They sat around the table, breathing shallow, eyes fixed on the bowls in front of them, trying not to look over to the stove.
They hadn’t said a word in over an hour. Since walking through the door with groceries in hand, stopping cold in the kitchen, plastic sacks falling to the ground, contents rolling across the linoleum.
The stop at the grocery store was an addition to their day, someone came up with an idea for dinner, something that surprisingly appealed to everyone, prompting a trip to the store. They shopped as a family, missing one, enjoying comparing prices, picking out ingredients, adding a few favorite snacks. Checking out, happy the total bill was less than anyone guessed, returning home, ready for a fun family meal.
The kitchen smell hit everyone as they opened the back door. Heat from cooking coming out in a wave, hitting everyone like the scream of a ghost, moving past them into the still summer air. A smell lingered, the two youngest quickly putting a hand to their noses, the oldest and mother sniffing before looking at each other.
“You are just in time for dinner. He said quietly, looking at his family, turning, gun in hand.
He was standing at the stove, beat up wooden spoon in hand, large pots simmering in front of him. Looking at her husband, Melinda remembered how many times he used that spoon on her and the children. He looked the same, hair standing on end, wild look in his eyes. What scared her more than the gun in his hand, or the wooden spoon in the other was the smattering of blood on his shirt. Along with the blood on the cutting board next to carrots, okra, and onion. Two pots sat on the stove, both spewing steam, Melinda wondered which one contained the awful smell.
The children took an involuntary step back, all eyes fixed on the gun. He gestured to their kitchen table, set for dinner, bright flowers in the middle. “I am so excited we can celebrate together. Let’s eat dinner first.”
Everyone’s eyes at the table flowed back and forth, giving strength with a look, no one sure what would happen if they held hands. Melinda’s mind went to where her cell phone sat, back out in the car, useless to everyone. She then glanced around the kitchen, the butcher knife was on the counter, she could make a go for it. That could be their only chance. He put five bowls on the counter, spooning a rice mixture in first, then following with some type of stem from the stove. Everyone at the table shuddered as he placed the bowls in front of them, not moving for the silverware.
Returning to the stove, watching his family at the table, he waited patiently. When they didn’t pick up their forks, he was hurt. “Aren’t you going to eat this delicious meal I prepared for you? Don’t let it get cold.”
Melinda looked over to her husband. Why hadn’t she gotten the call? Did anyone know he escaped? Did he kill everyone there? He said he was going to finish what he started, why didn’t she get any warning. The last time he stood in their kitchen was the day she almost died. They told her they were safe when he went away. What went wrong? Looking over to her children, their faces white as they looked at the steaming bowls in front of them. She had to let it play out for now, he had the control. He was in the house, he had the gun, she had to assume no one knew he was there. Praying that the asylum was looking for him was their only hope. Looking down at her bowl, Melinda figured eating his dinner kept him from harming the children, she could eat anything.
Picking up the fork, skewering a piece of the meat in the stew, she paused, looking to him and smiling before lightly putting it into her mouth, every eye in the room fixed on her. Melinda chewed for a few minutes, with a small shudder, swallowed. It actually tasted like Gumbo. “Wow, is this Gumbo? It is delicious! You have outdone yourself.”
Watching her eat, the gun went from being pointed at his family, to down at his side, the tension in the room abating a bit. Watching her husband, wondering what was in the Gumbo, Melinda looked around at the pieces of meat on the cutting board, the splattering of blood on his shirt, wondering what was in her bowl. “Gumbo, right? What is in that?”
Ignoring her, turning to his children, watching them cringe as his eyes fixed on them, the gun twitched at his side. “Aren’t you going to try my meal?”
“Oh, they are vegetarians now. They don’t eat meat, they haven’t in years. I love it!” Melinda said, pulling his attention to her as she took another bite. This time the possibilities of what was in the bowl made her gag. “Oh, it almost went down the wrong way.
Looking over to her, his head cocked to the side, Melinda saw a glimpse of what attracted her to him, he was actually handsome. His expression changed, chilling her heart as he went over to the spilt grocery bag, pointing to the fish, looking back to his children. “How can you be a vegetarian?”
Every eye at the table went directly to her, Melinda, thinking quickly, replied. “Oh, it is the new thing with children these days. How they are one with the animals of the planet and don’t eat them. I don’t believe it for a second. Why don’t you just put the gun down? Come sit and enjoy dinner with us?”
Moving to the table, everyone involuntarily moving toward her as he took his seat at the head of the table. Melinda remembered them doing that as children, that they wanted to be out of slapping range of their father, this time they couldn’t get far enough away. He looked down at the steaming bowl in front of him. “This time I made it very special. It is my famous Gumbo, I started with my own Roux, cooking all day while you were gone.”
Looking down at the bowl, Melinda wondered. It did taste like Gumbo but with a subtle difference, what was that strange taste?
Looking around around the kitchen, her eyes lingering on the blood on the cutting board, she couldn’t find any other clues as to what he’d done. Was he planning on killing them after the meal? Did he put poison in the Gumbo? Did he just cook a family meal because he missed them? “How did you get here from Stonehearst?”
Smiling at her, taking a big bite of gumbo, he replied. “I was lucky, people don’t mind hitchhikers if they are dressed in clean clothes.”
Melinda thought about this. He probably took the clothes from someone at the asylum, but he didn’t bring the meat for the gumbo from there, it would be too difficult carrying that long a way. “Hitch hiked? How resourceful of you.”
“Anything to be with my family on this special day.” He took a big spoonful of the gumbo, chewing slowly. “Yes, this is delicious. Probably my best yet.”
Melinda looked into the bowl, trying to see if she recognized anything in there. It looked like regular Gumbo, looking back up to her husband, “Did anyone come by to see you today while you were cooking?”
Putting his spoon down, the table tensed as he calmly put his hand on the gun sitting next to her. “Now why would you ask that? Did you tell anyone I was here?”
Melinda stopped, spoon in mid air to her mouth. “Why, no? How would I know that you were coming to visit us? This was your surprise!”
He went back to eating his Gumbo. “Yes, I guess it was a pretty good one. I’ve missed you. I think about you every day. That’s why I wanted to come and celebrate our anniversary with you.”
Melinda counted around in her head, it was her anniversary. Something she’d rather forget. What surprise did he bring this time? The last time he tried killing her, stabbing her 14 times, cutting out a piece of her arm and eating it in front of her sitting and watching her die. It took the kids crawling out the window of the house and getting the police saving her life. The scar on her arm reminding her of that day, her anniversary. What did he have in store for her this time? Would he keep the kids in the room to watch?
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. It’s been 16 years now hasn’t it?” Melinda asked, in her mind it ceased to be a wedding anniversary, it was the day she almost died, it wasn’t 16 years, it was 6 years to her.
He took another bite of the gumbo, “Yes, sixteen years! This time we celebrate with a special guest.”
Melinda looked down at the Gumbo again, her stomach sending everything back up, her heart heavy as she wondered what exactly was in it. Putting her fork down, she looked at her children, sweating at the table, turning to her husband.
“I don’t care what you do to me this time, let the kids go. Put them in a room without a window. Just don’t make them part of this.”
He sighed looking at her. “But why not? They should be part of it. Nana is part of it too.”
Melinda looked at her husband. Her husband’s mother was dead. She’d been dead for 8 years now, his therapists saying her death was his trigger. Looking down in the gumbo, her stomach lurching, how did he bring a dead woman here? “What do you mean Nana is here?”
He got up, opening the door to the fridge, grabbing a beer. The smell from inside was hit them again, the same thing they smelled walking into the kitchen, pungent, sweet, sickening. Everyone at the table looked over to the fridge.
The smile was just teeth, lips decayed and gone, small fragments of grey skin holding onto the skull. What used to be long gray hair was yellowish, most of it gone, a small patch holding onto what was left of the scalp. The skeleton was crammed into the second shelf of the refrigerator, her purple dress showing black stains from putrefaction, her legs only bones, broken in several places as he squeezed her onto the refrigerator shelf. Next to her sat a gallon of milk and a jar of olives. Melinda looked behind them to the fenced in graveyard sitting in the right corner of their property. A mound of fresh dirt sat next to her gardening shovel.
Turning back to his family, his look of love made Melinda sick to her stomach. “See Nana missed you as much as I did. She helped me prepare the gumbo, she wanted this day to be as special as you are.”
Melinda’s eyes went directly to the meat sitting on the cutting board, it was too fresh, who was it?
He skewered another bite of his gumbo, looking around the table. “The beef was on sale. It makes the Gumbo taste so much better, doesn’t it?”
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