FICTION — Fine Dining

 

 Eliza knelt on the kitchen floor near the pool of blood. She placed her hands palm down and swooshed them around as though it was water, trailing her fingers through red ripples.

The blood was a vibrant deep red. So tempting. Tentatively she licked her finger, letting the warmth flood her mouth.

Oh so good. Metallic, tangy tastiness captivated her so that she licked every drop from her hands. Still, it wasn’t enough. Scooping the blood up she ladled it into her mouth and continued to savor her meal one handful at a time.

Come Eliza that is not becoming, she chided herself. The lifeless body of her personal chef lay two feet away. “A wine glass would have been better wouldn’t you say?” she said to the empty room, and then laughed at her own joke and the circumstance she was in.

It was such a shame really. He was the best damn chef she’d had in a decade. Why wouldn’t he just use some of her recipes? He’d probably still be behind the counter cooking if he had only tried something new.

Likely not, she thought. This had been a long time coming.

Eliza got up and stood in her oversized kitchen with its gas range and subzero fridge. Perhaps she could work in there. No, she was entertaining guests for dinner. It would be a terrible clean up in such a rush. She kicked off her heels and found an apron in one of the kitchen drawers.

In her stocking feet, she took hold of the legs and began dragging the body ever so slowly toward the basement stairs. Thump, thump, thump his head bounced like a watermelon as she descended. By the last step there was significant grey matter stuck to the stairs. Bloody hell, she had wanted to harvest the brain intact.

Hauling him up on the butchering table proved to be the most difficult and she didn’t care for washing up the main floor either. However, she had done her level best to wash away the remnants of blood and hoped the housekeeper would be none the wiser when she came later that day to do a last minute clean before the dinner party.

***

When Eliza was finally able to return to the body, she began by sawing off his hands and feet. Then removed his legs, leaving the trunk for the last. It was a good job she had bought a power saw just for this occasion, because no amount of personal training would prepare her for the kind of strength she would have needed for the alternative.

With a surgical scalpel, she slit down into the trunk of the man who had been a part of her staff for years, and carefully removed the jewels inside. These were what she had been after right from the very beginning. Kidneys, liver, heart, all such delicacies, were carefully cleaned, trimmed and placed in a pan ready to use.

She left the work area, closed the door and padlocked it shut. Carrying the roasting pan upstairs, Eliza was grinning from ear to ear.

***

“Ladies and gentleman I’d like to propose a toast to our ever lovely and gracious host Elizabeth Huntington. And of course to the chef, where ever he is, for such a delectable meal,” Georgia Aldington was known for her toasts, but this particular one was abysmal.

Eliza smiled just the same and raised a glass with her guests, wondering what Georgia Aldington might taste like.

She stood and smiled around the table, “Thank you Georgia for such kind words, I’m quite proud of myself actually. The meal that was prepared for you this evening was in fact butchered and cooked by yours truly.”

The guests nodded appreciatively.

She raised her glass again, “To getting your hands bloody in the pursuit of fine dining.”

“To bloody hands and pursuit of fine dining!” the dinner guests cheered.

 

— THE END

 

Fine Dining by Brookelynn Berry, a Canadian wordsmith and lover of all things chocolate-filled. If you’re feeling hot and bothered (and a little bit naughty) check out Brookelynn over here. We won’t tell. Promise.