A Well Cooked Meal

There are many thoughts one has in these types of situations. But there is only one I can hear repeatedly, louder than the rest, 'Where did I mess up?' Staring at the glass cup as it rolls along the floor, resting against the table leg, the contents form a pool around it. The man kneels in front of me, muffling something that I can't quite make out before the room goes black.

The phone vibrates and flashes along the kitchen counter as I place the ham within the oven before rushing to pick it up. The message that greet me was of my date in the aisle of a wine shop holding a merlot. Smiling, heart fluttering in my chest, I text him back before scurrying off to ready myself.

On my bed rests a small black dress, a dress meant for special occasions. It slips on with ease, a small breath of relief escaping my lips. As I finish readying myself, I find myself starring longingly at my reflection in the vanity mirror. No longer a young woman in her twenties, crow's feet spring from the corner of my eyes and the lines on my forehead gently fade in and out with every smile. A permanent torturous reminder that no one can ever truly escape the fate of aging. 'Am I getting too old for this?' was the question I had as I wonder how long I can go on like this. How long could I play the young beautiful woman looking for love. Maybe I should switch it up and try something new for a change. Putting on a smile however, I push these unnecessary thoughts to the back and finish my make up.

Slipping on my heels, the chiming of the doorbell rings throughout my empty home. Picking up the radio remote on the way, I switch on some jazz music. He loves jazz. Looking through the crack in the blinds I can see him standing on the porch clear as day. The brown bag with the wine is held in his hand and with the other he pulls at the collar of his white dress shirt. My heart beats fiercely with excitement, finally the night begins.

He gets himself comfortable at the dinning table while I move to the kitchen to fetch the ham and prepare the drinks. The ham comes out perfectly crisp, a proud achievement since the last few dates before him did not pan out as well. Walking out to the dinning area, it dawned on me that he was seated in my chair. My hands tightened on the platter that I held, pleading with me to wrap them around his collar and to rip him from my spot. However, I pushed those feelings down, a need to make this work.

He was eager to try my ham, complementing its appearance and texture, truly filling my ego while doing so. We filled our plates but as we talked and laughed it dawned on me that I forgot our drinks in the other room. I was about to get up and retrieve them when he stopped me, offering to fetch them instead. At first, I insisted I must since I was the host, but he was very stern in allowing himself to let me rest. Giving in I sat back down, the ache in my feet from my heels ceasing, and off he went to the kitchen. I could see them from where I was, but then the smell of the ham took hold of me.

He returned, handing one of the drinks to me. We continued chatting for what seemed like forever, laughing and having a perfect date, the perfect date. It was going exactly how I wanted it to, how I pictured it. Sipping our merlot, we discuss interests, him mostly talking about jazz and his favorite artists. I've realized that he has barely touched his own drink, and I usher him to take more. To enjoy himself.

But then it hits me as my words start to slur. I try to stand but my body betrays me. Looking at him in disbelief I see the look of relief cross his face as he lets out a sigh. My eyelids start to get heavy and when I turn my head the room begins to shift and spin. Panic sets in, and I use every ounce of strength to push myself up, only to fall to the ground with a loud thud. The glass of merlot fall to the ground with me, rolling along the floor forming a pool of red. 'Where did I mess up?'

Him.

I peruse the aisle, searching for the right bottle. In the last few days of conversing with her on the phone, I felt like I truly understood her. When we talked about dinner, she mentioned ham and I thought this to be the right time to introduce some wine, merlot being tonight's pick because I have a feeling she will enjoy it. After finding the right one I fish out my phone and snap a quick picture of myself with it, as I hit send I stare at the photo and feel silly for doing something so childish. Like a frat boy getting drinks for his party and letting his peeps know. However, she must have enjoyed it because she quickly texted back, 'So excited! Looking cute! XOXO.'

Tonight was the first night in a while that I was going to have someone cook me a dinner, and it was not how I pictured it going. I kept thinking repeatedly how it will all plan out. What we would talk about, how the food would taste, the possibility of dancing to some music. It was a rush of emotions, at some point thought I almost felt like the need to turn around and cancel the plan, but I pushed those feelings down and out of the way.

The drive was around an hour long, and there wasn't many cars out. It was a nice quiet drive, and so I put on some jazz. Most of the time it's jazz, I will not deny that when I told my boss that is what I put down, he shook his head in disbelief. What can I say, it's my favorite. My mind is clearer and I can focus better when its playing.

I pull down a long driveway, a house settled in the middle of thick woods. She has a beautiful home, I felt kind of jealous of hers but also glad we decided her place over my tiny one-bedroom apartment. It would have made everything much more difficult. Pressing the door bell I fix my shirt and tighten my grip on the wine. After a few moments she opens the door and greets me with a hug and kiss on my cheek. Inviting me in where she was very quick to escort me to the table as an alarm goes off in the kitchen. She excuses herself and I take a seat at the table, observing that the seat I choose it very much worn in, and wait patiently.

She had a very simple taste in furniture. Mostly grays and light brown furniture, almost like those homestyle magazines but toned-down versions. I scan over the room and my eyes settle on the tv; in its reflection I could see her busying herself within the kitchen. She takes the wine and pours a glass of merlot, taking a light sip. Truly, she has a beautiful smile and I felt a surge of relief, she must really like it.

I looked at the sides she had already set out right before I walked in and took a bite out of one of the biscuits, my favorites, but when I looked back up to admire her some more something stopped me from finishing my bite. I could see her emptying a bag into one of the cups. What it was I was unsure, but my heart began to race and so I placed the biscuit down and waited.

Just as I felt the courage to get up and leave, she entered with the ham excitedly. I immediately lost it all and gave her a gentle nervous smile. She put the ham down on the table, her smile seemingly stretched too much, and her eyes stared down at me as if waiting for a response. I give a little cough and compliment her on the ham, telling her how beautiful it looks. She laughed and thanked me, then sat down at the other end. I immediately started playing the part of the perfect date, joking about some work-related stuff as we filled our plates.

I could have sworn at some point when I looked away, out of the corner of my eye I saw her smile disappear and in its place was something sinister, but as I returned my gaze she was back to her chipper self.

She looked confused for a moment before blurting out that she forgot the glasses of merlot in the kitchen. Seeing an opportunity arise, I offered to fetch them for us. At first, she was very hesitant, but feeling the courage from before return I insisted and went into the kitchen hastily.

I stared down at the two drinks, my reflection dancing in the liquid. They both seem exactly alike, but I know I saw her poor something into the one on the right. Looking back, she is adding more of the vegetable mix to her plate, completely ignoring what I am doing. Picking up the left with my right and the right with my left. Taking a deep breath, I put on my best smile and returned to the table, stretching out my right hand to give her the drink, and she smiled brightly taking it. I put my drink down, not wanting to sip it just yet.

We continue to talk, but through all this all I can find myself to do is bring up jazz. Must be the nerves, I've never had to do something like this before and it takes a lot out of you. She starts to take sips from hers, not wanting to raise alarms I take small ones from mine. The only thing I hope for is that she doesn't know.

But then, like a miracle, it happened.

She tried to stand, and instead fell to the floor. I didn't even notice it taking effect at first; I was so wrapped up in my own worry. I was relieved, quickly moving to her side. Kneeling beside her I watched as she became unconscious. I take out my phone, calling my boss.

"Suspect is down, clear to move in," I say into the phone. My heart still racing, I've never been more scared in my life.

Within the next few minutes, the house is filled with police. They begin to search the entire premise, bagging anything they believe would be evidence of her kills. Dogs start circling the inside and outside of the house, and then the barking started.

Hours later, multiple bodies are pulled from the yard, from the walls, and from the floors. How many lives she ended is unknown, and we fear we may never know the truth.