Tamed

by Douglas R. Brown

  Crimson drops stained the plush, cream-colored carpet beside his foot. He wrapped the handkerchief from his breast pocket around his hand and the rich, silky material changed from emerald green to a darker, wetter green.

  Christine fought back a smile.

  He went back to the bar and removed a blue and white box that she recognized as a first aid kit. “Sit down,” he said. She sat on the piano bench and watched as he tended to his wound. He wrapped his hand in gauze and tossed his handkerchief onto a white, padded barstool, probably staining it as well.

  “You might need stitches.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m just saying. As a medic, I’d recommend stitches or you’ll have a nasty scar.”

  “Do you think I care about scars? We ain’t going to no hospitals. Now, shut up.” He glanced at the mirror beside the bar and his shoulders drooped. “You gotta be kidding me,” he mumbled with a glare back at her. “You got blood on my shirt. If I didn’t need you looking your best, I’d knock the piss outta you.” He made his way across the room to a walk-in closet and stripped out of his jacket, his shirt, and his undershirt, which also bore a faint red stain.

  Though his muscles had the sagginess that men inevitably gained later in life, his physique was strong and fit. He dressed in a new shirt and retied his tie. Once his jacket was on again, he said, “Let’s go.” Then he swigged another shot of whisky and led her from the room.

  29

  THE EXPEDITIONERS

  A stretched Hummer limousine waited for Christine and Bernard at the entrance of the compound. She climbed in and he followed. As they headed to God-only-knew-where, Mr. Henderson laid out a few rules for the evening.

  “Make sure you call me Bernard. Not Bernie, but Bernard. Is that clear? No one calls me Bernie.”

  She ignored him.

  He grabbed her chin and turned her face toward him. “I said, is that clear?”

  “Yes,” she snapped and pulled away. “I got it. Bernard.”

  “Next, I think it is important you understand the pain that I will give you if this night doesn’t go exactly how I planned. I hope you believe me when I tell you that I will kill you, your family, and your friend, Billy, if you ask anyone for help or even hint that you are anything but my newest squeeze.”

  From what she already knew about him, she had little doubt he was telling her the truth.

  Bernard looked through the window for a second and then said with a smirk, “Hey, do you think someone might recognize you tonight? I mean, your picture has probably been in the Dispatch and all over the news channels.”

  Christine sat up a little straighter. She hadn’t thought of that possibility.

  Bernard burst out laughing. “Oh, Christine, you must think I’m stupid.” He slapped her shoulder as he laughed even harder. “These people aren’t going to recognize you. And do you know what? So what if they do? They aren’t going to say a word. The ones who know me know better, and the ones who don’t, let’s just say the dirt I have on them will keep their lips shut. No one’s going to recognize you, and if they do, no one’s going to care. Hell, I have the future President of the United States, Senator Wooten, under my thumb. No, I guess you could say I’m not terribly worried about it. Besides, half of these guys probably have women of their own chained in their basements. We’re not going to a Boy Scout meeting.”

  Hoping to somehow sway him into abandoning the night altogether, she said almost under her breath, “Still a risk, if you ask me.”

  “Well, I didn’t ask you. In fact, I hope somebody does recognize you. You know why? Because I’ve had more important men than these people taken care of, and I rather enjoy the game of it. So I wouldn’t worry my pretty little head if I were you.”

  Christine sank deeper into her seat. Neither spoke for the rest of the trip.

  As they arrived he said, “Remember, I don’t go by Bernie. It’s Bernard. Or honey, if you must.”

  They pulled to the front of the Penrose Lodge, and the heavy-set driver hurried to the back door and opened it. A crowd of equally well-dressed attendees flowed through the hotel’s front doors. Bernard took Christine’s hand and led her into the lobby.

  They were met by an older man and his stunningly gorgeous, trophy girlfriend. He introduced his lady-friend to his “old tight-ass buddy, Bernard,” as he put it. With one hand tight around Christine’s hand, Bernard leaned toward the woman and kissed her cheek.

  He pulled back and said, “This is my best girl, Christine.”

  “Nice to meet you,” the older man said. “How long have you two been a couple?”

  Bernard gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Three months,” she answered. “But it seems like forever, huh, Bernie?” She yanked her hand away before he could hurt it any more than he already had.

  Bernard smirked.

  The older man said, “Young love, huh? Bernard, you old devil, you never disappoint. She might be your best looking date ever. And here I thought you didn’t like to be called Bernie.”

  “Well, you know. She’s quite special.” He tensed his jaw and spoke through his teeth, but Christine was confident she was the only one who noticed.

  A waiter interrupted their conversation with a platter of hors d’oeuvres.

  Bernard asked, “So, what do we start with this fine evening?”

  The waiter answered, “Madagascar hissing cockroaches stuffed with blue cheese.”

  Christine quietly gagged.

  Bernard picked out a stick with a vile, half-dollar-sized insect speared on the end. “Mmmm,” he moaned at the mere sight of his treat. His old friend and the geezer’s gold-digging girlfriend grabbed one for themselves. All eyes were on Christine.

  There was no way in hell she was going to eat one of those creatures. She looked to Bernard with pleading eyes. He nodded and she shook her head. He reached into his inside coat pocket. “If you all will excuse me for a moment, I need to make a call. Honey, what’s Billy’s number again?”

  She reached for his hand and pulled it gently from his pocket. As she reached for one of the cockroaches-on-a-stick, she said, “Can’t it wait, honey?” Then she looked at the couple and said, “Business. He can’t stop thinking about work for even one night.”

  With three sets of eyes on her, she held the giant cockroach kabob in front of her mouth. Bernard was the first to take a crunchy bite of his. The other two psychos followed suit.

  Her stomach turned. Bernard stared her down with cold eyes. She touched the cockroach to her lips.

  Think about something else. Think about something else.

  She poked part of the dead insect into her mouth, closed her eyes, and chomped down. Chilled blood, cheese, and what she was pretty sure were bug guts squirted into the back of her throat. The audible crunch seemed louder inside her head. She gagged, but hid her mouth behind her cocktail napkin.

  “Not for you, honey?” Bernard asked.

  “Not really, Bernie,” she answered, the inflection of her voice on the word “Bernie” giving away her disdain to anyone who cared to listened closely enough.

  Bernard brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “Oh well. You were a good sport. Maybe you’ll like the next treat better.” He finished his cockroach, and then ate hers as well.

  “I have to pee,” she blurted, hoping to miss the next “treat.”

  Bernard’s eyes widened as though he was slightly surprised and even more excited. “Well,” he said. “Let’s go then.” He turned to his friends. “If you’ll excuse us, we have to hit the ladies’ room.”

  His friend smiled and winked like a perverted old man. “You’re a devil, Bernie,” he said. “Don’t be in there all night.” Then he made a cheesy growl, just like every generic sick pervert did in the movies.

  Bernard grabbed her arm in a painful grip and led her to the bathroom. He nodded pleasantly at a couple of women as they exited, and followed Christine through the door. Once alone in the bathroom, his fake smile turned angry. “Any more of t
hat Bernie crap and we may have to leave early. And let me tell you ahead of time, if we leave early, I’ll be going home alone, if you know what I mean. Now, go pee if you gotta pee.”

  “A little privacy?”

  “I don’t think so. Now hurry up.”

  Christine entered a stall and pushed the door closed behind her. Bernard slammed his hand against it, crashing it open. “Maybe you don’t get the seriousness of this.”

  Two giggling women opened the bathroom door. Bernard didn’t break his stare into Christine’s eyes as he said, “Occupied. Go do your coke somewhere else, girls.” They groaned and went on their way.

  When Christine finished, she pushed past him to the sink. She said, “You still haven’t told me why you haven’t killed me yet.”

  He grabbed both of her shoulders and spun her toward him. Her hands dripped onto his tuxedo, but he didn’t appear to care. “You are here as my guest. You will not embarrass me tonight. Very few people are privileged enough to eat some of the most exotic foods in the world, and you are about to be one of them. I needed a date and you are it. I will tell you what I have planned for you in due time. For now, you will go out there and put on a happy face and eat whatever garbage they put in front of you.”

  “What if I gag?”

  “You can gag. A lot of people gag. That’s the fun of it. But what you will not do is be rude or refuse the food. You got it?”

  Christine nodded.

  “Now, let’s go out there and have us some grilled maggots.”

  Oh, God.

  Christine was a champ. She chewed on deep fried Tarantulas, bit into pickled cow eyes, and drank grizzly bear blood with the best of them. She mingled and made jokes with every despicable person, all while pretending to be in a budding love affair with a man she could not despise more.

  But no matter how proper she was or how well she behaved, Bernard never allowed her to wander more than a couple of feet from his side. While mingling with the crazies, there was one sight that seemed to haunt her for most of the evening, one sight that promised to put the rest of the horrible night to shame. Each time a waiter passed through the double doors with their trays of sickening delicacies, she could see the elaborately decorated dinner table in the next room, complete with place settings and a promise of something likely much worse. Christine couldn’t imagine anything that would top what she had already eaten, but figured, like the main event in a three-ring circus, the spotlight would be on the main course.

  Right on cue, a bell jingled and a waiter announced, “Dinner is ready.” She looked to Bernard, and he looked back with a disgusting grin. This was why he had brought her.

  He took her hand in his and led her to the forming crowd like the two of them were lovers. They followed the other guests into the exquisite dining room, complete with two piano-sized crystal chandeliers and a table that stretched farther than she would care to walk.

  Each gold-rimmed, stylish china plate held an elegant, diamond-encrusted place setting with a card bearing the name of the guest whom that particular setting was for. The silverware sparkled. Bernard led her along the table until he found a card that read Bernard Henderson + guest.

  He pulled her chair out for her like the gentleman he wasn’t. Christine nodded a phony, polite thank-you as he slid her to the table. He took his seat at her side.

  She couldn’t believe how many of the women wore the same excited faces as the men wore. It was absurd to see these heavily made-up women in their expensive gowns and shining accessories, clearly society’s upper crust, merrily awaiting the next horror. Some of them giggled with their escorts, while others engaged in nervous chit-chat with the couples next to them.

  Christine wanted to shout, “What is wrong with you people?” but that wouldn’t fare well for her continued good health. Hers or Billy’s.

  The kitchen door swung open and the room fell quiet. All eyes focused on the kitchen door. Tuxedo-clad waiters piled into the dining hall, carrying bottles of wine, pitchers of blood-red liquid, and more of their “delectable” appetizers.

  Christine waved off the red liquid, which she imagined was probably blood, instead accepting a glass of what she hoped was truly wine.

  A very proper, middle-aged man made his way from the kitchen to the head of the table. He, too, wore a tuxedo, only his coat had tails. His cummerbund and tie were a dark maroon, unlike the black ones worn by the servants. As he cleared his throat to speak, the guests began tapping their silverware against their wine glasses. After a nudge from Bernard, Christine joined in on the ovation.

  The man waited, soaking in the welcome with a regal stance and smile like he was the King of England. After what seemed like an eternity, the crowd settled and allowed him to speak.

  “My fellow Expeditioners, I welcome you to this momentous event. This dinner has taken me two years to prepare, and I trust everyone has been pleased thus far.”

  The crowd nodded their approval.

  “This year is a bit different than the previous years. I am proud of each and every exotic meal our club has served over the years, but tonight I have outdone myself.”

  Christine chugged the rest of her wine in anticipation of his “wonderful” announcement, and held up her glass to be refilled posthaste.

  He continued, “I am about to serve you a feast so exotic, so tasty, that no one in this room shall ever forget it. Tonight’s meal will prove to be the most expensive meal I have ever delivered. In fact, this feast is more expensive than our last seven dinners combined.” He paused and smiled. “We have a single man to thank for such a generous donation. We should all hold our glasses up and toast the head of WereHouse Enterprises. If not for him, such a meal could not be possible. Mr. Bernard Henderson, on behalf of the Expeditioner’s Club, I thank you.”

  The crowd began tapping their glasses again. The old-timer from the lobby shouted from farther down the table, “Way to go, Bernie.”

  Bernard glared at Christine before nodding his gratitude to the rest of the members.

  Christine whispered into his ear, “My God, how much did you donate?”

  Bernard winked and whispered back, “Just enjoy the next hour. This, after all, is why you are here.”

  The kitchen doors opened again. A couple dozen waiters passed through with covered dishes on fancy silver trays and stood behind each of the guests. The final three waiters in the line carried large, round, covered platters and placed them at six foot intervals in the center of the table.

  The host spoke up again, “Fellow Expeditioners, I present you ....”

  At that moment, the three waiters lifted the centerpiece lids. Christine pulled back in horror. The rest of the crowd gasped in delight. Sitting on the platter, not two feet away, was the severed head of a werewolf. Two more heads rested on the other two platters. All at once, she felt like crying, puking, and shoving her fork into the side of Bernard’s head.

  “You animal,” she whispered to her “date.”

  Bernard leaned over like he had dropped his napkin. She felt his cold hand slide up her dress and onto her thigh just above her knee. She flinched. An older woman sitting across the table guessed where his hand had gone and gave him an offended shake of her head. Bernard winked and she turned away.

  Smiling, he squeezed Christine’s leg and whispered, “I’m not the one on the table.”

  She forced a fake smile for anyone who was watching. “One day, you may be,” she whispered back.

  Bernard gave a phony laugh.

  The host sat at the head of the table and began eating. With a mouthful of meat, he had another tidbit of information to pass on. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I almost forgot to tell you of the legend of werewolf meat. It has been said that consuming it will give you longer life and stronger bones.”

  Christine whispered to Bernard, “Where did he hear that bullshit?”

  Bernard chuckled. “Well, I told him, of course.”

  “Something I don’t understand. I changed because I got a we
rg’s blood in my mouth. Why don’t your friends change into wergs after they eat the meat?”

  “Heh. The werewolf trait is a virus. That’s why the meat is well done.” He held up a chunk of blackened meat with his fork and waited for her to fill in the blanks. “We cook it out of them,” he finally said. “Same as e coli in hamburger.”

  The host went on to explain the “benefits” of eating such an exquisite meal, but Christine mostly ignored him. While he spoke, she whispered, “Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

  Bernard feigned a cough and held his closed fist in front of his mouth. “I wanted you to see what will happen to you if you don’t do exactly what I ask from here on out. Our host has been begging for female werepet meat. As rare as werewolf meat is, female meat is even rarer.”

  “And what is it that you want me to do?”

  “What if I told you that we at the WereHouse believe breeding wergs could quite possibly be more efficient and lucrative than how we have been getting our pets thus far?”

  Christine soaked in his words for a second. She opened her eyes wide and whispered, “Oh, my God. You’re disgusting.”

  He laughed out loud.

  Christine somehow held back her tears, but not her growing defiance. “Just kill me,” she blurted, louder than she had intended. Their closest neighbors looked up from their meals.

  Bernard gave a politician smile and said, “Shhh.”

  Christine lowered her voice and said, “I’ll die first. I will never allow you to do that to me.”

  “Calm down, Christine. Just sit back and enjoy your meal. We’ll talk about this later.”

  She covered her mouth with her napkin. “There’s nothing to talk about. And I’m not eating another person.”

  He nodded with another grin to the guests who were paying closer attention to their growing rift. He leaned to her ear, “You’ve been a good sport. I think you can skip this meal. Politely decline and we’ll leave it at that.”

  He sat up tall and straightened his coat with a look to the nosier guests. “Mind your business,” he said and they refocused on their plates of werewolf meat. Christine fought back her urge to scream out the true nature of their feast. The only thing holding her back, more than her own death, was the knowledge that she was the only one left who could help Billy and expose this devil company for what it was.