Harry, Harry, Harry... You cannot seriously tell me you thought this was a good idea?

Harry's inner voice had a deep rasp to it, like burning coal dragged over a race car. He wasn't schizophreniac or mentally sick, but he had seen the movies.

And the movies stated serial killers had to have an inner voice pushing them around. This he created his own. But as he wasn't technically sick, their relationship was less about slavery and more of a democratically elected list of victims to work his way down.

"It will work," Harry said outloud.

He had forcibly retired the husband through liberal application of excessive force. When the police came breathing down his neck, he replaced him, the wife was so addled by her many pills she didn't see a thing. An isolated, friendless couple, and the police didn't ask for anything, as technically, there had been no body found. Just a weird loner who had scared the neighborhood.

Now what?

"We play along, until the whole matter is forgotten," said Harry, cooking an omelette in an unknown kitchen for his temporary wife. The last few bits of the late husband had been cooked in the dishes and fed to the family dog who really didn't mind the change in management.

"You never cooked for me like that," said Liz, with the tone of a drug addict.

Harry nodded along. That night, he helped Liz to bed when her legs started to shake, and held her tight until she fell asleep.

No killing.

"No," targets had to be picked carefully. Assholes, leeches, horrible people and boy scouts. Fuck the boy scouts. Liz was already damaged, poor thing.

"Hon?" She asked in the morning.

"Yes, love?"

"Thank you."

He had cleaned the house. What a mess, a pig stall without the glorious pigs to give it some style.

She's falling for you again. It's going to rekindle your love, and it will be the best sex ever, If there wasn't a caveat.

"Not again, it's the first time she's loving me."

We're headed for a catastrophe, you should leave.

"No, I like the place. And her late husband started to work on the yard, it has potential."

He worked in the yard, and got to know his dickish neighbor.

Days later, Liz came back from her doctor's appointment, as usual. Less usual was the decision the doctor had taken to get her off several pills, as her state had improved.

I told you

"I know, I know," replied harry, getting changed in a hurry to disappear, before Liz's less addled mind recognized the fool play.

"Hon?" She said, appearing suddenly before him, sizing him up and down. Harry braced for impact.

"I made dinner," she said with a wink, and left for the kitchen.

What?

"What?"

Dinner was excellent.

Somehow, harry felt that Liz, deep down, knew the truth. Something about her, she was smart, there were subtle hints that she had seen through him and didn't mind.

Subtle hints like her helping you change the photo on her husband's ID? Or her various ways to convince her family that you were always here and haven't visited enough? Or her hiding you from her best friend because she knew she wouldn't buy it? Subtle?

"Let me believe I'm smart for just a second, will you?"

Days went by. He cooked, helped her in various ways, showed attention in all the little things. She replied in kind. They didn't sleep together, this was taboo.

"Not him, I like him?" She said one day, out of nowhere while cooking an arm.

"Is this the neighbors arm?" He asked, "and who did you talk to?"

She paused, hasn't expected him.

"Yes," she said tentatively.

He fished a crumply list out of his pocket and looked it over. The neighbor was there. He showed it to Liz.

They both smiled.

I told you, said the voice later, it would be the best sex ever.