Escoffier’s Nymph’s Legs

She awakes, confused about where she is. Her flesh has been peeled off her body revealing the twitching of small muscle fibers and her leg has been amputated. The room she is in is dim, humid, and reeks of cow’s liver. She sees a dark sticky puddle under her but cannot comprehend the brutality of her situation. She has been bounded tightly by her head so that she faces forwards, she can only hear chains moving behind her slowly and weakly. Her mind raced for a moment until she spoke to herself to calm down,

Holy shit, what the fuck? She whispered while she pulled on her extended arms and leg, only to feel they are chained and bounded tightly just like her head. She groans from the excruciating pain she is in, and feels burning all over her. She can only think that acid may had been poured on her. The realization seized her as the drugs wore off. She had been kidnapped. Her mind raced, and she screamed loud, but a voice spoke softly from behind; Be quiet, he doesn’t like loud ones. This made her vomit from the immense terror. She pulled on her chains until it hurt her; dragging her bare, bloody feet through this mixture of blood and vomit. She fought for hours until finally giving up and succumbing to her wounds, dropping her head as her soul left her body.

This chamber is at the end of a long dark hallway never used by the country club, the room number has been worn down but reads, “98,” as the last digits. The damned hallway can only be accessed through stairs from a locked door. The locked door is on a floor that only employees use, and employees don’t have access to that door without Chef’s supervision. The next floor up is the ball room and meeting rooms where Chef is presenting his newest dish. An exquisite rare wagyu steak, sliced thinly, over a bed of delicate lemon risotto, fresh sliced radish, dill, and beef piccata sauce.

The board members begins to eat the dish, and are impressed at its taste and presentation. They are certain this meat is too good to be beef but, Chef assures them it is the finest wagyu steak. Chef watches as his diners fat, gluttonous mouths chew and take in the next mouthful, his glasses hiding his unwavering stare. After they finish the meal, they quickly approve the dish and put it on the menu for the club members to enjoy. Chef takes the stamped papers to his document cabinet with a big evil grin. He reaches into his pocket with shaky, unsteady hands to take out his keys and flips through them; some are labeled, “Office,” “Supply,” “Dry,” but others are labeled with numbers. One key gleams from the nervous rubbing by Chef, it reads,“98.”