MurderMe.com (AndNich123 and boyo)

He offered her his hand, and she couldn’t refuse. “I might just have to check out that scent garden then. I can imagine it would be relaxing in the evening, after a warm bath, wrapped up in my PJs, just sitting out there inhaling the scents with the evening sky overhead. That actually does sound nice.” It didn’t occur to Molly until after she had mentioned taking a hot bath and being in her PJs. She wasn’t assuming she would stay there. It was just how she would like to enjoy the scent garden. Did she think it would ever happen? Of course not. She had just met him, and what they were proposing to do together would most definitely take one’s breath away far more than any flowers ever could.

“Carstairs? Really? His name is Carstairs? You’re not pulling my leg here, are you?” She couldn’t contain her grin and surprise. “Sheila I get. It’s a common, average name, but Carstairs? I’ve never heard it before. It’s….interesting. I’m sure there’s an equally interesting story behind it. I can’t wait to hear it.” He had led her to most grand staircase she had ever seen. It looked like it had been plucked right out of a film. Her mouth hung open in awe. Her shoes barely made a sound on the floor. Looking down she could see the shine. There wasn’t a single scuff mark. Of course not. This place was obviously well cared for. Her eyes lifted once more towards the ceiling, taking in the views now offered to her. He could have remained in this one spot, and she would have been pleased. The house wouldn’t inspire such feeling as she was experiencing right now.

Nodding to him, she followed him through the house, listening to him as he spoke. “England? Really? Wow. You’re so lucky. I know. Someone like me only sees the things you have that I don’t. The grand house that I could get lost in, the money, the freedom to do and go wherever you want to is appealing, but it all comes with a price. I know the price you paid Carmichael. Still, I have to admit, the chance to go to England would be amazing. I know I’ll never get to go, but I would love to spend a week there. It’s a chance I know I’ll never get anywhere else. I have this stupid little bucket list, and that’s on it. I’ll never accomplish anything on my list, but you? You’ve had the means to do what you want. I just wouldn’t want to pay the price you did.” He continued the tour of the house, revealing room after room of grandeur unlike anything she had ever seen before. Molly came to one conclusion about the house. “Your house isn’t a house. It’s a museum. The artwork hanging, is that a Monet? I know it’s not a knock off. Come on. People like what I imagine your parents to be like wouldn’t have that hanging in their home. Everything is exquisite. I’m afraid I’ll break something. Where’s the swing set? Did you have a playhouse growing up? Were you ever allowed to make a fort with the cushions from the couch? Were you ever really a child?” She turned, noticing his gaze. His question was still fresh on her mind. Molly wasn’t avoiding answering. She simply had to speak her mind first. “Alright. I’ll stay here with you. I may need a map of this place so I don’t get lost,” she teased, “but ok. It will make getting to know each other easier. You can give me a lift back to my place. I can pack what I want to bring back here, but before I do that, there is one thing I have to do.” She reached down slowly, and gently took his hands in hers’. “I saw you, Carmichael, looking at me.” Without another word, Molly lifted his hands to her neck. Her fingers atop his, she let his hands rest against her skin. “How does it feel? Do you like it? Can you….do it? Already your mind is working. Already you’ve….selected this as your means for fulfilling your obligation should you say yes. Alright. I won’t dictate the terms in which you do so. All I want is to get to know you and for you to do so on a certain date. One month from today. May 1st. Alright? Don’t answer me. Don’t tell me if you can do this or not. Give us both some time to get to know each other just a little bit better. Who knows? You want to do it for free once you get to know me, but in time, you will have to answer some tough questions. Can you really do it, and how much is it worth to you? Until then,” she removed her hands from his, “Can you please take me to my home? I’ll give you the address. I trust you Carmichael. I don’t know why. It makes no sense. I just met you, and I met you because you say you can kill me, but I trust you. If I didn’t, I never would have placed your hands on my neck.”

When she mentioned his name Gabriel did have to chuckle, "yeah, I know. Carstairs does have that sound of the English butler. Though he's not, but I think my mother was looking to have something that would be a pit posh." Ending with his own British accent he let it fall away as he showed her the house.

It surprised him when she put her hands on his, then placed them at her throat. Accidental or not he could feel her pulse under his thumb, that beating heart was pressing against him, as if to push him away. Deep inside her something wanted to live. Some force that maintained them all, that survival instinct, it almost raced ahead and each beat was a warning to stay away. Lightly he pressed, feeling the pulse quicken slightly under his touch. His eyes locked on hers and he pressed slightly, feeling the soft, smooth skin under his hand. The warmth of it in his hand, within his hands, only his decision to let it stay or not.

Tightening his hands to feel the pulse under his fingertips he slowly released, wondering would she scratch at his hands, pull him away in those last moments when breath and blood were no longer flowing freely. Yet it was not the time, they did not know each other. He could see in her eyes a calmness that came from being with him, but there might have been a small flight of hesitation. Right now he could do it, squeeze, and watch her mouth gape like a fish trying to suck in air as it lay on the table suffocating in the air. Though to take it to the final moment, calmly, with curiosity, could he do it? In anger he might, but without that, right now he was unsure. It all seemd like some bad April Fools Day prank.

"I hope I still have that trust at the end," he watched her eyes. They showed him some, but whatever was in there he couldn't really read. Would he be able to in those final moments?

"They say that a house is a home, but I've grown up here enough to say that I have lived here, but not lived in it. Always so many rules, so many things to not touch. The problem with wealth is how much it consumes you, much of it has been handed down and there is some story connected to pretty much everything. Some distant relative, a grand this or great that, who bought something from somewhere and brought it back. Honestly, it bores me." Much as he might like the house, and the freedom it represented, it required an investment to keep it up, and a staff. It was his parents world, and not one he ever felt much a part of.

Lowering his hands held on to hers and looked at the fading marks on her neck, not yet, not now, but soon he promised himself. That desire to know was kindled again, somehow it felt wreathed in shadow, with it came the dark thoughts of what would happen to her. Could he see it, sense it, being so close. Being a part of it. To be able to finally part the veil and KNOW. That would make it all worthwhile.

"Yes, let's get your things. You navigate, I'll drive," he smiled as he pulled her with him down the hall and out to the garage.

He pressed in slightly. Her eyes found his, and there was nothing that would have torn her gaze away from him. It was what she had wanted, what had fueled her decision to put up the website in the first place. She was looking into the eyes of the man who would take her life. No longer was it something for chance and fate. It had been settled, decided, and now it was only a matter of time. Even how much he was willing to pay for it all seemed less important now. Something that had weighed on her mind, burdened her, kept her up at night was laid to rest. She knew when and who would kill her. Molly didn’t fear a stranger coming into her house in the middle of the night, robbing her, and leaving for her dead. It wouldn’t be a man in ally, slicing her neck open. It would be him, and his fingers would press into her neck that day, May 1st, and he would squeeze the life from her. His face would be the last one she saw, and the eyes she gazed into now would be the same ones that she saw. He would have those last moments of life from her.

She didn’t try to back away, and she didn’t lift her hands to fight him. Instead Molly found a calm resolve in what was happening. Even if he had not been able to control himself, already she knew him somewhat. Gabriel could have taken her life right then, but she already had gained a sense of honor from him. He wouldn’t do it without honoring the full contract, of sorts, the website wanted, that she wanted. He had not paid to be able to take her life. Oh she was sure he was more than able to. So really there was no doubt for her. His fingertips pressed into her skin. She could feel the pressure. It was only a prelude as to what would happen. On some level, she wanted him to keep going, but Molly had her reasons for what she was doing. Would she share them with him? Perhaps not. Knowing someone and fully knowing them were two different things. She only sought to know him.

The moment seemed longer than it actually was. She swallowed as soon as he lowered his hands and took hers’. “Alright then,” was all she managed as he whisked her away to the garage. Indicating she wanted to ride in the same car again, Molly didn’t wait for him to open her door. He was a gentleman, of course, but she never really spent much time around those types. He began driving, and she gave him directions. Landmark to landmark, building to building, she told him where to turn and how far to go. The change in scenery was clear. They went from lavish homes and immaculate buildings to empty businesses and small fenced in yards that were in desperate need of care. She told him to turn from the paved road onto a dirt road. “You know you’re in the country when you live on a dirt road, she laughed. The sound of train whistle could be heard as they rolled down the street. “Here,” she told him, pointing to a house with white peeling paint. It was small, of course, and it looked like a good strong wind could knock it down. In the front yard was a swing that was next to a bunch of plastic, pink flamingos. She gestured to them after she got out of the car. “Yeah I know. Tacky. That’s part of why I put them here. I love pink,” she shrugged.

Turning around she looked at the house down the road a bit and across the street. “He really needs to get those Christmas lights down. I tell him this every year. Every year they put up enough lights to attract a small plane, and every year it’s almost summer before they get them down.” She sighs shaking her head. “Stubborn old man. He never listens.” Turning back and heading towards her front door, she fishes out her keys. “They’re my parents,” she told him turning the key and opening the door.

Inside her home was much different from his. Miss-matched furniture sparsely decorated the space. There were no ornate vases or beautiful artwork hanging on the walls. A few family photos was all that occupied the space. Even the television was small with a thin layer of dust on the screen. It was clear she didn’t watch it much. She lead him into her bedroom where she retrieved a suitcase from the closet. It was one of few things that didn’t seem like it belonged. “I went on vacation last year. Had to buy a new set of luggage.” She began to pull her clothes from the dresser. Each item was folded neatly. “The garment bag won’t hold all my shirts. So if it’s okay with you, I’ll just lay them across my suitcase in the back of your car.” Molly paused as she laid them on her bed next to her laptop. “It’s different here. Now you see where I come from. I come from where the paint peels, but your neighbors all know each other. Tacky decorations and get togethers are common. It’s nothing fancy, and it’s nowhere as big, but it’s home. I appreciate everything I have because I worked for it, and what I didn’t work for….well….that’s one thing you and I have in common. This blanket on my bed was handed down to me from my mother. It belonged to my grandmother. That bookcase that this broken television sits on was made by my father. A lot of history and a lot of love in some of these items. We’re different, but we’re not too different.” She picked up the shirts in one hand and grabbed her suitcase with the other. “Alright then man in black, let’s go home now.”

They went to a part of town that was more of an escape for him than anything else. An area he knew well from his midnight racing, where he and a few others would go to the "wrong side of town" for fun. To escape their lives and live out a thrill for a night or two, then return to their warm cocoons of privilege and plenty. Although Molly was an amusing navigator, her chatter was both distracting and humorous. For a moment he regretted what the future would bring, though his desires and his morality were coming close to a collision course that would either merge the two at some point, or he would run screaming from this devilish deal he had made.

"I always found pink flamingos more amusing than kitschy," he commented as they walked into one of the most unlikely of places.

In some ways it was not a surprise, he knew from his travels to other countries that some people lived well worse than he did. Outside of tour buses in a few places there was no way to hide what his mother called "the unfortunate living conditions of some". To Gabriel it was life, some lived well and some did not. Whether it was random or not how it happened, in the end he had recently realized they all went to the same place, and it was that place that he wanted to peek, Molly was his doorway in. The house was clean and orderly as it was, though not to the scale of his own, he was sure that the house might just fit in his dining room.

Was he going to regret this? Letting her in his house? Gabriel was not always the best judge of people, but Molly seemed harmless. Chatty, but he put that down to nervousness, especially as she had already offered him her neck today. Though he had not taken it yet, something about it did not feel right, or ready. He was not ready. As he helped her pack, chatting generally about her things and her house it was more chit chat, he could not get his mind off the way her heart beat felt under his hands. How her life was slipping through his hands, at his command, ready to be relinquished to him, or let to continue as he willed. There was a tinge of power there that thrilled him somewhat, but also revolted him, to do this he would need to remove that or he was sure at the end he would balk. To bring it up to her though, that was the tough part, it was not easy to phrase something like I want to kill you but think I am too morally challenged to do so, what do you suggest?

Laughing at that thought let the idea fade away until later as they packed the car, when done he held the door for her, "let's get your stuff unloaded. Then I need a drink," there was a full bar in the living room, stocked and ready. He needed something strong before he went too deeper into this, "we can talk more about what you want then. I'd like to make sure we understand each other in what we want. Fair?"

Most of the time people were can be condescending. They say what they want with no regard to others and how it makes them feel. It’s the nature of the beast, or so she would think. He had seen her home, complete with pink flamingos, and he hadn’t done such a thing. Gabe, as she thought of him in her own mind, had remained a perfect gentlemen. This certainly was a far cry from the enormous house with ornate and beautiful furnishings, and yet he never let on if he was uncomfortable or disgusted. She couldn’t help but think he was out of his element in both homes to a degree. In his own home, he was clearly unhappy. To change whatever it was that he needed to find his lost happiness, was all up to him. Molly couldn’t do it for him. No one could, and he knew that. He must have. Gabe was an intelligent man. So why was he doing this? What was he hoped to find? Was it just his happiness he had lost? Did he think doing this would help him find it? On the other hand, in her own home, he seemed above her mismatched furniture and peeling paint. The décor wasn’t something he would pick out or even lower himself to live in for even a month. He seemed like he didn’t belong anywhere, and he was searching but not for a place to call home or his. He was searching for something she wasn’t completely sure of. Was it happiness, or was he searching for something more? A month. She had a month to figure him out as well as get to know him, and she intended to delve deeper into the mystery that was Gabriel Carmichael.

He helped her pack her bags into the car, and she gave her home one last look. It occurred to her that she might never darken the doorway to her humble home again. It was a scary, sinking thought, and yet amid that, she found liberation. She was saying goodbye to more than just the walls and floor. A home is so much more than that. It was a place she had chosen to live her life, and now she was leaving it behind. So many memories flooded through her mind. The days she moved in, painting the place, how she accidentally put a hole in the wall, and countless kitchen disasters when she was experimenting with new recipes transpired. She smiled at the onslaught of her past rushing her up to her and passing over like the breeze she felt. “Goodbye,” she softly whispered, no intending for him to hear but more for the house, for this chapter of her life that could not respond, that did not care that she was leaving or closing the book.

The ride back was rather quiet. Molly was being rather pensive. So much had happened so quickly. The site was something she never thought she would really garnish a reply from, let alone a serious one, and yet here she was, sitting in the car of the man who was going to make it all happen. Well, at least she thought he would. She looked over to him a few times, taking in the sight of him driving. He seemed so normal. Then again, she probably appeared to be the same to him. Proof positive that things are not always what they appear to be.

He had mentioned getting a drink after her things were packed away, and Molly wasted no time. The room was more than big enough to house her few possessions. She tucked them all away neatly and headed towards the living room. Again she had remained fairly quiet, but now the time for silence was over. Knowing her way around a bar, she pulled two glasses and surveyed his selection. “Impressive. Everything you have is so impressive, but you already know that. You said we could talk more about what I want, and I’m all for that. Really I am, but I want to talk about you Gabriel. What is it you want? I set up the site, and I was pretty forthcoming in what I wanted on it. So there are no illusions about what I’m looking for, but you? You’re the one who answered it. Why? Are you some kind of mad man that enjoys killing people? Have you done it before Gabriel? Have you killed someone, or will I be your first?” She reached for the Bourbon and poured some in each glass. “I’ve never been a drinker of this stuff, but I figure why not? Seems I’m trying a lot of things for the first time.” She pushed the glass towards and lifted her own in the air slightly. “Cheers.”

Taking the heavy glass in hand returned the toast, the glasses clinking with that fringe of fragility. The bourbon was light on his tongue as he took a breath letting its aroma settle with the sip he had taken, as the tender scent made him close his eyes to think of a response. Opening them he looked over at Molly, someone he could say without trying to offend that he would never look at twice. She was an ordinary woman, in a regular job, with nothing around her to indicate she had anything special to give. Never judge the book by its cover, he thought.

"Impressive is one way to look at it," he held the glass in his hand, letting the warmth of his hand suffuse into the bourbon. An interesting choice she made in taking it, one of the first bottles he had randomly tried had been this one. The 12 year old him had hated it, almost choked on the smell and flavor. Now, it was a favorite for unwinding. Life takes interesting turns. "Stifling is another. My father's family has been in this house for generations, it became his when my grandparents died, and now it mine. But what sort of legacy am I to leave it when it doesn't feel like me?"

Shrugging he sipped again. Sitting on the leather topped stool he let an elbow rest on the bar, it was like a conversation with a friend, just not really the subject matter he might have chosen. Except in the past few months. "Never really thought about death, you know how it is, young and invincible. Death is something that happens to other people, and grandmothers. You never think its going to touch you, but when it does," on that he took a deep breath, "it's a game changer."

Letting his eyes linger on Molly wondered if like Pygmalion what she would look like dressed up, after a day of pampering his eye detected some aspects of her that might be noticeable. What did he want? So brusque, Molly had a way to put him off his guard, or at least not waste time. Then again she only had a month left, why waste time?

"I've hunted before, shot duck and pheasant with my father, uncles, even my grandfather. That sort of sportsman thing, though I found it boring to sit out in the cold and wet waiting for some bird to fly in. Most of that is the camaraderie, the time you spend together, I could think of easier ways to do that." Raising his glass as an indicator of what he meant, "I've joked about it, probably made plans at a party that never came to fruition, but for a person, no. Never. No real need for it, until my parents died," as he sipped and let the amber liquid fuel him the rest came out in a rush. "Since my parents died I've wondered, too much apparently, that I want to know. What is it that happens in those last seconds. What does one see, know, feel when the inevitable begins to close its hand about you. I think the eyes show it, I want to look in someones eyes and within that window see what it is that is on the other side. That is what I hope to get out of this."

Looking up at Molly he leaned back and swallowed the rest, reaching over and taking the bottle poured himself another, raised his glass for a toast, and set the bottle on the bar. The crystal of the decanter glinted in the light of the room, "what about you Molly? You're looking to change, seeking something. Is this the only way you can do it?"

As he spoke, she took small, tentative sips from the glass. The first one took her by surprise. She wasn’t prepared for the sensation the liquid swept over her. With each sip, she grew more accustomed to the burn, the warmth, the liquid brought. The taste was horrendous to her, but still she continued. Molly knew that some things were an acquired taste. While some simply were born able to appreciate certain things, others could learn to appreciate them, but they would never truly see it for the pleasure it actually was. Perhaps this would be the case with the drink she let her fingers languidly hold.

“Ever beginning is a consequence. Ever beginning ends some thing. Paul Valery. The night I put up the website was a beginning. I put something in motion that night, and we’ve both been heading towards it ever since. Even now, as each second ticks away on the clock, we’re moving towards it. It will come. It has to. Every beginning is a consequence. We both know what the consequence of that beginning will be.” She lifted the glass to her lips, letting the moment rest. It was a tense situation they were both engaged in. They both wanted it for different reasons, and thanks to his openness, she now knew why he sought to be the one.

“I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I know that had to be difficult, and I’m sorry if I seemed to give you the impression that I think your life is easy. You have this big house, all the money you could possibly want, and yet something is lacking. You’re searching for something, and you think looking into the eyes of someone as they let go of this world will show you what you want to know. Alright.” Molly placed her now empty glass on the bar and moved closer to him. While looking into his eyes, she reached for his hand and once more placed it around her neck. “Your fingers will tighten. You will feel my skin under your touch. Feel that? My heartbeat? I know you can. I can feel it myself against your fingers. It’s strong, holding the promise of life, my life Gabriel. Keep looking into my eyes. Do not look away.” She pressed her fingers into his, forcing his grip to be stronger. “My skin will start to red. The warm glow will be replaced by a distressed hue. Do you see it starting? My heartbeat will grow stronger, begging to survive. Harder it will beat against your grasp. My throat will start to ache. I’ll be able to feel my own heartbeat in my head, pounding in my ears Gabriel. I may even start to beg you to stop. Tears may fall from my eyes. My hands may try to pry you from my body, but don’t..you..dare..let..go. Do you understand me? This is something we both want. You want to see into my eyes as life slips from me. You want to stare into my eyes as the blood vessels spider across the whites of my eyes, a clear sign of being strangled. You want to know what those last precious moments will be, what they will reveal. It’s something you will only see only once so don’t you dare look away and don’t you dare stop because if you do, I will not give you the chance again man in black. Understood? Gabriel you feel it now, my life, that I’ve placed in your hands. For my last month of life, I will do that every day, right up until the moment it’s time for you to take it. I will give you exactly what it is you’re searching for.” Molly pulled his hand back slightly, guiding his fingers to trace along her throat. “You want it Gabriel. I already know that. I’m not giving it to you. It comes at a price, one that you are more than capable of paying. If you agree, I’ll give you the information for you to move the money into an account. Not all at once. Bit by bit, as we get to know each other. I’ll take care of what happens to the money after I’m gone. It’s not your concern. Part of it I will be living off of. I’m quitting my job. If my life is ending, then I want to live it before I die. I want to travel Gabriel. I want to see England, taste something exotic, wear something expensive I never would have before, and I want to die in a beautiful, almost magical place. Where I don’t know yet,” she grinned. “I guess I still have some things to figure out myself. I’ll do it though. Now the only thing you have to figure out is yes or no that you can actually do this, and how much is it worth to you. So Gabriel, the first question. Yes or no?”

She took him by surprise as she put his hands to her throat, narrating for him the last few moments of her life. As his hand rested there tightening slightly he could see it happen before his eyes, her soul slipping away as the oxygen and blood in her were stilled under his hands. His own two hands. With her he was making a contract to kill Molly, a most unusual request for certain, but what was just as unusual was he wanted it. When she mentioned her eyes, telling him to not look away he saw that glimmer of hope. That one moment when he could know, dared to know, what would happen.

Nodding slowly he followed it up, "yes." It was so easy to talk of it, so academic. Like they were discussing dinner and drinks at a certain bar or that they would go out somewhere, some place. All casual, as they discussed her death at his hands.

Picking up his drink he thought about the things she said, what she wanted. Like a bucket list, things that people wanted to do before they died. Everyone talked about it, but no one he knew did it. Most of his friends never needed one, they could do what they wanted when they wanted. He had as well. Molly wanted to experience those things in life, and he grew curious, if he did those with her would those things come back at the end. Is that what he would see? Was it truly that easy? Knowing her would it be as simple to put his hands around her throat and squeeze? Perhaps, taking another drink to steel himself and find that answer knew it would have to be yes.

"Money is nothing if you don't do something with it," he pulled the bottle onto the bar. The light glinting like a thousand rainbows in the crystal as he poured himself another, feeling the warmth of it run through his blood. "What will it be? A million? That's the usual fee for anything right? What would you do for it? Me, I'll agree to kill you for it." Running a hand sensuously up her neck felt the beat of her heart as his finger traced under her jaw. "We can even go on these trips of yours, with you I think things might be a bit more interesting."

That last spur of life in her, that desire to live was directed somewhere else. Would she fight him at the end? He wondered how it would go then. Thinking of how he would have to fight her, clutching his hand slowly, opening and closing it. The instrument of her death, but first would it show her how to live? Looking up at her, the brown eyes still studied him as he studied her. "Why Molly? What are you getting out of this?"

His finger touched her, moving along her neck. Molly didn’t want to move. Not only was it a glimpse into a future she could have, it was a sensual touch from a man. She found her eyes flinting down to his lips, watching them as he breathed. His features so warm, almost inviting, but of what? Her own end? She could only hope. She smiled as he mentioned these trips might be more fun with her. In all honesty, she knew she would need a guide. Her knowledge of the world wasn’t as vast as his. Traveling out of state was something she had only done on rare occasions. When she was in the eighth grade, she had gone on a class field trip to Washington DC. Once she had taken a trip to Atlanta Georgia with some friends. She had also visited another town in Georgia a few times. Aside from that, she hadn’t crossed state lines for anything else. Now she had the chance to travel, to see places she longed to see, and to make it even more exciting, she had a willing companion as well.

He asked his question, and for a moment her eyes cast down. She lifted them to him, offering him a smile as she told him, “Puya raimondii. It’s also known Queen of the Andes. You can find it in Boliva and Peru but only in the high Andes. Hence the name Queen of the Andes. It’s a beautiful flower actually. The bottom of it is thick cluster of leaves that are sharp. It’s to protect the flower. A spike grows up from the center of this cluster. It can grow pretty high, but the most impressive fact about this flower isn’t how tall the spike grows or the way it protects itself from predators. It can take as long as 80 to 150 years to flower., but when it does, oh my,” she sighed, her eyes fluttering. “It is beautiful. Thousands of these whitish-green blooms, which turn purplish as it ages. Man in black, I’m like that flower. All my life I’ve had my own built in protection to keep me safe from predators. They come in all forms. The casual guys I went to school with, the customers who come into the diner I work at, the men I’ve talked to online, and even the one man who answered my website with earnest curiosity.” Her fingers slipped around her glass on the counter, and she lifted it to her lips. Her eyes never his still. She was drawn to him, attracted to him, pulled to him by the unseen force in the room. “I will flower once in my life, and it will be….breath taking. Granted I won’t be waiting 80 to 150 years to do so, but at least one person will see me as I do. I won’t bloom with colorful blossoms, but Gabriel I will have my own beauty. It’s yours’ to see, if you want it.”

Breaking eye contact with him, she leaned closer to him, whispering a number in his ear. As she pulled back, just far enough for her nose to almost touch his, she tilted her head slightly. “That’s what it will cost you. Don’t worry about any arrangements with the money. I’ll get you all the information you need for where to put it, that is, if you accept. Gabriel I accept my fate at your hands. This is what I want. These hands,” she said, taking his hands, using his hands to touch her own throat as if they were her own, “holding me, taking the gift you paid for. These eyes,” she began moving her hands to his face, her thumbs resting just beside his eyes and her fingers touched his temples, “are the ones I want to look into. I want to know you. I will know you, and what you seek to find, you will. Say it once more Gabriel. Is this what you want? Answer me again. I already know the answer,” she slowly shook her head, smiling at him, “but I want to hear it again. Say it for me. Please Gabriel.”

"Ah, the century plant?" He'd heard of some flower like this before, but never really thought about it. Maybe once when he was young his parents brought him to see something like that. Or it was something with flowers, all he knew was being 8 years old and bored. Looking at Molly thought there was something in there that could come out, an inner radiance or beauty that would flower once, and then die. Not thinking it would be at the same time, but as he ran a hand across her neck, taking a feel of her, wondered could he do it at the end?

She offered so much, and the price, well it wasn't an obscene amount. She could have asked for a lot, after seeing his house and how he lived, Gabriel could afford it money wasn't the problem. It was will. The doubts crept in. Like before a race when he looked at his opponent, could he beat the other racer. Always for a short moment the doubt came in, and he wondered, could he lose? As Molly moved close, within his space, an intimate closeness that tied them together with an invisible bond, that at the end would need to be broken. Have to be broken, that was the Faustian bargain he was making.

Smiling at her he ran a hand down her arm. It was flesh, soft flesh, that rippled with goose pimples as he ran a hand down. "I'll be looking forward to this flowering of yours," as he had seen many deflowerings this would be different. The opposite in some cases. "The number is fine, we can handle it however you like, a single transfer, or many. Oftentimes its better to do smaller ones, as it doesn't raise suspicions. Before or after this, you don't want that."

Caressing her cheek, the warmth there would be gone in those final moments when he would know. Yes, that was what he was looking forward to. "I'll be as willing a partner as you want in this, so long as in the end, I know. We can go where you want, see what you want. It's at least be a diversion of sorts for the both of us." Molly was a diversion, not the usual kind of woman he would find himself with. Not from a family that could only be found in those who kept registers, or a girl who rode on the fringes of the law. Molly was Molly, and if not for this desire of hers, she'd be ordinary.

A hand ran up her arm, neck and into her hair, stroking her locks as he contemplated. "Of course, if we are going to be traveling together we should make you presentable. Flowers need to be tended to, with care. Blooms this rare need to be tended to with loving hands," both hands came up and ran along her neck. Feeling that pulse that beat within her, the heat that rose between them. For a moment he wanted to kiss her, holding back for fear of ruining what was coming between them.

"I want this Molly, I do" the words came easy now. The doubts were fading, they could come back, but he knew what the answer would be. The smile played on his lips, his desire rose as he looked at her, almost lovingly, "I want to kill you."

He was being so honest now. Gabriel was giving in. The doubts, if any, had to be fading. Why else would he be so relaxed? His words were so simple, and yet if they had been uttered to anyone else, they would have fled in fear, seeking out the nearest aid they could find, but Molly stood there, looking up into his eyes, a soft smile spreading across her lips. She found comfort in everything he had said. The money was no object to him. He had plenty. She only asked for what she wanted. Traveling was going to be wonderful. Molly had a bucket list. It wasn’t anything flashy, but it was her own. Even the thought of him becoming her gardner, tending to her until the moment she bloomed for him was a pleasant one.

She pursed her lips and swallowed, knowing her throat would show signs of her actions. Would he look? Would he take note? Would it cause any emotions to arise within him? Honestly she was intrigued, almost giddy was excitement at the possibility that it might. The way the skin would tighten as the muscles in her throat tightened in her controlled effort might draw him in. She repeated the action, watching him, looking for any sign of a reaction. “Small transfers. We’ll space them out. Some of the money is my living expenses. The rest….well….that’s none of your concern. I’ll take care of all the necessary arrangements. Arrangements,” she paused. “I want to make my own arrangements. This is not something I want to burden anyone with. So during our time together, I will take some time to do just that. I won’t ask you to help me with them. You will already be doing enough. Indeed. That is, of course, unless you want to. If that’s the case, I would be more than delighted to have you help me plan my own funeral.”

Molly never looked away from him. There was something about Gabriel that pulled her in. It wasn’t his money. It wasn’t his home or clothes. No. There was so much more there. Behind those eyes that she now starred into was a man who was going to give her what she wanted, or at least what he thought she wanted. Yes Molly wanted him to kill her, but it wasn’t because she wanted to die. “I truly do want to know who my killer is Gabriel. I don’t want the last face I see to be a stranger. I don’t have some morbid desire for my life to come to halt. I just want to be in control of it, and I want…..” Her voice trailed as she finally looked away from him. “I want to do so much more. There’s so much more to this, more that you don’t need to concern yourself with.” She leaned her head against his chest. It wasn’t a romantic gesture. No. Molly felt some comfort in him. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back and once more looked up at the man who held her fate in his hands. “Murder me,” she whispered softly. The smile on her lips seemed to grow. “I’ll take down the website tonight.”

Slowly her head rested against his chest. It was an intimate moment, Gabriel could not help but return the smile as he reached up and stroked her hair. In some ways she reminded him of his mother, strong willed and knew what she wanted. Molly had a plan, which was more than Gabriel could say for himself, he could follow along and get what he wanted, or right now let it end. He'd accepted already, committed himself, there was no running away, though a part of him wanted to do so.That part that always wanted to run away rose up in him for a moment, only held back by that head that rested against him.

Slowly his hand came up and stroked the soft hair on the back of her neck. "You do that," he told her softly. Then a slight chuckle as he realized that no matter what, he was not going anywhere. She had him, whatever hold there was in that final moment, he'd do what he needed to do to get there. What she said also had him curious, reaching over to the bar he took the glass again and sipped. A little liquid courage that gave the slight burn down his throat.

Holding her a moment he stepped back and filled the glass again, the ice clinking as he dropped it in the crystal. The glass solid in his hand, as her throat had been. Casting a glance at it saw the curve of it, the sensuousness of her neck. The radiating curves that rose from the shoulders, to disappear under her long hair or jaw. Thinking again of his hands there, the pulse under the skin that beat softly, the thought drew him in again and he did wonder, as part of him screamed run away, could he tighten his fingers around it. Slowly constrict her, watch her mouth gape as she tried vainly to swallow air. Her brain screaming for oxygen. Would she struggle? The self-preservation instinct was strong in a person, no matter how much she said she wanted this, would he fight him?

"Tomorrow, we should go shopping. If we are to travel you'll want a new wardrobe," it was simple to him. Though it occurred that after seeing her house, whatever they might get would be more than she already had. It was a normal thing to Gabriel, he grew up with it, and the thoughts and concerns she might have of it were simply passed over. This was how he lived, and he was not about to give up on it yet. "Or whatever else we might need," he waved a hand as he poured another drink. His thoughts going to that dark place where he saw again that last gasp of her mouth, and he dreamed of the look in her eyes.