[ WP ] You are a butler for a rather wealthy couple . They 're serial killers , brutal notorious ones , hiding in plain sight , but you serve them . The only reason you are alive is because they you wo n't say anything . They know you ca n't .

**Mr. and Mrs. C** 
 
 My employers seem like nice enough people when I start working for them. However, their fatal flaws usually became painfully obvious to me the longer I stick around. Perhaps that's why I can only stomach each dysfunctional family for a couple years at a time before moving on. 
 
 I've always been good at reading people, but Mr. and Mrs. C threw off my instincts at every turn. They were better at deception and sleight of hand than any other richerton I ever had the `` pleasure'' of playing house for. A less perceptive butler might have fallen prey to their con game, but not me. Despite this, I stuck around and kept working for them. The money was too good; too good to be true. 
 
 Every door in the house was open to me, and I knew, or so I thought, where they kept every last thing they owned -- down to the last teaspoon. It was a conveniently reassuring rapport. However, one day, when I was cleaning under a carpet, I finally found the smoking gun I had been hoping for. 
 
 I knew that snooping around was a bad idea, and yet I did it anyway. I figured I had been working for them for long enough that they would n't suspect anything. How foolish I was. 
 
 After I had finished up my duties for the day, I headed out the back door, as I usually do, towards my private poolside house. Except, this time, I was not intending to retire for the night. My mind was racing over what I had seen earlier, and I could n't believe that I was able to act normal around my staff. 
 
 I reached my front door, trying my hardest not to walk any faster than I normally would. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then, once I opened the door and turned on the light in my study, I saw that they were both already there. Waiting for me. 
 
 This is not something they would ever do. I knew I had been found out. 
 
 Mrs. C rose up from her chair and walked towards me. Her hands rested on my shoulders. 
 
 I was frozen in place. 
 
 `` You look awfully tense today, John. Why do n't you have a seat so we can talk?'' 
 
 Sweat had begun dripping down my face so profusely that I may as well have just jumped into the ocean. 
 
 `` Ab... About... Wh... What?'' 
 
 Mr. C turned around from the painting he had been staring at. A glass of scotch, neat, was cradled in his left hand. 
 
 `` John, do n't even try. Besides the stuttering, and the puddle you're leaving on the floor, you have a dreadfully unconvincing poker face.'' 
 
 I was paralyzed. I had ringing in my ears, and everything sounded like it was underwater, as if a grenade had gone off in the next room. My heart was pounding, and it was the only noise I could hear for what seemed like an eternity. 
 
 Mrs. C guided me towards the chair she had been occupying. It was still warm from her body heat, and I found this fact oddly satisfying despite the situation I found myself in. 
 
 She stood over me with her arms crossed and hypnotized me with her deep blue gaze. 
 
 `` John. It seems that we have a little problem. You were cleaning where you were n't supposed to clean, and you found something you were n't supposed to find. Is n't that right, John?'' 
 
 I said nothing. I was unable to. I knew that they would see right through me if I did. 
 
 After a few seconds of silence, Mr. C jumped in. 
 
 `` You may not be aware of this, John, but that trap door you opened is rigged to a silent alarm. When you failed to input the correct code, we knew that it was you.'' 
 
 I finally found the strength to speak up. 
 
 `` Those tools you have in there are very... clean. It's like they've never been used! What in the hell do you keep them for?'' 
 
 I almost regretted asking this question, but I knew that the game was up for me either way. 
 
 `` There's this axiom I like that applies well here,'' said Mrs. C. ``'There are stupid questions, and there are stupid people.' I think you know which part applies to you, John.'' 
 
 At this point, I could n't help but blurt out my thoughts without filtering them first. 
 
 `` And the drain... the pressure washer... the vats of acid... bleach... the knives... the blow torch...'' 
 
 `` Why do n't you skip to the end, John,'' said Mr. C, `` so that we do n't have to hear the whole shopping list.'' 
 
 `` I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!'' 
 
 `` Oh, very good, this is so exciting!'' Mrs. C was practically orgasmic with joy now. `` We've had several butlers, but you're the first who's a bona-fide private Dick.'' 
 
 `` So... what happened to the others?'' 
 
 `` Different things,'' said Mr. C. 
 
 `` Oh, do n't toy with the boy,'' said Mrs. C. `` They all left of their own free will. We're not *monsters*, you know,'' she said, trying to stifle her demonic giggling. 
 
 I knew I was likely dead anyway, so, out of desperation, I continued to press them. 
 
 `` HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU KILLED DOWN THERE?!'' 
 
 `` That -- is none of your concern,'' said Mr. C. `` What is, however, is what will happen if you breathe one word of what you found. To *anyone*.'' 
 
 `` YOU WO N'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!'' 
 
 `` Oh, but we will, and we have. We are UNTOUCHABLE. You would be amazed at how far having the right friends will get you.'' 
 
 `` Speaking of the right friends, John,'' said Mrs. C, `` we have several of them watching your loved ones right now. Your family, your friends, your old classmates. Anyone and everyone you've ever come into contact with. And if they see *anything* out of the ordinary, we will know. Mark. My. Words.'' 
 
 I could feel the air in the room getting colder as if from their chilling breath, and my body felt a hundred pounds heavier. 
 
 Mr. C took the last sip from his scotch, and lit up a cigar. 
 
 `` Right, then. We will expect you back at work at your usual time tomorrow morning. I need not remind you that we will be hosting a very important dinner in the evening, so you and your staff will have a very busy day ahead of you. Better rest up.'' 
 
 `` Good night, John,'' said Mrs. C, in her typical flirty demeanor, as they closed the door behind them. 
 
 Out of instinct, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, which, inexplicably, they had not confiscated from me. In any other situation, I would have immediately called the police, but not this time. I was not selfish enough to risk the lives of my family and friends to save myself. 
 
 Once I unlocked the phone, however, I nearly dropped it -- for I discovered that, through some divine twist of fate, it had been recording our entire conversation. 
 
 I was about ready to have a heart attack. I had no idea what to do, but I knew damn well that I was n't going to just let this veritable gold mine I now had in my possession get buried, or erased. However, I dared not listen to it, not yet. They were watching me. I knew this by now. 
 
 I put the phone under my pillow; I wanted it to be as close to me as possible. Even if my proof never saw the light of day, I was not going to make it easy for Mr. and Mrs. C to find it. 
 
 I knew that I would not be able to sleep tonight. I also suspected that, no matter what happened, tomorrow was sure to be the most interesting day of my life.
