Hungry

by Daniel Parme

  So I ate and waited, and she eventually emerged with a towel on her head and another wrapped around her torso. She was so small that the towel covered all of her knees and at least a third of her shins. “What are you thinking?

  “Nothing, actually.” I swallowed. “I was just waiting and not thinking.” It was a welcomed, if unintentional, break from my head, even if it had only lasted a few minutes.

  “I think it’s strange how when you have the most to think about, your brain can go completely empty.” She stole a bite of my food and said through a full mouth, “I’m sorry to jumpstart your head like this, but there’s no time. I have to make you think again.”

  I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I nodded in acceptance of the situation.

  “First of all, you should know that my uncle is a suspicious man, and I’m sure he has someone keeping an eye on you. It’s just the way his mind works. I mean, he doesn’t want to end up in jail, you know?”

  I nodded again. It was all I could do.

  “I broke in because I want to tell you my story, and I want to tell you my plan.”

  Chapter 25

  “When I was twelve, my parents died. Somehow, my dad managed to run the car off the road and through some trees and eventually off a cliff – not a huge cliff, just a little one on the side of a hill – and they died when the car hit the ground. My uncle told me their bodies were so messed up they needed dental records to make sure it was them. I’m not sure why their licenses weren’t good enough, but whatever.

  “So we had a closed casket thing for them because my uncle didn’t want me to see how awful they looked. At the funeral, I asked him where they wrecked – I hadn’t thought about it until then, I was only twelve. He said it was on some road north of the city. Like I would have known any road names or anything anyway, you know? So that was good enough for me.

  “Anyway, my parents, before they died, obviously, used to have Uncle Walter babysit me when I was little. It was, I don’t know, once a week or so, like when they’d go out to dinner or something. But then they stopped going out. At least, they stopped going out without me. And one day my dad told me to tell them if I saw my uncle, if he stopped by the house or by my school. This was a few weeks before the accident, but I never saw him in those weeks, so I never even thought about it.

  “So my parents died and my uncle was my closest living relative, and I always liked him and he always took good care of me whenever he’d watch me, so I went to live with him. And then one day he told me he was going to take me to dinner. A special dinner, he said, at a special place, to show me how happy he was to have me with him.

  “He took me to this really fancy place downtown with candles and chandeliers and everything, but he took me really late. There were no waitresses or anything. Just the chef, who was my uncle’s friend.

  “Uncle Walter told me that his friend made food that tasted better than anything I’d ever eaten, and that it was so good that it actually made you feel better after you ate it. He said it was so good that it would even help me get over what happened to my parents. It would make me feel so good it would be impossible for me to be sad. And he said I was special, because his friend wouldn’t cook for just anyone.

  “And you know, he was right. After dinner I felt better. It’s not like I wasn’t sad at all, but I was better. I felt sort of strong, like I’d be able to handle anything a little more easily. It was a pretty intense feeling.

  “My uncle told me not to tell anyone about his friend. He said there wasn’t enough of his friend’s food to spread around, so we had to keep it a secret. It seemed like a fair deal to me. I got to feel stronger and happier and less empty, and all I had to do was keep it to myself. So we would go down there once a month or so for dinner.

  “And then, after a while, there were more people there, eating this magical food, so I asked him about it, and he said his friend had found a way to make more of it, so now he could help more people feel better. After a few years, there were so many people that we all couldn’t eat in the restaurant anymore, so my uncle bought the warehouse, and we started eating there.

  “By this time, I was like seventeen. I asked him, for the first time, what the food was. What does Gregor put into it? What kind of meat is it? So he tells me this story about some Native American myth about this guy that eats this food, and he gets stronger and stronger, and he can do things most other people can’t, and all this other wonderful stuff, just because he’s eating this food. He tells me it’s not just a myth, that this food really does this. And he finally tells me that the food is other people. He said the reason it makes you so much better is because you absorb the dead person’s spirit, and two spirits are better than one. A person’s spirit has all strengths and no weaknesses. The weakness comes from the brain, he said.

  “Of course I freaked out and told him I was going to go to the police and he’d go to jail and all that. Then he told me that my parents were going to go to the police too, and look what happened to them. And it wouldn’t do any good anyway, since some of the people who ate with us were policemen. He said he only wanted me to be involved because he loved me so much and wanted me to be happy. He said he’d rather not have to have me killed. That was unreal. I mean, when does anyone say that to you and actually mean it?

  “So I never told anyone. I stopped eating it, though. God, that was so much harder than quitting smoking. It was awful. I’d get the shakes and everything. I’d vomit. It was bad. I would have left, but they’d have been able to find me – all that money and resources and everything.

  “And I kept going down to the meetings with him because I figured I’d have to know what was going on, just in case. I told Uncle Walter that if it made him feel good, I was ok with it, but I wouldn’t eat it anymore. He was fine with that, actually, just as long as I never told anyone and he never had to kill me.

  “So, for the last, what, nine years or so, I’ve just been having this fucked up life. And every year they kill and eat more and more people. And it has to stop.

  “I was ok – well, not ok, but better with it when they only ate people who were already dead. But this murdering people thing has got to stop. I can’t let it happen anymore.

  “That’s why I need you.”

  Chapter 26

  The Mac-n-cheese was gone and I needed a beer. I knew enough to know I didn’t want to think about this, and enough to know that I wouldn’t be able to think about it if I drank enough to pass out.

  But I had no beer. No whiskey. Nothing. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, considering what I’d had for dinner.

  All I had was a hanging jaw and the sudden inability to blink. I couldn’t figure out how I’d gotten involved in this, or why Synchek wanted to get me involved. I hadn’t thought about it before.

  “None of this makes any sense,” I said.

  Angela put her hand on my head. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Why did they want me?”

  She took the towel off her head, her hair all messed, which looked great. “Believe it or not, my uncle actually means well. He believes that eating the dead is good for the living, and he wants to do well by people. And he knows how addictive it is, so he knows that people who have already had a taste of it will almost always want more. They sucker people in. They don’t tell you what they’re about, and then they feed you. I mean, why would anyone suspect the food? They get you hooked on it, and you feel so good that you don’t want it to stop. It’s like a little cult.”

  “Great. A cult. Next you’ll tell me they’re going to castrate me or get me to drink that fucking wine laced with arsenic so we can hitch a ride in the tail of a passing comet.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “No. Nothing like that. They’ll just make you stay.”

  “And how will they do that?”

  “Well,” she stood up and walked to the sink, “My uncle will tell you that anyone who leaves only ends up strengthening the souls of those they left be
hind.” She set a glass of water in front of me.

  “Oh, so they’ll just kill me.” I took a sip of the water. “I guess it could be worse.”

  “Don’t forget, after they kill you, they’ll eat you.”

  “Right. They’ll kill me and then they’ll eat me.” I was beginning to feel like a calf would feel if it had any idea that it would soon cease to be known as a calf, and henceforth be referred to as veal. “So, what do you have in mind?”

  And then she screamed. Imagine a horror movie. Imagine sitting on something sharp. Imagine me choking on my sip of water. It was certainly a get-your-heart-going sort of moment.

  I turned around to look at what used to be my window and saw a leg on its way to the floor. Connected to this leg was a small ass in tight black pants.

  Once she was all the way in, Virginia looked at me and asked, “Who’s the jumpy little girl?”

  “This is Angela.”

  Angela, her face red and breath fast, forced a smile and a hello.

  “And you gave me shit about that guy at the bar. Unbelievable.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was actually upset, but figured she was. She slurred a little, and her posture was more rigid than usual. She stared at Angela like maybe she recognized her, and maybe it was because of something bad.

  “What happened to your window?” She said it to Angela.

  “Someone broke in.”

  “Oh. I see.” She bit her lower lip. She bit her lower lip, and suddenly both of these girls were doing very naughty things in the bedroom of my imagination.

  Virginia finally looked back to me. “No way, Travis. Don’t even think about it.” She may have known me a little too well.

  “Think about what?” What else could I have said, you know?

  They both just looked at me like I was supposed to do something.

  “Oh, uh, Angela, this is Virginia. She’s a friend of mine.” This situation was far too awkward for three in the morning. I found myself longing for a long night in the mountains. One of the best things about being stranded and hungry and hurt is that, even though you think you might die, at least you can’t get yourself stuck in the middle of two women, looking at you like you’re a perverted sonofabitch, looking at each other like, well, two women with a man between them. If only they’d have realized that I was no man.

  “So,” I said, “how was the rest of work?”

  Virginia crossed her arms. “Stupid. Lucrative, but stupid. I did talk to that guy all night, though, so it wasn’t a total loss.”

  She’d swear up and down that she didn’t play games, but I know when someone’s trying to make me jealous. It would have worked, too, had I not already had so much on my mind.

  “That’s good,” I said.

  “Yeah. He’s a pretty nice guy. Michael something. He said he’s a detective or something. I think he may have only been trying to get some.”

  Angela kicked me under the cover of the table, raised her eyebrows, and threw a nod in Virginia’s direction. I didn’t get it. She shook her head. “I’m sorry Virginia, but his last name doesn’t happen to be Devereaux, does it?”

  I should have picked up on that kick to the shin.

  “Maybe. I mean, it sounds right. But the bar’s kind of loud, and I try not to know the last names of the guys who come in. Makes things too personal.” Another glare at me. “Why? You know him?”

  “Yeah. I think I do.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Virginia sat at the table. “Travis, he wanted to meet you. He said he recognized you from TV. I didn’t want to just bring him up though, so he’s out waiting in his car.”

  “In his car?” Me and Angela – surround sound. We turned our heads like little Chihuahuas turning their ears to the sound of a car door slamming outside.

  “Yeah, in his car. You mind if he comes up? He’s a pretty cool guy. I think you’ll like him.”

  “Oh shit,” was all I could muster. It was like she’d just given me a shot to the solar plexus.

  “What? I just thought we’d hang out and drink a little more, and then he’d go home and we’d, well… He’d really like to meet you, anyway.”

  Angela stood up. “I’m going to the other room. I think you two should talk.” She slid her chair under the table and went to the bedroom.

  “What the fuck was that about?”

  This was going to be difficult. “Listen, Virginia.”

  “You fucking that girl? Good for you. She’s cute.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So why can’t he come up?”

  “This is going to be, well, odd, but you have to trust me, ok?”

  She nodded, but I think she was skeptical.

  “I can’t tell you why he can’t come up. It would be bad for you.”

  “What does that mean?” She crossed her arms and leaned back, away from me.

  “Um, I might be in some pretty deep shit. Like, movie-type deep shit. And if I tell you about it, you’ll be in it, too. And that guy down there, Michael, he’s involved, and he’s one of the bad guys.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You expect me to believe this shit?”

  This must be what it’s like when you try to argue that the lipstick on your collar isn’t lipstick at all. It’s cranberry juice, or ink, or blood, or whatever. “No, I don’t, actually. But you have to. I’m telling you, you have to believe me. It’s serious. We could die.” I couldn’t believe I was saying these things. I couldn’t believe these things were true. “I need you to go down and tell him I’m asleep. I don’t feel well. I’m fucking some girl. Anything. Tell him anything except that Angela is here. Nothing about Angela. Please. And don’t let him think you know anything.”

  She stood a good, violent stand. “I don’t know anything! This is fucking insane!”

  “No shit. It’s fucking ludicrous. But it’s happening, and if he thinks you know anything, we’ll get murdered, all right? Please just trust me.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell him you found some bitch at the bar. But I’m coming over tomorrow.”

  “No, don’t. I’ll call you when everything blows over, I swear. But stay away from me until then. Promise me.”

  “Fine. I promise.”

  “And call me when you get home, just to let me know you’re ok.”

  She went back to the window, crawled through, down the fire escape.

  I didn’t even think to tell her goodbye, be careful.

  “Does she know about the meetings?” Angela’s little voice just about knocked me to the floor. I’d been watching Virginia crawl out the window and had forgotten anyone else was around.

  “No, she doesn’t.” After another moment spent somewhere between thought and lobotomy, I said, “Well, she knows there were meetings, but not what they were about. And she doesn’t know Devereaux has anything to do with them.”

  “I fucking hope not.” It was the first I’d heard her cuss. It was hot, but for a different reason than Virginia’s dirty mouth was hot. Virginia’s language was sexy because she didn’t need any help with it. It fit her like those black pants.

  Angela’s dirty mouth was sexy because it made you feel like she wanted to be dirty, but needed some coaxing. You just wanted to bring out the dirty in this girl.

  Angela’s dirty mouth was also sexy because it was right there in front of me, and I was in the mood to be dirty, too. Oysters and chocolate got nothin’ on human flesh, you know?

  “Help me cover this window.”

  We turned the table on its side. I got my drill and affixed it to the wooden window frame.

  “I’m not tired,” I told her.

  “Neither am I. And I think leaving might be a bad idea. I mean, what if Devereaux’s still out there?”

  Beautiful and logical. No way to argue with that.

  “Yeah, I think you should stay. I’ll take the couch, if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

  “You have to stop
worrying about my comfort level. You think I invited you into the shower for nothing? You think I’ve been hanging out in a towel all night just because?”

  The thing about meeting a girl like Angela is that you never know what to expect. You might find her sleeping in a podium at a gathering of urban cannibals. You might find her in your shower. You just never know. Maybe it was because of her rather irregular upbringing, or maybe she was just that way. And there’s only one thing to do when a girl like Angela says she wants to stay the night: let her stay the night. A few times, if you have it in you.

  Chapter 27

  In the morning, the little red light on my phone was flashing. First was Virginia, who wanted me to know she got home just fine. “How dare you fuck that girl when you’re supposed to be worried I might die. You’re a fucking asshole.” I don’t know how she knew I was fucking Angela just then, but she was right about the asshole thing. I deserved it.

  Then it was Dave, asking if I’d seen Adam. He was supposed to pick up a quarter on the way home last night, which he may have done, except for the part about getting home. Did Adam crash at my place? If he did, tell him to get home with the weed.

  “Messages?” Angela stood in the bedroom doorway, an olive green t-shirt hanging an inch too low, the letters NRG stamped across the chest and a picture of a carabiner on the back.

  “Yep. Messages.” Somehow I was able to tear my eyes from her and look at the clock. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I have to be at work. Very soon.” I looked at her again, all petite and knotted hair. “Fuck it. I’ll just have to be a little bit late.” Salivating, LT ready to go, I moved towards her.

  She stopped me, her hands on my shoulders, arms rigid. “No. You have to go to work.”

  “I will go to work. I’ll just go a little late.” I kept walking. Even though her arms wouldn’t bend, she was too small to stay put.