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.