Page 61 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
Instead though, as I stay so still I don’t even know if I’m still breathing, Blake has a full-on meltdown on the other side of the secret door, and I have to give it to him that he’s a damn good actor.
One of the guards is helping him deal with what he thinks is a panic attack, as other frantic voices discuss calling the cops over.
I bite my lip, trying not to make a sound as Blake shrieks, screams, and calls his brother’s name before telling all the guards to leave him alone with his ‘beloved brother’.
I admit I might not have been this smart at eighteen.
I’m lost in my thoughts and freeze as the door opens again. Blake’s face is tear-stricken as he lets me out, still shaking from his Oscar-worthy performance. “Quick, you need to go before the police arrive,” he stutters out, grabbing my hand.
I’m so torn. At this point, I want this room to become my tomb, because I’m leaving my heart behind anyway.
But Blake pulls me along, so I follow him to an adjacent room, which has a sizeable table in the middle, and a television mounted high on the wall. But we go straight to a cupboard, and when Blake opens it, I realize it’s one of those kitchen elevators I’ve seen in the movies.
“In here,” he says and urges me with a gesture. “This will take you to the kitchen. Just go back the same way we entered the house. The passage unlocks when you press on a brick with the initialsLM.”
“Did I do well?” I ask, needy for his approval even though my job here is done, and we both know I shouldn’t stall any longer.
He blinks at me, dumbstruck, and his face scrunches as tears roll down his cheeks. “Y-yes…”
I cup his face. I could get lost in his forest green eyes. “I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way. You didn’t deserve my silence. I wish you… everything. Justeverything. That’s what you deserve. I understand your choice.” Even if I hate it and the monster inside me rattles its cage, itching to take Blake with me, put him in my basement and never let him out.
Blake sobs and hangs his head, squeezing the suit jacket he so obviously liked on me. His voice remains choked, because he doesn’t want to alert the security, but I still hear him when he says, “no, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… and now you need to go. Please,” and pushes at my chest.
But the monster wins and I pull him in for a hungry kiss, uncaring that his brother’s blood is all over us. It’s all teeth, and tongue, and he gives in so pliantly despite the tang of copper. When he pushes on my chest, I let go, but not without one more nip to his tongue for him to remember me by.
There’s commotion in the other room as I pack my bulky form into the small cubical compartment, and no more words pass between us. I just stare at him, not even blinking until the door of the dumbwaiter shuts in front of me and I’m sent down.
It feels like a descent to hell.
Where creatures like me belong.
Chapter 25
Blake
I’m grateful the housekeeperwas there to help me deal with the fallout of Carl’s death, because the number of choices and formalities involved in organizing a funeral was way beyond anything I’m used to. It also helped that she didn’t harbor resentment toward my brother. If it was up to me, Carl would have been dumped in a hog pen and granted no headstone. But that wouldn't have been the best idea, considering hewasmurdered and that I was the first person there.
As much as I hated Carl for treating me like a pawn rather than family, he’s now dead, so it doesn’t matter what happens to his earthly remains. In the meantime, Nico has disappeared from my life, and I chose not to message him, since the last thing I want is to send the police on his trail. On the upside, this means I don’t needto feign sadness and let everyone interpret my mood as mourning. If that can even be called an upside.
Still, I tried to let him know I want to stay in touch and informed Nico aboutmy loss. I didn’t tell him that I enjoyed our time together, nor that I'm grateful for the freedom he’s given me. He answered with perfectly normal condolences, which didn’t include any details that might give the cops the wrong—or right—idea.
There was a night when I wished to write to him about something unrelated to the case—the intense dreams I was having about him, but what would be the point? Nico is a serial killer, and while he does have a code I agree with, a switch inside his head could flip, causing him to turn against me. I find it difficult to imagine him hurting me, ever, but he does have an ease for violence most people don’t. Still, looking back, I see how patient he’s been with me, how he responded to my needs, and how he put my desires before his own.
But that’s not what I should focus on, because the guy isa murderer. Even if he were the perfect boyfriend, caring, kind, and selfless, do I want to get involved with someone who might end up tracked down and arrested? People would be asking me ‘how could you have not seen it?’ and I would have to make the most innocent face while holding Nico’s secrets close to my chest. Then, I’d spend the rest of my life visiting him in prison, or worse—
Doesour state have the death penalty?
My hands start to shake as I reach for my phone, but it’s only a moment of weakness that I quickly overcome. I might not officially be a suspect, but as the person who’s gained most from Carl’s death, I can’t doanythingthat might make the cops doubt me. On my podcast, I’ve reported about way too many crimes where theperpetrator ended up being caught because of their internet history to make such a rookie mistake myself.
I snap out of my nervous thoughts when a hand reaches toward me.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” says a middle-aged man whom I’ve never seen in my life.
We’re in the same room where Carl hosted the strip show not that long ago, and I find it oddly fitting. Even Grandmom’s portrait seems to smile at me through the open door leading into the hallway. I never got to meet her, but I hope she’s proud of me.
I exchange a few meaningless lies about my brother being a kind-hearted guy who valued family above all else, and once the man leaves me alone, I sip my coffee and take in the room full of strangers. I do know a handful of Carl’s acquaintances and friends, but they’re few and far between in the stream of bodies in mourning garb flooding my—my—smoking room.
I feel unprepared for managing the vast amount of wealth our family has accumulated over the years, but I’m no longer a child and will get on with the program at the start of the new year. For now, I’ll pretend to mourn a brother whom I decided to bury in Aspen rather than close to where I live, just so I can always stay far away from his ashes.
