Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 3 and 4)

 

Chapter 3

Meat and bones

The weeks had flown by as Mike settled into the routine of the job, five days a week he poached pears in red wine, made a violet hued port wine vinaigrette, chopped onions, peeled garlic, roasted vegetables, made desserts and deboned legs of wild boar for the bolognese. The list was ever growing, one task finished, another appeared. He loved it. He had found his place. This team, this kitchen, it was easy, he could forget his pain for a few moments every day.

Music flooded the kitchen during the afternoon prep hours. Tom usually controlled the CD player but every once in a while Ollie would sneak his hardcore metal in there for a few minutes. Whenever that happened Mike made an excuse to work in the basement until the music ended. The work was hard but well planned. Tom prepped the saute station, Goose prepped the pizzas, if he showed up on time, otherwise Bill did it along with the meats. Ollie and Mike did the rest. Mike was set with the painstaking task of making the bolognese. He had taken it over from Tom, who in his own words was sick of the shit.

Whole legs of wild boar were brought in. Bill claimed he learned the recipe from an old Italian grandmother, who had cooked it for him when he had been visiting Italy, no one really believed his story but who really knows. First, Mike had to remove the meat from the bone, he hated this part the most. It was usually here, he would cut himself. The meat was marinated in red wine, herbs and garlic overnight, the bones were cut on the band saw, one job that Mike absolutely refused to do. They would be roasted and tossed into the sauce later. The next day was the main event. He would spend the first part of his morning cutting tiny chunks of vegetables for the sauce and they used lots of vegetables, carrots, celery, onions and garlic. Then the chunks of meat would be seasoned and pan roasted until they were crisp and dark brown. Mike would set them aside, allowing them to rest. He then rendered lardons of bacon until they were crisp, to that he would add the half ton of vegetables which he had painstakingly cut into perfect little squares. Next came the tomato puree and the red wine marinade. The meat and its juices were added back, along with a few large cans of peeled tomatoes and then finally the bones. The sauce would simmer on the back of the stove in a huge, dented, blackened pot, the rest of the day and throughout the night. The sauce had become the signature dish of the restaurant. The sauce was slick with a sheen of red pigmented fat that bubbled away.

***

After the restaurant closed for the night, they were off to the Cat. It was close to midnight and the bar was packed with the usual suspects. Officially the bar closed at two, but somehow they forgot that most nights and let everyone drink until early in the morning. Mike and the others brought food as usual and as usual got free beer. Good deal for them, bad deal for the bar. The guys could drink. Mike pushed his way up to the bar with the bag of food in hand. The old wooden bar was sticky with spilled beer; Allie was drawing a beer from the tap.

“Hey, Allie,” he called out over the buzz of the bar.

“It’s Callie, actually. Geez, Mike, you fuck me, don’t call and forget my name.” She flipped him off and walked away leaving him holding the bag of food and without a beer. Tom almost fell over, he was laughing so hard.

“Fuck,” Mike muttered. Tom just continued to laugh. She set a beer in front of Tom without question and glared at Mike, her green eyes piercing him through her Lisa Loeb glasses.

“Order me a beer, will you?” Mike said to Tom handing him the food, he sulked back to the back of the bar where Bill had set up court.

Bill was the King of Barrington and he knew it. His reign began the night he opened his restaurant. Bill was admired and despised, loved and hated. Most everyone looked to him as inspiration, a homegrown boy that made it big. National reviews, write-ups in magazines, he was the big time and he partied like it. Few knew the true Bill. The self doubt, the self loathing, the drugs, the booze, the toll the success put on him. He rarely let the cracks show. He had more problems than success, but the team loved him more for it. He was a fuck up just like them. The worshiped him. He was a god among men, failings and all.

The beer flowed. The bar closed and a handful of people left, the inner circle stayed. All of them had to be back in the restaurant in just a few hours, but that didn’t matter now. That was later. The music was deafening, Bush, Goo Goo Dolls, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Peal Jam, Nirvana and the Lemonheads took turns pounding the walls. Mike smoked his first cigarette in ages, he almost never smoked unless there was something in it. His lungs burned, begging for fresh air.

Bill held his court and Mike was just another guest. They groupies sat riveted to his stories of sex, drugs and rock-and-roll. The longer the night dragged on the more outlandish they became.

“Hey, hey, Mike, tell them the story of why you were shit canned from the hotel.” Bill called out of the noise.

Mike tried to look sheepishly around the table, pretending he would refuse to tell it. But truth be told Mike loved to tell the story. He relished the attention.

Trish and Kimber had made their way to the booth, pushing their way in. Kimber’s thigh rubbed up against Mike, something he took notice of.

“You really want to hear it?” Mike asked dramatically. Bill squealed with delight, laughing before Mike could even begin.

I had seen her the day before on the terrace as I brought out the hors d’oeuvre. She was impossible to miss. A beautiful creature in a sea of old withered grey-haired bitches whose pussies were old, dried out and dusted over. 

“Mike, that’s so nasty.” Kimber butted in. 

We had made a bit of eye contact, that was all. The next day I walked through the weight room on my way to hop into the shower. The water company turned off my water again. Sometimes, I seem to have the tendency to forget to pay bills. So, I had been secretly showering down in the weight room; it was next to the staff locker room. I could come and go with no one ever realizing it. But that day had been different.

“I don’t think that you’re supposed to be in here.” She had said to me.

“Oh, oh, oh… This is good…” Bill interrupted.

I smiled at her. “I won’t tell, if you won’t.” I said and walked into the men’s shower room.

She glistened in a sheen of sweat, wearing super tight spandex shorts and a sports bra with a tank top over top. She was a goddess. Just one look and I was instantly hard.

I turned the water on in the shower. Took my clothes off and stepped in. “Ahh, shit is that cold.” I said to no one. My dick was still hard.

“Ugh,” Kimber again.

The water warmed and pounded my tired body. The chef had worked us hard the night before, twelve hours straight, without an actual break. We made it back here to the Cat again after service. Where I was until the bar closed but ended up alone in bed, even though I had thought that I was going home with the nerdy bartender, you guys know, Callie the Lisa Loeb wannabe, I nodded my head towards the bar.

I shrugged my shoulders. The others smiled, Tom had informed the majority of the bar what had happened before.

And now I was back again in the hotel again, not even five hours later. I was trying my best to ignore my massive hard on, with little success. I let the water work its magic with my sore shoulders and neck.

My eyes were closed and mouth open as I let the water cascade over my face, into my mouth and down my chest. It was warm and relaxing. My prep list played in my head. There was so much to do before service. Sometimes I’m really not sure how we get it all done, I thought.

“Mmm.” I heard a voice say and felt a hand on my chest. I jumped, opening my eyes. I had been so lost in thought; I hadn’t heard her come in. She was naked. She pressed her sweat soaked body to mine.

“I won’t tell, if you won’t.” She said with a smile.

Bill peeled off a round of squealing laughs. His eyes squeezed shut, fighting back tears.

The soap, the water, the bubbles slid over us. Our bodies intertwined. Our hands and mouths over each other. The intensity of it. The steam. The heat. I pushed her against the wall and pushed myself into her. She moaned and scratched her nails down my wet back. We moved from the shower to the counter-top. And that’s when her husband walked in. Her wet hair and head pushed up against the mirror and I was on my knees, my face deeply planted between her legs. She pushed my head down more and moaned. I don’t know how long he was there before we realized it. But she immediately jumped down and ran to him, apologizing to him the entire time.

He stood there, saying nothing, with his hand over his heart. It seriously looked a bit comical to me. I mean, he could have been her father and here I was standing there with half a hard on now, soaked in sweat, shower water and pussy juice. I think I laughed, and that broke his trance. He yelled in a rage. His bald head turned red. She was naked in front of him, apologizing and kissing him. My dick had just been in her mouth and there she was, naked, cum breath, kissing him. He kissed her back, then turned and yelled at me. I stood there, my cock hanging at half-mast, and I laughed. He raged on. I just shrugged my shoulders and turned and walked away. He yelled and yelled. She grabbed her clothes and walked out with him, holding his hand. I watched thru the glass doors of the weight room as they made their way to the elevators. She turned and smiled at me.

He had just about had a heart attack when he found us going at it against the mirror. He had to have been at least twenty-five years older than her. I mean, everyone realized she was with him for his money. He was bald, overweight, late-fifty and filthy rich. She was twenty something and drop dead gorgeous.

Bill roared with laughter. Actually, he squealed when he laughed. It was the least likely sound that should come from a man of Bill’s stature. It was a high-pitched squeal, much like a baby pig trying to get away from something. The rest of the group laughed at the story as well, well almost everyone. Kimber was quiet.

“That is not so funny,” she said.

“Come on,” Mike replied. “It’s hilarious. He kissed her; he took her back, even though he saw everything.”

“Can’t you see, what’s wrong with all of that?”

“What, that they were married? It’s not like its actual love or something. She is using him.”

“But it’s real to him.”

Kimber pushed herself away from the table and stomped off. Trish gave Mike a “what-the-fuck” look and went after her. Bill didn’t even seem to notice that they left. He was on to his next story.

The bar stunk of cigarettes, stale beer, sweat and pot. He actually felt bad after he told his story, it was the way that Kimber cared, he hadn’t truly thought about it until that moment. He knew the woman was using the old man, but he had never thought about his feelings before. Mike’s head pounded with the thought, his lungs begged for fresh air. He stumbled out the back door and into the alley which connected to the restaurant further down. Callie was there, smoking. She hadn’t spoken to him all night; she had done her best to pretend Mike didn’t exist.

The alley littered with trash and cigarette butts stunk of old garbage and piss. A chilly wind blew down the alley, not uncommon at the beginning of the summer. Déjà vu flooded over Mike again.

“Hey Callie,” he called out. She turned and smiled. Mike might not be in the doghouse just yet. Maybe he could save it.

First, he had to fight back the feeling of nausea. Which would blow any slim chance of him scoring again, if he ralphed now in front of her. She really looked like Lisa Loeb or maybe Natalie Imbruglia, he always seemed to get those two confused. She looks like the one with the glasses. Damn, she is so cute, he thought.

“I’m sorry about before,” looking down. “I know your name, it just came out wrong.” Mike slurred.

“No worries.” she walked pushed past him headed back to the bar.

“Wait, a second.” Mike grabbed her by the hand and pulled her close to him. He kissed her there in the alley, the taste of smoke on our tongues. She bit at his lip playfully, pushing him away.

“You’re an ass,” she said, and kissed Mike again.

A stiff wind blew, the lights in the alleyway flickered on and off, and the smell of urine and garbage stirred in the air. All the while, Mike couldn’t shake a strange feeling that they were being watched. Kimber walked back into the bar.

Chapter 4

Her feet thumped down the stairs, lifelessly bouncing down the slick wooden planks. Her moans were near whispers. He laid her body out lovingly on the cold, hard concrete floor, his anger from before was gone. The room was dark and silent, cool. The figure fumbled for the light switch. The florescent lights above, momentarily blinding him after his time in the night. Blood had coagulated around her smashed nose. It was now crooked, almost hook like. A reddish-brown smear had nearly dried on her cheek. Tiny pieces of the red brick wall glittered on her left cheek and forehead. Her glasses had been crushed, he had picked them up in the alley, not wanting to leave anything behind. The man pinched her cheeks, forcing the woman’s mouth open, exposing her once perfectly straight teeth. Now they were chipped and broken. He reveled at his masterpiece, he was a true artist, he thought, able to create beauty in pain.

The bitch had deserved this, he thought without any anger. Just as the others had. She was dirty, like others as well, like his mother had been. His father and the other, the one he watches had soiled her before he could stop them. Thankfully, his father had cleansed his mother so he would not have too. The other, the one of the light, had defiled this once beautiful woman. Now she was his to cleanse, to wipe her sins away and to carry her to the true light.

The old man slumped in the corner, his usual spot, he was the only witness to this horrendous ordeal. He had watched as the other had carried her in. The other paid him no mind, the haggard old man had no power here. Let him watch again if he wanted, he always watches, claiming to despise the act yet he comes here every time. Of course he tries to stop him, if only with words and empty tears. Useless. The old man was nothing. A mere pain in the ass at times, but nothing more. The other had grown used to him, accepted him as the only witness to his art. He caressed her blood matted hair with a father’s tenderness. She had once been beautiful, it was the obvious beauty, but now he had begun recreating her, her beauty will be like none other. He smiled and kissed the top of her head, pausing a brief moment to breather in her scent. She was his now, his to cleanse, his to save, his to bring to the light. To save her soul from the filth which had embedded itself in her.

“Please… I am begging you. You don’t have to do this,” the old man croaked. “It’s not to late, this one is still alive.”

The other growled in response, it was the same every time. He would whine and beg for their pitiful lives but he did nothing to stop him. He had no control, no power.

“Please…” the old man begged.

“Shut up. You know why. You know I cannot stop it. It is beyond us.”

The old man gave no response, it mattered not. There was nothing he could do or say to change the process. He must bring this cursed woman to light, in order to save her. He began. The long steel scissors made quick work of her shirt, milky white skin lay underneath. Her body shuddered, a little life left. Good, he thought. Her breasts moved up and down with every weak, forced breath. He slid the sharp scissors under her black lace bra, the cold steel snug against her skin. She winced and moaned.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Everything is okay.”

He cut through the fraying fabric, exposing her nearly perfect breasts. His fingers brushed against her nipples, hands cupping the underside of them. Lust overtook him, he felt it. An animal-like growl escaped his lips as he reared back in horror. His face deep red under the fluorescent lights.

“No!” he growled at her, calming the lust that raged in him. She shuddered again, causing her breasts to bounce. He screamed and punched at her, connecting with her already smashed face. “I won’t, you stupid, stupid slut. He hit her again and again.

The man breathed heavily, panting almost. He wiped his mouth with his blood stained hand smearing the reddish liquid across his lips. He slowed and gathered himself. It was not like him to lose it now. He would not relinquish control again. She coughed blood and spit. He touched her cheek gently turning her face to the side.

“Shh. We wouldn’t want you to choke,” He slid his fingers into her mouth forcing out the blood. His fingers trailed down her chest living drying rivers of blood across her breasts. His hands slid down her skirt, exposing the lace underwear underneath.

“Oh,” he smiled. “You are a little slut.” He was almost giddy with delight.

He tugged at her panties pulling them slowly over her thighs, as if he was tempting his rage to return. He could smell her, she had wet herself, the stench of piss filled his nose. He felt his anger, his rage rising. He needed control, he forced the vile thoughts from his mind. He thought of the other and the way he had defiled her. It filled him with a raging sadness, calming his own lust.

She was nothing more than a rag doll, he thought as he rolled her over onto her stomach. Arms flopping over on the concrete floor. Slow ragged breaths escaped her. He leaned back admiring her, her skin was at once a striking alabaster, white streaked with dull reddish-brown smears of blood. He understood so much of the other and knew why he had chosen her, she looked like her. They all looked her. The other never realized it, but he did. He could remember. He could remember the way she had looked before the father had cleansed her. Before their father had taken their mother to the light.

The old man whimpered in the darkened corner. “Please, stop.” the old man begged. “You don’t have to do this. It isn’t the way.”

“Shut up!” he screamed, his rage racing. “I have too. You know it. It is the only way I can save her.”

“This is not what she would have wanted for you. You can be better then him.”

“She never wanted me, she wanted him. And I was left alone with the pain. The guilt. He got everything. This is the only way, this is the way father showed me.”

The old man said no more. He was growing tired of the man, he would be rid of him soon. But first he had to gain the control that he had once had. No more hiding from the light. Only coming out at night. No once he had control, he would rid himself of the others. His will, his way. The way of their father.

He tied the rope around her ankles, just a simple knot. This was not to prevent her from escaping, she was to far gone for that. No this was the part, he relished. He pulled at the other end, using the pulley that someone long ago, bolted to the ceiling, hoisting her up above the floor. He strained under her weight, but then he always did before he bled them out. The chrome plated drain was situated perfectly under her. It gleamed happily accepting her life giving blood as it dripped from her. It was so simple, her life giving blood was simply washed away down the drain. This thought always made him sad. Something so important, so easily lost. A splash of water and down the chrome plated drain, down to mix with the dredge and slime of the pipes and sewers below, never to be found. Not that, things that worried him. Even if they found some trace of her, they would never find him, of that he was sure. For all purposes, he did not exist, he was no one, he had no name.

The woman coughed, causing her body to sway slightly, jolting him back from his thoughts of blood. He smiled as she tried to breathe. It was next to impossible for her he knew, now that he had destroyed her face. Blood would be collecting in her mouth and sinuses, causing her to suffocate as she hung suspended in air.

The old man stared in horror at them, his sobs were loud and lamenting. “I cannot watch this anymore. We will take back the light and stop you,” he spat and turned away.

“You say this so often, yet you are here, watching, again. While the others cower in fear, they hide afraid to face me, you may be an annoyance but you are not afraid. You all forget I protected us. I protected you.”

The old man walked away in silence, his head hung low.

“Ah, alone at last,” he said with a smile to the young woman which hung, naked upside down. His work, that is how he thought of it, work. No matter how much he enjoyed it. He picked the knife up from the stainless-steel table against the wall. It held other instruments, objects of torture, which aided him in his work at times. The blade of his knife shone under the bright lights. It was long and thin and razor sharp. He considered ending the event quickly, but this woman had tried to seduce him, she had awakened his lust. This polluted, defiled disease riddled woman needed to be dragged to the light, so that she would be finally cleansed before entering it. He smiled relishing the fact, he would enjoy the work.

Her breasts hung directly in front of his face, as he crouched before her. He tried his best to ignore them. She whimpered, when he pinched her cheeks together in his hand. His hulking figure cast a shadow across her, leaving her in the dark. The razor sharp knife slid down next her jawline to her cheek and then to her left ear, slicing it off. There was almost no drag, as if the ear had wanted to leave the body. She screamed and coughed blood, splattering him with it.

He thought of the movie the other had watched. A jewel thief cut the ear off of a police officer that he had been holding captive, then spoke something into it and laughed. The other had cringed at this but he had cackled, to him it was perhaps some of the best movie cinema that he had ever watched.

The woman convulsed, causing her breasts to bounce again. The man giggled at the sight, like a boy seeing a naked woman for the first time. He had lost interest in the ear and flung it aside into the waiting bucket. His knife moved in a flash, slashing at one of her nipples, shearing it off. Another muffled scream escaped her lips. The blade dove into her skin over and over. Not deep, never deep, just the tip. Just to tease her with the pain. For the pain will lead her to the light.

He could hardly contain his giddiness, he laughed and laughed. For him, this was the fun part, the part of it all he truly enjoyed and waited for. He knew he shouldn’t though, and a part of him felt guilty for it, but it felt so good, when the knife slid into the skin of the shamed.

The admonished himself and put his playfulness aside. His voice was loud and deep as he spoke. “For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the alter to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life.” He pressed the blade to her throat and cut deeply. The knife severed the blood vessels, the tracheae, the jugular and the carotid artery. Her life escaped her in mere seconds, flowing out of her and down into the eagerly awaiting sewers below. His eyes misted at the sight, as if he felt something more than condemnation for the woman.

The next was methodical, as if he prepped an animal after a hunt. His first incision was at the base of the chest, slicing across the bottom of the rib cage. He then cut up her abdomen towards her pubic area, creating a T. Her intestines spilled out, the rest was easily removed. His arm and chest were sticky with her blood. The organs ended up in the bucket along with the ear he had removed before. Her insides were still warm to the touch, the cold of death had yet to reach them. He breathed deeply relishing the smell of wet iron. Next, he would slide his blade around the circumference of her ankle, then make a long skin deep cut down the front of both of her legs, meeting up to the original cut.

He grasped at the loose skin around her ankle and pulled it backward, revealing the flesh and muscle beneath. He had skinned many a deer in his youth, and few other neighborhood pets that happened in his path, this was no different. He worked slowly and methodically, leaving as much of the meat intact as possible. He had that pouring boiling water over the skin, helped with the skinning process but he did not like what that did to the meat beneath. After the skin was dealt with he began with the muscle and tissue. What he as left was a large bucket of unusable innards and skin, a crate full with meat to be marinated and another crate bones that would be cut and roasted. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow, leaving a streak of red blood across his forehead. The band-saw whined when he turned it on. To him it was a beautiful song, a song of finality. This woman had been defiled and now he led her to the light, bleed her for her atonement, this was almost the last step in her redemption.

Fragments of bone and meat littered the gray floor and tile lined walls. He would get to that later, he thought. The band-saw’s blade sang loud and proud as the bones were cut. The bright red butcher’s container caught them as he tossed them aside. He wondered why the were always red, the containers that is, maybe because of the blood or the meat. Perhaps that was less intimidating when confronted by so much carnage for others. Butchers were a world of their own, he thought. How could anyone do a job such as that, day in and day out? Slaughtering cows and pigs, listening to their squeals and pleads, when he had hunted animals, that was something all together different, that was mercy what he had done. Killing them quickly before they knew what would happen but a slaughterhouse was unimaginable. It was almost enough to make someone go vegetarian, almost.

The fire sprang back to life quickly. The fire never truly burned out, it just got replenished. There was almost never a day that the oven wasn’t used. He needed heat, raging heat. He stoked the fire more and more, creating as much heat that he could. Here he would burn the parts that were of no use to him.

Picking up the bucket which held the ear, skin and other parts, he trudged back up the stairs to the oven. It baked, radiating heat which blasted the area around it. Sweat formed immediately, his skin turned a deep shade of red. The smell of burning wood was soon replaced by that of burning meat. First a sweet smell of barbecue which quickly changed to burnt meat smell. The woman’s once beautiful face peered at him through the flames. Her broken mouth and smashed nose stared at him, her hair matted in blood and other bodily fluids, ignited instantly. The skin crackled and charred, it would soon blacken and burn away and the only thing which would remain would be that beautiful white bone.

“Burn, baby, burn.” he said just above a whisper.

Downstairs sat the two other crates, one with meat, the other with bones. He knew, tomorrow the other would roast the latter and marinate the former. Now it was time for him to rest, to wait, he knew there would be another soon. The other always brought him another one. That is how it was. There would always be a next one. Their father had seen to that.

He had one final task before he relinquished control. He used the long handled pizza shovel to retrieve the skull. It was black, covered in ash, soot and crusted in burnt flesh. The empty eyes sockets seemed to ask why as they stared at him. He saw the crack he had caused when he had bounced her face of the wall like a basketball. He held the still hot skull in his hands burning the tips of his fingers in the process.