You're almost at Lorals now. You're covering your head with a torn piece of cardboard. Your eyes search the pavement for even a broken umbrella. It's not so bad, you tell yourself: soon you'll be inside with a hot cup of coffee. You're relieved it's not snowing because it feels cold enough to snow.
Your socks are soaked. You wonder what the topic of conversation will be tonight. And then you wonder if they've heard any news about a woman murdered in the park nearby a few days ago.
You pray the subject doesn't rear its ugly and revealing head. But even if it does you'll get past it. You're smarter than them.
You stare at a car stopped at a red light and you think maybe you should just dive into traffic.
The windshield wipers struggle against the glass. The light turns green. You continue to walk.
Now you're just across the street from Lorals. You feel your stomach growling and you notice the garbage cans in the alley next to the restaurant. No one will spot you, and those cans must be full of good food. You think maybe even some of the meat Ryan has been stealing on the side has made its way in there.
Your mouth begins to water as you make your way across the wet pavement. Then as you step onto the sidewalk in front of the alley a drenched black cat rushes past you, just rubbing your legs. You jump because you're not sure what it is at first.
You remove the lid from the first garbage can. You smell the potatoes and meat in the mess of wet peels, and fruits, coffee grinds, papers and cans and slimly stuff. You reach your hands into the sludgy mixture and you bring the slop into your mouth and you begin to chew it quickly like it's the last sustenance you'll ever know. Your hands keep on digging into the can and you keep on pulling out more of the slop and pushing it through your lips, and down your throat, until you can't take it anymore.
You almost feel full. And then you take your hands and you brush off your jacket. You shake your shoes, and you pray you're cleaned off enough, as your step up to the front door of Lorals.
They must have closed only moments ago. It's your time. The lights are still shining in the windows. Water is rushing down the panes tonight.
You don't have to knock anymore. The door is open. You just walk right in and you feel the warmth hit your face.
You see Emilie's face smiling at you. He's has a towel in one hand and he's waving you in with his other hand.
You walk past the cash register and the small reservation booth in the entrance to the restaurant, past the small sofas, where those who have or don't have reservations nightly wait, and you step into the dining room.
The chairs are set on top most of the tables except for your table. Emilie is still smiling at you. He puts his arms around your shoulder as he sits you down.
Then he says, "So good to see you tonight, Charles. Here, I have your coffee right here."
Suddenly you begin to feel normal as you watch Emilie walk over to the small chest against the wall where a coffee pot waits.
While he pours the coffee into a cup he says," Sherman sends his apologies he can't be here tonight. But he wants you to know he'll see you tomorrow."
Then you say, "Thank you, Emilie," whilst you watch him place the cup of coffee in front of you. And you force a look of concern and then you add, "Terrible rain tonight anyway, just as well he went home."
Emilie nods, "Yes, so I've heard. Then again it is hard to hear anything with Ryan's constant yammering."
Your eyes are glued to the fireplace against the wall; it's your favorite thing to look at Lorals. There's a fire still roaring in it you can almost taste its warmth.
Suddenly you hear Emilie interrupt, "Are you all right, Charles? You look kind of lost."
"I'm fine," you quickly pull yourself out of it and answer, "I'm just fine; I was just looking at the fire."
"Ahem, there is nothing like the flames of a nice fire on a cold night. Well, you enjoy your coffee, and I will head into to the kitchen. I'll be back soon." Emile says.
Then you watch him tip his head slightly and turn around. Your eyes follow him as he walks back to the kitchen.
Just as he's about to reach the door you see Ryan jump out and say, "Oh look at the new waiter."
You hear Ryan chuckle as Emilie steps back, surprised.
"Can I help you with something, Ryan?"
"Yes I'd like a glass of water if you don't mind." Ryan answers and you note the sarcasm in his voice. You smile and you feel at home.
They are your new dysfunctional family.
You watch Emile step through the kitchen door, and then you watch Ryan follow him in, only to return moments later with something unusual in his hands. You see Janus at the bar out of the corner of your eyes grinning.
Something in your stomach begins to sink, as Ryan sets a tray of food down on the table in front of you.
You hesitate, trying to compose yourself, and then you ask Ryan" What is this?"
Your lip begins to quiver, and you wonder why they are serving you food. Do you look like you need food? Is Janus suddenly going to say this is our reduced fare food for our very important customers. You catch her in your eyes again. Now you're sure she's laughing.
Then she waves at you and shouts "Enjoy your meal Charles. It won't cost you a penny!"
You're positive you heard her shout those words across the restaurant. Then you realise Ryan is still in front of you grinning as he takes a steak from the tray and slides it on to a plate he's set down in front of you.
You can feel your mouth begin to water. At the same time you feel the thing you hate to feel the most, you feel shame begin to overcome you .Your stomach churns. You try to hold it in.
You try to remain calm as you say to Ryan." What is wrong? Why are you giving me food?"
Then you stare at Ryan's face as he begins to respond. You notice his lips seem to get thinner while he says, "We thought an extra treat tonight. Well actually Emilie did, I honestly could care less about your circumstances, Charles."
You are alarmed at how Ryan used the word "treat," like you were some kind of pet. Like you were a dog. Is that how they see you? Are you some kind of good deed? Some daily way to vanquish the guilt they feel? Their pet project?
You watch Ryan as he turns around. You hear him laughing. He begins to look like a cartoon image of himself. And you feel your stomach sinking faster.
You're glad he's walking away. As soon as you see the kitchen door close you'll pick up the steak knife.
You hear his laughter increase from behind the kitchen door and you feel the cold metal in your hand.
Then you smile as you begin to step towards Janus first. She sees you coming. She doesn't seem to notice you're carrying a knife in your hand. She is widely smiling at you, like you're an old friend coming to visit.
You are behind the bar.
You see her turn around. She's putting bottles away. You remember, of course, it's closing time. She needs to put the bottles away. You watch her lean over and you push the knife into her back. She hardly screams. You pull the knife out. You feel her fall to the floor. You see blood trickle from her lips and pour from her back. You don't hear her laughing anymore, and you feel relief.
Then you quickly head to the kitchen. As you step through the door you see Emilie cleaning off the stove to your left and to your right against the opposite wall you see Ryan at the sink. You don't think you simply plunge the knife into Ryan's back. You act before they have a chance to notice you. He falls to the floor quickly. You pull the knife out of his back. It slides out more easily than you thought it would. Then you see Emilie turn around in the same instant, and he begins to scream. You think he's laughing. At this point all you hear is laughter. And then you notice Emilie start to make a run toward the door. You chase him and you quickly stick the knife into his back. You watch him fall, and land next to Ryan.
Blood seems to pool across the floor in every direction. You feel your stomach relax and you're relieved because all the laughter has finally ceased.
All is quiet except for the water running in the sink. You turn off the faucet.
You leave the knife in Emilie and you begin to tear through the kitchen door. You see the dining room begin to whiz past your eyes. Then you realise you don't have to run, because no one is there to call the police. You can take your time.
You are glad Sherman left early because you like Sherman. You sit down and you pour yourself a glass of wine, and you grin, and you think how wonderful it is that in this age the bad guy can win. You're not exactly sure if you're the bad guy, or the good guy, but you're sure you're calm, and then you notice the walls are laughing at you.
Bruce Memblatt is a native New Yorker. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association. His stories have been featured in such publications as Aphelion, The Horror Zine, Post Mortem Press, Dark Moon Books, Short Story Me!, Bewildering Stories, The Dark Fiction Spotlight, Bending Spoons, Strange Weird and Wonderful Magazine, Static Movement, Danse Macabre, SNM Horror Magazine, The Piker Press, Pill Hill Publishing, Eastown Fiction, 69 Flavors of Paranoia, Necrology Shorts, Suspense Magazine, Gypsy Shadow Publishing, Black Lantern Publishing, Death Head Grin, The Cynic Online, The Feathertale Review, Yellow Mama, and more, as well as in numerous anthologies.
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