The Serial Killers Guide to Love (Deadly Darling #1)

Chapter 2

2

Lilly

The night was moist

I recalled the quote from Throw mama out of the train and had to snort laugh at my own silliness, but the damn night was all shades of fucked up.

Sleep and me, we had a complicated relationship that was stuck in the talking stage and I refused to force issues.

I could make myself a tea that would knock myself out, but the dreams that type of drug-induced sleep brought was not worth it.

Throwing my Kindle onto my bed, and abandoning any hope of sleep, I made my way down to the kitchen.

A chamomile lavender tea would help I was twitchy lately, feeling as if something was about to happen.

The house was swallowed by darkness and I picked up my small gun from the nightstand. Getting a gun was one of the first things I did as soon as I moved to Florida. House alarms were all nice, but a gun tucked away in the back of my pj pants made me feel better.

It was a real way of pushing some real life nightmares away.

The kitchen lit up and again the shadows dissolved offering me what I knew was only a fake sense of safety. One is never safe in this world.

I put the kettle on and measured two table spoons of dry chamomile and one of lavender with a touch of some secret ingredient that was meant to help me mellow out a bit.

The water was done and I poured it slowly over the mix, allowing it to hydrate the dry plants.

My body relaxed for a second as I inhaled the scent that came from my cup.

My favorite one that read “In my dreams you always die “

And wasn’t it true.

I stood there, half tempted to walk into the living room, put the AC on blast and catch up with that new show on Netflix, but I knew deep inside myself that once a show will capture my attention, it will be nearly impossible for me to get back to sleep.

And sleep I needed, because I felt bone tired.

I can’t remember when I slept the last time.

Really.

Deeply.

Stretching, I pace the kitchen as I wait for the tea to be done and ready to be strained. A few sweet crackers were still in one of the drawers. As much as I try to eat healthy, I need my junk food when I get stressed out.

This was one of the nights when calm was a notion that I couldn’t comprehend.

With the mug in one hand and my crackers in the other, I made my way out on the porch.

This was a good middle class neighborhood. Most houses were already dipped in silence. I hoped that the people would get some more sleep than I did.

I nibbled on a cracker and watched the street.

This was one of the things that gave me mixed feelings. In New York, the streets were always humming with noise, not here. Maybe I miss that, the noise that didn’t allow me to feel so isolated with my own thought.

Another sip of tea washed down the cracker and my attention shifted to the house from across the street.

It was nice. Clean with clear lines. A guys house. The women in the area informed me that the man living there moved in two years ago and was a widower that kept to himself. But there was something about him.

He was damn good looking.

No, Elizabeth, right after using my real name, I bit my lip. Lilly, I picked Lilly because it had been my Grans name and calling myself that was feeling less like a lie.

She used to be a florist and a bit of a witch too, but that was always said with a wink and a touch of sarcasm.

However, I learned most of what I know about plants from her and the rest of my education came from the internet.

He can’t find me here.

I repeated to myself.

He doesn’t look for me, because he thinks that I am dead.

No one looks for a dead woman.

I took another sip of tea and wished it would be something stronger instead. I have never been a heavy drinker, the most that I did were the classic college parties and maybe I had one too many cocktails during a New Years party but that was it.

When the headlights of a car cut the darkness, my instinct was to touch the cool steel of the gun that was stuck in the waistband of my pj pants.

As soon as I recognized my next door neighbors car, I exhaled.

But it must be almost three am in the morning, what was he doing out so late?

The voice that always tried to keep me out of trouble yelled at me to get back in the house and mind my own business. Sure.

That would have been the smart thing to do. Minding my own business. I didn’t do anything but minding my own shit, I worked each day twelve hour days, building my new business out of the ground, hustling hard, making sure that I get clients and things started to look good for me.

Sure I used some of his money to do that, but I paid with blood for that.

I swallowed.

He stopped the car and stepped out. For a second I felt like I was in a video game, we stood there, suspended, looking at one another. Time lost meaning and I couldn’t make myself step back. He moved his left hand and waved towards me.

Simple.

It was not the first time he did so, a simple, small neighborly gesture that had my heart stuck in my throat.

What was it with this handsome silent man that made me curious.

Sure, I stalked him a little bit, like every normal modern woman would, starting with social media but most of the things I found were polished and curated. The owner of Williams books presented himself to the world as that, a book lover.

His Facebook was professional and he had an X page where he shared quotes.

But that was it. No shirtless pics to keep a girl dreaming during nasty, moist Florida nights.

No dates.

No pics of any sort of women.

Many times I drove by his shop, and found myself so tempted to enter, but then I lost my courage. Surely he would speak to me if he would have anything to say.

We said hi and waved. That was it.

Maybe he still loved his wife. Maybe he had one of those big oil paintings in his bedroom and her pictures as screen savers on his devices.

Why was this thought so romantic? Yeah, probably because it was so strange to meet a man who loved deeply and fully.

I stood there, lost in the moment of the wave as my damn mouth opened and I spoke.

“Nice night.”

He stopped and looked at me and I realized that I was in my pj’s, the one with a hole between my legs and in the back of my pants a gun stuck under my “Drink tea, make love”t-shirt.

“Yes, I assume.”

His voice was even, melodic and deep and I was just about to hope that the earth would crack open and it would swallow me fully.

Am I an idiot or what?

“I,”I said only to add to my embarrassment.

“I can’t sleep.”

If this wasn’t a face palm moment then fuck me if I knew what else was. Why was I bothering this nice man who didn’t do a thing to show that he was even interested in talking to me. Ever.

Yes, he was polite.

Yes, he waved, but did I turn into such a thirsty hoe that I had to consider that a wave meant that he was into me. Would I like for a guy to think that I am into him only because what, he was nice and polite?

Only he stopped next to his car and turned towards me, slowly . I must be stoned from my tea, I added some Valerian root powder to it, but not so much that I would feel this way.

“A good book could help.”

“I tried.”

“Yes?"

“Yes.”

“Hm, then you need a really boring book to put you to sleep.“

I snorted. Could this night turn any more embarrassing?

“I think I can find something.”

“A boring book can be the best way to get some deep sleep.”

He was just about to turn his back to me and walk inside the house, but I couldn’t allow that.

“Wait!”

He stopped and turned back towards me. The most beautiful green eyes sparkled in the street light.

“We live across the street, but I never introduced myself. I mean, I wanted to stop by and bring pie but I am not good at baking.”

I took two more steps in his direction.

“I’m Lilly, by the way. “

He watched me, the way a goat would watch a fucking alien.

“I know.”

“Oh.”

“I assume that you know my name.”

All the blood that was left in me moved into my cheeks and turned my ears violet.

I hated the fact that my hair was pulled up in a messy bun instead of hiding me away. It helped, the locks worked as a protective mechanism. Especially because my ex hated them, he liked my hair sleek, shiny looking, classy like old money as he used to say.

“Sam.”

I said, the name burning on my tongue.

“I am sorry.”

I pushed the words behind, and turned ready to run back into the house. Goddess, this was bad, this was horrible. He must think that I am some crazy stalker chick or something.

Before he could say a word, I was inside, leaned against the door and slid down on the cool tiles.

What did I just do?

It was clear that he was feeling awkward in my presence, and I kept pushing this conversation like a fucking creep in the middle of the night.

My favorite mug was outside on the porch, but I couldn’t muster the courage to step out and take it. What if Sam stood there, thinking that I was deranged? Why was I so bothered with what he thinks of me.

After the fiasco that was my marriage, I promised myself that I won’t be interested in any men, especially not handsome men that looked like fucking Greek gods that just stepped down from the freaking Olympus or something.

No.

No no no no no.

Deeply frustrated, I crawled to the couch, crashed on it and gave into the new Netflix show where the damn main character looked like Sam.

What was he thinking about me?

Recalling that I have to leave the house at 7 at the latest, I was almost tempted to drive away now, just to make sure that I won’t meet Sam tomorrow.

Or ever.

Maybe I should sell the house and run away.

Get a grip of yourself girl!

I smacked my face with a light slap. I am pale and bruise easy, Mike never hit my face, he made sure that the bruises on his trophy wife could be hidden.

I was that. Perfection for so long, that I have almost forgotten how it feels to be normal.

This here is my second chance. The only one I got if I ever want a normal life.

Between the fear of my past that crawled inside me like lice on an Azalea leaf and the feeling of deep anxiety and pure embarrassment the meeting with Sam gave me, I fell asleep.

The sun woke me and I made my way, more or less stumbling and mumbling into the bathroom.

The window was allowing me to spy the street, see if Sam was still home. His Camaro sat in the driveway, shiny and perfect like the man who drove it.

After the second cup of coffee, I felt more like myself. The incident from last night was diminished to an awkward encounter between two people that suffered from sleep deprivation.

I repeated the exchange a few times in my head, and came to the conclusion that I should have only smiled and said something like: Sure I knew your name, but I am old fashioned and prefer to make a person’s acquaintance or something. It was only difficult to be charming when you hold on to your gun and live in fear that the mafia connections of your ex husband, will find out that you are not dead.

Relax.

Doctor Mancini promised that they will put a body in my place in the coffin. Even if someone, anyone would have come up with the weird idea of looking for me, or checking on the corpse in the mausoleum, they would have found a body of a woman of my height decomposing.

My fingers held on to the cup and I shivered, even though the summer morning was already hot, promising a burning day.

What the hell could I do?

I did what I had to.

The day when Mike beat me to within an inch of my life, I decided that I had enough, but I knew that there was no way to escape my marriage alive, so I decided to die.

The recipe was easy to follow. My grandmother made once a concoction she called sleeping beauty, once you took it your vitals slowed and it made you appear dead.

I needed weeks to get all the ingredients that I needed and the complicity of the doctor that was loyal to me.

He was a good man. He risked his own neck for me, and lied to Mike telling him that I died because of a bad reaction to antibiotics.

He made sure that I could escape right after the funeral, and that there would be a corpse in the crypt.

I will probably never forget the moment when I woke up, alone in my coffin, trying to breathe.

A new shiver of fear pushed itself through my body.

No.

It’s all good.

I am safe now.

Mike can’t find me because he doesn’t look for me. This is the best defense. This was the only way.

My hand shakes and I am tempted to take the blade that is on the counter. Pain is real. I am real.

I lift my skirt and press the blade slowly on the skin on the upper part of my tights. Blood runs freely, the sight of the red life drops don’t scare me, quite the contrary. I can control my pain, I can control how much blood runs from my cut.

The pain is the only real thing around me and my hands stop shaking.

This became my way of coping with things since I am away from Mike. I need the pain to ground me and to keep me sane. To keep the fear that grows like a shadow monster in the back of my mind at bay.

He is gone.

I am safe.

I have to start relaxing and allow myself a life, no matter how hard it feels.

Grabbing a piece of kitchen towel, I wipe the blood away and add a bit of Yarrow leaves powder on the cut and watch as the bleeding stops before pressing a small band-aid over it. My skirt is a dark shade of lilac and it would not show any stains either way, but why not be careful.

I can always say that I hurt myself in the garden. As a florist, it is normal to have cuts and stings and such.

Pushing my hair back, I take another long sip of my coffee and make myself go towards the green house.

There are four boxes with beautiful flowers that I have to deliver for this wedding. The bride has good taste as she picked lily of the valley.

The scent is making me happy and I take a deep breath allowing it to soothe my soul.

Granny used to say that people love the Lily for its beauty, but have no idea how deadly it can be. A few of the berries can be lethal to a grown man.

I keep a handful in my fridge. I created a concoction with oil that allows me to keep them for when and if I need them.

Just when I inhale the scent again, I realize that I could kill ten to twenty people with some of the stuff I have around the house and I don’t mean the gun.

The gun is always messy, and it is the last resort. I prefer cleaner methods.

Doctor Mancini became my friend because I taught him how to use the Belladonna to get rid of his father-in-law.

He gave him some of the stuff with coffee and the man died in a car accident a few minutes later. It was a death by natural causes, no need to worry. The natural cause was that he drove straight into a tree.

After that, and after his wives trust fund was available, we started a friendship that ended in my death.

I hope he’s well now.

The boxes with the flowers are in the car and I lean against the door, closing my eyes.

Maybe I do need another coffee before I go.

Just as I am about to open my eyes and look at the phone, I feel a shadow creeping closer to me, stepping on impossible silent soles.

My heart that just calmed down starts racing, right before I reach slowly for the pistol I keep in my waist band.

“Hi, Hm, I mean, hi there.”

That voice.

My eyes pop open and I am faced with my neighbor, Sam.

The light will not hide my blush and my first reflex is to try and climb into the back of my van to never go out again. Still, I need to act like a damn grown up and face him.

Why is my heart acting as if I have some form of poison in my system?

My mouth ran suddenly dry, and my palms are sweaty, my system tries to shut the fuck down. Can one die of embarrassment?

He holds two cups of coffee in a cardboard holder and offers me one.

“I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee, so this is black, but there’s milk and sugar.”

I am still a damn mute.

Speak woman. Fuck, I could kick myself.

Say something.

“Oh, Hm, thanks.”

I reach for the cup and I try to avoid his eyes.

I already saw on the website that he has green eyes, but there is more to them, they are not only green, they have tiny flecks of gold floating in them, like the sea in Greece, near to Mykonos.

His lashes are long, but of a dark blond color, same as his hair that I could only call honey colored.

Fuck and that scent. His natural scent mixed with coffee makes my brain melt into a puddle of dumb.

“I am sorry.”

He said and I am stunned by his lips and the way the words sound.

“No, I mean, you have no reason. I acted totally weird and you probably want to move out now to get rid of your weird neighbor from across the street. I mean, me.”

Face palm. Why do I get verbal diarrhea when I feel embarrassed?

“No plan on doing that.”

He watches me, holding his coffee in his hands and I hold mine. I can’t think when I am so close to him, my words form somewhere in my head but they forget the way to my mouth, as if they stumble and jump into nothing.

“So, Lilly, nice to meet you.”

He offered me his outstretched hand and I turn, put the coffee in my van next to the boxes with flowers and awkwardly turn to him, but in my weird chicken dance, my elbow hits his cup and the coffee flies up in the sky, and I can’t. I am mortified, and the cup opens, the coffee returns down to earth, like an injured black bird, falling, falling right before a part of it lands on his shoes and cream linen pants.

“Fuck me.”

I slap my hand over my face and stare.

“I am so sorry.”

I don’t even know if I said fuck me out loud, there is a last bit of me tht hopes that I didn’t but I know for sure I did.

“Are you hurt?”

He watches me with those eyes, there is no expression on his face. As if his face is totally blank, but soon a slow smile shows up, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

“No, it’s all good. I think I should go change.”

“Fuck I mean, sorry. Please don’t sue me. I mean please send me the bill for the cleaning or for buying new pants. Whatever it takes, this was fully my fault. I am so sorry.”

“No worries, I own more pants.”

His face is fully composed and he nods.

“Have a nice day.”

And that’s it.

Sam leaves me there, close to death by embarrassment as I am clutching the coffee to my chest.

Fuck, double cock ass fuck.

I turn back toward my van and start hitting my forehead softly against the metal. The thud helps me focus and I seriously hoped that it would beat my brain back in the right place. I behaved like a damn idiot, twice.

“Idjit,”I couldn’t stop myself from quoting one of my favorite guys from Supernatural, Bobby.

Sam was being nice, he was friendly last night and he brought me coffee this morning, and what have I done?

“Ugh”

Stomping the ground like a two year old, I decided to give up on understanding why I am so fucked up. Why the fuck can’t I just. Just relax around a man that I find highly attractive. Fuck.

I fucked this up.

I finally meet a nice man, a gentle soul and I act like a crazy chick that the poor man would want to get a restraining order against.

Great.

Just fucking great.

Jumping into my van, I drive away from the place of the spectacle that was yours truly. What else was there to be said. I need tunnels to travel underground like the maul people, and make sure that Sam won’t see me ever again, and that way make sure I won’t die of embarrassment.