RICH & BLONDE.

When rich people need to disappear, most of them tend to go to places like Mustique or the British Virgin Islands. Some stay closer to home, though. Some go to the billionaire bunker in Florida and some? Some don't even make it out the door.

It's laughably easy to triangulate their location - they're still at their mansion - and it's easier, still, to disable the cameras. And to get a ride to that place, courtesy of Millie, who’s bettering herself now.

It's like this family tried their hardest to keep winning the Opulence Olympics year after year because they had nothing better to do with their time, Floribeth thinks as she slips inside, plush mouth curled downwards in distaste. After all, there are more statues on the lawn than she can care to count and whatever didn’t fit outside must have been stashed inside somewhere.

Most of them are renditions of family members. At least, that’s what Flori’s assuming here. They might think it’s the epitome of sophistication but it’s gauche. All of it.

The ground floor seems to have two kitchens, two living rooms and a dining room. And it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if they had nothing less than four and a half bathrooms and at least ten bedrooms.

A voice rings out. “Heddy, if that’s you, I thought I was clear about you and Dash dropping by unannounced, especially now that we’re in crisis mode! I swear in the name of the Lord that I---” But when Beverly Mason rounds the corner, it isn’t her sister that she comes face to face with.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? What'cha doing snooping these halls? I didn’t order a visit from the cleaning lady today.” Beverly crosses her arms. She looks whatever the white, rich person equivalent of bedraggled is. Flori immediately schools her features: “I’m sure you didn’t - I’m here for your son, ma’am.”

Beverly’s face turns from flushed in anger to ashen white in half a heartbeat. “Did Sarah send you? If so, don’t let the door hit you on the way out. You know, I told Carter - that girl’s family, they’re all serial killers. Murderers and cutthroats, the lot of them.” She scoffs, shaking her head, though her voice sounds shaky too. “I never understood what Jeffrey saw in her.” 

Instead of responding, Flori merely tilts her head up so she can look Beverly in the eyes. Her pupils alternate between shrinking until they’re pinpricks and dilating. A mind like Beverly’s is so easy to latch onto, as weak and feeble as it is. It’s almost too easy. 

“You will leave your mobile phone in the living room and then you’re going to walk to your bedroom and lock yourself in for the next forty-eight hours. You will be silent. You are not to unlock the door, no matter what you hear, no matter who beseeches you. If anyone asks, you tell them that you need some compassion for your poor nerves, and you’re therefore retiring to your room, which is why you’ll take those bottles of Tokaji Eszencia I can smell from here, too, and down them until you pull a Sleeping Beauty. Oh, and you have not seen me here today, either. Nor did you speak to me. If your son ever mentions me, you will not know who he is talking about. When this is over, when I have left, you will turn yourself and your remaining family members in or you will suffer the consequences. Repeat it back to me if you understand.”

Beverly repeats it back to her and then wanders off, one bottle in each hand, heels click-clacking on the marble floors.

Once she’s found Carter’s room, courtesy of dear old Bev pointing her in the right direction, she wastes no time in knocking.

And knocking.

And knocking some more.

“Who are you?” Carter Mason turns, startled, then relaxes and gives her a once over that’s less about assessing a potential threat or any kind of self protection and more about trying to guess what she looks like beneath her outfit - a glossy, long sleeved velvet blouse with a v-neck, a pen firmly tucked into the front pocket and a denim skirt to match. The gloves are a bit strange, but hey, Carter has heard of stranger kinks before.

Once again, Flori schools her face, deliberately softening the look in her eyes, jutting out her lower lip just so. “I’m Beth Harman, your mom was, like, so kind to let me in just now. She told me you guys went through something so awful.”

“Right,” Carter nods, running a hand through his brown hair, “my brother’s batshit ex-fiancee got him killed.”

“Oh, no,” Flori places a hand on her heart. “Were you guys, like, very close?”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Carter murmurs as his blue eyes deliberately and obviously search her face and then trail down her body. “Hey, can I get you a drink?”

“I would love a drink, actually, lead the way.” She giggles, then toys with a stray tress of her brown hair, which has been put up in a haphazard bun, held together by very, very thin wooden stakes. 

Their kitchen is more than a little ridiculous, Flori thinks, but it just may work. Apparently, this is the better of the two. So Carter says. Insists. Like a peacock trying to show off. He all but inhales his drink - Grateful Dead, he calls it. Flori doesn’t touch hers.    

When Carter moves to get up is when she springs into action. “Oh, no, gagi, you’re going to stay seated.” Gone is the saccharine sweetness that dripped off of every vowel. “And you’re going to place your hands on this wood grain dining table.”

“MOM!” Carter howls, “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THIS WEIRDO BITCH IN?! SHE’S CRAZY AS HELL!” Flori gives him the blandest, most unimpressed look she can manage. “The lady of the house is, ah, indisposed.” A beat and then: “Hands, table, now. I am not fond of repeating myself.”

It takes a stare-off but Carter does as he’s told when Flori shows her true face. All fangs and red sclera and protruded veins beneath her eyes.

“You’re---you’re a fucking monster,” Carter stammers, trembling all the while. Flori nods pleasantly, saying, “Mhm, we are all someone’s monster. Speaking of, here’s a question for you: is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?! Who are you?!”

“Like I said, I’m Beth, and it means---” she reaches behind her head and with one fluid motion, pulls the small stakes free, allowing her hair to cascade down her back as she leans into his space, fangs glinting as she compels him to stay seated, no matter what, even after she leaves the premises. “---that I’ll be your tormentor today.”

Carter screams for his mom.

And screams.

And screams some more.

Each time is louder than the first.

“Huwag kang matakot. I am only here to ask you some questions. If you answer correctly, you have nothing to be afraid of. If you lie or if it’s a wrong answer of any kind, well, for each wrong question, you’ll get the stake.”

“You can’t stake me with those tiny things!” Carter yelps, obviously faking the bravado. “I’m not a vampire! I’m not a fucking monster like you!”

“Oh, no,” Flori shakes her head, “they’re not for your heart, gagi, they’re for your fingers.” A nod and then: “Let’s begin. As you know, the Spot was set on fire recently.”

“So?” Carter is actively whimpering now, moving as far away from her as he can, but he doesn’t dare slide off his chair. “That’s got nothing to do with me!” Flori clicks her tongue and slides the first mini stake beneath the nail of his left pinky finger. 

“You have no proof!” he wails. “You’ve got no proof at all! I’ll tell my Mom! I’ll tell my aunt! I’ll tell my cousin!”

There goes the second mini stake. Flori lodges it beneath the nail of Carter’s left ring finger with expert precision.

“Fuck! Goddamn it! You have no proof that my boys and I did it at night! Nobody saw shit!”

“You and your boys, huh? Pray tell, why exactly did you and ‘your boys’ see it fit to burn a beloved establishment to the ground at night?”

“Because she got my brother killed!” Carter’s breathing kicks up a notch. “The bitch deserved it for what she did to Jeffrey!” 

Flori arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So Sarah deserved to have her life’s work burn to the ground because, what? She refused to stay in a relationship where your brother ground her into dust just because he could? The same brother who finagled his way into her life by getting her possessed? The same brother who never once cherished her? The same brother who couldn’t leave well enough alone? The same brother who sought to change her, and then cheated on her when she did not conform to his standards? That brother?”

Another mini stake. This time it’s for his left middle finger.

Two more follow suit - one for his left index finger and one for his left thumb - and by then he’s crying - big, heaving sobs - while Flori continues her interrogation. “Aw, gagi, don’t cry, we’ve got five of those left to go. I wouldn’t dare cut our time together short. And you know dang well that the power dynamics between your brother and Sarah were always unfair and unequal.”

Indeed, instead of using their generational wealth to do something worthwhile, to better themselves or help the planet, all of the Masons actively made it worse. So, so much worse. And sheesh! Here Flori thought the LaCroixes were bad!

“No, no, no! No, please, no more! I’ll do anything and---” Carter is still squirming, still breathing heavily. “---wait, what’s… what’s a gagi? And where did you learn all this?” 

“Means idiot in my mother tongue. Seemed appropriate.” Another nod. “So, to recap, you and your ‘boys’ decide to torch a restaurant to the ground in retaliation for the death of your brother, even though your brother’s a well known abusive piece of work.”

“He’s still my brother!” Carter spits out the words. “And what the hell did you do to my Mom?!”

“Ah,” Flori hums, “I see - you’re ready for the other hand.”

Carter’s desperate pleas fall on deaf ears.

Hours later, Millie drops her off again and Flori gingerly places the pen in Katherine’s hands when she finds the older vampire: “It’s all on here. Everything. Every confession. Every last bit of it. His mom’s still, you know, alive. I compelled her to stay out of my way, lest she tried to intervene or tried to lie for her son, who's also still alive, by the way. If you want in, she’s all yours. If not, that's okay too. Either way, I think neither of them will be bothering Sarah ever again. Oh, and I took the liberty of picking up the gloves you ordered along the way. How's that for an instant delivery?”