie stood, collected the tape recorder and shifted the box back in front of the door as he left. Rosalie's presence at the hotel had been an accident, Du'Met hadn't intended for her to be there out of respect for his phoenix, so they'd not be put in this situation again and that knowledge alone put Charlie at ease.

A quick look through the cameras showed Du'Met as he chased his victims through his death maze and Charlie breathed out a vaguely affectionate laugh. He remembered when Charlie himself had been one of those victims and how Du'Met had never needed to break into a run, he just kept coming at the slow, terrifying pace like Death himself. That calm, controlled confidence which seeped out of every pour put the fear of God into people because he knew nobody could escape him. Those of Lonnit Entertainment had been the exceptions and Charlie liked to think the controlled walking was because it gave off a wave of invincibility, and Du'Met may well have been invincible.

For several moments Charlie watched his lover do his thing, watched him follow with that slow determination of his until he managed to separate them into pairs; which seemed more luck than judgement but Charlie wouldn't comment. Du'Met let Lucille and Greg slip off down one hallway while Rick and Eloise were herded towards the basement stairs, the door to which had been opened earlier, and the two hurried down them; in their haste Rick even tumbled which had Du'Met smirk to himself as he watched them from the top of the staircase. Then, seemingly without a care in the world, he closed the door and strutted away as his radio crackled to life.

"Granthem, I have that recording you wanted."

The serial killer didn't respond or even glance down at his radio on his belt, although, he did pause to look up at camera sixty-one and mouthed a 'thank you' as he tipped his hat; It was silly but Du'Met knew his dark phoenix would get a kick out of it. Soon after Du'Met's leather-clad feet carried him into the control room the blond often referred to as the 'director's suite' to fetch his recorder. He listened to the recording of little Rosalie shouting out for her mother, then kissed his lover and tucked it away in a pocket before he tapped out a few words on Charlie's upper arm.

"How's she doing?" Du'Met nodded. "She's fine, went back off to sleep. Rosalie is surprisingly amenable. Did you finish moving your toys about?" From the killer escaped a small noise that Charlie took to be an affirmative. "Not often a victim gets a tailored trap."

The pair kissed quickly again and Du'Met returned to his hunt, he'd stalk and chase and pursue until blood stained the walls and corpses littered the halls. To enter the murder castle was a death sentence. Charlie had risen from the ashes to stand proudly beside Du'Met and four others had escaped due to his distraction, but that had been an isolated occurrence which wouldn't ever be repeated. Those who arrived would die – except for Rosalie Patterson of course, he had made a promise to his adored Charlie after all.

~X~

Rick

Basement

23:14pm | August 3

Meanwhile, Eloise and Rick had been forced into a small basement room by Du'Met. It wasn't an overly large space, two doors, one before them and one behind, and the ceiling wasn't all that heigh either – if Rick were to stand in the centre and stretch his arms out, his fingertips would have almost brushed either side. Overhead a series of small pipes akin to a sprinkler system had been fitted and there were only a few tiny pockets of lights to keep the darkness at bay.

To her husband Eloise clung for comfort, but, when a drip escaped the sprinklers, she jumped back in agony with a hiss of pain. It burnt, it burrowed into her skin and grabbing her cheek only made it worse.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Rick pulled Eloise's hand away from her face and gulped. "Oh fuck, is that acid?"

Suddenly a spotlight lit one corner and a section of wall spun around revealing one of Du'Met's animatronics dressed in an old-fashioned ringmaster's outfit complete with top hat. Eloise hid behind her husband but the black man had nothing to protect himself. The ringmaster's head tilted to one side then the other simply to increase the fear the couple felt, then it lifted it's top hat like the perfect showman and a recorded, antiquated voice spoke.

"Step right up, step right up! Solve the puzzle, stay alive. Don't solve it or take too long and die!"

Then, as quickly as it had appeared the first time, the brick wall spun around once more and the ringmaster vanished and in its place sat a single sheet of paper. Mouths fell open to question what they'd just witnessed no sound managed to escape because a large timer lit in red appeared above the door opposite them: Five minutes, five minutes would be all they got to solve whatever puzzle faced them.

Another drop escaped the pipes above and burnt through the fabric at Rick's shoulder causing him to jolt away.

"Oh God, you were right, Rick. Those sprinklers are acid not water."

Five minutes and then those sprinklers would rain down death upon them quite literally. Two sets of eyes stared at the sheet of paper as though it were a ticking bomb but eventually Eloise built up enough courage to grab and read it.

" It says 'at the same time enter the code'." They glanced over to the other door where a number pad flanked either side. " Em, 'first: the years you've been married'."

Rick shrugged. "Three, simple."

"Yeah. 'Second: month of your births.' We're both February, so two. 'Third: times-' " Eloise stumbled a moment in surprise and her head snapped to her husband with shock.

"What?"

" 'Times Rick cheated this year.' You actually cheated on me?

"Wait, what? No, of course I fuckin' haven't." Rick insisted. "This is just that fucker tryin' to mess with us. I'd never do that to you, Ellie."

Eloise breathed out because she clearly didn't believe him. "Yeah, sure you wouldn't. All the late nights and the way you hide your phone like a teenage girl with a fucking crush."

"I haven't cheated on you!" Yelled the dark-skinned man before he snatched the page from his wife to read the last bit. "Fourth: number of … abortions Eloise has had." Rick just stared at her with the timer seemingly forgotten. "What did you fuckin' do?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, so you can accuse me of cheatin' but you lyin' to me about anythin' is too fuckin' far?!"

Suddenly she thrust a finger up at the timer which continued to tick down. "We're running out of time. Let's just put in 3200."

They were down to two and a half minutes and needed to do something beyond yelling and arguing.

"Not gonna be fuckin' right though, is it? Just tell m-"

"One, okay! One! I don't want kids, I never did especially if it's going to be as fucking strange as Rosalie. And why should I tell you what I do with my body?!"

"Because It was my fuckin' kid too. You should have at least told me, you bitch!" Rick snapped all while a camera watched everything unfold.

"Go fuck yourself, Rick. I'm not telling the asshole I know is cheating on me shit!"

Rick threw his hands up. "Fine. Yes, I fuckin' cheat on you all the goddamn time. Eight this year alone! You're a frigid bitch half the time so of course I have to look somewhere else."

"Asshole!"

"Just put the fuckin' code in and shut your mouth."

Eloise wanted to scream something back at her unfaithful husband but then she caught sight of the timer and just how much time they'd wasted. 3281, that was the code they needed but they'd left themselves with twelve seconds and panic made syncing things harder. Fingers moved quickly but each time the code pads rejected them and more seconds ticked away until finally the sprinklers burst to life and doused the couple. Screams erupted, first quietly and then desperate, horrendous screeches as skin burnt and melted, as the scent added insult to injury and they each collapsed on the ground writhing in agony. All the fighting and hate they'd felt for one another had given way to pleas for rescue that nobody would ever hear; nobody but the shadow Rick spied out the corner of his eye before the acid blinded him.

Heidi had fallen victim to Du'Met's latest trap creations out of stupidity, Rosalie had been taken by Charlie due to her innocence, and now Rick and Eloise had let rage get the better of them and paid the price; they'd chosen poorly.

~X~

Back in the nerve centre Charlie muted their screaming lest he develop a headache. Once Du'Met had finished with his savage killings and Charlie had completed his editing, the footage of the Patterson's and their family would give Charlie a beautiful documentary film he could be proud of. It would be raw, it would be powerful, it would be brutal in it's elegance, and, most importantly, it would be directed by one Charlie Lonnit. Art could be all kinds of things but Charlie's was unapologetic and, with Du'Met as his leading man, would capture the attention of anyone who saw it – not that anybody would see it save for himself and Du'Met of course. Nobody seeing his masterpieces during life was a weight he'd have to bear in exchanged for being allowed to create; that said, Johannes Vermeer, Søren Kierkegaard, Galileo Galilei and Oscar Wilde only got the recognition and fame they deserved after their deaths and Charlie suspected he'd be the same. No, there wouldn't be any coveted awards for Charlie, no Hollywood deals nor magazine articles for his fame wasn't to be the frenzied chaos normally seen in the media of modern day, he'd become one of those immortal names like Edgar Allan Poe who weren't afraid to show the macabre to the world.

Charlie glanced over to his shelves which waited patiently for each instalment that Charlie would direct as pride swelled inside him. There wasn't anybody to hold his vision back any longer, not his crew with their insistence they knew better or than Charlie wasn't as good a director as he thought nonsense, not his mother who'd always told him directing wasn't a real job, not any of the other people who'd pushed him down over the years. Granthem Du'Met had seen the potential in Charlie and, just like a phoenix, had allowed him to spread his wings.

The Englishman grinned for he couldn't wait to see what he and Du'Met accomplished together.

Chapter Text

Lucille

Lobby

22:35pm | August 3

After Lucille and Greg had been separated from Rick and Eloise they'd continued to blindly run, charge and scramble around the hotel halls in such a panic that they'd made it down to the lobby before they'd realized Du'Met hadn't followed. Greg made to yank the main door open so they could escape out into the fresh air but that didn't happen because before Greg even got a hold of the door knob a heavy metal gate fell down to literally cage them in. Rick's blue eyes went wide because who was this fucking nutjob and how had he managed to construct a murder castle without anybody noticing?

That Rathelin guy, Greg didn't think he and the deranged lunatic chasing after them were actually the same person. Yeah, there was a mask involved, but Rathelin hadn't ben as tall and had blond hair while the killer's was darker. No, there were two of these maniacs hunting them, and Greg didn't know if he could find Rosalie let alone keep both her and his wife alive. Heidi had been gone too long and something told him she'd already fallen victim to the masked man. Hopefully Rick and Eloise had been able to outrun Du'Met, but Greg couldn't bring himself to hope for anybody except for his sweet daughter. Rosalie was a girl of four, she didn't deserve to die alone in such a place; even if it cost Greg his own life, he'd save her. A father's duty was to protect his child and Greg would damn well do it as long he still drew breath.

For a few moments husband and wife had discussed what to do next in frantic voices but, since the front door apparently had a portcullis, they'd not be getting out the building and would getting out of the building even do them any good? Rosalie had to be somewhere and they seriously doubted it was out in the fresh air.

"Where do we even look, Greg, this place is a maze."

"Our room." He nodded to himself. "Maybe there's some clue where she went." Before he'd even fully finished speaking Lucille asked him what they'd do if there wasn't one. "We'll look somewhere else. The more places we look the quicker we'll find her."

The Pattersons had reached a level which could only accurately be described as grasping at straws. While they were devoted parents intent on protecting their only child, Lucille and Greg had ignored the fact that their entire family had vanished off the face of the earth because, as long as they denied it room in their brains, it hadn't really happened.

They'd walked out of their lives without asking any questions and now a price had to be paid. As Lucille's obsession with Game Of Thrones kept reminding her: 'What we don't know is what usually gets us killed', wise words from a man almost as cunning and conniving as Du'Met.

Husband and wife searched the hotel as best they could for their daughter. Every now and again they'd call out for her only to clamp their mouths closed just in case a serial killer turned a corner. Du'Met had been absent for quite some time and frankly that was almost more terrifying than when he'd been actively chasing after them with murderous intent. Lucille almost wished he'd just pop up to end the suspense; that would have been a kindness though and Du'Met showed kindness to nobody but his phoenix.

First floor, second floor, lobby – nowhere, Rosalie wasn't anywhere to be found and they'd started to think the walls moved because there where too many dead ends. Then both parents stopped dead in their tracks; Lucille grabbed hold of her husband's arm as they simply listened as though trying to determine if their ears had played a cruel trick. Rosalie! They could hear Rosalie crying at the top of her little lungs. Neither said a word, just took off toward the sound almost falling over their own feet in the process. Rosalie screamed out again and again for her mommy as they got closer and her parents called out for her in return. Greg practically kicked down the door separating himself from his child and the two parents found themselves in a strangely large room. It was the size of two hotel rooms but it was split in half by a large glass wall with a metal door fitted into the far right side.

Greg

2ND Floor

23:49pm | August 3

"No!" Lucille screamed when Du'Met appeared behind them in the doorway and quietly, without so much as a blink, shut the door trapping them inside. Greg rushed to the door, yanked on it, pounded on it, but the door refused to yield.

They turned back to what lay beyond the glass wall though because it filled them each with both fear and relief. Hanging from a chain was a metal box about the size of a standard wardrobe trunk with fist-sized circular holes cut out of it in neat rows. Inside Rosalie moved about frantically while continuing to scream for her mother. Lucille and Greg banged on the glass, yelled out for the little girl but it was no use, she couldn't hear them. Greg launched at the metal door with every intention of forcing it open, but as soon as he reached it a second glass wall descended separating him from his wife while a third dropped down to block the exit Du'Met had loitered in only a few moments earlier. The Pattersons stared at one another; in their blind panic to reach Rosalie they'd practically jumped head first into the murderer's trap.

It took a moment but soon the two noticed a shortness of breath and that was when they finally noticed the two valves on either side of the glass wall between them. Husband and wife rushed to their respective valves and fought against the rusted metal to turn the wheels giving them back the gift of breathing. Lucille and Greg took deep, overzealous gulps which their lungs thanked them for. Although, they saw something more alarming once they had. A valve also adorned the wall in Rosalie's section of the room; and Rosalie's crying had gone quiet. The harsh realization stung deep and violently: three sections, three people, but only two could have an air supply. One would have to die. Du'Met hadn't just trapped them, he'd forced them to play his game.

"Luci," began Greg in a shaky voice, "close your eyes."

"What? No! No, Greg, don't do this." She pleaded but her desperation was met by anger and a finger thrust out at Rosalie hanging in that box.

"It's me or her! He wants us to choose, Luci! That bastard wants us to choose and he can't make me kill my daughter. I won't do it and nothing that piece of shit does can make me, so close your eyes because I don't want you to see this."

"But-"

Greg didn't let his loving wife get any further, the longer he listened the longer Rosalie went without air. He was the patriarch of the family, he was the one tasked with protecting them and he'd damn well do it even if it meant giving up his own life. Greg turned the valve then backed away knowing he'd sealed his fate.

"Don't look." He implored his wife as air was again sucked out of his section of the room. "Don't look."

This was her husband's last request, she wanted to obey but she couldn't take her heartbroken eyes from the suffocating man. They'd known one another since high school, they'd gone to prom together and known, even back then, they'd be married. The love of Greg Patterson and Lucille Schulz had been a forever sort of love, the love displayed in light-hearted films; neither had expected forever to be quite so short.

Suffocation took longer than most people realized, so Lucille was forced to stand there and watch the man she loved with all her heart suffer. Soon he dropped to his knees and his skin grew a sickening purple color, his eyes grew bloodshot as his body finally accepted what his brain already knew: there was no saving him. Lucille screamed threw her tears when he finally stopped moving, when she officially fell from wife to widow. He'd been meant to die peacefully in his sleep seventy years from now, not like this, not so violently.

Lucille

2ND Floor

00:11am | August 4

She wanted to mourn, wanted to hold him and grieve him but, again, that would have been a kindness Du'Met wouldn't ever give. The metal door separating Lucille from Rosalie clicked as the lock released then swung open and for a second Lucille didn't move because she didn't wish to leave Greg behind, because her legs shook too much and because shock was a cruel mistress. However, father had given up his life for the daughter and Lucille wouldn't let that brave, noble act be for naught and that alone was what finally got Lucille to move her feet.

She stepped through the door and released the lock on the hanging metal box only to find her daughter hadn't ever been inside, instead it was nothing but a child-sized animatronic which wobbled back and forth with the pretence of life. Lucille collapsed as another inconsolable cry escaped her grief-stricken body. Greg gad died for nothing. She screamed, she wailed, and at some point Lucille's very soul broke. Her grief was so all-consuming that she took no notice when the glass walls all retracted and the door they'd entered through slowly opened, nor did she notice Du'Met push the side door open.

The masked man watched her a time with a smile. Mothers always knew their children, that was something of an axiom, but Lucille hadn't been able to tell it wasn't Rosalie inside that box. Still, he felt a pang of jealously toward the child: at least her mother had loved her.

Soon Lucille felt the intense stare of a maniacal monster on her and tear-filled eyes fearfully peered over her shoulder to see him just staring with that knife of his at the ready. Part of her, the part where her soul had been fractured most dreadfully, urged her to simply stand there and accept death now Greg was gone, but the mother inside her refused that urge. Lucille ran, she fled as quickly as her feet would let her back out into the halls and Du'Met gave chase. She rushed passed locked doors, around corners and a hatted shadow in her desperation to escape the masked man but then, just when the lobby stairs came into view at the end of the hall, the wallpapered wall rolled to block her path and Lucille bounced off of it to the ground.

Du'Met walked toward her like a rancher toward a penned in animal. Lucille stood no chance against him and nobody would come to rescue her. Her sisters, brother-in-law and husband were all dead and her daughter was with Du'Met's phoenix. Much to the killer's pleasure she tried to fight, to kick and escape him thanks to that base instinct to survive left over from the cave days; honestly Du'Met admired her for fighting until the very end, some didn't. But no, there would be no miraculous escape as there had been with the team of Lonnit Entertainment. Granthem Du'Met had basically turned himself into a god-like ender of lives by this point of his murderous career: an anchor had plunged into his chest and not only somehow missed his heart but also healed so fast it had been as though it had never happened, he'd not even gotten a scar. Death had tried and failed. Of course Lucille didn't know that and promptly threw a vase at his head. It shattered and cut his flesh right where the mask met his forehead but a little blood in his eyes wasn't enough to stop Du'Met. He lunged forward as she tried to rush passed him and grabbed her by the hair so he could yank her to the ground and haul her down the hall into a room which magically opened for him by that blond hair of hers. After all, he couldn't have blood stains on his hallway carpets, that was just uncouth. He adored his traps and games, but sometimes all the traps in the world couldn't rival a blade and it had been too long since he'd simply stabbed an innocent person to death. Animalistic violence needed satisfying there and then. A knife sharp and long plunged into Lucille's abdomen over and over and over again causing blood to splatter everywhere: her clothes, the floor, the walls, Du'Met's mask and apron. Each thrust of sharp metal so powerful they nearly pinned her to the ground. The savagery continued, the rage and sadistic pleasure all continued until agonizing screams gave way to gargled blood, and then, with as much alarming speed as it had all begun, Du'Met's blade stilled and he sat back on his haunches beside the dying woman as a pool of crimson formed around her. Du'Met didn't move, hardly even blinked, just watched Lucille's last moments like the hedonistic serial killer he was.

He lifted a questioning eyebrow behind his mask when Lucille's eyes tilted to meet his and words pushed out from her bloody mouth with a strangled gargle.

"Is – is my baby … dead?"

Du'Met regarded her a moment then shook his head in an eerily slow movement. That single shake of his head was like another blow of the knife: sharp, all-consuming and far deeper than those that had gone before it. Greg Patterson had gone out thinking he'd saved his daughter, while Lucille Patterson died fully aware she'd failed and that Rosalie remained at the mercy of a monster capable of such vehement ferocity. The irony being that Charlie had actually saved her daughter before she'd even arrived at the island. That trauma was the final pain Du'Met had been able to inflict upon her, because soon the ichor puddle was vast and her heart stopped, the light fled her eyes and her soul went to wherever it was the Curator kept them all.

Like he'd not just viciously murdered a woman, Du'Met cleaned the blood from his trusty blade and rose to his feet. Then, taking his time, he returned to the nerve centre where he found his phoenix waiting patiently with the first aid kit.

"Sorry about the vase." Charlie said as Du'Met removed his mask and hat then let the director tend to the small cut. "I didn't think about the vase, if I had I'd have blocked her somewhere else." Apologetic, his lover seemed genuinely apologetic and that caused the corner of Du'Met's lip to upturn slightly before he pulled him in for a kiss. "All right, down boy." Charlie teased. "Let me patch your head up."

Perched on the edge of his research table so Charlie had better access to his forehead, Du'Met patiently waited for his wound to be patched up. Sure it bled but Du'Met had always had a rather impressively high pain threshold and such a tiny cut bared little thinking about, however, he'd never had anybody who cared enough to tend to his injuries before and rather liked the diligent expression on Charlie's face. A memory flashed up from the deepest depths of his mind then, so quickly in fact that it actually surprised Du'Met and refused to go back in its damn box. The memory wasn't one from an important day, not something one would call life-changing, just a day like any other. He'd been eleven, maybe twelve, and still using the name Hector. He'd cut his hand open on the fence gate on his way home from school, blood had poured everywhere and it had stung, but his mother had only chastised him for his supposed stupidity and incompetence rather than aiding her only child. That wound had been deep but this new shallow one Charlie cleaned and tended to with such genuine care. Charlie might have been almost as dark as Du'Met on the inside but he wasn't heartless; when he truly cared about somebody, he cared about them wholeheartedly.

"There you go, Granthem, it's not that bad." Charlie closed the first aid kit. "You should shower though, you're all sweaty."

Du'Met didn't speak, not that Charlie had expected him to, just left his hat and mask on the research table then smoothly removed his apron which Charlie kindly hung up for him. Such a sweet phoenix. When he rolled his shoulders Du'Met realized he was indeed sweaty, covered in blood and vaguely uncomfortable – shower, a shower was a good idea. He grabbed Charlie by his tie and hauled him along to their bedroom like an adorable puppy. The box was shoved out the way as the two men entered then replaced all while a sleeping Rosalie was ignored, and slipped into the bathroom. Clothes were stripped off, glasses and knives were placed by the basin as the hot water was turned on and the two men stepped under the spray together. While not routine, these little domestic moments had become welcomed by both killer and director because neither had ever been able to indulge in such a way before.

Once they'd dressed again in Du'Met's preferred era of suits, he went to retrieve his mask, Charlie had been right behind him but paused when Rosalie roused from her sleep.

"Mommy?"

Charlie sighed because no matter how many times she called out for her mother, the woman wouldn't ever return.

"No, she's still not here and it's still late so you should go back to sleep." If Charlie had seen his head tilt to the side, the soft smile on his lips or even the way his shoulders relaxed, he'd have thought he appeared rather fatherly. "Everything's all okay, sweetheart, I promise." Kindly he pulled the covers back up where she'd shuffled in her sleep as Rosalie snuggled her purple bear closer. "Good girl, there we go. Time to go back to sleep."

Once certain she would indeed slip back into slumber, Charlie turned to leave only to find his masked lover stood in the doorway watching the display with a curious eye. Du'Met hadn't ever really interacted with children, as a child they'd bullied him for being so quiet, as an FBI agent he'd thought them a hindrance to his investigations, and in his glorious life as a serial killer they'd been little more than tools so he'd paid them no attention there either. It wasn't a case if disliking children exactly, it was far more simple because he felt nothing for or about them – nothing. Frankly Du'Met had assumed the same would be true for Charlie and, as usual, he'd been correct. Although, as he looked Charlie comfort the girl and easily settle her back down for some more sleep, Du'Met realized that just because one had no interest, association or feelings regarding children, didn't necessarily mean one was bad with kids.

The box was replaced yet again so the men could speak alone, unobserved. Charlie with his back to the cracked door and Du'Met leant against one of the concrete support pillars snared in cables with a light affixed to it.

"We'll get a few more hours of sleep out of her and then we'll need to think of something else to keep her occupied. There is a tablet in the bag I took, it'll help." Du'Met nodded then lifted Charlie's left hand so he could tap out words on it; actual speech would have been so much faster and simpler but this was the version of conversation they'd worked out and it worked for them so, as the old saying said, if it ain't broke. "No, I don't think she needs drugging again. It's still really late and she's a kid, sure she woke up a few times but she seems rather compliant." The Morse code continued. "No, since our bed is occupied, I'm going to do some editing then grab some dinner. You enjoy your toys."

With a kiss Du'Met dropped Charlie's hand and headed off to crush the luggage since it was now little more than junk before he went to his workroom to 'play with his toys' as Charlie had grown fond of saying. He'd gotten so many new parts and it was always best to use them when they were fresh.

Meanwhile Charlie did indeed start on editing his footage, though it wasn't until almost forty minutes had passed that Charlie suddenly wondered where he and Du'Met were meant to sleep since it wasn't as though any of the hotel rooms were actually designed for a good night's slumber.

Chapter Text

Little Rosalie Patterson had been a guest of Du'Met's hotel for roughly two full days before the man of many varied talents had silently collected up her things and appeared with a syringe; a syringe which he had every intention of jabbing into her neck as she ate her morning toast with grape jelly. While not a fan of such childish foodstuffs himself, Charlie had quite the taste for it, hence the supply sat in their pantry. That was a word Du'Met had taken some time getting used to – their. Everything was his and Charlie's now, was theirs. He hadn't ever had to share anything with others before and part of him still had no desire to do so, but, that said, he actually rather liked things being theirs: their pantry, their closet, their gazebo, their bed. Hell, in a way even the hunts were theirs now.

Speaking of Charlie, the blond had been sat in one of the swivel chairs sipping his morning coffee. In fact it was so early in the day that Charlie still wore naught but his black pyjama pants and Du'Met hadn't been able to prevent himself raking his eyes up and down his phoenix's chest. There and then the serial killer made a mental note to get Charlie a new rowing machine, he'd mentioned missing the one back at his local gym and, since he was always so well-behaved, Du'Met thought he deserved a present. The realization he spoilt his boy suddenly hit Du'Met but that was an issue for another time.

Meanwhile, Charlie peered over his coffee mug at his lover holding the syringe and a single eyebrow shot upward questioningly because he'd expected it to be a quiet day.

"What the fuck are you intending to do with that? I thought we agreed no killing kids." Du'Met simply looked at his boy, the lack of a mask made it all the more obvious to Charlie what he was being told. "Yes, I know you wouldn't go back on your word. You stick to your deals." He took another sip of his black coffee. "What is that though?"

Du'Met had already anticipated that question, so gestured to a tape recorder set out on the research table. Charlie eyed it a second before he stretched over to grab it and hit play.

"Injection … it's a … drug … make … sleep." Said the tape in numerous voices, none of which Charlie recognized.

The blond nodded as he continued to sip his coffee. "Ah, okay. Knocking her out for a few house to make it easier to move her. Smart." He wobbled his coffee mug slightly to draw Du'Met's attention to it. "Let me finish this first, yeah?"

Du'Met allowed his lover that since it was no big thing. Their morning conversations, that was another thing Du'Met had become rather partial to. People to speak to hadn't ever really been important to Du'Met since he'd always been asocial and others normally spoke of stupid, pedantic things. However, Charlie's blathering was often adorable and he never pushed Du'Met to speak.

When the last dregs of coffee were gone Charlie placed the mug down and followed Du'Met into their bedroom, a bedroom which they'd not slept in since Rosalie's arrival. They found the young girl laying on her chest on the bed with her legs swinging while she watched a cartoon on her tablet and ate the toast Charlie had given her. Charlie hadn't noticed but Du'Met had, Rosalie Patterson wasn't a normal child, he didn't know what kind of neurodivergent she was but clearly there was something. She'd hardly cried, she'd accepted her parents were 'away' without too much fuss and hadn't expressed any real desire to go outside or home.

She jumped Du'Met entered the room, but before she could look up and properly see his unmasked face, the syringe was plunged deep and drugs injected. Almost instantaneously Rosalie collapsed face down while Charlie leaned in the doorway.

"We're not just dumping her in a parking lot, are we?" Du'Met shook his head slowly to assure his lover they'd not be so lazy. "Good."

The two men got dressed. Charlie in a black shirt, dark jeans and a pair of combat boots which had just sort of appeared quietly in the closet at some point. While Du'Met donned a rather plain outfit of jeans a slightly lighter shade than Charlie's, a black and navy plaid shirt and work boots. Charlie couldn't quite shake how wrong Du'Met looked out of his usual H. H. Holmes outfit. Plain clothes were less conspicuous than the old-fashioned suits they'd grown used to – odd how quickly Charlie had gotten accustom to those tailored suits.

Once dressed, Charlie lifted the four-year-old girl into his arms in a princess hold knowing she'd be unconscious for quite some time. Rosalie was surprisingly light, little more than a particularly large bag of sugar, so carrying her out the boat wasn't a struggle in the slightest. That Monday had decided to be a pleasant one with a bold blue sky, fluffy clouds with a golden sun that peeked out from behind them every now and again. Charlie hoped the weather lasted a few days because he really needed to wipe down all the external camera lenses. Sure, the forecast had promised sun and light breezes but, being British and more than accustom to 'light breeze' meaning a short-lived tornado, Charlie had little faith in what the pretty weather girl said. Cameras could wait though, Rosalie was the main priority for the time being.

Charlie had no idea where Du'Met intended to leave Rosalie, but Charlie knew it wouldn't just be on the side of the nearest main road. Wherever their destination was though, it would be an extremely long drive since Du'Met kept them hidden in the middle of nowhere. The blond loaded Rosalie onto the speedboat while his lover dumped a duffle bag he'd brought along down then went to the ignition. He'd pulled the hood of his jacket up to conceal his face, an act which Charlie found oddly adorable. Speaking of odd, Charlie hadn't been able to shake just how strange Du'Met in plain clothes appeared. It was almost as though he were a different person – though that was kind of the idea. Flying below the radar was exactly what they needed when abandoning an innocent child, not making a scene was the best course of action and dressed in those jeans and work boots Du'Met honestly did look forgettable. As long as he didn't smile they'd be okay, because Du'Met doing his best guiltless smile would totally get a one hundred on the old creepy meter.

Once they'd reached the mainland Du'Met vanished off into the trees for almost fifteen minutes while Charlie watched the sleeping girl who'd adorably started to drool. Her dark hair was all over the place and, just for a moment, Charlie lamented his inability to braid hair because it really would have tidied Rosalie up.

Eventually the serial killer returned in a dark red pickup truck Charlie hadn't ever seen before and he loaded the girl into the back seat. He pulled Rosalie's hair out of her face then closed the door and got into the passenger seat beside his lover. As soon as the Englishman was settled a wallet was shoved into his hands and Charlie flipped it open with a raised eyebrow. Inside he found the usual random clutter one normally found stored in a wallet: twenty bucks made up of three five dollar bills and some singles, an old handwritten receipt for something Charlie hadn't actually bought as clutter and, of course, the ID proclaiming him as Colin Rathelin. Nothing all that interesting in Charlie's opinion, so he tucked it into his back pocket and flashed his lover a smirk.

"So who are you pretending to be then?"

Du'Met hardly batted an eye, just proffered his own nondescript wallet for Charlie to inspect: and inspect he did. In an instant he'd flipped it open so he could check out the driver's licence almost with glee.

"Dante Hummgert, hmm. Sounds vaguely German, maybe Austrian, but Dante is Italian." Charlie shrugged. "Vague is what you're going for though, right? An unusual name that stands out in the moment but is ultimately forgettable."

Charlie handed back the wallet, their fingers brushed he leaned in to kiss the murderer he loved while the engine purred and a drugged child napped in the back. Then, as quickly as the moment of intimacy had started, it ended and Du'Met took off to places unknown.

The drive was a long one filled with a calm quietude that Charlie nor Du'Met had any desire to break. In the beginning Charlie had struggled to keep his mouth shut, he'd always had something to say regardless of its importance. The Brit wasn't dumb, he knew his inability to shut his mouth had caused him many problems over the years just as he knew it had driven Du'Met crazy. Although, after almost a year of living with a hedonistic serial killer, Charlie had come to value the peaceful quiet. That was how he found himself staring out the passenger window at the void landscape as it hurtled by, though he'd occasionally glance to the back seat to check on the four-year-old girl.

Charlie breathed out a laugh, to any outsiders they'd likely just look like two guys on a trip with their kid. Assumption, that was the reason serial killers, rapists, con men and all manner of shady people got away with truly horrible acts, people mostly assumed things were normal and aboveboard so didn't bother questioning a situation. Assumption had been Charlie's sin as well; he'd simply assumed Morello's invitation to the murder castle was innocent, that an eccentric recluse had decided to help him save his show. Assumption got people killed.

Eventually even Charlie's newfound appreciation for quiet reached its end and he turned on the radio to fill the silence. As long as he kept it down low Du'Met likely wouldn't complain. Most of it was just stupid chit-chat and weather updates punctuated by country music, but Charlie didn't mind since he'd just play some Spandau Ballet when they got back while he edited.

Their destination was unknown, could have been a town, a city – hell, a circus tent in the middle of the woods for all Charlie knew. This was the last leg on Du'Met's journey to compete his promise not to kill kids so Charlie felt no need to question their heading, he didn't care. An outsider would have questioned it, more importantly an outsider would have questioned if Charlie had tilted to the dark side too quickly; for a while there even the blond had wondered if he had Stockholm Syndrome. Charlie sighed: outsiders could wonder and conclude whatever they wanted because, in the end, it didn't matter. Charlie enjoyed being with Du'Met and felt more fulfilled than he ever had before.

After hours, when the morning had ticked into afternoon they finally found a gas station and signs of actual life rather than some sort of Wrong Turn shit. Knowing his murderous partner knew where they were going actually provided a comfort. Rosalie hadn't made a peep, whatever Du'Met had given her was damn strong, and that was the only reason Charlie let himself take the opportunity to use the bathroom while Du'Met filled up the tank.

Once he'd relieved himself Charlie went to grab a couple of root beers which he paid for with the cash Du'Met had kindly provided.

"This everythin', darlin'?" A kind woman with red hair asked as she smiled up at him and Charlie nodded only to notice a selection of kids stuff on one of those rotating stands beside the cash register. He was instantly reminded of Rosalie's wild hair, so tossed a set of hair ties with little daisies on them down beside his drinks. "These for your little one? Saw her when the other guy opened the door, looks like she's out like a light."

She'd seen Rosalie, that wasn't ideal but Charlie could talk his way through the situation. Assumption wasn't just detrimental to lives, it was very useful to liars.

"It's been a long drive, we're enjoying the peace." Said Charlie with a jovial grin.

The cashier chuckled. "Oh, I get that, darlin'. I've raised four of my own and they can definitely be terrors at times. That your hubby out there?"

Charlie nodded and handed over some cash. "Yeah, that's him."

He hadn't quite admitted it to Du'Met, but he rather enjoyed it when people referred to the killer as his husband. A spouse wasn't something Charlie thought was in the cards for him, wife or husband. However, even though he knew he and Du'Met wouldn't ever actually be wed, the lie felt good. Being loved was something Charlie had always quietly craved, probably because of the disdain his mother had shown him for the majority of his life, and Du'Met was the only one who showed Charlie love. He might have been a violent serial killer who murdered almost everybody he came into contact with, but to Charlie he was the one who soothed his soul, the one who cared and stood by his side. Either it was genuine love or Charlie had gone mad.

"You have a good day now, ya hear." She handed over his change and Charlie vacated the building before more unwanted questions were asked.

The woman, whose name tag he'd not bothered to read, had been friendly and probably pleased to have somebody to chat with even for a few moments. Still, she'd answered a question Charlie had found himself with since he'd been taken to the second castle. She'd spoken with an American accent, so they'd not left the country when they'd fled: that or Charlie had met the only American in rural Canada.

Charlie returned to the pickup where Du'Met stood waiting almost expectantly – hadn't taken Charlie very long to realize that Du'Met couldn't quite turn his looming off.

"Been ages since I've had root beer. Don't worry, I got one for you, too."

The blond offered him a root beer but Du'Met didn't take it, instead he pointed to the pickup as instruction to leave the drink inside for later. With a quick kiss to Charlie's cheek, a mark of possession really, Du'Met headed inside to pay for the gas. Blue eyes watched him go a moment before Charlie's attention turned to Rosalie in the back. He pulled open the vehicle door, yanked one of those little daisy hair ties from the cardboard they'd been anchored to, and gathered Rosalie's dark hair out of her face to secured it. The clerk had put it rather perfectly: Rosalie was out like a light. Whatever drug Du'Met had dosed her with took no prisoners. Had she not shuffled every now and again during their drive, or if he'd not known how calculated his lover was with everything he did, Charlie would have grown concerned for her safety. Rosalie's life wasn't in any danger though, so the blond cracked open his drink and sat the other in the cupholder for Du'Met's return. Each sip was cool and fizzy, was sweet but bitter in that perfect way only root beer could provide. Charlie let his head fall back against the seat while he continued to savor his chilled beverage

As refreshing gulps gave way to nursed sips, the Englishman's mind turned back to the friendly woman and how oblivious she was to the situation. Du'Met had gone to pay since cash was still one of the better untraceable methods of payment in the 21st century, and that woman would take that cash totally unaware a counter was the only thing separating her from a serial killer with well over a hundred deaths under his belt, nor was she likely to cotton on to the fact they weren't just two guys taking their kid of a trip. No, she'd got no idea how much blood Du'Met had left in his wake or that her life meant absolutely nothing to him no matter how many nice things she uttered or how big her smile was.

Blue eyes glanced at the unconscious child in the back via the rear view mirror. "Life is going to be shit for you for a while, sweetheart." He sighed. "But by the time you're an adult it'll be like this never happened. You never should have been with them: Granthem said no kids. Don't worry, you'll be rid of us soon. Sorry we're tossing all your stuff and that bear but you could be identified by that and he will not let that happen." The blond took another drink of his root beer. "Still, you get to keep your new hair ties so that's something."

Charlie wasn't dumb, he knew the kid would talk to whoever eventually interviewed her, but Charlie also knew his lover was exceedingly good with drugs and had clouded her mind more savagely than that of a date rape victim. No, Rosalie Patterson would hardly remember a thing, and anything she did remember wouldn't be coherent enough for anybody to class as useful information. Long ago Charlie would have pitied her, long ago when he'd just been an asshole rather than accepting the darkness inside himself like he was now.

The Brit jolted out of his inner thoughts when Du'Met yanked the driver's door open and slipped inside having apparently paid. However, it was the six pack of root beer he shoved into the footwell of Rosalie's seat which had Charlie raise an eyebrow. The engine started and the pickup rolled away from the only signs of life they'd seen all day, but Charlie just smiled at his lover softly because this murderous, violent, horrific man was the only person who'd ever truly loved Charlie Lonnit. He'd missed the taste of root beer so Du'Met had got him some extras, was their any more simple display of love and care? Du'Met had only ever actually spoken two short sentences to Charlie, but they didn't need words when actions were far more telling. Du'Met showed Charlie he cared with the things he did not the things he said: the watch, the suits, the cameras and freedom to film what he liked, the promise not to kill children and even those bottles of root beer, they were how Du'Met said 'I love you' to Charlie. Du'Met did actually love the blond, even if it was a weird, obsessional, psychotic sort of love.

Many more hours passed and another gas stop came and went before they finally found a town – well, if they'd stumbled across it or Du'Met had been headed for it the entire time Charlie wasn't a hundred percent on. The signs were in English but Charlie didn't recognize any of the names and wasn't sure how to pronounce a few; he found himself reminded of a trip to Wales he'd taken as a teenager. There didn't seem to be many folk around either but that was probably to be expected since the sun had gone down some hours earlier. Frankly they'd made it to civilization just in time because little Rosalie had been groggily waking up for almost fifteen minutes. Another good reason for finding the town was that Charlie's ass had gone flat after so long in the pickup and stretching his legs sounded almost heavenly. Of course they'd not linger long, this wasn't a vacation, but to just do a few laps of the vehicle would remind his body he had legs. Finally the pickup rolled to a stop in a creepy backlot that looked like the opening scene for a bad horror film, but with Du'Met around it wasn't like anybody really posed a threat to Charlie.

"We can't just leave her out here."

Du'Met shook his head as if agreeing with his phoenix, then gestured out Charlie's window to the end of the street some dark distance away. There Charlie spied an old brick building which, oddly enough, also fitted the vibe of bad horror movie. A police station certainly seemed like a safer place to leave a four-year-old girl, but Charlie's brow raised because surely there had to be cameras everywhere on that building. Still, Du'Met hadn't gotten away with so many murders for so many years purely by chance, he'd always got a plan and Charlie knew that ditching Rosalie would be no different. So, quietly, the Brit watched his murderous lover get out the pickup and go to retrieve the child. The last thing he said to her as Du'Met removed her from their lives was 'bye, sweetheart' as though she'd not destroyed her life. He watched the killer carry her away while she rubbed at her eyes where sleep still clung to them fiercely – Rosalie wouldn't remember them or what had happened and that would be for the best.

A thought he'd not had in almost a resurfaced then: escape. It would have been so easy to just get out the pickup and run. Du'Met hadn't handcuffed him or done anything to keep him put so there really wasn't anything keeping him in his seat. He could have fled, headed for the proverbial hills, could have busted into that sheriff station and demanded those cops call the FBI because Granthem Du'Met was in their midst, a killer who'd caused a manhunt. If Charlie did that then he could have returned to his life.

Charlie frowned. "Wait, what life? I'd just go back to debt."

Besides, why would he want to leave Du'Met? No, leaving wasn't an option nor was it something he yearned for. He didn't need the outside world any longer, it was just a victim pool that Charlie had no place in now. Soon they'd return to the hotel, Du'Met would work on his traps and animatronics while Charlie perfected his documentaries. His perfect documentaries. He'd fill up the shelves his kind lover had given him with his masterpieces because they were his works of art much as the animatronics were Du'Met's. So no, he'd never leave the murderer. All that said, he did honestly need to stretch his legs, so Charlie slipped out the pickup, lit a cigarette and got to work walking slow circles around the vehicle while the night air worked to wake him up.

Rosalie Patterson was gone. Gone, poof, out of their lives, never to be heard from again. Du'Met had kept his word and let her live; he'd kept his vow to his beloved phoenix. When they got home they'd have their bed back and wouldn't have to constantly keep an eye out for her. Most feared the monster's lair because it was a spine-chilling place of death, pain and unholy evil, everybody always forgot that to the monster it was just home. However, all that said, Charlie had rather enjoyed seeing Du'Met carry little Rosalie as he'd seemed almost … paternal. She wasn't their daughter, they weren't her dads and neither of the men had any want nor desire to keep her, but that didn't mean Charlie couldn't indulge in a moment of fantasy while he had his cigarette and stretched his legs. The blond chuckled then because the mental image of Rosalie dressed up in a Holmes-esque suit was weirdly adorable. Charlie smirked: baby's first murder.

Chapter Text

After Du'Met had returned from covertly dumping Rosalie, they'd skedaddled pretty damn fast under the cover of darkness. Fuck knew how long it would be before they made it back to the speedboat and home, so Charlie had soon settled down for some sleep while Du'Met remained awake and alert under the moonlight. The serial killer may have been terrifyingly unrelenting and, no matter what Charlie cried in bed, he wasn't a god either, so he'd surely have to get some shut-eye of his own eventually. None of that worried Charlie Lonnit though, not when he was sleepy.

Desolate roads were void of light save for the pickup's headlights and occasional flashes of silvery moonlight when the clouds parted. Nobody was around; not another car, not a creepy hitchhiker, nothing, yet, just as the blond had started to drift off, the telltale blue and red flash of a cop car appeared and called for them to pull over. Charlie couldn't help it, his whole body stumbled right into panic mode as Du'Met obeyed they officer's request and pulled off to the side of the road. Had Du'Met been seen dumping Rosalie? Did the police know what they'd done, or worse, who Du'Met was? Suddenly Du'Met snapped his fingers in front of Charlie's face to bring him back to the real world and it was then that Charlie spotted the glint of a blade Du'Met tucked into his sleeve. Charlie had no idea how they'd escape whatever was happening. Would his lover actually speak or would the cop just be killed and left on the side of the road with nothing but the red and blue flashing for company?

Slowly the officer, a man of Charlie's height with salt and pepper hair, approached to knock on Du'Met's window which was rolled down promptly.

"Hey there, licences and registration, if you don't mind."

The cop seemed friendly enough which had Charlie relax a little, because if a policeman thought you'd just kidnapped and abandoned a small child they'd be unlikely to start with 'hey there' and a smile.

Du'Met handed over his fake licence then did the same with Charlie's for the cop to peruse. He squinted at Du'Met's as if sounding out the name inside his head.

"Hummgert. Unusual. What is that, German?" The serial killer made no attempts to speak which got a lifted eyebrow from the cop. "Well, you ain't much of a talker, are ya?"

What happened next hadn't been intentional, Charlie had wanted to just sit their quietly and let Du'Met deal with the situation, but this cop had a gun and Charlie had started to worry for Du'Met's safety, so he just started talking. He'd never been a quiet person and talked enough for the both of them anyway, so Charlie just went for it and made everything up as he went along.

"Sorry, Officer," began Charlie as he leaned across the pickup toward the window. "My husband has bronchitis so talking is rather painful for him at the moment."

"That true?" Asked the cop stupidly, but Du'Met nodded and coughed a little as if to prove the lie.

Charlie continued. "Is something wrong, Officer?"

"No." Licences were returned to the pickup's occupants. "It's just this is quite a dark road and you've got a tail light out."

A tail light? A fucking tail light was what had caused this impromptu panic attack?! Charlie could have punched this asshole in the face, but that wouldn't have helped anybody so he continued to smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry, we'd not noticed that. My husband's good with cars, I'm sure he'll get it fixed when we get home. Won't you, Dante?" Charlie nudged the murderer which got him to nod his head in fake agreement. "You can always rely on Dante, he'll get it fixed."

"See that you do." The cop tipped his hat. "Have a good night, get well soon."

Then the policeman was gone, back to his own car to shut off the emergency lights and vanish off into the night while Du'Met rolled the window back up. As soon as the man with salt and pepper hair was out of sight, Charlie essentially collapsed against his seat and let his eyes fall shut as panic left his body. Yet, without so much as a crinkling of clothing, Du'Met yanked Charlie by the back of his neck into a heated kiss. The intrusion of the older man's tongue into Charlie's mouth had his eyes widen in shock a moment until he settled into his lover's touch. Du'Met's kisses were always so all-consuming and Charlie savored every second of it. When they finally parted Charlie had been left breathless with half-lidded eyes.

"Well done." Du'Met whispered against the shell of his phoenix's ear, and, because his voice was just perfectly deep and did things to Charlie, the blond purred.

"Let's go home. Quickly."

Du'Met chuckled in the back of his throat apparently recovered from his bronchitis, and took off towards home once more. He'd had bronchitis as a child but had almost totally forgotten about it until Charlie had said the word – odd how things were so easily forgotten then recalled out of the blue.

Having been shocked back to full consciousness, Charlie didn't try to settle down for some sleep, instead he stared out the window at the night and found himself thinking as he often did. He'd called Du'Met his husband again, however, he supposed, in a strange way, they were basically married. They'd conspired together, they'd lived and slept together, they shared one another's lives, so they were like a married couple. Charlie was actually amused by that. Married to a serial killer, sounded like a television show.

~X~

Once they'd returned to the murder castle, little Rosalie Patterson had all but been forgotten about. Again her life and theirs were separated never to reconverge. She'd grow up in foster care while they'd keep killing and filming and, eventually, there would come a day where Charlie's documentary was the only evidence they'd ever encountered one another at all. Rosalie Patterson, gone from their lives never to return. Things wouldn't be easy for her and she'd always have questions, but at least she had a life to live.

Shortly after returning to the castle Du'Met had finished preparing the old barn at the very back of the property behind a cluster of trees – basically one had to know it was there to find it. When Du'Met had first gotten his hands on the second hotel, the barn had been a huge but sorry-looking thing with a hole in the west wall caused by a fallen tree. Although, after some hard work and determination, the serial killer had managed to rebuild and secure it, now it functioned as his new body storage area where he prepared corpses much as the warehouse had at his last hotel. Sure, the barn wasn't as spacious as the warehouse Charlie and Mark had hidden from Du'Met in, but it got the job done and Du'Met seemed happy with it. Still, it was the Holmes-obsessed killer's territory so Charlie didn't go in there much. He certainly wasn't barred from entering the barn though, Charlie could go anywhere he pleased on the island, he just didn't have any real cause to go in.

However, that evening Charlie was inside sat atop one of the chest freezers eating a bag of chips while he watched his almost gleeful lover. The barn's completion had pleased Du'Met greatly and frankly he looked giddy as a school boy – well, as giddy as a man like Granthem Du'Met could ever get. It was less grinning and laughter and more speedy movements and new ideas spinning around his brain. Charlie could always tell when Du'Met was happy because his shoulders would slouch slightly as he relaxed. Most wouldn't have noticed but Charlie did know his lover well after almost a full year in his company. They knew one another better than anybody else by this point.

When the hat-wearing man made to walk passed the blond for what must have been the sixth time since Charlie had entered, Charlie stuck out his right leg to block him. He offered his lover the bag of chips then there was an almost non-existent blip of a pause before Du'Met helped himself to one. He popped it into his mouth, chewed then went right back to work. Charlie grinned because it was only he who ever got to see Du'Met in such a good mood; Charlie was the only one worthy.

"Do you want me to go make us some proper dinner, you know, that isn't a bag of crisps?"

The randomness of the question had Du'Met approach him again so he could just gaze at his beloved phoenix, Charlie instantly parted his legs to accommodate his lover and tossed the bag aside where it landed atop a tag which read '210 – Greg Patterson'. His body was only on stage three of his preservation process. A quick glance at his watch told Du'Met it was almost midnight, yet, before he could make a decision on dinner, the Englishman had pulled him closer via his tie for a kiss and snared his legs around the older man's waist. Du'Met had found he couldn't ever refuse a kiss from his sweet phoenix: no longer a pet but a partner in both life and crime. Their kisses intensified to small bites and open-mouthed kisses, Charlie's pale fingers clung to Du'Met's tie and the top of his waistcoat while Du'Met just rested his hands on Charlie's hips and let his beautiful boy have his fun. But then Charlie bit a little too hard at his neck and the sparked pain of rich crimson trickled down his skin. Charlie pulled away with a slightly worried expression because he'd not meant to do that. There was blood on his lower lip and the sight ignited something deep inside the elder man. He broke free of Charlie's leg prison quickly and efficiently, hauled Charlie's dress pants down and flipped him over to bend over the freezer he'd had a corpse in until earlier that day. The sudden manhandling had Charlie breathless in an instant. Save for Du'Met spitting on his hand and the knowledge that Charlie was still loose from the last time they'd had sex, there wasn't an ounce of preparation, Du'Met just filled his darling director, took him roughly and mercilessly. Blood lust, desire, primal love, and all for Charlie Lonnit. Du'Met used Charlie's body as he pleased, took what he wanted but that didn't mean Charlie was denied; he'd grown to appreciate the perfect pain Du'Met could fill his body with. Serial killer, monster, madman, psycho, bastard, fucker, murderer, were all words attributed to Du'Met, but Charlie was the only one who'd ever be able to use the word lover because Charlie was special.

Fingers clawed into the chest freezer as pants and moans slipped free from the blond's lips in time with the masked man's thrusts. He could still taste the rich iron of Du'Met's blood and a dark part of him deep, deep down inside savored the knowledge that the older man was part of him in more than just the carnal way. Du'Met's heavy breaths told Charlie he really was special, he was loved, wanted and cherished by a man whose entire life was focused on killing those around him. They weren't married and nor would they likely ever be, but that didn't matter, they were as good as wed after the things they'd done together, the lies Charlie had told for Du'Met, the people he'd assisted in killing, the nights they'd shared cuddled up in bed or sat in the gazebo. Du'Met had been a lone wolf while Charlie had suffered as a struggling director clinging on to his livelihood, but no longer was Du'Met lone and no longer was Charlie clinging because together they'd made themselves unstoppable.

"… I love you." The blond breathed, mouth open and eyes half rolled back in his skull.

Du'Met only grunted, but Charlie took it as his love being returned. The older man's gloved hand reached around Charlie's waist to take him in hand, and that was when Charlie lost all rational thought, instead of sweet words his lips let slip broken sentences and gratuitous vulgarities until he came with a cry and stained the side of the chest freezer. A grunt, a harsh thrust which nearly had the younger man's hands skid off the freezer's top, and Du'Met found his climax as well.

Like the gentleman he only was for his English lover, Du'Met helped shift Charlie so he could lay on the freezer instead of collapsing onto the hard ground, then tucked himself away while Charlie lazily did the same. Brown eyes stared down at the panting blond, sometimes Du'Met couldn't remember a time before Charlie, what had originally been little more than a distraction had become one of his greatest gifts. Years ago while smoking a cigarette, Manny Sherman had told him 'I've left my mark on the world, have you?' , Du'Met had certainly marked the world, he'd removed two hundred and fifteen lives from it, but more importantly than that, he'd pulled Charlie into his own dark world to stand alongside him.

Once he'd sufficiently gotten his breath back, Du'Met set about flicking off lights and shutting off screens but that didn't give Charlie nearly enough time to convince his legs to start moving again, so Du'Met just scooped him up in a fireman hold and carried him off to the hotel. A chuckle escaped the Brit, long ago he'd have feared the former FBI agent hauling him around in such a way but no longer. Instead, Charlie just let Du'Met carry him into the restaurant where he was dropped carefully onto his feet before a kiss found its way to his forehead and Du'Met wandered off again, no doubt to seek out something more nutritional than chips.

Charlie dropped into his usual seat still with a smirk and glanced at the head of the table. The previous year he'd been in denial about so many things, his career, the studio, but that had all passed by. Charlie didn't feel the need to be the patriarch any longer, not when he was happy, warm and loved by the man who rightfully owned that position. Nah, Charlie didn't need to be daddy solving all the problems now. At least now when he sat at the dining table he actually got dinner. Still, Charlie supposed he could go down to the cellar below the bar and grab them some wine to go with whatever Du'Met served. So, slowly thanks to his legs still being a little shaky, Charlie headed to the cellar fully aware Du'Met would likely spot him on one of the cameras and know to bring wine glasses. He could still feel his lover inside him, dripping out of him, but Charlie felt no shame nor a need to rectify anything, he'd savor the feeling.

The bottle of red – which he'd brought mostly because he wasn't a big fan of white – was placed down on the dining table before Charlie turned his attention to the gramophone. He'd always been more of an 80s rock fan than a classical person, but Du'Met appreciated it so he pulled open the record cabinet and plucked something out at random.

"Bach, he's the one who had like twenty kids, right?" He questioned himself pointlessly. "Doesn't matter."

Carefully he set the record to play and Goldberg Variations drifted from the gramophone elegantly; not his cup of tea but there was a beauty to it that even Charlie could appreciate.

With the multi-tool normally tucked into his pocket, Charlie opened the wine to let it breathe, then seated himself again as if he were the left hand of God. Fitting maybe because, as a child, he'd sat down to family meals in much the same layout, though there had been an extra place for his mother. Charlie's father had always been a kind man and Charlie was pleased to say he was the spitting image of his dearly departed father. Lonnit Sr. had regaled his only child each evening with fun as they sat around the dining table, tall tales and talk of fishing trips. It was his father who had given Charlie his love of cinema, he'd taken him fairly regularly to see whatever film was new and Charlie had fallen in love with the worlds and people portrayed. Meanwhile, Pam, his mother, had sat at the very same dining table complaining that they shouldn't have been so noisy while eating and that their trips to the movie theatre was just wasted money. Sometimes Charlie felt like a bad person for not having an ounce of love for his mother; she'd birthed, fed and sheltered him after all. However, she'd never shown all that much interest in being a mother, so stoic and distant. Pam hadn't beaten him, nor had she verbally abused him, Charlie hadn't suffered through the things his beloved Du'Met had, but Pam had just … never seemed to care. As long as the blond hadn't shown her up or failed in his schooling, his childhood with her had been more like having a roommate instead of a mother. When she'd realized Charlie was attracted to men as well as women though, by God had she stormed into his life. That realization had caused her to blow up with the usual spitefulness spat out by religious zealots. No, for Charlie Lonnit his father had been both parents. A man who'd served in the army, was a classic man's man and should have had the stereotypical reaction to discovering his son's sexual preferences in 80s London, had actually been the one to provide comfort. Lonnit Sr. was the parent who'd accepted his child for who he was and had encouraged him to follow his dreams. A good and kind man who'd left the world much too soon. Charlie sighed deeply, all of that was the past and the past no longer mattered. Pam couldn't remember who Charlie was most of the time, not that Charlie had made any effort to keep in touch with her save for paying her care home bills until Du'Met had kidnapped him. Beyond knowing his mother still drew breath, their lives were entirely separate. Back in Britain he'd probably been labelled as a bad son for just abandoning a woman with alzheimer's in a care home and never bothering to visit but Charlie couldn't bring himself to care.

The piece came to an end and the sudden quiet was thankfully enough to jolt Charlie from his internal rabbit hole of thoughts. He rose to his full height five-foot-ten, though truthfully he was closer to five-eleven once pesky decimal points had been rounded up, and selected another record at random which seemed to be more Bach but a little more lively than Goldberg Variations.

He'd just sat down again when Du'Met entered with their dinner on a silver serving cart. Even at such a late hour and despite Charlie offering to do it himself, Du'Met had endeavored to prepare an actual meal for the two of them. Goat cheese salad, quick, simple but tasty and certainly healthier than the bag of chips Charlie had been munching on. Plates were placed on the table while Charlie poured wine into the glasses his lover had brought.

"You always spoil me." Du'Met didn't so much as glance to his phoenix, just sat and sniffed at his wine's aroma before he took a sip. "Look at you being all dignified and sophisticated." The killer side-eyed him. "What? You're a handsome man, Granthem."

For a second Charlie had almost referred to him as Hector but that wouldn't have ended well. Hector Munday wasn't some secret identity kept hidden by a comic book supervillain, he was Du'Met's first real victim, a man long dead. Sure Du'Met held on to his FBI raid jacket and badge as well as a few other things but for all intense and purpose no longer existed. Colin Rathelin was a character Charlie occasionally played while Granthem Du'Met was a real person who'd filled the void of Special Agent Hector Munday.

Together they ate and sipped rich wine, Charlie spoke while Du'Met occasionally provided answers by tapping out words on the table. Had a random person entered the restaurant there and then they'd have seen nothing but a couple enjoying a late evening meal and some light conversation rather than a hedonistic serial killer and a narcissistic director with sociopathic tendencies. Then again, every normal person who stepped foot in the restaurant was naïve as to what was to come.

Only after Du'Met had placed a third record on the gramophone and topped up their wine glasses did Charlie broach something he'd wanted to for almost three days.

"Granthem, I – I had an idea. My documentaries are gathering dust after they're complete and we've watched them together. So, I thought maybe we could play them, you know, for the next guests. Perhaps play them on the brick walls down in the tunnels. I want people to see my work."

Du'Met seemed to think about that for quite some time and dollars to donuts Charlie expected to be turned down. He was the director, he recorded and turned the footage of his leading man into a masterpiece, while setting up the deaths and actually carrying them out was all Du'Met's territory. Yeah, Charlie hadn't held out much hope, that said though, he'd not had much hope when he'd last sat in that dining chair and asked something of his lover but he'd still gotten it. Time stretched with an almost painful silence until, finally, Du'Met let out a sort of mm-hmm sound and Charlie couldn't prevent himself beaming. That was a yes, an actual yes that had Charlie's blue eyes brighten up instantly.

"Thank you, Granthem."

Charlie already knew exactly where he wanted to mount the projector, it was near the waterlogged section and would probably require Du'Met's help to fix it into place, but Charlie had permission from his homicidal lover and a little water wouldn't stop him showing his art to the horrified guests. A little foreshadowing before their ends came.

Chapter Text

It had taken nearly three days for Charlie to question the new whiteboard hung up in the nerve centre. It was small, about A4 size, and fixed to the wall beside the other whiteboard Du'Met normally used to keep track of where his prey had last been spotted. On its own there wasn't really anything noteworthy about the whiteboard, what had finally roused Charlie's curiosity was when, in Du'Met's distinctive handwriting, two columns had been drawn in blue with one labelled as 'C' with '2' written underneath, while the other had been marked 'G' and had '211'. That hadn't been there that morning. The whiteboard caused no questions but the scribbling did, so, dressed in nothing but his pyjama pants and while he sipped his morning caffeine boost, Charlie padded over to where the killer sat researching new contractors to get working on the pool he'd been ignoring for the most part.

"Granthem, what em, what's with the new whiteboard?"

The killer turned slowly in his swivel chair and regarded his gorgeous phoenix a moment with interest, after all, the Englishman was rather nice to look at. Du'Met applauded himself for gifting Charlie with that rowing machine shortly after they'd returned from abandoning Rosalie Patterson. Still, the blond had made a query and it was Du'Met's duty to answer. He pointed at Charlie's free hand, the one not being used to lift a white mug of steaming coffee up to his lips, and it was quickly held out for Du'Met to drum words out on.

"Our kill counts?" Blond eyebrows shot up furrowing his brow deeply as he recalled those two siblings he'd killed – the people he'd murdered in a moment of rage. Part of Charlie still wanted to feel remorseful about that incident, but Du'Met had been so happy after and their fates had already been sealed. "Why would you want to keep track of that? It's not like we're competing, and even if we were, we both know it."

The killer shrugged because he'd always win. That said, the counter down in the lobby kept track of Du'Met's kills and, while not actually a serial killer intent on rising up the murderous ranks of infamy, he'd thought Charlie deserved a tally as well; just in a less official capacity. The day Charlie had turned on the gas and ended the lives of those two annoying siblings had been one of the happiest of Du'Met's life. His beautiful phoenix had been born again into something better, something special, and their deaths were a wondrous display of Charlie's true darkness. Oh if Du'Met could have bottled that sinfully good emotion, he'd have drunk it down daily.

The serial killer stood then and kissed his sweet boy who tasted of fresh coffee, then leaned in to breathe two words against the shell of Charlie's ear.

"My phoenix."

Charlie always melted when Du'Met actually spoke, his voice so deep and wonderful, his words so praising and pleasing.

"I love you too." Smiled Charlie.

A merciless murderer and savage strategist, but by God had Charlie honestly, truly come to love Granthem Du'Met. Lots of people insisted there was somebody out in the world for everyone, but Charlie had long thought that to be ridiculous, hogwash, total shit, but then he'd been kidnapped and Charlie had been forced to accept they'd been right, because the other half of Charlie's coin was a monster, but he was Charlie's monster.

Then it was all over, the intimacy broke apart and Du'Met carried on with his work while Charlie returned the empty mug to the kitchen then went to dress for the day. So much domesticity between hunts.

~X~

The resident Holmes-obsessed serial killer had built a multitude of new traps after they'd dealt with the Patterson girl, he'd really thrown himself into building something original and seemed heavily focused on whatever he had schemed for his next guests. Of course those next guests would be a while away since Du'Met had agreed to Charlie's request for a break. Charlie hadn't dwelt on his lover's burst of homicidal creativity though, not when Du'Met seemed so damn happy and Charlie had some lovely new waterproof cameras to install in the water vat trap. However, as the days turned into weeks the Brit started to think of his lover's behavior as odd. With Rosalie out of their hair and no victims running through the hotel, it seemed strange that Du'Met would be quite so enthusiastic. Part of Charlie wanted to ask while the rest of him avoided the subject entirely.

Disturbingly for Charlie his fiftieth birthday approached and he was acutely aware of it; the day practical loomed. Fifty years old was a landmark birthday and, before he knew it, it would be another September twenty-sixth. Last October he'd honestly not thought he'd get to see fifty, had assumed Du'Met would just wack a party hat on whatever animatronic he'd fashioned Charlie into for his own sick amusement and that would be that. That macabre mental image hadn't made it to fruition though and Charlie would see his fiftieth birthday. Old, Charlie felt old but unlike most of his life he no longer felt miserable, the weight of the world didn't sit on his shoulders any longer nor did debt collectors hound him. Frankly he felt three times younger going into his fiftieth ear than he had into his forty-ninth, though that probably had something to do with the fact he smoked significantly less frequently than before.

Blue eyes glanced up to the calendar tacked above the filing cabinet he kept spare equipment for his cameras in. Three days and he'd be fifty; a middle-aged man but one in love and who had found his calling.

He shook his head as if to shake free those thoughts and headed off to deal with his cameras. Fuck Mark! Charlie had turned directing into an art form, so fuck Mark and his comments about Charlie not knowing how to get a good shot. He'd knew exactly what his team had really thought of him and his work, had heard Kate and Mark up on the balcony, the way they'd mocked and the full-on castigation. At first Charlie had been so very grateful that Jamie, Erin and the others had survived the hotel but, over time, the blond had come to resent them. They'd chosen to leave him to die, offered him up to Du'Met like some kind of sacrificial virgin. Those hypocrites had justified his death and Charlie hoped the guilt kept them up at night for the rest of their lives! Abandonment and betrayal, that was all his crew had left him with when they'd tied him to that fence. Sure, everything had worked out rather well for Charlie after his kidnapping but the crew hadn't known that – fuck, Charlie hadn't known being with Du'Met would be so fulfilling. Fuck them, he had his art and a birthday Erin had tried to take away from him.

Once the new waterproof cameras had been installed, Charlie went to sit in the gazebo as had become normal for him when he wanted to relax and have time to himself. The beauty of the Great Lakes and what that gazebo had come to mean to Charlie always managed to sooth him. The day was a sunny one so Charlie was pleased for the shade by the time he made it up to the wooden structure. A quick glance upward revealed that Spider Du'Met was still there happy and doing it's thing. Originally Charlie had wanted to clean the cobweb away but he'd slowly come to think of himself and Spider Du'Met as unlikely friends.

The fresh air soon rid Charlie's mind of his team and what they'd done to him, instead replacing it with thoughts of how far he and his tall lover had come in their relationship. Charlie glanced down to the cable ferry. When he'd first arrived they'd been strangers with totally different lives, then, once inside the hotel, Charlie had been forced to fight for his life, to be cunning and think his way out of Du'Met's traps. They'd gone from strangers to mortal enemies practically in the blink of an eye, but that was the past, something gone but not forgotten.

"No more thinking about the past, right, Spidey?" Just as with the actual Du'Met, Spider Du'Met didn't respond. "I should get to thinking about which of my documentaries to play first down in the maintenance tunnels. I'm thinking that pink-haired girl one – no, no, no! No, it should be that second construction crew Granthem brought in. That total idiot who smacked him with a fire extinguisher and stood their celebrating his awesomeness so long Granthem stood up and stabbed him in the fucking stomach."

Oh dissociation was a powerful thing, it could take a once fairly level-headed man who'd made a stupid mistake but still had a moral compass, and turn him into the sort of person who giggled at death. In a way Walt Disney had been detrimental to children, he'd taken fairy stories with dark but educational lessons and twisted them around into happy, bright and musical tales which left children thinking good always prevailed while the villain got their comeuppance. Those children had then grown up expecting the world to be good and noble only to find it dark and unforgiving, they'd clung onto the idea that bad people got their just desserts. In reality though, it was the bad guys who normally won. The world wasn't black and white, nor were people, everything was a perpetual shade of gray and villains crushed whoever was in their way because magic didn't exist. Astronauts killed the man in the moon and growing up killed everything else.

~X~

For Charlie Lonnit birthdays weren't overly important things, he didn't need a fancy party with lots of presents, and after his father's death the idea of celebrating at all had become somewhat distasteful to him. So to say he'd not been expecting much for his fiftieth birthday had been an understatement; that and Du'Met wasn't exactly big on romantic displays of frivolity and glee regardless of the special occasion. The day would just be like any other and the blond was more than okay with that. Yes it was a milestone birthday and for a while there it had looked like he'd never see fifty, but Charlie didn't want reminding he was officially middle-aged.

When he'd awoken that morning he'd found the bed beside him vacant of his murderous lover, which wasn't all that unusual and certainly not a cause for alarm. He donned a navy suit for the day with a paisley tie and his beloved cap, then made his way to the kitchen for some coffee and breakfast all without seeing the elder man. Since Charlie just assumed the killer to be in his workroom, the absence still didn't cause any red flags to shoot up. Black coffee was drunk down and toast smothered in fresh butter was chomped before Charlie returned to the nerve centre and finally grabbed a radio to figure out if Du'Met would be showing himself at all that day or not.

"Granthem, you coming out your workroom today or have you got yourself stuck in a trap and need me to come rescue you?" He'd teased with a smirk but when no answer came that smirk faded to seriousness and just a touch of irritation. "Granthem?"

Blue eyes caught sight of the radio charging dock then and noticed the only radio missing was the one Charlie currently had in his hand. Yet more emotions surfaced inside the Brit, this time confusion laced with a little concern. Quickly he flicked through the cameras, of which there were literally dozens, but he couldn't spot Du'Met anywhere. That was the last straw for Charlie because it had him return to the bedroom to grab his cell phone, a phone that was rarely used, and shot off a text message in seconds.

Several uncomfortable minutes went by before finally a response from his serial killer lover came through, and as soon as it did Charlie had his eyes locked on the screen. 'I am on the mainland and shall return shortly. Be good, my phoenix' was all it said. Charlie cocked a single eyebrow upward as more confusion and irritation washed over him. He grumbled to himself mainly because Du'Met normally told Charlie if he intended to leave the island for any reason, and why the hell had he had to go before Charlie woke up? Oh it didn't matter, trying to understand the inner workings of Granthem Du'Met's mind was like being tossed into the Minotaur's labyrinth with no string, and Charlie had zero desire to go stumbling around in there if he didn't have to. So, after doing his best to push his irritation aside, Charlie went to get himself some more coffee then did a once-over of the exterior cameras before he headed down into the maintenance tunnels to test the new projector Du'Met had assisted in installing – okay, so Du'Met had put it up while Charlie said 'a little to the left' and 'no my left' a few times until Du'Met had glared. The footage played on the damp bricks which resulted in an ominous glint that Charlie hadn't expected but certainly taken a liking to; part of him still hadn't quite taken in that the murderer had actually allowed the projector in the first place. Great thought had been given to whether or not having sound would be more or less effective, but Charlie was pleased he'd ultimately decided to keep it in rather than going for a silent horror angle. Those voices laced with fear would lure whoever stumbled down their next in and then they'd witness Charlie's masterpiece for themselves. Oh, he couldn't wait! Couldn't wait!

A couple of hours went by with Charlie busying himself since he'd finished work on his latest piece of art: he'd had a smoke while chatting to his favorite gazebo spider and started to wonder about getting a real groundskeeper to fix the encroaching wilderness of the gardens, then slumped down in the director's seat Du'Met had gifted him with a few months back for a while wondering if he could convince his lover to take a trip to a bookstore with him because all Charlie did any longer was work and read. Just as boredom truly had started to settle in, he heard one of the doors on the lowest level of the nerve centre open and promptly swing shun. Charlie grinned, beamed really, because that meant Du'Met was home and Charlie's lonely solitude was at an end. That touch-hungry part of himself wanted to rush down the concrete steps to greet his tall lover, but his mind forced the body to stay put so he didn't appear needy; so there he stayed at the desk he'd long ago commandeer as his own to jot down ideas for framing new shots. Charlie might have had his back to the stairs and Du'Met may have moved silently up to the middle level, but none of that stopped Charlie feeling the imposing man's approach, all that ominous power preceded him.

"Hi, Granthem." Said the blond as he looked over his shoulder.

Du'Met wore his plain clothes, had no mask nor bowler hat, and that was the real evidence he had indeed been on the mainland amongst normal people. As usual the killer spoke not a word, but he did bend to kiss Charlie's thin lips which gave Charlie a whiff of the outside world: the scent of exhaust and city grime clung to his clothes as well as a vaguely sweet smell Charlie couldn't place. The blond ignored it all in favor of kissing his lover back before the tall man slipped into their bedroom to change into his preferred attire.

For several moments Charlie simply sat there in his director's chair with blue eyes locked on the door. Du'Met hadn't seemed upset or concerned, nor had he appeared all that busy, which suggested his reason for being off the island wasn't all that important. He'd moved with a relaxed step and so Charlie's mind soon turned to questions of why Du'Met had bothered to go since Du'Met never left unless he absolutely had to. Charlie couldn't really blame the killer for that, the public were mostly naïve idiots or assholes, or both, and Charlie had little desire to interact with them either. God knew what had pulled Du'Met away but he had returned and his first act had been to kiss Charlie. Of course it had, Charlie was important to Du'Met, he was the man's phoenix! Charlie was special; who else could have not only survived Du'Met's games but been accepted into the fold? Yes, Du'Met recognized how worthy Charlie was. An outsider would have termed Charlie's internal thinkings as narcissism and arrogance, but since when had Charlie Lonnit listened to others?

Those blue eyes eventually gave up guarding the bedroom door and instead caught sight of the small whiteboard Du'Met had hung recently; the board which kept record of their kill counts, just two for Charlie while Du'Met had made it up to two hundred and eleven. At first he'd thought it was meant as a competition – an impossible competition because the masked man had elevated murder to a systematic and elegant extermination. No, Charlie couldn't have won that game even if he'd desire to. Yet, Charlie had been wrong as that whiteboard hadn't been about competition but rather Du'Met's odd way of showing he was proud of Charlie; like a more disturbing version of a parent putting their child's drawing on the refrigerator. Seeing what he'd done had sparked pride and admiration inside the serial killer which in turn sparked gratification and satisfaction inside the blond. Each time so much as a hint of question slipped into Charlie's mind about morality, guilt or even his relationship with the older man, Du'Met was there to suck him back inside the darkness.

Still, they had things to do so Charlie stood and made to get himself some more coffee for the long day, but, just as he'd passed their bedroom door, Du'Met caught him by the wrist and hauled him back with a sharp, painful jerk. A year ago that would have scared the shit out of him but Charlie had become unfazed by his lovers ability to magically appear like some kind of devil with neither a footstep nor a puff of smoke. The director went willingly with Du'Met – yeah, like refusing was even an option – to the control panel and expected questions on the new submerged cameras Charlie had installed in the flooded section of the maintenance tunnels on a whim. However, Charlie instead found a rectangular and thin but heavy box wrapped in kraft paper and string like something out of the 1940s shoved into his hands. A blond eyebrow raised as he stared at it a moment with a combination of suspicion and curiosity. Du'Met's face gave away nothing despite his lack of H. H. Holmes mask, just stood there expectantly. Charlie's brow furrowed deeply because this surely wasn't what he thought it was.

"Granthem, is this – is this … a birthday present?"

There was no pause, no head cock or dismissal, just a curt nod of the older man's head confirming Charlie's theory and good God, did Charlie beam. This horrific murderer of a man, this remorseless serial killer, had gone to the trouble of getting him, Charlie Lonnit, a birthday present.

"Is this why you were on the mainland?"

That got a second nod before Du'Met used the package to tap out 'needed to collect' with two practised fingers. 'Yeah,' thought Charlie. 'Probably can't just have Amazon deliver chains, saw blades and everything else to build your own Saw set. Far too much suspicion.'

Excitedly, the director opened his gift while the elder man watched on as stoically as always. Inside was a white cardboard box that Charlie quickly ripped the side of open, he tilted the box a little and out slid a sheathed knife of all black. For a second Charlie was confused because didn't a knife seem more like something his lover would want as a gift, but when he removed the blade – a KA-BAR Becker BK72 apparently, not that Charlie knew anything about knives save for to hold them by the handle – Charlie suddenly became very attached to his knew knife. Engraved into the blade was Du'Met's preferred pet name for him and it was sharp as hell. Happiness welled up inside the Englishman because, even though it had been fairly clear for some time that Du'Met trusted him and had no worry Charlie would flee as soon as his back was turned, this was on a whole new level of trust. The blade could have been so easily thrust into Du'Met's throat while he slumbered and yet there the weapon was in Charlie's hand. This beautiful weapon, with it's surprisingly comfortable Micarta handle, was just for his trusted and beloved phoenix. Charlie grinned because Du'Met may has well have placed solidified trust in Charlie's pale hands.

"Thank you, Granthem." He told his lover honestly. "It's beautiful."

Charlie had no idea of course, but Du'Met had selected that knife because of it's resilience and versatility, it would be a tool most of the time and a weapon only when needed. Jamie, Erin and Kate breaking into his control centre had been unforeseen despite how swiftly, efficiently really, he'd dealt with the issue, and though he didn't plan on allowing it to happen a second time, he wanted Charlie to be able to protect himself if it did.

Du'Met shoved his left sleeve up, grabbed Charlie by the wrist and brought the new blade to his own skin. In one smooth motion Du'Met made his younger lover cut his exposed flesh causing red to trickle down his arm to the floor with inaudible splatters. The blond's eyes went wide despite the shallowness of the wound and they only grew wider when he licked the blade clean and offered his bleeding forearm to Charlie. His mouth opened to question but no words tumbled out, instead he saw the seriousness in Du'Met's eyes and felt that urge to please him inside his heart. Without further hesitation, Charlie ran his tongue over Du'Met's bleeding arm coating his tongue and lips with irony crimson. Yanked was the knife from Charlie's hand so Du'Met could wound Charlie as he'd wounded himself. As soon as Du'Met's tongue had tasted the blond's blood he crashed their lips together for a rough, bloody kiss. As their blood intermingled on their tongues part of Charlie's brain, a quiet part right at the back, realized this was a blood oath, that this was a vow to one another. They weren't just co-conspirators or life partners, they were literally part of one another with that kiss. Later, much later, Du'Met would mentally question himself if the reason he'd not known who he was for most of his life had been because Charlie Lonnit hadn't entered it yet. In the beginning he'd seen Charlie as nothing but pathetic, something which had only been re-enforced when he'd seen the man beating up the bar's cigarette dispenser, that was probably why Charlie's cunning had amazed him so much later on.

Finally they broke apart a little breathlessly Charlie and took back his birthday present almost lovingly. Neither man seemed overly bothered their arms continued to bleed: Du'Met had a very high pain threshold while Charlie got easily distracted when it came to his lover praising and pleasuring him.

"You know, sometimes I feel like I can only carry four small objects at a time."

Du'Met didn't give that comment a passing thought, just stretched to grab the first aid kit so he could patch himself and his corrupted lover up.

Chapter Text

After Charlie's birthday Du'Met had gone through another flurry of activity as he made plans and plotted. Du'Met had promised them a break but it was apparently over now and Charlie regretted not making the older man agree to a certain period of time: he'd keep it in mind for the future since it wasn't like he'd leave any time soon.

At first Charlie couldn't have cared less about his lover's research or who he prepared to kidnap as long as he got to record their deaths. He'd once told Erin 'the truth is the star' and there was no greater truth than death. Frankly Charlie was still flying high on the faith and praise his birthday present had given him, that knife kept snugly on his belt at all times. However, soon Charlie started to notice that there was much more focus to Du'Met's research than usual and that was when he went from not caring less to genuinely curious, that was what had Charlie quietly shuffle over to the research desk and flip his lover's folder open. The blond gasped in shock, he stumbled backward automatically only to slam into Du'Met's strong chest. He'd been caught in flagrante delicto and just gaped up at his lover as a multitude of thoughts hurtled around his mind.

"… Why?" Du'Met's head tilted to the side in that way it always did when he was confused or had a question. "Why, Granthem?" With a small sigh, Du'Met rounded the blond, grabbed a notepad, started to jot down an explanation that Charlie read quickly. "For me? You want to bring my team back and hunt them again … for me?"

Du'Met just slammed a finger down on the section where he'd written 'they betrayed you' while Charlie's mind continued stumble over itself. He could see the huge internal debate his phoenix was having with himself but had no intention of cancelling his plans. Nobody had ever escaped him before the staff of Lonnit Entertainment and Du'Met felt he had a score to settle. He wanted them dead, he wanted to watch their luck run out, he wanted revenge for getting off the island. All that said, it wasn't just selfish reasons; the crew had betrayed Charlie and left him behind to die, sure he'd set Erin up to think Charlie complicit but that was beside the point. The Englishman wanted to be with the killer, wanted to stay with him, film his documentaries and Du'Met wanted to see just how dark his phoenix could become. The crew stood in the way of all that, as long as they lived, even if Charlie never saw them again, they'd linger in his mind and split his allegiances. Du'Met wanted revenge, yes, but he also wanted Charlie to grow and have his own revenge for their abandonment. He'd already checked up on them of course. As expected Kate Wilder hadn't gotten all that much further with her career even after trying to use her harrowing survival story to get her own show and publicize herself. She'd continued to entrust a crystal to take care of all her problems rather than actually dealing with them and so had alienated herself from everybody she worked with to the point they hated her. Jamie and Erin had passed around from job to job keeping their heads down for the most part, they'd just been happy to be alive and have their relationship. Then there was indecisive Mark, he had surprisingly done reliably well for himself with his friend Murray and, while not ambitious or eager to use surviving the murder castle to his advantage, he'd likely manage to make a name for himself in another few years. They'd gotten their freedom and done precious little with it while Charlie had risen from the ashes, and, as soon as they were dead, Charlie would soar.

"You're right, they betrayed me. They abandoned me and left me for you to kill. I'm – aren't they only alive because I distracted you?" Du'Met nodded, had Charlie not been as interesting or died when he was meant to, then he'd likely have killed them all with ease. "I'm the reason they fell into your hands in the first place." Du'Met jabbed the line 'they betrayed you' again and Charlie sighed because he already knew that, but he'd been the one to insist they got in Du'Met's limo. "But didn't they earn their lives by surviving? If- if you do bring them back and – and kill them and I help you kill them, then they really will all be dead because I was stupid and didn't check for the catch. They'll be dead because of me. God, I regret ever answering that phone call!"

Du'Met's eyes darkened and slammed the director into the gray wall by his throat with so much force that Charlie's head bounced off of it. Rage and hurt bubbled inside of him and, despite the pain in the back of his head, Charlie quickly caught on to how much what he'd just said had actually hurt his lover. Instantly regret flooded, it twinkled in his eyes and caused him to grip on to Du'Met's shirt cuffs tightly. Du'Met may have been a ruthless serial killer but he'd come from an abusive, lonely and unloving background. All those who'd been meant to care and love him had only hurt him. As a kid, his principal, Glen Thompson, had gone so far as to write to his mother regarding his behavior and concerns for his welfare, but that had all it had been, a few missed phone calls and a letter Lucinda hadn't ever responded to. Even the school hadn't cared all that much about him. Then Charlie had entered Du'Met's life and not only accepted who Du'Met had chosen to be but actually loved him, sure it was an insane and very unhealthy sort of love but love nevertheless. And what had Charlie done, he'd just told him he regretted ever meeting the man.

"I don't regret coming to the island! I don't! I'm sorry, Granthem, I didn't mean that. I didn't. If I'd not taken that call we wouldn't be together. I love you. I love you and I'm so sorry. I adore you. We'll always be together, I promise. I'm all yours, I'm not leaving, I'm yours."

Eventually Du'Met's grasp lessened and Charlie took the opportunity to catch his lover's lips for a series of desperate kisses. Neither man wanted to be alone any longer. After a while the desperation faded and, though still pinned to the wall by the indestructible being called Du'Met, Charlie managed to rest his head on the taller man's shoulder as he continued to cling to him. Meanwhile the murderer stared daggers into the nerve centre wall as he attempted to reorganize his thoughts and calm the ire within himself; stroking his thumb over the nape of Charlie's neck did wonders to aid that along.

For many minutes the only sounds were those that came from whiting fans and stereotypical plinking fluorescent lights often gave off. Charlie could remember when Du'Met had first kidnapped him and how much he'd thought about escape or how much comfort his team still being alive had provided. Du'Met was correct as usual though, his team had left him for dead and Charlie suspected they probably didn't care all that much. His team had given him nothing but snide comments, judgement and arrogance the whole way while Du'Met had been the one to provide Charlie with love, praise and freedom to create, all of which he'd been sorely lacking. Du'Met saw all these things go through his shorter lover's mind once he'd gotten hold of his own thoughts and, as soon as he did, Du'Met knew he'd get what he wanted.

"You're right," said Charlie, his breath warm against the older man's skin. "They did betray me. They had to know tying me up would probably get me killed but they did it anyway. Actually accused me of plotting the whole thing to justify offering me up as a sacrifice. It doesn't matter that I'm glad we're together because of that, they still tried to kill me." Du'Met smirked, Charlie really was easy to manipulate when he felt loved. Charlie turned his blue eyes up to meet Du'Met's dark ones. "They weren't playing fair before, were they? You were distracted and they used me as a shield, that's not fair. If you bring them back they'll have to play fair, right?" Du'Met nodded. "Then okay, I won't object more. Kate always wanted to be in front of the cameras, well at least that bitch'll be the star of the show."

The former FBI agent beamed internally because his dark phoenix truly was something to behold. Charlie had entered the murder castle a pathetic borderline narcissist and pariah who'd never get that big break he yearned for, but under Du'Met's watchful eye he'd evolved into a true artist just as Du'Met had; in an odd way he thought even Sherman might have been proud.

~X~

In order to keep Charlie firmly on board with the plan to kidnap and hunt the former members of Lonnit Entertainment, Du'Met had been doing the old softly-softly thing he'd done with Charlie when they'd first arrived at the second castle. He'd had some steaks in the fridge so Du'Met had cooked them up medium rare and paired it with one of his older red wines. When he entered the dining room, the gentle classical music luring him in, Charlie had taken his usual seat but seemed to be again having a mental debate. He set the plates down and sat himself at the head of the table all without getting a reaction from his blond lover, not even when he poured them both a glass.

~FLASHBACK~

Graham MacClery was a fairly tall boy a little older than Charlie who'd shown up randomly one day from Glasgow to be one of Charlie's classmates. Most of the other kids of fourteen and fifteen hadn't really cared, sure they'd been friendly enough to him but nobody had bothered rushing to be his new bestie. Charlie though, he'd noticed Graham instantly: his height, developing broad shoulders and scoundrel smile. It was the late 1980s rather than the 1880s so Charlie knew he was bisexual and, while he didn't go splashing the information about, he had no internal shame regarding it. So Charlie knew attraction was why he'd taken such notice of the older boy and, to Charlie's surprise and glee, Graham had noticed him.

Over the following months Graham and Charlie had grown rather close what with Charlie's quick whit and Graham's rascal nature. They did their homework together, talked comic books and films while loitering in the park. In fact, Graham had been the first to pop the idea of being a director into Charlie's skull, 'you think you can do better then direct it yourself' he'd said.

It must have been a Friday when it happened because Charlie remembered being locked in his bedroom for a few days after it happened. Charlie and Graham had been in the back yard of the Lonnit home when their innocent flirting had finally gone from beating around the bush to something more. Graham had pressed Charlie up against the fence using his impressive height to keep the younger teen in place and finally, finally they'd kissed. The first one had been a little awkward and subsequent ones were unpractised and messy, but they were theirs and they were perfect.

"Get away from him!" Both boys jumped apart as Pam launched through the kitchen door, grabbed her son by the wrist and hauled him back toward the house with no thought the pain she caused both mentally and physically. "You disgusting pervert, get off my property. Don't come back! Sickening little fag!"

Graham had just stared at Charlie as he was yanked back inside the house, he'd not known what to do or how to help. As soon as the kitchen door swung shut, Charlie was thrown down onto the kitchen floor beside the fridge where he landed with a thud. In that moment all of Charlie's quick whit and words failed him.

"How dare you let that degenerate touch you!" She screamed. "You won't ever disgrace God like that again, you sinful, selfish brat."

In that moment all Charlie wanted was his father back, the father who'd accepted his son for who he was. Pam hadn't ever been a particularly attentive mother, she'd never seemed to care all that much and he'd always known her to be homophobic and prejudice, but Charlie hadn't ever expected her to speak to her only son with so much spite. Yes, Charlie wanted his dad. His father had died and left him with a roommate instead of a mother.

"I-"

"Be quiet! You will never speak to that faggot again, do you understand me?! You're not going to be one of those freaks, you're going to be normal! I'm glad your father is dead because if he knew how disgusting you are he'd kill himself."

Charlie's eyes clenched shut because that wasn't true. That wasn't true! Charlie's father had known his son was interested in boys as well as girls and he'd accepted Charlie. Lonnit Sr. had made sure Charlie knew there wasn't anything 'wrong' with him and that he'd always be his son. Charlie's father had been a good man who Charlie had adored so he'd not let his mother take that away from him. Why couldn't the cancer have taken Pam instead of his wonderful father?

"Go to your room! Get out of my sight and pray the Lord forgives you!"

~FLASHBACK END~

Charlie came back to himself when Du'Met placed a hand on his, his eyes blinked rapidly before the blond finally focused on the older man. Silence and Charlie hadn't ever gotten along well, every time there was silence he slipped into his memories and regrets. Talk of kidnapping the crew had stirred up worries and darkness he'd worked hard to bury and the short separation so Du'Met could prepare dinner had been enough to get a little lost.

"I'm okay, really." The blond flashed his lover a calming smile then picked up his cutlery. "This looks great, thanks." Du'Met simply cocked his head and waited until Charlie sighed and caved. "I was just thinking about my mother, please let's just forget it. I don't want to think about her. The kid I was when I was with her is like when you were Hector Munday, something to be forgotten."

That seemed to work because Du'Met nodded his acceptance then turned his attention to his own dinner. He could respect Charlie not wanting to revisit parts of his past, Du'Met had shoved as much of Hector Munday aside as he could and wouldn't ever return to being him again. So the gramophone continued to play while the two men ate their meal and sipped their wine. Charlie might not have done well with a lack of conversation but Du'Met was quite the opposite and ate without incident. Charlie finished his steak first due to the need for something to do, and soon fell back in his chair to drink the rest of his wine.

"Hey, Granthem?" The killer looked at his director. "I know you don't like talking and don't want me pressuring or – I mean, I know I don't make the rules but-" He took a gulp of wine. "Would – would you say something nice to me? Please?"

Du'Met's head cocked to one side because Charlie hadn't once tried to pull words out of him before: Du'Met had respected the blond for that. His first reaction was to reject it and continue eating, but Charlie's eyes were distant and upset; whatever memory had surfaced had rattled him. Being mute had come naturally to Du'Met, but he didn't mind showing Charlie who he was, not any longer, so gave his phoenix what he needed.

"… I love you."

Charlie grinned with gratitude and admiration for the older man. He'd needed reassurance and Du'Met had provided it without question. With those three simple words Pam's horrid maliciousness faded from his mind to be replaced by the killers caring ones.

"Thank you. I love you too."

Any doubt that could have stumbled back to Charlie, any pesky morals, were washed away with Du'Met's declaration of love. Everything had been made all okay again and Pam went back into the recesses of Charlie's mind.

No matter how Charlie had reacted Du'Met wouldn't have changed his mind about kidnapping the crew again, that was set in stone and wouldn't change. Jamie Tiergan, Erin Keenan, Kate Wilder, Mark Nestor: he'd kill them all. They'd forced him to give up his beloved murder castle and several of his preserved victims, that castle had almost been finished and they'd snatched it away. They'd not had the common courtesy to die what with all their screwdrivers and leaking windows and fucking rewiring. Du'Met didn't blame them entirely for surviving though, he'd been distracted by how interesting Charlie had proven himself to be and dropped the ball a little. Du'Met wouldn't be distracted a second time. Not a second time.

~X~

When the day had finally come for Du'Met to leave the island to kidnap Charlie's former team, the blond had found himself feeling almost alone as when he'd gone to get the McAndrews. His heart and mind had called out to his murderous lover to return and comfort him, to keep Charlie's mind from slipping back into memories better left forgotten.

That was how he'd ended up sat on the floor of the yellow cable ferry with his back to the pilot's house, a bottle of root beer in one hand while the fingers of the other drummed absent-mindedly on the floor. When he and his crew had first boarded the ferry they'd almost been at one another's throats: Jamie's and Kate's bickering had started to take its toll on everybody, while Erin and Mark were just quietly annoyed Charlie had taken their free weekend away from them. None of them, even for a split second, had thought their trip would go quite as south as it had. 'We truly appreciate this' Kate had told Morello in that prissy tone of hers.

"It wasn't my fault!" He suddenly snapped after a sip of his drink.

Charlie might not have religiously vetted Du'Met's – well, Joseph Morello's claims, and nor had he seen being hunted through a murder hotel coming, but neither had the others; wasn't like any of them were fucking clairvoyant. At least Charlie wasn't a traitor, he'd not slipped up to the balcony to talk about backstabbing them, he'd not tied them up and left them for dead, he'd not gone out of his way to piss them off. No! No, Charlie had kept some fucking order and made a polite, eloquent toast to them all. They were the traitors, the betrayers, Du'Met had been correct about that. They deserved it, they had it coming. At least that was what most of Charlie had started to think: he kept wrestling with that spark of his morality Du'Met hadn't quite beaten down. Sometimes a flare-up occurred and Charlie really questioned if he'd gone too far. He, Mark, Jamie, Erin and Kate had all been a strange little family with him as the patriarch meant to guide and protect them not slaughter them. But then that moment of morality ended and Charlie slipped deep back into the darkness where he didn't care. They'd betrayed him. Him! The man who'd taken them in and given them jobs, who'd imparted important life lessons and tips about the industry. They'd kept their lives by offering up Charlie's, but they'd not be pulling that stunt twice.

Charlie finished his root beer while Du'Met quietly hauled his old team back into his clutches. Du'Met would have his game, the team would get their comeuppance and Charlie would not only make the most important documentary of his life, but gain the revenge he so rightly deserved.

Chapter Text

Mark

Lobby

20:45pm | October 27

Mark awoke groggy with a pounding headache and on the cold floor. 'I must have fallen out of bed' his mind reasoned. The very last thing he remembered was crashing after a late night with Kate and Murray. Hell, the sun had been coming up by the time he'd collapsed in bed since he and Kate had thrown themselves into another one of their arguments. His vision was blurry so he blinked rapidly as he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his knees only to fall back on his ass as dizziness tried to overtake him.

"Aw fuck, what the hell did I drink last night?"

Then his brown eyes glanced around and his heart dropped into his stomach. This wasn't Mark's apartment, this was a place he'd never wanted to see again. Those brown eyes went wide and shot to full alertness because he knew the lobby was the entrance to Hell.

"No! No-no-no, this isn't real, this cant be real! Fuck no!"

He backed up like a skittish cat until he slammed into the reception desk hitting his head hard enough to prove himself away. The nightmare was real. Sconces flickered as Mark snapped his head around in a panicked search for the murderous madman known as Du'Met but Mark was all alone in the creepy lobby. The cops hadn't ever found his body despite searching the whole area and, for some strange reason, Mark had never fully believed that anchor had killed the masked man. That anchor should have killed him. Why hadn't the anchor killed him? Another type of panic flooded his veins then – Kate. Mark had been with Kate, they'd gone to the party, argued over her using their survival as a way to get ahead especially with the anniversary hanging over them, then gone to bed angry. Where was she?

Mark shot to his feet, something his dizzy head didn't appreciate. "Kate?! Kate, where are you?!"

If Du'Met had taken him then he had to have taken Kate as well. The photographer tried several doors but they were all locked and when he started up the stairs he stopped in his tracks upon seeing what they'd originally chalked up to some weird gimmick now say 211. It had registered 180 the last time he'd seen it which meant Du'Met had killed thirty-one people since Lonnit Entertainment had escaped. Well, thirty, Charlie hadn't been so lucky.

"I never should have listened to Erin." He sighed. "What sort of sound engineer can't tell a conversation was faked?"

No, Mark couldn't dwell on Charlie's death now, not when he needed to find Kate. He took a few steps more up the stairs only for Kate's voice to pull him back down them.

"Mark?! Mark, is that you?"

He rushed across the lobby, through the door – 'weren't there steps there before?' - and burst into the bar just as Kate rose from the floor with her head in her hands. Kate was clearly just as groggy as Mark but that didn't stop the dark-skinned man hugging her tight.

"Can't breathe."

"Sorry, sorry." He released her. "Just glad to see you."

"What happened? Pease tell me we aren't where I think we fucking are."

What would be for the best: tell her the truth, say nothing or try to reassure her? To be honest none of his options looked good.

"It's Du'Met." Confessed Mark. "He did this. He's got us again somehow." He raked a hand down his face. "I don't know how he's even alive but it's fucking him, Kate."

"So what the hell is this?" Demanded the redhead as she threw her arms up gesturing to the dimly lit bar stocked almost entirely with whiskey. "Revenge?"

Before either could make another utterance they heard a thud and a muffled scream come from across the hall inside the restaurant. Neither thought, they just rushed through the double doors to find the mannequins Du'Met had meticulously designed to mimic them arranged around the dining table as they had been a year earlier, but, more importantly, Jamie and Erin were there looking just as confused and groggy as Mark and Kate had. Erin had likely been the one to scream and now had her hands over her mouth to prevent another escaping.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow at her former collogues. "Mark? Kate? What's happening?"

"It's Du'Met." Announced Kate almost before Jamie had finished her question. "That bastard fucking kidnapped us again."

"How?" Jamie thrust a finger out at Mark. "You said he was dead. You said he was impaled on a goddamn anchor."

Part of Mark wanted to snap at Jamie as she pulled her girlfriend close to comfort her, but he decided to be diplomatic about it instead.

"I thought he was, okay? I – I saw it go in his chest. I have no idea how he could have survived that but he must have."

"He's the horror movie villain, Mark. You think he's dead and then before the credits he pops back up ready for the sequel."

"This can't be happening. It can't be happening."

Erin fretted while Jamie continued to rub at her shoulders in an effort to calm her down, and that was what got Kate to quit her snark about horror films and take a proper look at the terrified younger woman.

"Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine. After we got out Erin was having a real hard time. Her therapist is helping though. She was getting better every day and -"

Suddenly Erin started struggling to breath as an asthma attack took hold, but when Jamie rooted around in Erin's jean pockets, the inhaler was nowhere to be found. They all started to search around for it because if Du'Met had gone to the extensive trouble of tracking them all down for round two, or whatever the fuck this was, he wouldn't want Erin to die from something as simple as an asthma attack: he hadn't the first time. Sure enough Mark located it quickly sat beside the gramophone and gave it to Jamie who automatically pressed it into Erin's hand so she could take a puff. With nothing else they could do, the three just watched and waited for Erin to calm down. The whole time Jamie essentially stood guard over her girlfriend and when it seemed as though the asthma attack had ended sympathetic words poured out of Kate's mouth.

"I didn't realize she struggled so much after – after everything."

Jamie glared at the redhead. "Well you wouldn't, would you? You were too busy trying to get a book deal or a reality show off of everyone's suffering like the self-centred bitch you've always been. Me and Erin had assholes pounding on our door all year because every single time things started to die down, you stirred it all back up to get back in front of a fucking camera."

"No I didn't-"

Mark cut in swiftly to play the voice of reason. "Please, let's not do this. Du'Met is the enemy, not each other. We need to stick together right now. We all got away from him before."

"Not everyone." Whispered the sound engineer sorrowfully and they all paused to think of Charlie.

Guilt had been what haunted Erin, not spotting that the recorded conversation between her boss and Du'Met was a fake had truly weighed on her heavily. Constant nightmares of Charlie fashioned into one of those godforsaken animatronics dripping blood and screaming at her 'why did you kill me' over and over again. Her therapist had tossed around much medical jargon including the term 'survivor's guilt' but Erin knew the truth and it had eaten away at her, it had done more damage than all of Du'Met's traps and trauma. For the others Du'Met had been a common nightmare which had only intensified as the anniversary approached, but Erin had mentally punished herself for causing Charlie's demise, that had been her nightmare.

"We need to think about this logically," began Kate to end the silence. "We know what he wants and we know how he operates. He'll try luring us into traps again and again just to get himself off. He thinks he's smart but we've outsmarted him once already. He tried to kill us and we handed him his ass so we can sure as shit do it again!"

"All right, get the fuck down off your soap box."

Erin grabbed Jamie's hand for comfort. "Could we go sit in the bar until we figure out what to do next, please? I can't look at those things any longer."

"That's a good idea," agreed Mark as he waggled a finger loosely at Erin. "We aren't getting thrown into this blind this time around, we can actually make a proper plan."

So that was what they did, they moved to the bar and awkwardly sat down for a few minutes as they quietly discussed what to do in a huddle so Du'Met wouldn't be able to listen in, then, because something about the hotel just hadn't been sitting right with her, Jamie left for a few moments only to return swearing under her breath.

Mark's brow furrowed deeply. "What? What is it?"

"He's got another fucking one. Two! He has two of the damn things!"

"Two of what?"

"Hotels, Kate. He has two fucking hotels. Look around you, actually look. The restaurant looked different, there aren't any steps between the lobby door leading down here and the hallway, the lobby looks pretty spot on but there were two doors between the stairs and the reception desk and now there are three. This isn't the same hotel as before. He built a second one."

"No." Erin shook her head emphatically. "No, wha- how would he even do that? Just build another hotel, that's impossible, right?"

"We figured out he was rich as all fucking hell last time, he must have used that."

"Or, Mark, maybe he has these murder boxes set up all over the fucking country and is hopping between them for shits and giggles."

Things fell silent after that for a few minutes as they all tried to get their thoughts and heart rates back in order.

Mark hated that he'd listened to Erin about their boss, Charlie was many things but he hadn't been a murderer. Unlike Erin though, instead of blaming himself, Mark had blamed Erin for the whole thing. He'd deflected the responsibility of it because, if he hadn't, he'd have broken just like she had. Out of the whole team, Charlie had only deemed Mark to be a friend and Mark knew that so he'd pushed away his guilt selfishly.

"If this is a different hotel then it's on a different island, you know the cops guard it like a hawk ever since we got out."

"So?" Demanded Kate which got an eye-roll from Jamie.

"So, everything we thought we knew about this place isn't true. Layout, traps, terrain, it's all different. Oh, and I bet there's no lighthouse, he wouldn't let me pull that again."

Erin threw her hands up. "So what do we do? Just sit here?"

"Actually that might not be so bad."

"The fuck are you talking about, Kate?"

"No, Jamie, just listen." The redhead shuffled forward in her seat a little. "What if we just refuse to move from this room? We just don't play his games."

The black woman sighed deeply. "Okay, I see your point but if we sit around here isn't Du'Met just going to come down here and kill us anyway?"

"And when he does there are four of us and one of him."

"Kate, as much as I want to agree with you and just not play his games-" She glared at Mark but he persisted. "He knows there are more of us than there is of him. He knows that and he'll have thought about how to deal with the situation if we do that. We'd just be sitting ducks."

"Well, we can't play his games!" Erin yelped. "Last time we did, Charlie died."

"He never should have insisted we took up Du'Met's offer in the first place. He got himself killed."

"That's not fair, Kate, and you know it."

Kate sighed and folded her arms over her chest, she had the common courtesy to actually look apologetic.

"You're right, I'm sorry."

Silence lingered again for several moments before they heard the bell on the reception desk ring and that noise sent shivers down their collective spines. Each one of them glanced around at the other three as if to quietly confirm they'd all heard the bell but, as the practical one, it was Jamie who eventually led the group back to the lobby. As far as Mark and Jamie could tell, nothing had been added or removed since they'd both poked around in there but that didn't mean they'd let their guards down. Erin stuck close to Jamie while Kate glanced upward to confirm Du'Met hadn't decided to lurk on the balcony level.

"Bastard!" Growled Mark when he finally noticed the piece of paper that had been tucked underneath the bell.

"What is it?" Erin queried quietly.

They all turned their attention to the slip of paper which read 'welcome back' in Du'Met's recognizable handwriting. Erin rushed back to the door leading to the bar and restaurant but found it locked.

"We can't just escape this time." Jamie whispered again so Du'Met couldn't overhear them. "We can't just get out and call the cops. We have to kill him. We have to make sure he's dead this time because otherwise he'll keep doing this."

"She's right, we have to."

"Fucking hell, if me and Kate are agreeing then we must be fucked."

The extra door between the stairs and the reception desk fell open then as the magnetic lock released, and the four stared at the dark stairs beyond suspiciously. This was Du'Met's game but unlike all the other people who'd played it over the years, they knew the rules and would beat him again. They'd survive him again, and this time they'd not lose anybody.

~X~

Du'Met watched them inspect the doorway once he'd returned to the nerve centre after placing the note and ringing the bell. They'd tried to hide their conversations from him but he'd still heard most of it. They wanted to kill him, did they? Well, they'd tried before and failed so he doubted round two would be any different.

As anticipated, Kate had already started to alienate herself from the others and Erin had hardly released Jamie since they'd woken up. Then there was poor Mark, the only man amidst an ocean of women who didn't like one another; had he been the sort for mercy, Du'Met might have felt bad for him.

The four of them didn't know it but those mannequins hadn't been the same ones as before. He'd packed up the clothing he'd used before and brought it to the second castle with Charlie's aid, but the mannequins themselves were new, an ultimately pointless detail he supposed but Du'Met liked to be precise. He'd only been able to take so much when he'd fled the first castle, he'd been working with a time limit and the boat was only so big after all, but he'd managed to bring almost all of his irreplaceable items thanks to Charlie kindly providing a second pair of hands. Du'Met could still remember handcuffing his phoenix to that steamer trunk all that time ago and, while he still liked the idea of cuffing his boy to something, such bindings weren't needed to keep Charlie behaved any longer, just head pats and love. The occasional root beer didn't hurt things either. Speaking of root beer, Du'Met grumbled internally when he notice an empty bottle left haphazardly beside the control panel. He supposed he'd let the annoyance slide this time since Charlie had been quite so distracted all day. Du'Met straightened his latex gloves, grabbed the empty bottle and went to toss it down in the glass trap before he got to hunting.

~X~

Jamie

Basement Stairs

21:22pm | October 27

With a complex combination of trepidation, anger and irritation, Jamie led the way down the narrow stairs with one hand in Erin's and the other wrapped tightly around the keychain flashlight she'd had hooked to her belt. Regretfully, part of Jamie thought she should have been thankful to Du'Met for not taking it away. The lighting tech had done her very best to bury what had happened inside Du'Met's hotel of horrors, she'd tried to be strong for Erin and keep them going. A year, it had been an entire year and they'd been doing fairly well. They'd cut ties with Kate and Mark mostly to avoid Kate's ambition and urge for fame off the back of their harrowing story – fuck, because of Kate they'd had reporters and serial killer groupies on their doorstep for months. Things had finally gotten better, Erin had been a little more like her old self each day and Jamie had managed to land a decent job with reasonably good pay. The damn anniversary though, she'd not known what to expect of it but being kidnapped a second time hadn't been it; at most she thought she'd get woken up every half hour by her girlfriend's nightmares. She shook her head, there would be time for those thoughts later, there and then surviving Du'Met's sick game was of the upmost importance.

Jamie paused before she reached the bottom of the steps and made sure there wasn't any trap door waiting to swallow one or more of them up, pleased there wasn't they all moved further into the tiny prick room lid with a red light, and, as soon as they did, the door to the lobby slammed shut making them all jump.

"God, I hate that fucking asshole and his games."

"Preaching to the choir, Jamie." Muttered Mark as he carefully inspected the closed metal door opposite the stairs. He tried the handle. "It's locked."

"… Is that a key?" Erin extended a shaky finger out toward a key hook which did in fact have a silver key hanging from it.

When Jamie grabbed it she saw the fob read 'prison key' which was rather ominous but she paid that no mind, the whole hotel was a prison. Sure enough the key opened the door and the group found themselves in a set of fairly narrow brick hallways lit sporadically with overhead red lights. The floors were dusty and scuffed, a horrid chill lingered in the air and every little noise echoed like a violent cacophony. Brown eyes turned to her right to find the hall had been blocked by several heavy crates filled with fuck knew what that they'd not be getting passed.

"The left it is then."

"God, I keep expecting him to just jump the fuck out with that damn ax again."

"Not helping, Kate!" Erin shrieked.

Mark paused in the hallway then which had Kate bump into the back of him while Jamie and Erin turned to face him.

"Hey, guys, I just had a thought. Em, are we sure it is actually Du'Met doing this? I mean, what if he had like a protégé or something? I saw that anchor go into his chest, I know what I said earlier, but could he actually have lived through that?"

Jamie could have been kinder about it, but she let her fear and anger snap at her former colleague instead. "A protégé? A protégé, really? Are you fucking serious?"

"Mark, he'd never let somebody in on his work." Kate said while putting that masters in criminal psychology to good use. "He's a loner, doesn't do well with people. He wouldn't ever train somebody to be like him because he thinks people are beneath him so no one could ever take his place. No, it's him, Mark, it has to be him and only him."

"Okay, okay, it was just a thought."

With that moment over, they slowly continued down the dark hallway until they reached another door. Unlike the last, this door swung open easily and left them practically blinded by the strong florescent lights that lit the storage room. Confused they looked around wondering where the trap was or what the hell Du'Met was trying to get them to do. The shelves were crammed with random stuff like paint brushes, rags, various broken pieces of plastic sat in crates and all manner of other bits of junk. On the floor over in the corner by yet another door were even some acetylene canisters.

Since she knew she'd have to, and since Jamie had chosen to be the brave one, she pushed open the new door by the canisters only for her brow to furrow deeply. There were even more canisters on the other side of the door and a few wooden boxes, but what really caught her attention was the cell crammed into the corner. A small thing best described as a slightly generous prison cell, and suddenly the fob on the key made sense because, curled up at one end of a cot which only just fitted in the space, reading a dog-tired paperback, was someone she'd thought dead.

"… Charlie?"

Chapter Text

Erin

Prison Cell

21:38pm | October 27

"… Charlie?"

Erin froze as an ungodly shiver ran down her spine because Jamie hadn't just said their dead boss' name like he was actually there. She, Mark and Kate all rushed into the tiny cell room and sure enough, there was Charlie curled up on a cot bed looking scruffy, tired, surprised and caged but very much alive to everybody's amazement. Erin couldn't – just couldn't. Her stomach lurched causing her to double over by the canisters retching and coughing, but fortunately there wasn't anything in her stomach to bring up which was one small mercy she supposed morosely.

"Charlie's … alive?" Mark questioned the air as he just stared at the older man inside his cell.

Slowly, Charlie set the book down and stepped up to the bars with just as much shock on his face as his former crew displayed. Erin gave him several short glances, her retching and guilt meant she couldn't look at him for more than a few seconds at a time. He was pale with a scruffy blond beard speckled with gray and dressed in tennis shoes, sweatpants and a faded white t-shirt that had a couple of holes here and there. The cell may have been small but there were a few books lined up on a rickety shelf above the cot, a tiny table with a single chair – atop the table was an empty plate and bottle of water – and even a toilet; admittedly the toilet was about 2 feet from the cot, but at least Du'Met hadn't left poor old Charlie with a bucket. Guilt hurt Erin's heart. She'd caused this captivity, she'd thought she'd killed him and now it turned out she'd given him up as Du'Met's play thing for a whole year.

"Charlie, how are you alive?" Asked Kate, amazement clear in her tone. "Have you been here the whole time?"

The blond's brow furrowed deeply. "I thought you'd all gotten away. He told me you all got away."

"Have you been here since the lighthouse?" Mark asked as he yanked on the cell door to free a man he'd previously betrayed. "Guys, we gotta get him outta here."

Charlie thrust an arm through the cell bars to point at two small hooks by the door, one with a key dangling from it and another with a black leash and collar which none of them had noticed. The blond informed them it was where Du'Met kept the key. Kate rushed to grab it and tossed it to Mark who finally freed there old boss. As soon as he was out Mark hugged him tight and Charlie clung to him.

Finally able to stand without feeling like she was about to throw her lungs up, words poured out of Erin.

"Charlie, I – oh my God, I don't even know how to tell you how sorry I am. I'm so sorry. Du'Met made me think – and I believed him and we tied you to that fence. I'm sorry, Charlie. I'm so sorry. I thought he'd killed you. My God, I'm so fucking sorry."

Erin's desperate apologies only ended when Kate lifted an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Charlie, Mark makes a damn good point: how are you alive? Du'Met kills everybody he's ever met, so why are you in a cell?"

"You don't have to fucking interrogate the man, Kate. Jesus. Shit, you're probably already planning a new angle to get that book, ain't ya?"

Kate glared at the lighting tech. "You know what, fuck you, Jamie."

"Well, fuck you too."

"Shut up!" Mark urged then gestured to Charlie. "How about we let the man talk?"

That thankfully shut both women up and four sets of confused eyes turned to Charlie while Erin did her best not to cry. Unusually for Charlie, he didn't seem to want to talk. They'd all half-expected him to start yelling at them but he instead glanced down at his feet like a dog who'd been kicked one too many times, and when he finally did speak it was without his usual bravado or wit.

" … I em – I was tied to the fence … for a long time, so long I fell asleep. When I woke up he was dragging me. This isn't the same hotel, he – he has more than one. He made me help him move boxes and when we were done he locked me in here."

"And you've been in here ever since?" Asked Kate incredulously.

"Sometimes he has me help move heavy things and, if I'm good, he walks me."

"Walks you?!" Erin's eyebrows shot up. "Like a dog?"

Charlie shrugged. "What do you think the leash is for?"

Those four sets of eyes glanced behind them to the second hook as if confirming there was indeed a leash and collar there. Erin wanted to double over again, she'd turned Charlie into a pet.

"I'm so sorry, Charlie." Said the horrified girl once again and, when Charlie looked at her, he couldn't quite hide his hate. Part of Erin just wanted to stay quiet in a corner, another part wanted to lash out defensively and go on about how she couldn't have known and hadn't ever wanted this, while a third part of her urged to beg for forgiveness; the latter won out. "Please, Charlie, I didn't mean for this. I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

"There'll be time for this later." Announced Kate abruptly. "He kept Charlie alive for a reason and he brought us all fucking back into his toybox for a reason. He wants fucking revenge. He's a pathetic psycho who can't accept we beat him, so he's planned all of this out to build his fragile ego back up and feel all powerful again. He wants to prove to himself he isn't a scared asshole."

"He's not scared." Said Charlie a little too quickly but nobody really took notice, especially not Kate because she just carried on talking.

"He wants us to play his games again, so let's fucking play. Let's play his rematch and beat him again."

"You're the only one making this sound like a game." Mark pointed out. "You're right though, we have to do something or there's no getting outta here." Dark eyes turned to Charlie. "And this time we're not leaving you. I'm – I'm sorry we ever even considered you were involved."

"You'll forgive me if I don't accept right away." He grumbled which had Mark nodding.

"Yeah, I don't blame you."

With the whole gang back together, they left the cell behind and started looking for a way out, fully aware Du'Met would be watching. They'd gone in blind the first time but that had been then and this was now, they knew Du'Met's games and wouldn't let him have the revenge he wanted. Quickly attention turned from Charlie to an escape because they all knew there had to be one, but it was Charlie who went straight to it. He called them all over to a section of brick wall over in a corner of the storage room and patted his hand on it as he explained it was actually a secret doorway and the way he was always led outside for his walks.

"That means you know how to get outside!" Kate almost yelled. "You know the way out. How do we get the door open? You have to know that. You can guide us through this shit box."

Erin stepped forward. "Kate, calm down. We all want to get out but you shouldn't just scream at Charlie. He's been through so much, so give the guy a minute."

At first Erin had thought Kate to actually be rather nice, she'd treated the new girl well and been quite helpful. She'd not really seen why the others had all disliked Kate so much, but then, after they'd escaped, Erin had finally seen it. Kate's ambition would often cause her to step on those around her. She wasn't an innately bad person; Kate could be kind, brave and selfless when she wanted to be, but if she saw a chance to get her way she'd rush at it uncaring who got hurt along the way. She couldn't accept responsibility for her own emotions and trauma so just blamed everybody else for it; especially Mark. Then there was what had happened to poor Shelby. When Erin and Jamie had first learned about it while the press were having their field day, she'd felt so sorry for the redhead, but when Kate had spoken about it herself, Erin's opinion had changed a little. Erin just hadn't been able to shake the feeling that Kate had made Shelby's death all about her and it seemed … opportunistic and egocentric. Erin didn't want to dislike Kate, but over the last year she'd steadily shifted more towards Jamie's way of thinking.

"Well we need a fucking way out and Charlie is our only one."

Charlie nodded. "I think I can." All eyes turned to the blond. "This passage comes out on – I think it's the second floor. It's not a short walk but I think I can get us to that side door he uses. I know outside too since he makes me help him sometimes, I can probably navigate around his traps to the dock."

"Charlie, you're fantastic!"

"It's not that simple, Mark. It's not like I have the whole hotel in my head and he knows that I know. What if he's moved the walls around?"

"We deal with that when we get there." Jamie shrugged.

"You've been here a year, Charles, you should know the route by now."

Charlie's eye twitched as he snapped at the redhead he never should have hired. "Next time I'm kidnapped and held hostage for a motherfucking year, I'll ask for a fucking tour of the goddamn place before I'm tossed in a cell."

Much to everybody's pleasure, Kate actually had the decency to look somewhat ashamed of herself and stayed quiet rather than turning her bitch dial up any further.

Since all of Du'Met's toys and tricks were controlled from that insane nerve centre of his, they'd been at a loss for how to get the door open until Jamie had remembered Du'Met had escaped when she, Erin and Kate had tried to trap him, which meant there had to be a manual release somewhere. It took almost ten minutes but Mark eventually found a hidden switch on the wall behind a load of boxes on one of the storage shelves. The wall had slid open revealing a dark staircase, but instead of horror the team felt elated because this was just the first step of them beating Du'Met again.

They all rushed up the stairs, Charlie first while Mark and Jamie brought up the rear, uncaring about the dark abyss they'd found themselves in. The stairs were exceptionally long, steep and veered off to the right at one point, but, eventually, they reached a door and Charlie pushed it open cautiously. The crew stepped out into hotel hallways they'd have rather never seen again only for the door to slam shut causing Erin to jump towards her girlfriend.

"We know you're watching, asshole!" Jamie yelled out for any and all cameras. "You couldn't get us once and you're not doing it this time. We know your tricks and Charlie knows your little playground. Fuck you, we're leaving!"

For a few seconds they all just stood there listening to silence as though they expected Du'Met to come running, but he wasn't that easily provoked.

"Come on." With little other choice, they all followed Charlie as he made his way through the hotel of horrors, his movements were slow and calculated, sometimes he paused at an intersection as if trying to recall which way to go next, and even Kate kept her mouth shut when he doubled back on himself having gone the wrong way. "How did you guys even get here? I asked him if you'd escaped and he nodded. He told me you'd gotten away."

Mark sighed. "We had. We'd gone back to our lives and thought this was all just a nightmare. I don't know how he did it. All I can remember is going to bed and then waking up here."

"That's how it was for us. Erin was in the shower and I was getting ready for bed. Wait, I think – I think someone grabbed me from behind." Jamie snarled. "That fucker was in our apartment."

Erin opened her mouth intent on comforting Jamie, or at least easing her rage, but the walls suddenly started closing behind them and they all just took off running. Charlie, being at the head of the group, guided them through the maze with Kate and Erin hot on his heels while Jamie and Mark brought up the rear. Had Erin been paying attention rather than panicking, she'd have noticed the way Charlie managed to expertly take them around and around in circles without making it look like that was what he was doing: they'd gone passed the same accent table with a vase and lamp on it twice. Just as they passed a rather large window with a pretty view of the night sky, yet another wall rolled shut separating Mark and Jamie from the rest of the group. Erin had two choices: keep running with the others, or try to use a candlestick sitting on a side table to force the wall back open. She thought about it a split second but something about the placement of the candlestick looked suspicious and Erin knew she'd never stand a chance of forcing the wall back open, so she ran passing a strange figure in a brown trench coat as she went: he smiled, pleased with her choice.

The running had to end eventually, and it did when a wall closed just ahead of Charlie causing him to bounce off it onto the ground.

"Fuck!" He screamed and slammed a fist down on the floor as the two women skidded to a stop beside him.

"He split us up. Jamie and Mark got blocked off."

Kate spun around hoping Erin was mistaken, but cameraman nor lighting tech were anywhere to be seen. Defeated, she slumped against the wall and rested her head in her hands.

Charlie stood. "I don't think we're getting out of here."

Erin's dark eyes snapped to the Englishman. "Don't say that! Kate's right, we beat him before and we can do it again. We just need to-"

"What, Erin?" Kate demanded. "We need to what? Charlie was our only real chance of getting out and that's gone up in fucking smoke. Mark and Jamie are fuck knows where and now we're all just stood in a hall waiting for axe-happy Du'Met to pick us off."

"The control room. If we find that then we'll know where the others are. If we're in there we can try blocking him in again or setting one of his own traps on him. In there we'd have a map."

"Swanning passed Sherman's room and to the centre of the web doesn't seem like the sort of thing Du'Met will let happen twice."

Erin sighed; part of her wanted to reassure Charlie that everything would be okay, that they'd not leave him behind this time, but another part wanted to snap at him for his pessimism and that side won. Something also quietly wanted to question how Charlie knew where Sherman's animatronic was kept.

"Well we have to do something, Charlie. Your getting outside thing didn't work so we need a plan B."

"She's right, Charlie." Kate pushed off from the wall. "He had rooms hidden behind the mirrors in the last place, probably the same here. Start yanking doors open."

With that Erin headed a little distance down the hall they'd just run through to tug on doorhandles, while Kate did the same.

Charlie

2ND Floor Corridors

22:54pm | October 27

Charlie though, he vanished down the only other hallway with purpose. As soon as he rounded the corner out of sight he bounced off something solid and familiar: Du'Met. In an instant the serial killer had Charlie by the collar and captured his lips in a fierce kiss which Charlie melted into. The blond's fingers soon found the lapels of Du'Met's waistcoat as their tongues intermingled and, just for a second, the crew were forgotten about. A comforting scent of sandalwood clung to Du'Met and soothed the blond's dark soul and, when their lips finally parted, the two rested their foreheads together.

"I don't like pretending I hate you." Du'Met breathed out a laugh, short and muted as he gathered Charlie closer and petted his blond locks. "I love you." They shared another kiss, one much more loving and gentle than people would have thought possible from a hedonistic serial killer and borderline narcissistic sociopath. "Why are we doing this? Pretending I'm one of them?"

As had become their standard form of communication, Du'Met tapped Morse code against his lover's hip and Charlie nodded in understanding. For the murderer this was all sport, a warm up before the game began properly, for Charlie it was the opening to his film with Du'Met as the leading man and himself the director making a cameo appearance. They had a deal to offer what had once been the crew of Lonnit Entertainment, but there wasn't any point offering it until the adrenaline had been pumping a while.

Du'Met produced a tablet then and the two men separated to stare at the screen. It was camera twenty-nine, Charlie knew that for a fact since he'd memorized where each and every camera in, on and under the complex was. Hell, Du'Met had shifted and re-angled ninety percent of them all just to make the director happy: that was true love right there. Together they watched as Jamie and Mark moved through the shot pulling on doorknobs and swearing when the doors didn't cave to their will; he remembered when he'd done the same with Jamie a year ago, that was how he'd ended up inside an incinerator. In Charlie's opinion Jamie was by far the most competent of his team, she was the quick-thinking one who always had a workaround for everything: smart and hard to corner, that was Jamie Tiergan. Mark was good-natured and, though he'd stopped waiting for everybody else to tell him what to do, remained indecisive. Yes, Jamie would need to do most of the work while they were alone in the dark depths. The blond took the proffered tablet from his murderous lover, brought up the menu and unlocked one of the doors which led down to the maintenance tunnels. Took their prey a few moments to notice but, once they had, the pair begrudgingly headed down, down, down into a section of the hotel Du'Met had taken great pride in perfecting.

"There," said Charlie as he returned the tablet to the older man's big hands. "Let them wander a while and see my footage for themselves."

Shortly after Charlie had requested to hook a projector up down in the tunnels to play his documentaries for their victims, Du'Met had purchased the best projector money could buy and installed it for his gleeful phoenix. It was a need for Charlie to have people see the fruits of his labor and, since it added an extra layer of fear to the game, Du'Met had gone along with it without complaint. For so very long Du'Met had only cared about himself, but when his adored director was happy he found the world wasn't quite as bleak as he thought.

"Hey, Charlie, all of these are locked!" Erin called distantly but neither man took any notice.

Du'Met tucked the tablet away and yanked Charlie in for another kiss by his faded t-shirt collar. The beard he'd grown had started to irritate the Brit, but the charade would be up soon and it could be shaved off by his tall lover's skilled hands.

"I love you."

Footsteps approached then and Du'Met instantly backed through the door he'd emerged from just as Erin came around the corner, a second sooner and she'd have seen Charlie pull the door shut.

"What are you doing?" She questioned curiously when she spotted Charlie just stood in the hall with his hand on the doorknob.

He made a show of wrestling with the locked door. "Trying to find an open fucking door in this hell hole." Charlie fell against the wall opposite the door and slid down it to the ground. "Do you know how long I prayed for somebody to find me? To let me out of that cell? Neither do I." Blue eyes remained locked on the floor while Erin's expression turned concerned and guilty again. "Every time he showed up I wondered if he'd kill me, if he'd finally gotten bored. Suppose I should be thankful I'm a pet instead of spare parts."

Erin crouched down beside her former boss to rest a comforting hand atop his exposed forearm. She worried her lip clearly wasn't quite sure what to say.

"It's all okay now, Charlie."

"No it's not." Blue eyes snapped up to the sound engineer. "Someone did finally come for me, but it's the people I thought me being locked up had saved. Now, I can't even get us out because that madman is busy playing God."

She paused a moment to really look at Charlie: he wasn't the same man she'd worked for, that was for damn sure.

"What was that Churchill thing you always told us when we were complaining about a shoot being a nightmare? You know, the one about Hell?"

Charlie hid a smirk, he'd mostly quoted that to annoy Kate and appear wise.

" 'If you're going through Hell, keep going'."

"That's it." Smiled Erin. "We just need to keep going. Kate is right, we proved we could beat him once, so let's keep going."

Her attempts to console him were pathetically adorable. She could have him quote Churchill all she wanted but, as he sat there using his increasingly powerful manipulation, he couldn't help wondering if the old 'be careful who you trust, for even the Devil was once an angel' saying would have served her better.

Charlie smiled to let her think she'd succeeded in comforting him then accepted her kind assistance in standing just as Kate screamed down the hall that she'd found an open door – of course she had, this was all part of the plan.