32. Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Sev's place looks entirely normal on the outside. A small cottage nestled on a quiet street between others that look just like it. It looks like the place someone's grandmother would live, not a psychopathic stalker-slash-murderer. There are flower boxes outside the windows, full of bright blooming flowers. A bird house is nailed to the large tree in the front yard, and a welcome mat on the front porch. I almost can't believe this is where he lives. As we walk up the front stone path, I expect him to tell me he's joking. That he has no idea who lives here. Or that he's squatting because he killed the occupants and they're still sitting inside on the couch where he left them.

Is this guy any different from Remington at all?

But everything makes sense once I get inside.

"This is more like it," I say as I step into the small kitchen. It looks relatively normal, until you glance at the counter along the back wall that is piled with guns. Handguns. Rifles. Semi-automatics. Why? I'm not sure. But it's totally Sev.

As far as I know the man doesn't like guns. He uses piano wire and knives—Oh, but there the knives are. All sizes and styles, lining the wall just inside the door. You can tell he cares more about them by the way they're meticulously placed in holders, lined up neatly while the guns are piled haphazardly.

"Cozy," I mutter.

"Isn't it?" he beams, closing and locking the door behind us.

The fact not an ounce of me is afraid to be here says way too much. Like, that I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be talking to him. Shouldn't be nice to him. Shouldn't be getting on my knees to suck his dick in my shower.

I cannot trust this man.

Yet, for some reason, I do. Crazy, aside, the man has shown me he's trustworthy. At least when it comes to me.

I'm here in his house with a million ways for him to kill me. This whole thing could be a trap. He could drug me again—because he hasn't done that enough—and throw me in a hole in his floor with the intention of wearing my skin. Or maybe that's not his preference, and he's going to pull out pieces of my brain to eat with the eggs he's pulling out of the fridge.

"Do you have the piano wire hanging up on the wall too?" I question. "Or maybe it's framed, since it's so special? Locked in a box, maybe?"

While holding my gaze, he pulls open a drawer, digs inside, and produces a handful of piano wire coils. "No. I keep them tucked neatly away in easily accessible places."

"Oh? Why is that?"

He narrows his gaze, stuffing the wire back in. "Because they wouldn't look cool hanging on the walls, Justin."

Right. Makes total sense. Unfortunately, he's not wrong. This wall of knives is pretty badass. The guns would look better if they were hanging up too.

"Do you have licenses for all this shit?" I ask, gesturing to the guns.

"Is that a joke?" He raises a brow.

"Anyone who walks by could see that shit through the windows." I gesture to the big window over the sink with the curtains wide open.

He holds my gaze, blinks, and shakes his head.

"Just go get comfortable while I cook." He flicks his wrist toward the rest of the house. The kitchen is open, and I mutter to myself as I walk away. I round the corner to the right, and stop dead in my tracks, letting out an embarrassing yelp.

"Say hello to Patrick!" Sev shouts. His chuckle follows. I glance over my shoulder and find him bending into the fridge, then turn my attention back to the life-size cardboard cut-out of Patrick Swayze circa 1989.

I have a feeling this isn't the strangest thing I'm going to find in this place.

I step around Patrick and find myself in a crowded living room that looks pretty comfy. Surprisingly, the furniture is normal. Nothing looks like it's made out of human skin. No lampshades made of teeth or anything. But there is some stuff lingering around that's weird as fuck. Like the shelves lined with small porcelain clowns. Who the fuck actually likes clowns? The Kit Kat cat clock with the shifty eyes and wagging tail. The green hands sticking out of the wall holding candles. Skull planter with a lush plant sticking out of the top and the spine as the stand. Or the flower vase that is designed exactly like a human heart with plastic bleeding hearts sticking out of it. Okay, that's a little cool, but mixed with everything else, it's weird.

I turn back, passing the kitchen and going down the hallway. There are four doors, all closed. Is he going to be pissed that I'm looking around his house? He had no problem checking mine out, so I guess I can do the same. Looking from each of the doors, I wonder which one has a dead body in it. One is likely to, right? A coffin that he sleeps in? A trip wire that'll activate a bomb?

Clanking echoes in the kitchen. Water runs. I have a feeling he's going to cook something elaborate. I'm starving, having usually eaten by now, but I'll suck it up and wait. My stomach is grumbling but deep down, I know whatever he makes will be worth it.

With nothing better to do, I go to the first door and push it open, carefully looking inside. The room is empty. Completely empty.

Weird.

I close the door and go to the one across from it. It's a bathroom straight from the 70s. Gaudy yellow and green shelled wallpaper. A green toilet, tub, and sink. It makes me nauseous, so I step out, hoping I don't have to use it. I hope he didn't design the bathroom that way because he likes it. That's enough to make me never talk to the guy again.

Which is laughable, considering all the other shit he's done to me.

Two doors left. I go to the one on the right and find a bedroom. It's big enough to fit a king-sized bed, a night stand on either side, a tall dresser and a door that probably leads to a closet. Or maybe a normal bathroom. It smells like Sev in here, so I can only assume it's his. His bed is perfectly made with a black comforter and fluffy white pillows. The whole room is tidy. There is nothing on the walls for decoration. It's a big contrast from the rest of the house.

I close that door and open the last, finding a set of wooden rickety stairs leading to a dark upstairs. A quick glance down the hallway tells me Sev is still clomping around in the kitchen, so I head up to see what's here. An unfinished attic. The open beams show off the peaked ceiling, and there is one large window ahead of me that's letting in enough light to see around the small space. On closer look, the attic does seem to be finished but made to look unfinished. It's got the creepy attic vibe, but it's clean, neat, and dust-free. I imagine it would have to be for the star of the show. The very thing that catches my attention. A shiny grand piano that in no way could have been brought up the stairs. I'm also not sure how it's safely sitting there without having fallen through the floor. Those things are fucking heavy.

Creaking wood has me looking over my shoulder. Sev is heading up the stairs, a smirk on his face.

"Isn't she beautiful?" he asks when he reaches me.

"Yes, actually. How the hell did you get it up here?"

"Had it brought in before I added the second floor. Made it just for her."

Him referring to his piano as a her shows me how important it is to him. And I wonder if he decided to give himself the nickname.

"So, the Piano Man was your idea?" I ask.

He scoffs. "Hell no. That name is lame as shit. Media gave it to me because of the piano wire."

"How hasn't it fallen through the floor?"

"Made sure it was reinforced," he says with a shrug, walking up to it and running his fingers along the top.

"Do you actually play?"

He looks at me over his shoulder, a thick curl falling over his face. Shit, he looks so beautiful right now. With the light streaming in behind him, that smirk on his face. This would be so much easier if he looked like a goblin. Or an actual Bigfoot, because those things are hideous.

"Do you think I would spend so much time and money on all this if I didn't?"

"Considering your nickname is the Piano Man and you strangle people, practically beheading them with piano wire, yes. I think you'd do it just to prove a point or live up to what people want you to be."

He frowns, the brightness in his eyes from earlier diminishing. Well, obviously I said something to piss him off. He pulls out the bench and takes a seat.

"I don't care what anyone wants me to be. I'm just me." He taps the bench beside him. There's barely any room, but I sit. "Do you play?"

"No," I answer, trying not to laugh about it. Me? Playing an instrument? The thought alone has me embarrassed for myself.

Sev nods, placing his fingers over the keys. He sits up straighter and closes his eyes. His lips part, and then the most beautiful sound fills the room. It's soft, sweet, melodic. The piano is a beautiful instrument, and had I any ounce of musical talent, I'd wish it were for this. Or the drums, because those are just bad ass.

The song Sev plays is enchanting. I hang on every note, feeling emotions that I didn't think were possible from a single instrument. I've always loved music, but my preference is rock. I even go a little emo now and then. But this? Fuck, it's beautiful.

"Wow," I mutter when he's done.

He removes his hands and presses his palms on his lap so precisely. Like he was conditioned to do so.

"It's called Liebestraum. It's by one of my favorite composers, Liszt. The title translates to Love Dream in English, which I find absolutely fascinating."

"Why's that?"

He turns his head slightly to look at me, the smile on his face melancholy. "The song makes you feel so much emotion. Yet is the title telling you it puts you in what feels like a love dream? Or is it suggesting that love is only a dream?"

"I think that's up for interpretation. Perhaps it depends on who's listening to it? On what they need in that moment."

He nods, humming a quiet sound of approval. His gaze goes to the window for a moment, and then he asks, "And what do you think?"

I glance down at the piano keys, recalling the beautiful sound that just came from this instrument. I turn my gaze on Sev, and say, "I think love is complete and utter bullshit."

It's the truth. What I've always thought. I have love for my family. Have cared for friends growing up. But how do you like someone so much that you can say you love them? Seems unreal.

He doesn't respond to that, just brings his fingers to the keys again. When he plays, he's much more animated, his fingers moving quickly. The song is faster, so many notes playing at the same time. I'm not sure how he's able to move his fingers like that. It's impressive. This song is energetic, and though I know nothing about piano, I can tell it isn't one a beginner could play. Yet he does it so flawlessly.

Though, he could be completely making this shit up and I'd never know.

When he's done, he carefully brings his hands to his lap again. It's a simple movement, but for some reason I find it so strange.

"La Campanella. Also by Liszt."

"That was… interesting."

"It's a difficult piece to play."

"I can see that. How did you learn?"

His hands tighten into fists for a quick second before he says, "Lots and lots of practice."

Something in his tone is final, like he's telling me he doesn't want to talk about it further.

"Do you like playing?" I ask instead. I'm not ready to let this go entirely, but I don't want to push him either.

"The piano and I have a love-hate relationship. I love music. Love that I can play it. I hate the way it happened." He gets to his feet, offering me his hand. "Come on. The food is probably done."

That's that, I guess.

I take his hand and let him lead me out of the attic. The moment I step into the hall, my mouth waters at the sugary scent wafting in the air. As he continues toward the kitchen, I fall behind until I eventually stop. My head is spinning with everything I've learned about Sev in just the short time I've been in his house. Who the hell is this man?