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.