Chapter 27

When I asked for Lucien’s remains to be brought to me, I expected some scattered bones, maybe a few textile scraps.

I didn’t expect a mummified body!

I stare in shock at the large box Giles brought over.

His skin is a brownish color, and though a little desiccated, his face retains most of its features.

High cheekbones, a defined jaw, and a strong nose. His eyes are closed, lending him a peaceful image in his death—almost as if he were asleep.

He’s still wearing his military uniform, though some of the material is worn and torn.

“What’s this, Giles?” I ask as I raise my gaze to meet the nonchalant one of my secretary.

“Lucien de Vitry,” he answers in a bored tone.

“That I know. But how the hell does an old corpse look like this? Shouldn’t he be a mass of bones right now?”

Giles purses his lips.

“His burial place was on a plot of land in Southern France. Incidentally, that happens to be one of the only peat bog locations in France.”

I frown.

“Peat bog? What’s that?”

He rolls his eyes.

“It’s a type of wetland that accumulates large deposits of dead plants. It’s known to be a good environment for natural mummification.” He pauses. “I should let you know that I had a very hard time finding the body, especially considering your deadline. The area is a national reservation and access is prohibited to the public. You have no idea the ropes I had to pull to even find the burial place, let alone find someone willing to go dig for it.”

“Yet you found it,” I remark.

“I’m good at my job.” He inclines his head.

“But a mummy?” I repeat. “This is unbelievable.”

More unbelievable is the fact that I’m staring Minnie’s dead fiancé right in the face. Sure, he’s a bit dry and well…dead, but this is remarkable nonetheless.

But now another thought plagues me. If he’s so well preserved, what if Minnie decides to keep him and find a way to revive him? She’s a goddess. I’m sure that wouldn’t be too hard for her.

For fuck’s sake. I’m already competing with a dead man’s memory. I don’t need to compete with a fucking undead man. Just thinking about losing to a fucking mummy is unacceptable, and frankly, humiliating.

Seeing as how Lucien is far more whole than I expected, perhaps my plan to build a bonfire out of him and present it to Minnie might not be the best idea.

Or…

“Help me get him out of the box,” I tell Giles.

“Marlowe…” He groans. “He died of tuberculosis, and he’s mummified. Are you sure it’s a good idea to handle the body?”

I wave my hand dismissively. Grabbing two pairs of surgical gloves and two masks, I hand them to Giles to put them on while I do the same.

With some equipment in place, I grab onto Lucien’s shoulders while Giles handles the feet.

“On my count,” I say. “One. Two. Three.”

We raise him up at the same time and move him toward the table.

Yet despite the—quite impressive—mummification, Lucien’s limbs are not held together as well as I would have expected. The weight of the bones and dried muscle presses on the thin layer of skin and one of his arms gets detached from his shoulder.

It falls to the ground with a resounding thud.

Giles and I share a look. He shakes his head at me but continues to help me move the mummy onto the table.

“It’s fine,” I mention as I pick up the fallen arm. “I wasn’t going to leave him whole anyway.”

Because leaving him whole might mean Minnie can resurrect him—of course I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I’m not taking any chances. If I want to ensure my candlelight dinner with the complementary bonfire is a success, Lucien cannot be whole.

He’ll need to be hacked to pieces.

My nose wrinkles in disgust as I realize that with so much skin and dry muscle still attached to the bones, the bonfire will smell rather like…smoked meat.

Ah, the lengths I go to in order to ensure my competition is extinct.

Especially as it appears that the concept of dead and buried might not hold the same power as before since he’s already been dead and buried. And somehow still managed to keep his damn handsome face.

I swear under my breath.

“Giles,” I call out suddenly.

“Yes?” He raises a brow.

“Who’s more handsome? Me or the mummy?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I require an answer. Who’s more handsome? Me or the mummy?” I ask again as I position myself next to the dead man. I crouch lower to put my face next to his so Giles can assess it better.

“Uh…”

“The truth, Giles. I need the truth.”

Being this close to the mummy, I note there’s a musky smell coming off it.

Ew.

“He’s a mummy, Marlowe. Dead. Why would you compare yourself with a dead man?”

“Tell me, Giles!”

He takes a deep breath.

“You,” he mutters under his breath.

“Me, right?” I nod pensively as I once more look at Lucien’s face. “He does have nice cheekbones, though. Are they nicer than mine?” I ask as I pat my cheekbones.

“No, Marlowe,” Giles says automatically.

“And his jaw. It’s very sharp, don’t you think?”

“Not sharper than yours,” he immediately adds.

I nod, satisfied.

“He might have been handsome, but I’m more so,” I muse to myself.

“He’s a mummy, Marlowe,” Giles interjects with a groan. “Have you finally lost it? What’s this obsession you have with a goddamn dead man?”

I ignore him. There’s something else I must check.

I pull up the jacket of his uniform, tearing a good chunk of it in the process. Buttons fly to the floor, accompanied by scraps of fabric.

Damn it.

His stomach is sunken in, the entire abdomen dried out.

I push against my disgust and pull on the hem of his pants.

“Marlowe! What the hell are you doing?” Giles asks me in an outraged voice.

“Making sure I’m bigger than him,” I mutter, focused on getting the pants off.

“Marlowe! Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Perhaps, Giles. Since he’s already here, I might as well check so I don’t have intrusive thoughts later on.”

“Sweet Lord,” Giles whispers, shaking his head. “You’ve gone mad.”

Oh, yes. I’ve gone mad. Mad with jealousy.

I manage to pull the pants down to his knees, though the material is too sensitive to remain intact. It tears in a myriad of pieces that fall to the ground. Underneath, he’s wearing a pair of drawers that are stuck to his skin. Still, there’s an outline there—a very big outline, even in his mummified state.

I raise my gaze to Giles.

“No. You’re not making me compare your dick size to a fucking mummy!”

“Don’t worry, Giles. I won’t ask you that. I’ll compare it myself.”

Before I can let the disgust overwhelm me—this is quite unsanitary, though I try not to think about it—I go to a drawer and remove a measuring tape from inside.

“Goodness gracious, you’ve gone mad! Absolutely mad!” Giles continues to mumble while I focus on getting the white material of his drawers out of the way.

I’m not sure what I expected to find, but I’m quite shocked to realize that his dick is quite intact. It’s flaccid, of course, but well mummified. Perhaps the layers of material have protected his flesh even better than the rest of his body.

It’s a dark brown, the same shade as his face. That bog surely did a number on him.

I spend a few moments analyzing it—from a purely scientific viewpoint, of course. There’s nothing gay about it, I swear, nor necrophiliac. I’m simply gathering data.

For a flaccid mummified dick, it hasn’t shrunk too much, retaining much of its fullness and size.

He is, of course, uncircumcised.

Got you there, buddy, I think to myself in satisfaction.

But the visual estimation is not enough.

I unravel the tape and measure it from the base of his pelvis to the tip.

“I can’t believe I’m taking part in this,” Giles continues to mutter, at some point crossing himself and saying a prayer. “This is beyond criminal, Marlowe.”

“It’s research, Giles. If you’re so against it, you can see yourself out. I’m busy.”

“No, no, no. I’m not leaving you with a naked mummy. Your mother would have my hide.”

“Then stay.” I shrug.

The measuring tape says a little over five inches.

I scowl. That’s a lot for flaccid. Perhaps he was a shower not a grower. Although…

Mine is about the same flaccid and a little over nine erect.

I swear under my breath.

“Giles?”

“What now, Marlowe?” He rolls his eyes.

“Could we, theoretically, pump liquid into his dick to see how much it distends?”

He gawks at me in shock, then crosses himself again.

“No. Leave the poor man alone. He’s already dead.”

“But I need to know,” I mutter to myself.

“It’s going to damage the corpse more than it already is. You’re taking this too far.” He pauses. “Are you still seeing your therapist?”

“As a matter of fact,” I start and then suddenly pause. “Not anymore.”

Giles sighs. “Does your mother know about this?”

“She must, seeing that you know,” I fire back. “And what you know, she automatically knows, too.”

“Damn it, Marlowe. Do you want to send her into an early grave? She’s always worrying about you, and you go and dig up a century-old corpse and start desecrating it. You’ve done a lot of fucked-up shit, but this?—”

“Why would she worry about me? I do perfectly well for myself. I have a job, a house, a steady income, and I’m not in jail. If this isn’t the standard for leading a good life, I don’t know what is.”

I put the ruler back in its drawer and pull back the pants on the mummy—or what’s left of the fraying material. Although I’m reluctant to admit it, Giles has a point. I’m behaving erratically.

Once upon a time, I would have never touched an old and dried-up corpse, especially one that likely still has the tuberculosis bacterium inside it. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ve left the old me behind, erratic as that person was, and I’ve embraced a new type of insanity.

The Minnie kind.

Just thinking about her and this Lucien makes my blood boil. How dare she have other fiancés? Two others, too.

I don’t like being the third.

I don’t like the fact that she’s been in this dude’s proximity, let alone that there’s another man out there who had a relationship with her in the past—whether it was arranged or not.

Worse? These thoughts have become so poisonous that I can barely close my eyes at night. And if that’s not enough, every other waking moment of the day, I’m even more consumed by jealous thoughts.

“Your mother has always worried about you,” he continues. “Ever since that incident…” He flattens his lips as he trails off.

“We don’t talk about that incident,” I growl.

Giles shakes his head.

“The incident is the only reason why she’s overlooked your crimes for this long, you know that. But this is a new type of fucked up. You need help.”

“And what do you suggest?” I ask mockingly.

He clears his throat.

“For starters, I’m going to stop enabling you. This is the last time I’m helping you with a request.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Sure. I wonder how long that’s going to last, since he always says the same thing but ends up cleaning up my messes anyway.

“Fine. You can see yourself out.” I turn my back to him as I fetch my surgical instruments to get down to work.

He stares at me for a few moments before he finally leaves. But not before he adds something else.

“Your mother’s birthday is at the end of the week. I hope you haven’t forgotten.”

“I haven’t,” I snap. I totally have.

“Good. I’ll see you there.”

Then he’s gone.

And I’m alone with fucking Lucien.

I sigh as I study him anew. Grabbing a chair, I place it next to the table and take a seat.

There’s something off about him—and I’m not talking about his mummified state.

From the moment Giles brought over the box and revealed Lucien’s corpse, I’ve been on edge. It’s as if a myriad of anxious ants made their way under my skin and pace around my body from head to toe, making me restless and even more erratic than usual.

“Good thing you died, old chap,” I tell the mummy as if he could hear me. “Now I have her all to myself. And she’ll never think about you again. Never.”

By getting rid of his remains, I’ll be getting rid of him from this world once and for all, and naturally, he’ll fade from her memory too.

Nodding to myself, I grab a chainsaw and start to work. Luckily, an arm has already fallen off his body, so I merely have to repeat the action with the other one. Next are his legs. I cut each leg in two—the tibia with the foot and the thigh.

As I cut through the dried-up flesh, a noxious smell threatens to make me ill. Still, I persevere. I’m a man on a mission, and I’ll be damned if I stop before this mummy is cut up.

But as I continue my work, a chuckle escapes me as I think about the nineteenth century practice of grinding up Egyptian mummies to dust and consuming them as medicine. Of course those were intentional mummies while Lucien over here was merely lucky to find himself in suitable environmental conditions that led to his mummifications.

Maybe I should grind him up?

Ah, decisions, decisions.

Should I turn him into fine dust, or should I throw him in the furnace?

In the end, I decide to go for the latter. It will be a great show, too. But since he still retains a lot of his body mass, I’ll have to start the fire in advance.

I ponder on that issue for a few moments.

I suppose I could burn his body beforehand and keep his head for the grand gesture. Wouldn’t that be the most romantic gesture?

I’d save the best for Minnie and she can throw it in the furnace to signify the fact that she’s moved on from him. Then we could watch him burn together, perhaps even have a glass of champagne and some cookies.

The idea sounds nice. In fact, I’ll only get one glass. That way, since we’d share a glass, it would be like an indirect kiss. Alas, in the absence of the real deal, I’ll have to make do.

After all the parts have been hacked off, I throw the body in the furnace and set the temperature to high. For the head, I grab a tray and place him carefully on it, covering the entire thing with a cap. Then I place it in my freezer. Since it still has so much soft tissue, it will likely start to stink soon, and I still need to plan the details of the dinner.

Satisfied with my plan, I leave the basement and go greet Minnie, who, oblivious to my genius plan, is currently cooking lunch.

The delicious smell of steak and potatoes hits me the moment I enter the kitchen—a vast improvement from the smell of dried corpse.

Ah, life is certainly good—and about to be better once I remove my competition from this plane of existence.

Red-and-white candles forma heart on the ground, and in the middle of it, I placed a table and two chairs. I’d cleaned up the basement a while ago and started on the arrangements for our dinner. Rose petals are scattered all around the room. Of course I can’t take all the credit since I got most of the advice from the internet.

I have a full course meal prepared, together with a variety of chocolate desserts for my chocolate-loving girl.

The furnace is still going strong, and most of the body has already been burned to ashes. But the head looks surprisingly better after a few hours in the freezer. It still looks…human.

I scowl.

I hope she won’t look at it and fall for him again. That’s not the plan.

No, the plan is for her to willingly throw his head to the flames so to speak and close that chapter of her life. Then we’ll have our glass of champagne and indirect kiss and I’ll feed her expensive chocolates while she tells me how much better I am than Lucien.

After being tortured for so long by Lucien’s nefarious shadow hanging between me and Minnie, I’ll finally be able to move on. Of course, there’s still that Theron fiancé god or whatever, but I’m willing to take it one day at a time. Perhaps after Minnie and I succeed in clearing her name, I can befriend that God Killer and ask him for a tiny favor. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m getting ahead of myself.

For now, I need to ensure that my candlelight dinner is a success.

In between hacking off Lucien’s body, I managed to finish the ring, too. The package with the custom jewels arrived early this morning, and I filled one stone with a few drops of my blood and another with a few drops of my cum.

Red and white.

Perfect for my girl.

It took some tinkering to figure out how to set them on the silver band, but I think I did a good job.

I can already picture her swooning when she sees the result.

It is truly unique and handmade—exactly what she wanted.

I go about setting the table with the food I’d prepared. Well, prepared might be an overstatement since I ordered it from a Michelin restaurant. And since I’ve recently found out she cannot properly digest meat and other animal byproducts, I made sure everything is vegan.

It’s nine and a half in the evening when I’m done.

I take out a special red paper and write a few words on it: Come to the basement at ten. Then I seal it in a pretty envelope and take it up to her room. Since she cannot withstand strong smells, I decided to forgo the perfume on paper. Instead, I bit my lip until a few drops of blood reached the surface and I pressed them against the envelope—I’m sure she’ll appreciate the extra touches.

Leaving it at her door, I knock a few times before running away so she doesn’t catch me.

God, I sound like a goddamn lovestruck teenager—yet only one of those statements is true.

Back in the basement, I take big, long breaths to calm my nerves as I watch the hands of the clock slowly move into position for her arrival.

All the while, I repeat my lines in my head to make sure I’m not going to blunder this.

First the dinner. Then the ring. Then the head. Then the champagne and the indirect kiss.

Good Lord, I cannot believe the lengths I’m going for only an indirect kiss. But it’s better than nothing, no?

I hear the door to the basement slowly opening and turn.

Another big breath.

The time has arrived.

“Marlowe?” She frowns. “What’s this?”