“You ready, Rook?” He takes in a deep breath, clutching the walkie. “We’re doing it live.”
Are serial killers even allowed to get married?
That’s the thought currently swirling while I scamper, gleefully, inside the mansion with my fiancé’s fingers tangling around mine. His warm, perfectly largedoctorhand is squeezing mine, even though I’m sure it’s clammy as hell. But he doesn’t care. Because he’s my fiancé, and I’m a serial killer. If he doesn’t care about that, then I’m sure he doesn’t give a rat’s ass that my hand is sweating because of how wondrously, nervously stupefied I am right now that he just asked me tomarryhim.
Technically, that’s just one of many thoughts bouncing around in my head at the moment, like someone just tossed a handful of bouncy balls inside my skull. Mainly,holy crap, I can’t believeDr. Lemuel Love, Philosophical Doctor—yes, that’s what PhD stands for, I looked it up—just askedme,Felix Harmon Darcey, MoMH—Murderer of Many Humans—tomarry him.
But also, the deeper stuff; the insecurities, vulnerabilities, fears, and doubts.
Lem is just the most incredible thing that’s ever existed, let alone showed up in my life. Naturally, because I’m obsessive and neurotic, I’m worried that he may have, like, hit his heador something.Because what doctor of the mind, intheirright mind, wouldchooseto marry a serial killer??
Glancing up at him, I find him smiling while tugging me along, up the stairs toward his bedroom.Or is itourbedroom now? Since, you know… we’re engaged.
But a frown tugs at my lips. Despite the popped question and the enthusiasticyesfrom yours truly, I am still a prisoner. And even though he continues to sneak me out of captivity on occasion and bring me into this giant, beautiful, if creepy, mansion, I doubt there will ever come a time when we canactuallylive together.
The thought puts a teeny-tiny damper on my joy. But I ignore it, becauseLemuel Loveasked me to marry him, and I said yes, and he’s obviously happy about it. Regardless of all the other bullshit, my uncertainties about our future on this island, and doctor-patient marriage logistics, I’m in love with him. And I know for a fact that he’s in love with me too.
That’s literally all that matters right now.
Well, that and being quiet.
It’s late, and there’s a brutal storm raging outside, meaning The Ivory could very well be home. I can’t imagine a world where Manuel Blanco isn’t aware of what’s going on in his home. Even so, it’s best not to tempt fate.
We’re not sure where exactly The Ivory is at the moment. We left the prison a while ago—distracted by the proposal—coming to the mansion to rest for a few and prepare for our part ofOperation Overthrow.
It’s about to get all kinds of tense up in here, but Lem and I aren’t really concerned with that right now.
This is our routine. Lem sneaks me out of the prison late at night, and we frolic through the woods holding hands. Enter the mansion through the spooky garden and kiss surrounded by crawling vines and wilting flowers. Sneak up to his bedroom onthe second floor where we fuck and cuddle, in secret, because it’s forbidden—God, that’s hot.
Then he returns me early in the morning, and no one says a damn word about it.
Denial is a potent cocktail, man. Pairs nicely with willful ignorance.
I think the power is out all across the island, making everything much darker than usual. It was still on when we left the prison, but the lights were flickering for sure. The floodlights, which can normally be seen through the woods from the mansion, went out after that last crackle of lightning and big boom of thunder, the lights in the mansion following almost immediately after.
“There are supposed to be backup generators somewhere,” Lemuel says quietly as we enter his bedroom with nothing but moonlight lighting our way.
You never notice just how much light there is until you’re on an island in the middle of the ocean and the power goes out.
“You got any candles?” I hum, following him around the room like a puppy.
I can’t help myself. I’m hypnotized, even more than usual.
We’reengaged.
My heart eyes have heart eyes right now.
“Mmm… good idea, beautiful,” he hums, wearing one of those little grins that might look subtle on anyone else, but on Lem, it’s a neon sign professing his state of smitten.
And it’s aimed right atme.
I truly am the luckiest monster ever.
Lem goes for a dresser drawer, taking out some candles and matches. “Make yourself comfortable…fiancé.”
His face, illuminated by only the glow of the candles he’s lighting, is even more radiant than usual. I seriously wish I had a camera, because this is a moment I want to remember forever.
Though I’m sure it’s a night I’ll never forget.
