End of Eternity 4 Page 5

  I slide my arms beneath her before easily lifting her off the bed and carrying her over to her bath. I cradle her body as I gently set her down into the water and reach for a bar of soap. Dipping the bar into the water to get it ready, I begin to slide it across Carmen’s snowy skin. She begins to breathe a bit faster now, causing my lips to lift slightly. With long, delicate strokes, I begin to lather her skin in the cleansing substance. I focus my effort on the bottoms of her feet, scrubbing away the blackness from her soles.

  I lay gentle kisses against the bottoms of her feet as I clean them, worshipping her body in the way it was meant to be worshipped. The soap easily removes the grime from her skin, leaving her looking fresh and almost pearlescent. This is perfect. This is exactly how I imagined she would look for our wedding. My broken goddess; she is going to be the most exquisite woman in existence. I will lift her up and heal all her wounds. I will make her pure and new again. I place Carmen’s feet back into the water, and glide the bar of soap across her legs and all the way up to her shoulders. Scrubbing the remaining dirt away from her face and skin, I step away and admire my handiwork.

  “You are magnificent, Carmen,” I tell her quietly. “If only you knew how truly magnificent you are. I’m going to make you the happiest woman in the world, my love.” I cup the back of her neck in my hand, supporting her head as I slowly submerge her hair into the warm water. It takes a moment for her thick, long locks to become thoroughly soaked, and it requires two more trips under the water.

  I begin humming an old lullaby to myself as I lather her hair with lavender scented shampoo. Her breathing continues steadily as I massage her scalp, but the smallest of moans escapes her lips.

  “Dream well, my dear,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m sorry it came to this, but I will make it up to you. Forever.”

  After rinsing the shampoo from her hair and applying a coat of conditioner, I’m satisfied that my bride is clean enough for our ceremony. “Katia,” I call out to the maid. “Dry and style my bride’s hair, and do her makeup. She must be perfect for tonight.”

  The girl comes running into the room, her face rosy with embarrassment. “Yes, sir,” she says quickly. “I make girl pretty for you.”

  “Call me when she is ready,” I command her. My lips curl upward in enthusiasm. “I will make sure this old cathedral has one final wedding that will shake it to its very foundation!”

  My maid gulps slightly and nods her head as she quickly goes to Carmen’s side. “Yes, sir.” She makes an awkward attempt at doing a curtsey. “It is great honor.”

  “That positive attitude will keep you alive, Katia,” I tell her with a nod. “Good help is so hard to find.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Her face blanches, causing a smirk to form on my features. The first thing I did when I hired this woman was show her the skeletons of those who came before her. I do not tolerate disobedience, and made her well aware the price of failure. So far, it has worked very well.

  I walk out of the room and stare into the open hall. The stained glass windows cause the sunlight to ignite the room in brilliant color combinations of red and blue and gold. An old organ sits peacefully in the corner, ready to play the bridal march as Carmen is presented to me. “Perfect,” I say softly to no one.

  The image of what is about to take place here causes my heart to quicken in my chest. It’s my wedding night. I will soon be married to the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. It will all be perfect soon; nothing has been left to chance. Carmen will always be mine, in this life and the next.

  I will make sure she can never leave again.

  Chapter Nine

  Bradford West

  “If I have to tell you how to play that song one more time, you will find yourself suddenly unable to play anything,” I warn the older man sitting on a stool behind a concert harp.

  His gaze fixes on me, his wrinkled lips forming a grimace. “I know how to play perfectly well, boy,” he tells me sternly. “If you don’t like it, I’ll leave. Good luck finding another harpist before tonight.”

  I feel my blood beginning to boil in my veins and my hands tighten into fists. “Watch your tone, old man. I’m paying a small fortune to make this perfect. I will not have my wedding ruined by your shabby playing.”

  “Then allow me to tune my instrument in peace,” he says to me, his brow arching in frustration. “I will be ready.”

  “One mistake when my wife comes down the aisle, and we will have more than words.” I turn on my heel as my head begins to throb. Why does no one do anything right? I try to cheer myself up by imagining cutting off the harpist’s hands. I could take one finger at a time, and then force him to try to play the harp with his feet. This thought makes me smile.

  Perhaps I’m just stressed. After all, it’s not every day that one pledges themselves to another for eternity. With Carmen at my side, there is no limit to how far we can go. Being a little nervous before the big event is only natural. I should try to refrain from collecting any body parts. For now.

  I allow myself a deep, steadying breath in order to calm myself down. My nostrils are struck with the cloying smell of flowers. Dozens upon dozens of flowers are lining the walls and hang from the benches in front of the stage. The smell is sickening and I try my best to ignore it. I only bear it knowing how Carmen loves the smell and appearance of flowers. It’s important to me that she enjoys what I’ve arranged.

  I would hate for her to be disappointed on our wedding day.

  Large doors at the front of the cathedral open, allowing a gust of cool air to infiltrate the warm building. A large man dressed in a shabby leather jacket walks through the wide entrance. His thinning hair is a greasy mess, and his knuckles are bruised. “Branko,” he says in a heavily accented voice.

  The name causes my brow to twitch in irritation. “How many times have I told you not to call me that, Ivan?” I ask him stiffly. “Must I remove your tongue for you to remember?”

  He lifts his hands in surrender, but his face forms a sneer. “I forget, Bradford. Posh American lawyer now. Too good for your family name but not the business, eh?” he says condescendingly. “I just came to tell you, shipment of girls have just arrived. Would you like your pick before they are sold?”

  “No,” I say calmly. My neck turns down the hall where my maid is currently preparing Carmen for our big night. “I won’t be needing to sample the goods ever again.”

  Ivan’s eyes follow mine and I can see his lips twisting up into a broad grin. “Right, tonight is big wedding day. Too bad I can’t make it.”

  “I’ll be missing you dearly, Ivan,” I say sarcastically, “but I’ll send you pictures.”

  “Why not let me have a run at your old lady?” he asks in a lustful voice. “I show her how real man pleases a woman.”

  I reach into my jacket and feel the cool metal of my pistol holstered on my shoulder strap. I tighten my fingers around the grip and draw the weapon smoothly. Deftly pointing the nozzle at Ivan’s throat, my finger squeezes the trigger. The deafening bang reverberates across the stone walls. The man instantly crumples to the floor, grasping at the hole I made in his neck. He looks up at me in horror as he tries to breathe, resulting in nothing but sputtering gurgles. As the blood rushes from his arteries and spills onto the floor, I watch in fascination. No matter how many times I see a man die, it’s never any less arousing. His lungs are filling with his own blood as he tries to breathe, suffocating him in the very substance required to keep him alive.

  “Don’t worry, cousin,” I say soothingly. “I know that it hurts, not being able to breathe. Rest assured that you’ll bleed to death long before you suffocate.” I step onto his chest to hold him there as the life quickly flows from him. “You should have known that family only gets you so far. Give my best to your mother. She was such a sweet woman.”

  He seems to be trying to curse me but only his rasping final breath escapes his lips. I sneer at him and place my gun back in its strap as I turn around to find t
he nearest person. “Clean this up,” I bark. “I don’t want this filth anywhere near my wife.”

  A tiny, terrified whimper pierces my ears, and I see my maid running across my line of sight. Her face is twisted up in panic as she drops to her knees in prayer and crosses herself. Her behavior puzzles me. I shake my head as I turn away from the woman and start walking down the hall toward the room where I left my sleeping bride.

  The door to the room is open and I peer inside. Carmen is standing by the stained glass window, clad in her pure white lingerie. All the colors from the artistic glass shower her at once, creating a rainbow effect on her skin and clothes. She stares at me without saying a word, her soft green eyes calling out to me. The sight of her causes my body to shake and my mind to go a little fuzzy.

  “Carmen,” I say softly. “You’re awake.”

  She stares at me for a moment, and there is a glint of fire in her eyes.

  “I suppose so,” she whispers in a voice that cuts into me like sharpened ice.

  I immediately begin to feel a little guilty. Maybe chloroforming your bride shortly before your wedding isn’t the most romantic of gestures. I guess I’ll have to make it up to her tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  Carmen Winters

  I feel groggy and lightheaded, and I briefly wonder if I’m back in the hospital. What happened? I remember losing my baby, and then…

  A pair of hands are sliding over my stomach, and dragging stiff fabric over my tender skin. Am I naked? That doesn’t feel like a doctor’s touch. And then it hits me:

  Brad.

  He must have drugged me somehow. The last thing I remember is the sinister sight of my house burned to ashes—burned while my father was still inside. I remember rage consuming my chest. I remember Brad grasping my arm and dragging me to his car—oh! Scenes from driving across the highway at breakneck speeds come hurtling back into my mind. I wince as I remember our passenger mirror being taken off, and the glass window shattering and showering me with chunks of debris.

  I remember being forced to chloroform myself.

  That was not the most fun drive ever. But I’ve survived, apparently. That’s all that matters.

  Now, I need to figure out where I am and make a plan. Fast.

  A pair of hands move to fasten fabric around my breasts, and I push them away and cover myself protectively. I squint open my eyes to try to make sense of my surroundings. There is a small woman in a maid’s outfit hunched over me, and she is dressing me in white undergarments. A subtle alcoholic smell burns my nostrils, and I realize it is hairspray. Shifting around uncomfortably, I am able to determine, from the soft mass of warm curls around my neck, that this woman has styled my hair.

  “What’s going on?” I ask her drowsily. “Where am I?”

  The maid looks at me fearfully before returning to her work. “He ask me to prepare you. I make you beautiful for him.”

  “Brad asked?” I mumble.

  The small woman nods as she continues to dress me.

  “Prepare me for what?” I ask her quizzically.

  “Beautiful wedding.”

  Looking down at my body, my jaw drops open slightly. The small woman has decked me out in a complete set of white lingerie and even a garter belt. “Jesus fuck,” I whisper in amazement. “Just when I think that this guy can’t be any more insane…”

  “You no like dress?” the maid asks in concern, gesturing to the white gown and tiara that has been laid out for me.

  Although it is literally the least of my worries, I find myself turning to examine the dress. Wow. It is a top-of-the-line gown, with a bodice that is heavily encrusted in Swarovski crystals. I have seen similar designs from Vera Wang and Marchesa. I should have expected this. Brad always has been a really snappy dresser—especially for a serial killer. I suppose I shouldn’t stereotype, because it seems silly to expect that all rapists, drug lords, and kidnappers should have poor fashion senses.

  Lunatics like nice clothes, too.

  My mind drifts to my fashion blog, and I wonder how I could use this experience for inspiration. “What to wear when you’re chloroformed, abducted, and forced to marry a psychopath. Ten tips for being an elegant victim.” I am sure that I’d be a blogging celebrity after writing such a practical and informative piece! Lots of girls have probably faced this conundrum throughout history, and the poor things never had anywhere to turn for advice.

  Never fear, ladies. Carmen Winters is here, and she will demonstrate how to get kidnapped in style.

  Spoiler alert: If the evening goes well, whatever you decide to wear will eventually be covered in the blood of your enemies. So, don’t spend too much.

  “We put on dress now,” the maid says, holding up the gown. “Ready?”

  I laugh softly at the morbid hilarity of the situation. “There is no way in hell I’m going to wear that thing.”

  “Wrong size?” the maid asks in confusion. “I think good fit.”

  I can’t help rolling my eyes at her innocence. “What’s your name?” I ask her.

  “Me? Katia.”

  “Great. Now do you think you can help me, Katia?” I ask slowly and softly. “I need to know where I am. And I’m going to need some kind of weapon. Have you seen any guns or knives around here?”

  The maid shakes her head in confusion. “Do not understand.”

  “I’m looking for a way to kill Brad and escape,” I explain to her gently. “I could use a little help, if you don’t mind.”

  Her eyes widen in fear. “No, no,” she whispers, looking around anxiously. She grasps both of my hands and gazes at me in terror. “He hurt me. He hurt my sister. Can not make him angry. Please. He hurt me.”

  “Honey. He can’t hurt you if he’s dead,” I inform the maid pointedly. “That’s exactly why I intend to kill him. So that he can’t hurt anyone else. You’ll be safe, Katia. I promise. Just help me.”

  “No,” she says timidly, shaking her head. “No. Must be good. Bad man will hurt me. I do as he say.”

  I press a hand against my forehead in frustration. It seems like this poor woman is so comfortable in her captivity. But where exactly are we being held captive? Should I give up on trying to hurt Brad, and focus on escaping? I could always try again later.

  Lifting myself off the creaky bed, I realize that my bra has not been hooked close; I pushed the maid away when she was trying to dress me. Reaching around my back to fasten the straps, I groan in effort as I examine the room. I am stunned to find wooden rafters above, and stained glass windows in the stone walls of the little room. “What the hell?” I whisper, shakily lifting myself off the bed so that I can move to the window. I try to peer out, but I can’t see much other than what seems to be a little field. Brad must have driven out to the countryside, and this must be a little chapel in a small town.

  “Please wear dress,” Katia says, wringing her hands and looking terrified. “You be pretty. Brad wants perfect girl.”

  “Then won’t he be vastly disappointed?” I ask softly as I hug my arms around my middle. I turn back toward the maid and look into her frightened eyes. “Katia,” I say softly. “You can help me. If you can only get me a weapon of some sort, I could get us both out of here. I promise. I’m being serious. I can play him, and get close enough to take him by surprise. I’ve had it up to here with this dirtbag, and I’m ready to end this.”

  “Dirt bag?” she repeats in confusion. “You need vacuum cleaner?”

  “No!” I shout in frustration, holding up my thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun. “I need firearms! You know, so that I can shoot Brad in the face?” I point my fingers at her and mimic shooting a gun at her. “Bang, bang!” I explain.

  At that moment, the strangest thing happens. From somewhere nearby in the chapel, the unmistakably explosive sound of a gunshot is heard. It is extremely loud, and it makes me flinch in surprise.

  The maid, however, throws her hands up in to the air in horror. She lets out a bloodcurdling scream as sh
e looks at me like I’m the devil, or some kind of witch with the ability to set off actual gunshots with her fingertips. Turning on her heel, she bolts from the room.

  “Wait, Katia!” I call out, but she has already fled. I sigh in disappointment. Well, she was utterly useless. I thought that someone who was obviously a fellow victim of Brad’s would make a good ally, but I guess I’m on my own here.

  My positive mood and ability to make light of the situation quickly disappears. The full gravity of my plight sinks in, and I am hit by a moment of helplessness. I look out the window miserably until the sound of footsteps alerts me to a presence. I turn to see Brad standing in the doorway, dressed in a tasteful and well-designed tuxedo. As usual, his sandy brown hair is impeccable. He looks like he has stepped out of a fashion magazine.

  I am not sure why this still surprises me.

  “Carmen,” Brad says softly. “You’re awake.”

  “I suppose so,” I answer quietly, trying to conceal my loathing. “Thanks for knocking me out.”

  Brad shakes his head with remorse as he opens his palms. “I’m so sorry, but you gave me no other choice. You were being disruptive and unreasonable. I just needed to calm you down so that we could communicate better.”

  I have the urge to laugh, scream, or launch myself at him to try to beat the shit out of him, but I refrain from doing any of this. “Well, I’m certainly calm,” I mutter in derision as I examine the fabric of his jacket. “Nice suit.”

  “Thank you,” he says graciously, slipping his thumbs proudly under his lapels. “I thought I would surprise you by preparing our wedding. I want you to know that I’m committed to being with you forever. I’ll never leave you like Grayson did. He was weak.” Brad crosses the room and gently puts his hands on my bare arms. “I’m always going to be right here, Carmen, by your side. For better or worse.”