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.