by Kitty Thomas
I realized suddenly that Shannon didn’t have an accent. Had he worked to rid himself of it? I couldn’t imagine someone wanting to hire a killer who sounded like a lead singer in a country band. There was no reason Shannon should seem less deadly with a twang or drawl, but somehow it didn’t fit.
His mother was far more animated and friendly than her polished presentation might suggest.
By this point, we were in the foyer, easing our way into the belly of the house. “Here, let me take your coats,” she said.
“Millie, for God’s sake, I live in the same house you do,” Frank said, a similar, though more brusque accent flowing from his own mouth. Frank looked like an older version of Shannon, if Shannon were to stop working out and gain about thirty pounds, go gray, and take up pipe smoking. He was similarly dressed to his wife in a nice understated navy suit and a tie. They looked as if they were about to attend church.
I wondered if he dressed this way for his work or if Millie had made him put something nice on for dinner.
“Oh, are these for me?” Millie asked, gushing at the roses and inhaling the fragrance wafting off the pale pink blooms. “You didn’t have to bring me flowers.”
“Let me put them in some water for you.” Shannon deftly escaped to the kitchen with the roses and an empty vase he grabbed off a side table on his way.
Millie turned her attention to me. “And you must be the girl. My rude son didn’t even tell me your name!”
I could tell by her tone, that she didn’t really believe Shannon to be rude at all. It was just the good-natured ribbing that happened in families. These people were not what I’d expected. At the very least, I’d expected them to be cold and distant. Frank was a bit reserved, but not cold.
“I’m Elodie.”
“Well, that’s a lovely name. Shannon hasn’t ever brought a girl home before,” she said, leading me toward the living room. “And I’ve been dying to show off his baby pictures.”
“Mother, I will kill you,” Shannon called out from the kitchen.
For a moment I was actually terrified for her, but then I realized Shannon was just playing the role of embarrassed son. He had no intention of killing her for showing me baby pictures. I doubted he cared one way or the other about me seeing the photos. It was just part of the mask, the play he starred in where he was like everyone else.
“Oh, nonsense,” she shouted back toward the kitchen. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Could they really not see the cold dark spot inside their son? Were they that blind? Frank wasn’t as animated as Millie, but even he seemed excited to see his son and to learn he’d brought a girl home. I imagined they were both marking time in their head, planning imaginary weddings and buying imaginary baby outfits for the grandchildren that I surely would dutifully deliver for them.
In the living room, Frank retreated to a brown leather chair in the corner out of the way, while Millie led me to the couch. She pulled out a big family photo album stuffed to near exploding with pictures. On the red leather cover in gold lettering, it read, “Mercer Family Memories.”
“All the gory details are in here,” Millie said, winking at me.
I could tell she’d been waiting years to show some poor woman the story of Shannon’s early years in pictures. Though I was also certain I knew far more gory details than his mother would ever be privy to. I couldn’t imagine how much it would break her heart to know the truth. Even if I were desperate, I wouldn’t have had the will to tell his parents or seek their help. I doubted they’d believe me anyway.
Then I was inundated with photos of practically every mundane second of Shannon’s life. If these images were to be believed, he really did have a near-perfect childhood. I suddenly wished I had photos of my own childhood, but I doubted they’d be like this—judging from my dossier, at least.
In the photo album were the obligatory splashing naked baby in the bathtub pictures, the eating solid foods for the first time pictures, some funny pictures of him in a giant wooden bowl that made him seem freakishly tiny by comparison, the bumbling toddler years, birthday party pictures, and Christmas after Christmas.
Shannon seemed so sweet and adorable as a baby and toddler. As he grew through the photographs, he became a bit more stoic and detached.
“He gets all that seriousness from his father,” Millie said.
I glanced at Frank and wondered if he was secretly a sociopath, too. Were Millie and Shannon just his camouflage? Did this run in families? Shannon seemed to believe he’d been born this way, so where had it come from? Certainly not from Millie unless she was the world’s best actress.
And yet I was sure if Frank were a predator, Shannon would have easily been able to spot it. And Frank would have just as easily spotted the traits in his son. No, Frank would be as horrified as his wife to learn what his son was.
“Did Shannon tell you he served our country in the military?” Frank asked, beaming and animated for the first time of the evening.
I wasn’t sure what Shannon wanted me to say, but this must be a safe enough topic. I was sure his parents had no idea what exactly he’d been doing in the military, but they seemed so proud of him and their vague notion of their son the soldier fighting to protect our freedoms. Over the fireplace mantel was a large framed photo of Shannon in his formal dress uniform.
Even though I knew it was foolish to feel anything for someone like Shannon, I couldn’t help it. Seeing him like that, my heart leaped up into my throat. There was something about a man in uniform.
Shannon appeared in the doorway then. “Mom, I put your flowers on the table in the foyer.”
“Thank you, dear. Dinner’s ready if everyone would like to come into the dining room,” Millie said.
She’d made a roast in a creamy gravy and mashed potatoes and green beans and a salad. And she’d pushed something called sweet tea on me with extreme insistence.
“Those beans are from Millie’s garden out back,” Frank said as he took his seat at the head of the table. “She canned a whole mess of them. Shannon, you and Elodie need to take a few jars back with you.”
“Oh yes, you really have to,” Millie said. Then she turned to me. “Have you ever had green beans from the garden, Elodie?”
I felt frozen, my blood turning cold in my veins all of a sudden. I’d been about to automatically say ’No, Ma’am, I haven’t’, when it occurred to me that perhaps I had. I just didn’t remember if I had. It was moments like this I’d been dreading: everything rolling along just fine until some small innocuous thing reminded me of how different I was. Everyone at the table watched expectantly, waiting for my answer.
“No, Ma’am, I haven’t,” I went ahead and said. It may or may not be true, but from my perspective it was true enough for the moment.
“So,” Millie said, “How did you two meet?”
I was happy to let Shannon field this one.
“At an amusement park.”
I nearly choked on my green beans, which were as wonderful as advertised. She’d added some kind of oil to them and sugar, which made the flavors pop.
“Oh?” Millie said. “An operational one, or one of the ones you and your friends like to explore?”
“It was operational. We were both there alone on a special lovebirds discount day and we pretended to be a couple to get the discount. Then we spent the day together in the park. By the time they started shooting off fireworks that night, I was smitten.”
Millie sighed. “I love that story.”
I loved it, too. Too bad it wasn’t true. But somehow I doubted, I killed the man she was with in an abandoned amusement park castle, disposed of the body, and basically kidnapped her, and now she can never leave me, would be as charming.
The rest of dinner was as delicious as it looked. Shannon’s mom was quite the cook, which was hard to believe, given how fit she was. But I had a feeling she’d made this dinner special for Shannon and that these were some of his favorite foods.
I was
grateful I didn’t have to talk much about myself. Millie and Frank asked the polite questions about what I did for a living and where I’d gone to school. I took Shannon’s advice and stuck to script, deviating only in the places that might give me away, though I was sure I looked nothing like the photos of me that had made the news network rounds months ago. And how many people would remember anyway? At best, I would look vaguely familiar. They’d be sure they’d seen me somewhere, but couldn’t quite remember where.
I still found it hard to believe Shannon had recognized me and Trevor immediately in the castle. But Shannon had probably been trained to notice details in a way most hadn’t. And then there was the endless perceptiveness that had been required in his childhood just to survive it with his mask of normality intact.
After dinner, Millie brought out coffee and a chocolate silk pie. I wasn’t sure I had room for it, but she insisted.
“So, how serious is it?” Millie asked, aiming her question directly at Shannon.
She was certainly a nice woman, but I was sure Shannon could have brought in a bag lady off the street and Millie would have been equally excited that her nice boy had finally found someone.
“Mom,” Shannon hedged.
“I mean it. I want to help plan a wedding. I want to dance at my son’s wedding. I want grandchildren! How much longer will I have to wait for all that?”
I wondered if I could in fact have children. Trevor had said I couldn’t but that was probably all part of his elaborate lie. Had he really gotten the snip? Maybe the reason he wouldn’t let me handle the food was he’d been slipping birth control into it.
“Can’t you just be happy I’m seeing someone?” Shannon asked, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
Millie switched her attention to me. “Elodie, would you marry him if he asked you to?”
“I... um...” I didn’t know what Shannon wanted me to say. I was pretty sure if he wanted to continue this charade to coddle his mother’s fantasies that I wouldn’t have much choice in the matter.
“Mom, don’t put her on the spot. You’re making her uncomfortable. We haven’t discussed the subject. This is still new. I promise if we do, you’ll be the first person to hear about it.”
After that, the rest of dessert and coffee went smoothly. Frank let Millie carry most of the conversation. When everyone was finished eating, I was surprised to see him collect the dinner plates and take them to the kitchen. From the beginning, he’d struck me as the kind of guy that went to watch football immediately after dinner, leaving the women to clean up after the meal they’d cooked.
“I’ve never met a man who loves washing dishes, but Frank does. He also does his own laundry. Did I get a keeper or what?” she asked.
How these two people’s genes had mingled to create Shannon was probably one of the universe’s strangest mysteries.
We didn’t linger long after dinner, Shannon made an excuse, saying he had to get some work done. I wondered what his family thought he did for a living now that he was out of the military.
“Well, that was bracing,” I said as Shannon started the car.
“They mean well. You did good in there.”
I knew there could still be some secret abuse that I wasn’t aware of. But from what I’d seen, they really did seem to love Shannon. They were proud of him, almost achingly so, and believed him to be a good man, a hero even. And in some twisted sense, I knew that was true, both for me and for the country at large.
“What are you thinking?” Shannon asked.
I stared out the window at the nice houses with well-manicured lawns, not unlike the neighborhood Shannon lived in, though it was a bit of a drive to get to his parents’ house since they lived in Savannah, while his house was in a smaller town nearby. “I just don’t understand how you could have been raised by people like that and be what you are.”
Shannon frowned. “It’s not as if they made no difference. In a different environment I would have turned out far worse.”
“What’s worse than being a killer?” For a moment, I almost thought I’d wounded him somehow and felt guilty for it. Then I wondered if he was just manipulating my emotions. Didn’t sociopaths do that?
“I’m not out slaughtering innocents, Elodie. The world is better off without the people I’ve killed. The people I kill deserve to die, and I enjoy killing them. It’s win-win for everybody who matters.”
There it was. Everybody who matters. For now, his family mattered enough that he wouldn’t slaughter them unless pushed into a corner. And the white cat mattered. And I mattered. For now, for whatever reason, I might matter enough that he’d be unwilling to kill me in almost any scenario, but I wasn’t sure how secure being in the everybody who matters circle really was. I wanted to believe it was secure, because God knew I needed something secure. Even if it was amoral.
Chapter Seven
When we got home, Shannon fed the white cat then took me to the basement. He’d cleaned up down here. It was so clean the place nearly sparkled and seemed new. The dark brown hardwood floors were especially shiny and nice as if he’d spent hours down here polishing them to a high finish.
Off my confused expression at the state of the space, Shannon said, “Sometimes I can’t sleep. When I can’t sleep, I clean.”
That explained a lot about why his house was so irritatingly shiny all the time. I wondered how bad his insomnia was and if he’d given me my own room because of it.
“Why don’t you sleep?” I asked.
He shrugged. “My mind stays busy. Planning jobs, thinking of possible things that can go wrong and planning for those contingencies.”
“Oh.” So, not guilt, then. I’d thought perhaps that subconsciously at least he might have some guilt. Somehow I’d convinced myself that deep deep down his work was eating him up inside as well as the fact that I was more or less his hostage. I really wasn’t fully sure on that point. I had felt—up until the other night at least—like his house guest. Now I wasn’t sure what I was beyond... his in all the finality such a proclamation implied.
Shannon crossed the expansive space and sat in a large black leather chair across the room. From this vantage point, he silently and unnervingly watched me. Unconsciously, my fingers strayed to my hair to fix imaginary flyaways. I licked my lips. I became paranoid something was on my face from dinner. I straightened my clothes and shifted my weight.
“What are you doing?” I asked, finally unable to stand the silence any longer.
“I’m studying.”
This went on for another several minutes. After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore and sat on the floor.
“Did I tell you you could sit?” he asked.
“N-no, Sir.” I said, remembering what he’d asked me to call him when we were like this. I quickly stood back up.
“When we are down here, you make no independent decisions. Your only decision is whether or not to obey my orders immediately.”
I didn’t have to ask what would happen if I didn’t. Looking around the basement, I realized this place was even more of an outfitted dungeon than I’d thought. He must have kept some things put away during the party, because now that everything was out on display, I noticed there was some extra bondage furniture I hadn’t noticed the other night.
There was also a big box of toys and implements that hung from shining silver hooks in the exposed brick wall that hadn’t been there during the party. The recessed lights in the ceiling cast bright spotlights on everything. I stood inside the pool of one of those lights. There was an empty unobstructed path between me and Shannon. Was he waiting for me to come to him?
I was about to ask what he wanted from me when he spoke again.
“Are you ready to begin, Elodie?”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Y-yes, Sir.”
He stood and went around behind the chair and retrieved a couple of decorated bags that had clearly come from nice stores. He crossed the room, set the bag
s down at my feet, then went back to the other end of the room and resumed his reclining.
“Put the lingerie on. You can use the furniture if you need to sit for part of it.”
By this point, the contents of the bag weren’t surprising, though the quality was. Inside one bag was the most supple black leather lingerie: a mini-skirt with slits up the side, and a corset of the same color with material that didn’t cover the breasts. Inside the second bag were thigh-high shiny black heeled boots with laces that looked at though they would take ages to get on.
Shannon watched from across the room, his expression indiscernible. “I would like you to consider this performance art, Elodie. Entertain me.”
I started to remove the glasses.
“No. Leave those on. I like the way they look on you.”
I left them and slowly took off the shoes and dress I’d worn to his parents’ house. Music began to drift through the space from the speakers located near the ceiling at the four corners of the room. When I looked back at Shannon, there was a tiny black remote in his hand. The music was hard to describe—sort of an electric drumbeat with other lighter instruments layered on top.
Almost as if it possessed me, I began to move to it, forgetting to be self-conscious. He’d seen everything already anyway, what was a little strip tease? My panties and bra joined the pile, and then I began to dress in the lingerie as slowly and provocatively as I’d taken the other clothing off.
I was right, lacing up the boots took a small eternity. And I had to sit on a spanking bench to get it accomplished. The bench was just a few feet to the left of where I’d stood previously and had another spotlight shining on it.
I started to get up, but Shannon’s voice stopped me.
“Spread your legs and show me your cunt. Look me in the eyes while you do it.”
The last part was the hardest part. He held my gaze for nearly a full minute—I counted the seconds, my breath unconsciously held the entire time—and then his gaze dropped to the flesh I’d exposed between my legs.
