I make sure to nod and mutter sounds of interest and acknowledgement while white-knuckling the steering wheel, trying to keep from pulling over and throttling her, right then and there. I don’t want to be far from where I need to take Fleur after I’ve finished with her, considering how late it’s getting and I have Kit on standby, waiting for our arrival.
Finally, spotting somewhere to pull over, I stop the truck and switch off the engine. I’m tired of her rambling on about bullshit that wouldn’t even interest a cat, and I can’t take much more of her presence. The only sound a flower should make is a whisper in a light breeze. It’s time to silence her forever.
“Why have we stopped?” Fleur asks, looking around with a frown, presumably searching for a trail of some sort.
“Because I can’t keep myself from doing this any longer,” I tell her honestly, knowing the double entendre will go unnoticed.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I lean toward her, and as I do so, I catch a whiff of fleur-de-lis on her skin. I’m smiling now, knowing exactly what I’m going to grow in her resting place in the garden. She inclines her head toward me, no doubt thinking I’m going to kiss her, and I pull out the garden twine I put in my pocket and wrap it around her throat before she can even gasp in surprise.
My strength and her seatbelt hold her captive as she struggles to get free. The sound of Fleur choking fills the cabin of my truck, and I grit my teeth, pulling tighter. I’m able to easily ignore her hands scrabbling feebly at my arms, trying to tug them off her—the heavy jacket I’m wearing protects my skin from her nails. After a few minutes she falls limp, and her head lolls forward against my arm, but I don’t loosen my grip or the twine around her throat until I’m certain she’s dead.
Relief at the renewed silence of my truck mixes with the twisted glee that only killing can give me, spreading through my body quicker than deadly nightshade. I slump back in my seat for a moment, catching my breath while I wait for the dizzying euphoria to fade.
Carefully, I leap out of my truck and walk around to the passenger side. I unbuckle Fleur’s seatbelt and her body slumps forward, hitting the dash with a soft thump. Without delay, I lift her out of the truck and carry her to the bed at the rear, securing her beneath the tarp before I get back in and start driving again. It’s not far to Kit’s, and as always, he’s standing outside with a cigarette between his lips and signature expression fixed firmly on his face when I arrive.
I grab a flashlight from the glove compartment and get out to meet him as he starts to walk over to me. Peeling back the cover, I flick the flashlight on a low setting and shine it on Fleur’s face. Kit’s dark eyes seem to turn black, but it may be a trick of the light and the shadows dancing across us.
“How did you do it?” he asks, brushing his fingers across her blue lips when I shine the beam on her face.
“Garden twine,” I answer with a shrug, and he makes a noncommittal noise. He doesn’t usually ask, and he doesn’t look at me when he speaks, too enamored with the dead flower in front of us.
“This was recent,” he observes. “She’s still warm.”
Kit’s tone is low, almost seductive, and I have a feeling that if we don’t hurry up and get her inside, I’ll bear witness to something I’d rather not see.
“Come on, let’s move her.”
After helping him carry Fleur into the building, I hastily exit and shut the door behind me, giving him privacy.
Epilogue
Z
I’m outside Violet’s house again, watching her through the window from an obscured spot in her back garden where she won’t see me. She’s been pacing, and every so often she returns to her computer, and I smirk to myself when I realize what the source of the anxiety must be. She’s still waiting for me to answer her request.
Heat floods my veins as the rush of power consumes me. Violet is practically begging for me to envelop her in the shadows that surround me, and I am only too happy to oblige her. I want to watch her a while longer, and it would be too risky for me to take out my phone to answer her when she’s so painfully close. She might see me, and while I’d love to feel her eyes on me, I need to be in complete control, and right here, right now, I can’t predict or control our environment.
I wait for what feels like hours for Violet to shut down her computer and go to bed. When her small house is finally silent and shrouded by the nighttime gloom and I’m sure she’ll be asleep, I sneak inside. Wandering quietly through Violet’s house, I search for a few home comforts of hers to take with me. She’ll be glad of them when she’s imprisoned inside my home instead of trapped within her own loneliness.
In one of the cupboards, I find a blanket that’s soft with age. I bring it to my nose to smell, and the fragrant scent of lavender and honeysuckle wafts into the air around me. I bury my face in the warm fabric, imagining how it would feel to be wrapped around Violet, like I’m sure this has been many times. She doesn’t seem to have an abundance of possessions, and this is one of the most personal items I can find which won’t be immediately missed. Instead of lingering to search for more and risking being caught, I leave her house and the prettiest of flowers behind me, content in the knowledge that she will soon be with me forever.
The next evening, I log onto the
