EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2020 Louise Collins
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0164-6
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: CA Clauson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Magpie Rhyme
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret,
Never to be told.
TWO FOR JOY
Louise Collins
Copyright © 2020
Chapter One
Murder, murder, murder. It was always on Romeo’s mind.
Locked in prison with only his thoughts for company, murder was like an old friend. A friend that when you thought of them, you instantly felt better, lighter, happier before realizing they’d ruined your life.
265 days since he’d last killed someone.
Audrey, grandmother, charity giver, and from what Romeo could remember, good coffee maker. She’d ground the beans while they talked in the kitchen, topic of conversation: Romeo’s traumatic encounter with a taxi driver. For a man that felt little emotion, he knew exactly how to fake it. He forced his voice to shake as he spoke, wiped tears from his eyes, and apologized over and over for being so weak. It wasn’t like him. He should’ve been able to handle himself, but he’d been afraid.
His weak, wounded façade only worked on some of them.
Not Asher Campbell or Tristram Adams.
No.
When they took Romeo home, and spoke about his ordeal with the taxi driver, they cursed, got angry, swore revenge.
Testosterone bubbling, Asher had even suggested getting a baseball bat and “fucking some taxis up.”
Then there had been Georgie Porter, not showing concern, or compassion for the ordeal he’d apparently been through, she just wanted Romeo upstairs in her bedroom, and he obliged.
Something different happened with Audrey, and Romeo didn’t just mean the awkward hug. He had no idea that his game with the monster in his head was about to change forever. What little emotions he did have would start to grow, to consume him, until he turned his back on his biggest desire.
He wanted something more than killing.
He wanted someone to live.
“Hey … ready for your visit?”
It had been 212 days since Chad offered himself as the final victim. Lying down on the mattress in the tattered old farmhouse, he had closed Romeo’s hands around his throat, and asked—no, told—Romeo to kill him.
He couldn’t do it.
He failed his countdown and lost his chance of being free of his killer desire, of satisfying the monster in his head once and for all. Instead he was locked up, desire still drumming beneath the surface, but no chance of an outlet. It was hell, no less than a cold-blooded killer like him deserved.
Romeo got up from his bed, reached up to the ceiling, then spread his arms out to touch either side of his cell. The guard tilted his head and watched him go through his odd stretching routine. Romeo even made sound effects as he did it, like he was some squeaky old tree in the wind.
“Turn around, put your hands through.”
Romeo sighed, turned around, then backed up to the bars. He put his hands through and waited for the cold snap of metal. While he waited, he stared at his tragic cell. A single bunk, unmade. Small bookcase with such riveting titles as the holy bible, and the A-Z medical dictionary. An ancient TV with poor signal that only got reception for two channels, one twenty-four-hour news channel, and the other kid’s cartoons.
Chad would’ve loved it—the thought made him smile.
His clothes mainly consisted of the color orange—jumpsuits, sweatshirts. But there were a few pairs of boxers and socks, too, fortunately not orange. Twenty-three hours a day in the tiny cage, and an hour outside in a slightly bigger cage. Romeo verged on insanity, he was teetering on the edge of going completely mad with boredom, with routine, with hopeless frustration, but one person could pull him back from the edge, and he did so frequently.
Six days, twenty-three hours, and forty-five minutes since he’d last seen Chad.
“Step away from the bars.”
Romeo walked over to his bunk. He’d pinned mementos of his spree to his wall, his favorite front pages of the Canster Times, curtesy of Marc Wilson. He wrote the articles the public were desperate to read. The ones that struck fear into their hearts and turned their stomachs, but every good story needed a happy ending, and Marc wrote that too.
Good triumphed over evil. The police saved the day. The killer fell at the last hurdle, and Chad was labelled The One that got Away.
It was Romeo’s favorite headline accompanied by a relaxed picture of Chad in his detective’s clothes. He kept it by his pillow, fell asleep to it at night and each morning, his eyes found Chad’s on his wall, then skimmed across the words.
The One That Got Away.
When the police burst in, it had looked like it, looked as if Romeo was in the middle of killing number one, and Chad was rescued just in time. But appearances could be deceiving. He of all people knew that, his handsome exterior wrapped around something darker, something twisted, something wrong.
“Walk this way.”
There were two guys accompanying him to the visiting room. There were always two people with him in case he managed to slip the cuffs and strangle them. He knew the only way to remove them was by dislocating, and breaking the bones in his hands, but if he did that, the strangling part wouldn’t be very enjoyable.
One of the guards, Fred—tall man, moustache, but no hair on his head—gestured for Romeo to come out. He sauntered forward, smile stretching his lips. His smile got a grimace from Fred, and he muttered something under his breath.
The other guard, Paul—huge build, obvious steroid user, and mullet fan—gestured down the corridor with his baton, and Romeo walked in the direction he pointed. He passed the other cells of serial killers, who hooted and howled at him, some even blew kisses and Romeo blew them back. He was the same species as them, but a cleverer, more charming, good looking version.
Most of the time Romeo ignored the other inmates, and stared straight ahead at the high security door, but he was going to see Chad, and the excitement and the anticipation bubbling in is veins made him wink back, blow kisses, and smile.
He stood in front of the door, the camera whirled, and after a few seconds, he heard a clunk. The door opened, and Fred told him to keep moving.
Another corridor, another set of inmates, but these weren’t the friendly type. They yelled threats, reached through their cages to reach him, nostrils flaring, and growling through their teeth. Even in high security prisons rivalries were born, each corridor of inmates despised the next corridor of inmates.
The guards didn’t stop the arms reaching for him. It was Romeo’s fault if he got too close.
“I’m gonna smash that pretty face of yours.”
Romeo stopped outside the inmate’s cell and lifted his eyebrow. Justin Steel, semi-professional boxer who killed his coach and his coach’s girlfriend, the latter, with one punch. Romeo hadn’t read about him or seen his report, but the rumors of other inmates travelled from cell to cell.
If Justin Stee
l swings his fist, back away fast.
“Thanks for calling me pretty, but you’re not my type.”
“One day I’m gonna fuck your face.”
“As I said, not my type.”
“Romeo.” Paul warned. “Just keep walking.”
Another camera stop, another clunk of a heavy-duty lock. The next corridor didn’t have any cells, it was long, painted white, almost clinical in appearance. Romeo was heading for the door on the end, the one that led to the visiting room.
He could only see Chad through a thick sheet of plastic. Chad’s voice always sounded distorted, muffled when it came through the speakers. He couldn’t smell Chad, or reach out and touch him, but it was better than not seeing him.
Romeo knew Chad could just stop at any time, that’s what his colleagues wanted him to do, his friends, his therapist, but they had an undeniable connection, a mutual attachment and it kept him coming to the prison and, boy, did Romeo need it.
He sat down on the chair and watched the door on the other side of the plastic barrier. This was the moment he was most excited for. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but each time Chad opened the door, Romeo caught it. The look on Chad’s face. The same excitement, anticipation, and happiness he felt, but expressed by Chad’s big smile, and bright eyes.
Chad wanted to see him, a monster. In fact, he looked forward to it, just as much as Romeo looked forward to seeing his magpie.
His arms ached from being cuffed behind his back, his shoulders jutted forward, and his hands felt cold, as if the cuffs were too tight, and his blood circulation was shutting down, but he didn’t care.
This was the moment he’d been waiting for all week, and there it was. The door opened. Romeo leaned forward expectantly.
Chad’s mouth twitched, as if he was trying very hard to keep back a joyous smile. His darting eyes, his blushing cheeks, then eventually his soft laugh. Romeo laughed, too, a breathless sound of relief, happiness, he didn’t have a clue what it was, but when they saw each other, they both got fidgety, both got red in the face, and laughed.
It was completely stupid.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Chad said.
“How funny of you.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know, that’s why it’s so tragic.”
Chad shook his head and sat down. He flashed a look at both Fred and Paul, but didn’t say anything to them. Romeo pointed his chin towards Chad.
“I like the hair.”
Chad laughed, brushing his hand through his freshly trimmed strands. “Thanks.”
“Did you do it yourself?”
Chad narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Oh…”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“I said it looked good, didn’t I?”
“Yours is looking wild.”
“I’ve got to do it myself nowadays.”
Chad swallowed hard and turned away.
“You got a newspaper?”
“Wouldn’t come without one.”
Chad laid it out on the table. He flicked through until he found the puzzle page, then slid the crossword as close to the plastic barrier as it could get.
“Oh, it’s a naughty one today…” Romeo said.
He was feeling frisky.
Chad frowned, studying the clues. None of them were considered naughty, but they never filled the crossword out how it was supposed to be done anyway.
“I don’t see—
“What about this one?” Romeo said. “More than want, six letters…”
“Need … crave…”
Romeo smirked. “Have you forgotten how crosswords work? It’s only been a week.”
Chad narrowed his big brown eyes, and the skin pinched together at the top of his nose.
“Desire.” Chad said.
Romeo nodded, licking his lips. “That’s right.”
“Okay … how about this, strong affection, seven letters.”
“It’s not love then.”
Chad’s cheeks burst with red pigment, and he pretended to study the crossword clues, the non-existent ones.
“Passion.” Romeo said.
Romeo saw the tilt of Chad’s smile. He wrote the letters in some random boxes, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Here’s a good one. The act of suffocation by constricting airflow, some find pleasurable, seven letters.”
“Choking…”
Romeo looked at Chad’s neck and twitched his fingers. He remembered tightening his hand around Chad’s throat, his eyes had rolled back, his body relaxed, all apart from the hole Romeo was thrusting into. That tightened like a vice when Chad’s orgasm hit, wringing his own from his cock in pulses. He was getting hot and hard thinking about it, and by the way Chad was fidgeting on the other side of the barrier, he was, too.
211 days since he’d last had sex.
But with hours to kill in his cell, sometimes the best way to spend it was remembering Chad and himself in the farmhouse. The last week, they’d barely kept off each other. It had been a case of eat, sleep, sex, and repeat, but the monster in his head had been lurking, getting impatient.
“What kind of crossword is this?” Paul asked.
Romeo blinked out of his lusting haze and looked back at Paul.
“It’s the—the Valentine’s edition.” Chad said
“Valentine’s day? That was a week ago.”
“Yeah, I got this from the wastepaper bin at work.”
Romeo raised his eyebrows. “Thanks a lot, not even worth a recent copy.”
“Choking is not pleasurable.” Paul said.
Romeo turned away. “Have you tried it?”
“It’s sick and twisted.”
“No,” Romeo said, “You’re doing it all wrong if you’re twisting.”
“You’re an animal, Romeo.”
“I prefer monster.”
“Do you think this is funny?”
Romeo could tell by the movement of Chad’s eyes that Paul was talking to Chad, not him.
“Joking about choking, that’s how he killed them right? He strangled them, you even saw the victims after he was done with them, and now you’re laughing about it.”
“I’m not laughing about it.”
“Looks that way. You coming here looks as if you think his crime was a joke, not serious, not devastating for the people directly involved and the whole country who were terrified for months.”
Chad clenched and relaxed his hand on the table. The gesture wasn’t threatening, but stress related. Every time Chad got uncomfortable, he started the odd routine, grounding himself, getting his emotions under control. Romeo wondered whether it was something his therapist had taught him, or if he just started doing it on his own. Either way, he did the odd hand pulses while his eyes got more and more distant.
“I’m here to see Romeo, not the countdown killer.”
“They’re the same fucking person.”
“Enough.” Fred said.
“But—
“Yeah, listen to your superior.” Romeo mumbled.
“He’s not my superior.”
“In intelligence he is. You’re not really angry at Chad, you’re just taking it out on him. I know why you’re angry…”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Five-foot-six, blonde hair, wears high heels and lots of lipstick.”
“Don’t bring Holly into this.”
“And there it is, the root of all anger and frustration.”
Chad frowned. “You’re still seeing Holly?”
Romeo spoke over his shoulder. “Yeah, she keeps putting the publication date back. She can’t seem to stay away from me.”
He smiled when he heard footsteps behind him, Paul rushing forward only to be stopped by Fred.
“Paul calm down.” Fred cleared his throat, then spoke to Romeo. “That’s enough now. Get on with your visit.”
Chad seemed to notice he was twitching his hands and laid them flat o
n the newspaper. He looked down gesturing to the crossword. “Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall.”
He hummed, studying the clues for real. “Lazy person, four letters.”
“Ah, yes… Paul’s definitely one of those…”
Chad didn’t comment, he’d worked the clue out, too, and wrote slob in the correct boxes.
Romeo leaned as close as he could to the barrier. “Wait. Actually. Stupid and clumsy, three letters … that’s what Paul is.”
“I’m warning you Romeo.” Paul growled.
“Oaf.” Chad said, filling it in.
“Wait, wait.” Romeo said, with a smile. “Tug at with force, four letters, that’s definitely P—
Paul stepped closer. “Shut your goddamn mouth, Romeo.”
“Wait,” Fred said, “The answer is pull…”
Romeo glanced over his shoulder and watched as Paul deflated. He smirked, but Chad gave him a very unimpressed look.
“What?”
“I’m gonna put the crossword away so you don’t end up in trouble.”
“Spoilsport.”
Chad smiled. “You’re terrible.”
Romeo lifted his eyebrows and gave Chad the look. The look that said, “I know, but you love me anyway,” and the response was Chad blushing and giving him a coy smile. He was flexing his hand on the table, faster than before.
Sometimes Romeo wanted to unravel Chad’s head completely, see what was going on in there, analyze the damage he’d done. He knew how to provoke it, bring it to the surface, and he did when he murmured promises of his escape.
“Just you wait until I’m outta here…”
His words never failed to get a reaction. Not a verbal one, or a physical one unless you were focused on Chad with laser intensity. His emotions played out in his eyes. The slight excitement, the embers of hope in his brown eyes before they cooled, and steely determination took over.
Chad was replaced by the detective.
There was four of them in their messed-up relationship. The monster, the detective, Chad, and Romeo, and the four of them switched and interacted.
Two for Joy Page 1
