Page 70 of The Blue Rose
ASTER
What the actual fuck?I grip the steering wheel, reaching over and turning on the radio just for something to do with my hands. “The Drug In Me Is You” by Falling In Reverse comes on.Well isn’t that just the perfect song.
She was fourteen when she started painting my kills which means I was eighteen. We have been connected without even knowing. Our meeting was fate. I didn’t kill her because we were always meant to get to this point.
Our love is kismet.
I reach over and hold her hand in mine. She jumps, glancing at me instead of staring out the window, and gives me a small smile. I can tell she’s nervous. I didn’t say one word after seeing her paintings.How was I supposed to react to her dreaming about me and my lambs?I couldn’t very well just say ‘oh, hey, you’re dreaming and painting about me, I’m the man killing those girls.’ I don’t think that would go over very well. Then again my little vixen may surprise me like she always does.
She has to see. She painted my workspace. Once I show her the shed… I’m hoping things will click into place. She’s beendreaming of the same place for fourteen years, she’s sure to recognize it.
She said she loves when she has those dreams, so she should react well, right?
We pull onto the road to my house, driving past it without slowing down.
Serena looks at me, eyes drawn together. “Where are we going?”
I squeeze her hand in mine. “Do you trust me?”
She nods. “With my life.”
I smile at her, pulling up to the shed and throwing her car into park. I turn over and look at her. My fingers tapping the steering wheel, trying to calm the anxious feeling down. “I didn’t know how to respond when I saw your paintings.” She looks down and takes her hand from mine. I turn her head back, making her look me in the eye, taking both hands this time. “I didn’t know what to say, but I told you it was my turn to share a secret. I hope this secret is answer enough.”
“I don’t understand? You don't say anything, then take me to a tiny house I didn’t even know was on your property. You either think I’m crazy or not, why can’t you just say something?!” She yells, throwing her hands in the air at the end, breathing hard.
Glaring at me in anger, making her blue eyes swirl darker, I sigh and get out of the car. Walking over to her side I open the door, holding my hand in front of Serena for her to grab, eyes pleading for her to understand. To trust me.
She crosses her arms, and turns her head away from me. “Serena, if you don’t get your ass out of the car right now, I will throw you over my shoulder and spank your ass like the child you’re behaving like.”
Her head whips back to face me. “That’s rich coming from the grown man who acted like a child at the restaurant.”
Exasperated, I push my hair back. “I already apologized for that. If you want to know how I feel about your paintings and your dreams, you will take my hand and come. With. Me.”
She huffs, grabs my hand, but bows her head. “Fine, but only because I want to know your big secret since I told you mine.”
“Thank you.” I lead her to the front, she’s looking around the property at everything, taking in her surroundings. Pulling up the metal door, I walk us in and flip on the light. As soon as the bulbs shine on, she winces, squinting her eyes against the bright lights.
Letting go of my hand, she walks around looking everywhere, taking in everything. She walks over to the table in the middle and runs her hand along it. Turning around she starts opening the drawers seeing all the tools. I stand with my back against the wall, arms crossed watching her take in everything.
Recognition hasn’t lit her features like they did mine.Will I have to explain to her what this place is, or will looking around some more finally help her open her eyes?
She turns to look at me, motioning around my domain. “You took me to your work shed? I’m assuming this is where you make the props for the haunted house. What does this place have to do with my dreams?”
“Look again, really look, Serena.”
She pauses, looking around again, at the wall of tools, at the incinerator, then she looks at me and down at the table again. Her head tilts, and she steps back, her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide and whispers, “You’re the faceless man?”
I smirk, “You can call me The Morbid Monet.”
She stands frozen in time, her eyes shift to the door, and she slowly backs into the wall of tools. I smirk, a knowing smile at what she is planning lifting my lips.My little vixen thinks she’s clever.“You’re Salem's most notorious serial killer, killing thirty-two women. All who are curvy and have dark hair.”
“The one and the same, and as the Morbid Monet.”
Her arms are behind her back. “You haven’t always been The Morbid Monet.”
I shake my head, inching closer. “No.”
Her breathing starts to pick up as she blindly grabs a hammer. “The paintings I started when I was fourteen up to the time The Morbid Monet was named, was that you too?
