Chapter Six
Charlotte
W ith a white cotton towel tightly wrapped around my body, I follow The Bone Reaper over the epoxy floor to another door with a keypad.
As we reach the main floor of his house, I step into a long hallway with black satin walls. I continue to follow him as we pass artistic pictures of various bones and skulls framed in silver metal and glass. Most of the photos are in black and white, but there's a few in color with different types of flowers wrapped around the bones. They're morbidly beautiful.
After passing a few other doors painted in the same black satin color with silver door knobs, we reach a ridiculously large kitchen with deep gray walls. The countertops, including the island in the middle, have stunning black and gray marble tops. Everything is clean and tidy, and there’s not various kitchen appliances taking up space on the counters. I'm impressed at how impeccably clean it is. Does he even cook or eat in here?
“Kitchen,” he announces in his deep gravelly voice and continues walking.
He leads us into a high ceiling living area. The walls are painted a deep burgundy and a massive black leather, U-shaped couch sits in the center of the room, looking as comfortable as a dark cushioned cloud that could swallow you whole. The perfectly placed pillows match the color of the walls, and there's a couple blankets laying over the top of the couch. A TV hangs on the wall in front of the seating area, above a dark stoned fireplace. The color schemes in this house have this place feeling moody yet cozy.
I continue my glances around the room and that's when I finally begin to spot the other art.
On a round wooden end table sits a light fixture but not an ordinary one. No, it’s crafted of some kind of long bones. They are fused together leading up to a black square lamp shade. A candle sits on that same table as well as the bottom half of a jaw that's affixed onto a dish. Inside the dish contains matches and the TV remote.
Is that real human bone? It has to be. He is The Bone Reaper, after all. Why would it be fake?
In the corner of the room on a metal stand showcases a spine and…. rib cage. Cream, peach, and burgundy faux flowers are intertwined around the left side of the ribs. Another morbidly stunning piece of art.
“Did you… did you make those?”
“Yes.”
I spare a few moments longer looking over his unusual collection before I speak again. “They're beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. ”
“Thank you. It’s one of the things I enjoy doing. You’ll find more throughout the house. Let me show you upstairs.”
As I once again follow him up the glossy wooden stairs, I take note of his wide back, tight with muscles that push against his fitted black long sleeve shirt. My eyes fall lower to his tapered waist and hips. Dark pants cover long thick legs and the size of his black boots match how big this man is. People should fear him for his size alone.
We walk over a catwalk with black metal railings. Peaking over, I can see the living area from up here.
“You can sleep in here,” he says as he opens double ebony doors into an absurdly large bedroom. The walls are a dark forest green and a California king-size bed sits against the farthest wall in the center. Of course, black sheets and a comforter cover the large bed.
He certainly has a thing for black.
There's another stone fireplace, and a loveseat has been placed in front of it with a dark fur rug at its feet.
“This seems too grand for a guest room.”
“It’s not a guest room. It’s my room. The other rooms are empty. I never felt the need to furnish the other bedrooms. I’m not one to have company.”
“Your room? I can't stay in your room!”
“You’ll be alone. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I should be the one sleeping on the couch. This is your house.”
“No. You will sleep here.” His tone stern and final.
Ok then.
Taking a few more steps in the grand room, I look at the bed again.
“I've always wondered if these beds are really necessary or worth it.”
“Have you seen the size of me?” he huffs. That’s a good point. It’s definitely necessary for this beast of a man. “Also, have you ever been in one?”
“No, actually.”
“Well, there's the problem. You've never experienced it. Try it out.”
I move to do exactly what he suggested, but then realize I'm still in just a towel. He registers my hesitation and moves to a long dresser against a wall.
“I don't have women’s clothes, but I can give my shirt and if you're comfortable, some boxer briefs. It’s just until I clean up the mess at your house.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
He hands me the clothing, and I notice his large hands. His fingers are long and thick with clean, short nails. They are the manliest hands I've ever seen. These hands could definitely crush me if he wanted to.
Bones don't stand a chance against him.
And I probably wouldn’t stand a chance under him.
I shake the inappropriate thought from my mind and focus on his gaze.
We stand there for a moment longer just staring at each other. Half his face is still covered by the bone mask, but I can see the top half of his face more clearly as well as a thick scar across the lower right side of his neck. No doubt from his serial killer activities.
My eyes move back up landing on his thick dark brown hair. It’s swept back with a few pieces falling forward along his forehead. Same thick dark eyebrows are low and slightly scrunched as if he’s studying me. Dark lashes surround rich green eyes that seem unable to focus on any particular part of my face.
I wonder what he’s thinking right now.
Did he make a mistake bringing me here, into his home? Is he going to change his mind and kill me?
He looks away first and begins to walk out .
“I’ll leave you to get dressed. You should get some sleep. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
The door closes, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I drop the towel and pull over the white short-sleeve shirt. It falls almost to my knees and looks more like an oversized dress on my small frame.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take a deep breath, then yawn. I crawl under the silky covers and stare at the ceiling. The mirror-covered ceiling.
That’s an interesting addition.
I roll over to my side and close my eyes. Images of what happened earlier take over. Repeatedly slamming the hammer down onto Jason, his shocked expression disappearing as his face was bludgeoned away, blood squirting onto my face and body.
The feelings come back too. The feral rage, the intense hatred, the beautiful satisfaction. A slow smile forms as I feel the pull of sleep.
I’m either going to wake up back in my bed next to a very much alive Jason and realize this has all been some twisted dream or I’m going to wake up in The Bone Reaper’s bed.