Deadly Secrets *Completed*

Chapter Thirty-Two - Hello, Mother

Chapter 32 - Hello, Mother

Rein left hours ago, and for once, Ryder couldn't sleep. He didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts. She kept creeping into his mind through the night - blurring the line he had sworn not to cross. He had vowed not to be like his Mother; a cheater. He considered Layla his girlfriend and what he was doing was border-line cheating. Creeper was devouring him wholly, and he was allowing her to. Maybe he even wanted her to. She had him entrapped and it was his own fault. He knew she was different. She wasn't like the other Dolls he'd killed. From the moment he'd seen her sitting in the graveyard sketching, he knew he didn't want to chloroform and kill her. He needed to treat her differently; as unique as he knew she was. He wanted to explore the black depths of her soul.

Ryder angrily grabbed his black suitcase from the closet and began unzipping it and packing his clothing. And as he did, her eyes never left his mind. So dark. So penetrating. Fire and defiance. Fucks sake. Why couldn't he get her off his mind? Sighing, he rubbed his stubbled jaw as the dense fog began swallowing him whole once more.

He didn't have time to dwell on Creeper. He had a plane to catch shortly.

Carrying his luggage to the front door he paused, his brows pinched down in thought as his calloused hand gripped the soft handle of his bag. Had he turned everything off and made sure everything was put in its place? He turned everything off, cleaned his cellar to perfection, and put away the pictures of his Dolls. The crystal jar that held her eyes was placed in a trunk out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind... or so he wanted to think.

It looked like a normal cellar. All torture tools, chains, whips, everything was put away. The gurney was sat in the middle of the cellar though. He could easily explain that. He used it for his photography at times. Placing odds and ins on it, giving a dark twist to the photo. It was believable in his mind. And his instincts told him that it would be okay. Eventually. Everything would work out.

It was freezing outside that morning. The sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in pinks and oranges, the snow glittering like a thousand diamonds under the light of dawn. The frigid wind softly blew across the back of his neck as he locked the front door behind him, prickles of goosebumps rose to the surface. A pale yellow taxi-cab sat idle in the driveway as he opened the back passenger door and climbed in, placing his luggage beside him. He didn't want to put it in the trunk. No telling what had been in the trunk of a taxi. He liked his house clean, free of germs. His cellar had to be spotless. He liked cleanliness and taxi-cab's were not known for cleanliness. Ryder's face screwed up with distaste as a mental image of an intoxicated couple who couldn't wait till they got home before playing, "Find the Prize between her Thighs" crossed his mind, causing him to second guess placing his luggage on the seat.

Ryder unzipped the front zipper of the luggage bag and pulled out a travel size of Lysol wet wipes. Wiping away the germs from the backseat, Ryder flicked his gaze towards the rear view mirror, the man stared at Ryder with a gaze of uncertainty. He could see the crazy glint as the cabbies brows raised in question, but he didn't voice the words. Ryder politely smiled and laid his luggage back down beside him, "Can't trust a taxi for cleanliness." He smirked at the driver as the man lowered his foot onto the gas pedal and eased out of the driveway, his home and Ruby disappearing out of sight.

Everything was falling apart - crashing down around him. He was losing it; his mind... everything. The emotions he hadn't experienced in, well, most of his life had surfaced and briefly taken over. Composure was slipping, rules were being broken, and because of that Creeper was discovered. The hypothetical walls were closing in on him. He inhaled shakily and chewed on the skin on his lip, his eyes hard and focused. Ryder needed to pull himself together. If he stumbled or made any mistake more than he already has it would be the end of him. If he let paralyzing fear or the suffocation of anxiety creep in, he would fall. If those emotions were to get the best of him, (as they almost had), it would be the end of his work. That was something he couldn't do. He wasn't weak. He wasn't one to let things such as emotions control him. He was the one to dominate, not submit; and this time he had let his emotions take the reins. He still had people on his list that deserved his cellar and he would see this through until the very last person was notched off.