Chapter 15
In a few weeks, I finally started to get that first trimester nausea, which I used to get out of going to a game on Halloween.
“I feel like shit. Besides, I need to be here to hand out candy. Since apparently they aren’t going to cancel the traditional trek to Ashgrove Manor, despite the fact that there’s a killer still at large!”
Gabriel frowned, turning to rummage around in his backpack and thrust a motion sickness bracelet at me.
“Put this on.”
I obeyed.
“What are you wearing to trick or treat in?”
“This,” I said, gesturing down at the little black minidress I had on and reaching for my witch’s hat.
But he was already shaking his head.
“Turn your ass back around and put something else on.”
“What?”
“The mother of my children is not handing out candy dressed as a slutty witch.”
“I’m just a witch!”
He pointed back into the bedroom.
It was fucking galling being ordered around by a 22-year-old man who grabbed his crotch and stuck his tongue out after every single goal at work, but I knew from experience that Gabriel wouldn’t relent.
Not when it came to me.
“I don’t have a backup costume,” I said. “I thought I’d be passing out candy with your father, not you.”
“That was over the second I saw you. I’ll have someone go get a costume.”
“What about all my other clothes? My condo back in town?”
“What about them?”
“The baby and I could stay there while you’re on the road.”
“Fuck no. You’ll be coming with me.”
“You’re going to want a newborn with you on the road?”
“I’ll be at home when the baby’s a newborn, brat.”
What goddamn diagnostic criteria was insisting on taking paternity leave?
“Don’t fucking bother trying to sneak anyone’s cellphone, either.”
“What do you mean?” I parried.
Gabriel’s arm slipped around my waist.
“I’ve given orders that if Branby sees you trying to get a phone, he’s to call me immediately.”
“You mean he’s got to follow me around all night? Maybe Branby is the killer. He’s creepy enough.”
Gabriel only laughed.
“He’s taken every order this family has given for two decades. He’s not the killer.”
“Then who is?” I asked eagerly. “Based on your knowledge of other psychopaths?”
“Some bored bastard. Now stay in the house,” he added, bending to kiss me.
“Do you think the serial killer will come here?” I asked.
“You’ll be safe in the house,” Gabriel said.
His hand slid around my throat to grip me by the hair.
“Behave. I’m the rest of your motherfucking life. So you might as well accept it.”
After he was gone, I spent my time investigating the manor. Lucian and Hemsworth had both gone into town, and it was creepy being the only one besides the staff left there.
The smell of rot had grown, and I had to control my urge to gag as I made my way down the dark halls, resolutely turning on each lamp I passed so my steps wouldn’t be hidden in oily pools of darkness.
No matter where I went, Branby seemed to appear, too, around the corner on the third floor, behind me on the stairwell, appearing suddenly in the doorway to one of the many massive libraries in the manor.
“What are you doing?” I finally asked.
“Mr. Descoteaux gave orders to keep an eye on you.”
It seemed like I must have been all through Ashgrove Manor and hadn’t found the source of that smell.
The only floor remaining was the basement, although I hadn’t found a door to it yet.
Not in the kitchen, not in the dining room, not anywhere, and when I asked the staff, no one seemed to know where it was.
I gave up for the moment and went to put on the costume he had had a staff member pick up for me—a pea pod with a little pea in it for my baby who would be just about the size of a pea now.
Something turned over in my belly, a strange, squirmy warm feeling, but I shoved it down.
It was time to trick or treat.
I had no idea why anyone from Ashgrove Village would want to come all the way to the Manor, but apparently it was tradition, with the entire driveway lit with glowing Jack O’Lanterns.
At first, it was groups of adorable children, then, as the night wore on, the crowds grew older, until at last it was only college-age trick or treaters.
The light of the security camera blinked every few seconds, and I tried my best to ignore further evidence of my husband’s control, because that camera should be pointing out into the woods, not in to where I was.
In between visitors, I watched the game on the television, sucking in a breath every time Gabriel collided with a defender.
This time, the Steelblades went 1-1 in regulation, then they’d move into overtime.
“Here,” Branby said, handing me a sleek black phone.
For a moment I looked at it longingly, then put it to my ear.
“Sit the fuck down in a chair and rest,” I heard the harsh, gravelly voice of my husband.
“All right,” I said.
The state of my fucking ass even after weeks was proof enough that I wasn’t going to disobey him for something like that.
“Branby will go get you a chair. I’ll be home in a little bit and I want to see your ass seated when I get back.”
As the night wound down, I finally began to relax.
Just an ordinary rural Halloween night.
The lit Jack O’Lanterns all along the long windy drive cast beautiful golden circles, flickering into the darkness beyond.
Really impressive how many people had come out to Ashgrove Manor, even with all the talk of a serial killer.
A group of 5 or 6 college girls came giggling down the pathway, probably the last trick or treaters of the night.
“We heard this was Gabriel Descoteaux’s house,” an Alice in Wonderland in a pretty blue dress said.
“Yeah, is he here?” another one asked, jabbing her Little Bo-Peep crook in the air.
“Sorry, he’s not here right now,” I said, handing them massive handfuls of full-sized chocolate bars and organic local cookies.
I guess that explained the amount of visitors, I thought. Everyone wanted to see Gabriel.
Smiling slightly, my hand unconsciously went to my belly.
As if I could already feel the baby move.
But that was way too early. Why was I feeling so sentimental?
I didn’t think anyone else was going to come tonight, so I should probably turn off some of these lanterns and go inside.
If I wasn’t caught sitting down in whatever seat Branby found for me, I’d be in trouble.
But as the college girls stumbled drunkenly down the path, I saw a tall, lean figure emerge from the shadows and begin to follow them.
Shit
I turned around to warn Branby, but for once I didn’t see him. Where the fuck was he and why was it taking so long to find a chair?
Biting my lip, I looked down the windy driveway just as they disappeared beyond a bend.
They were going off the path to detour by the graveyard.
Maybe I had mistaken it? Maybe it had been a trick of the light.
But no.
The nearest Jack O’Lantern suddenly tumbled over as I saw the shadowy figure pass by.
I only had a few seconds to decide what to do, and I instantly headed down the front steps in pursuit.
The grounds of Ashgrove Manor seemed to pull at me as I followed. There was heavy wickedness in this earth somewhere, like something here didn’t want me to save these women.
As I followed, I had to pick my way carefully through the uneven ground, pitted with stones, and I realized I was on the outskirts of the graveyard.
There was a creak somewhere ahead of me and I hastened forward, following the giggling and laughter of the women as they lounged over the massive headstones.
The wind caught at me, branches scraping all along the iron gates.
I couldn’t see the man at all, so I hesitated.
It wasn’t my husband, was it?
No, not tall enough.
Right?
There was one woman lagging behind the rest, drunker than the rest, singing a little song as she patted the marble angel on a gravestone.
He moved fast, one swift movement and she fell, cracking her head on the stone.
For a moment I thought she must be dead, but then she moved, and he loomed over her, something metallic flashing in the moonlight.
A jagged knife
I picked up a branch and swung it at the killer, connecting with his back.
“Stop!” I shrieked, as the wind picked up around me.
The face that turned to me just felt wrong, like there was nothing behind that mask. Nothing but a fucking barely sentient meat suit.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I tried to yell, but my voice was barely more than a whisper.
He twisted with an eerie whistle and I saw a knife dripping with blood.
He took one step toward me. Then another.
“No!” I croaked, swinging out at him again, this time connecting harder, my blow landing on his face, but there was a metallic scrape, like he or it had a metal mask.
My blows seemed to have no effect on the monster!
Despair seized me and I stumbled backwards, tripping over one of the low gravestones and landing on my ass.
But one thing I knew as I kicked desperately out at the killer.
This wasn’t Gabriel.
It didn’t feel like him, the fear I tasted on my tongue wasn’t his.
This psycho didn’t care if I lived or died.
The killer took a swing at me as the chill night wind rattled through the iron gates, and I had to roll desperately away as the blade clanged off the headstone.
“Run!” I screamed at the woman. “Run away!”
Who the fuck was this?
Eyes flashed at me through the mask and I couldn’t help narrowing my own.
Who was it?
It seemed like I’d seen those eyes before, but I couldn’t remember where. . .
He swung at me again, this time catching the edge of my costume, pinning me against the gravestone.
Shit! Rain began to pelt down on my face as I kicked out hopelessly, because now I was trapped on the ground.
Just as the monster raised the knife--
Suddenly an earsplitting mechanical screech blasted through the trees.
What the fuck?
It was so loud I had to put my hands over my ears, my heels scrabbling desperately in the dirt.
It was so loud I saw the drunk girl start to stir, blearily turn around and stumble to her feet.
Where was this coming from?
It was only when I felt my neck start to vibrate that I realized it was me.
My goddamn tracker!
The killer hesitated, and I saw his eyes widen an infinitesimal amount, like the noise had shocked even him.
My ears were ringing as he raised the bloody knife but just then a massive shadow fell over the gravestones, accompanied by the sharp, acrid tang of smoke.
“Lark fucking Descoteaux, I know you aren’t out here like a goddamn brat wanting her ass whipped.”
There was a sudden, explosive crack and I heard something smash into one of the gravestones, marble rubble pelting down onto the ground.
“Gabriel!” I couldn’t help almost shrieking, and the killer above me instantly hesitated, looking indecisively down at me, then abruptly ran off.
I lurched to my feet, grabbing the headstone for support, and then he was on me, throwing away the hockey stick and yanking me toward him.
“I told you to stay inside.”
“I saw the killer!” I gasped. “He was out there stalking some of the girls!”
“You were out here with a man?” he hissed angrily, backing me up against a gravestone.
“I couldn’t just let them die!” I protested hotly. “You don’t understand that, because you’re a psychopath.”
“What I’m hearing is that you were out here with another man. I don’t like that, Lark.”
“Another man? It was the killer!” I shrieked.
He shook his head, and his hand was clamped on the back of my throat.
Inescapable, cruel domination and control.
But he had saved me.