Page 53 of Vile Pucker

“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 pointingoutinto the woods, notinto 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.

“Allright,” 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.