Ode to a Fish Sandwich

by Rebecca M. Hale

  The doctor stopped at the edge of the clearing, unsure of what to do next. He held his breath, standing as silently as possible. But his hands were sweaty from the long hike, and the umbrella handle suddenly slipped from his grasp, tumbling loudly to the ground.

  Burt looked over his shoulder and smiled, as if he’d been waiting for the doctor to arrive. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for the dermatologist to join him at the shrine.

  Tentatively, Dr. Jones approached the cross and knelt to the ground in front of it.

  “Listen,” Burt whispered conspiratorially, the whites of his eyes bulging in the gathering darkness. “If you listen, you can hear her.”

  After a puzzled sideways glance at the fisherman, the doctor decided to play along. He bent his head and listened with all his might, but the buzzing drone of insects and the whistling of the wind were the only sounds he could identify.

  He certainly didn’t hear Winnie’s heavy footsteps creeping up behind him.

  Chapter 16

  A Covetous Compulsion

  WINNIE SLOGGED ACROSS one of the many overgrown cane fields that carpeted the volcano’s lower slopes, still uncertain of how she would proceed if she found Dr. Jones on the mountain with Burt, what means she might employ to take the diamond ring from the chain around the doctor’s neck, or even if she should pursue the gem’s quest at all.

  Several times along the trail through the cane-filled jungle, she stopped and considered returning home. In her gut, she knew that it would be better to turn back, leaving the tormented fisherman and the diamond-laden dermatologist to their own devices, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to give up the hunt.

  Despite her better judgment, she continued up the steep incline.

  “I don’t know why he’s held on to that ring anyway. The thing’s brought him nothing but trouble.”

  She thought of all the failures the ring represented for the doctor: the public humiliation of being left at the altar, the reception hall filled with empty seats and spoiled food, and now the awkward solo honeymoon.

  She shook her head. She would be doing the doctor a favor if she relieved him of the ring’s wicked karma.

  She repeated the advice she’d issued to the doctor the day he showed her the jewel.

  “It’s bad luck for him to keep it.”

  ~

  WINNIE WAS SOON sweating profusely. Her feet throbbed, and her chest heaved for air, but her qualms about what lay ahead were diminishing by the step.

  The image of the diamond she’d held in her palm earlier that week grew ever larger in her mind, driving out the regular curbs of moral restraint.

  The opportunity was too tantalizing to resist.

  She could easily tell the other islanders that she’d found Burt at his regular spot, crouched in a feverish daze before the shrine to his dead wife.

  The dermatologist? She would just shrug and say that she hadn’t seen him. She’d figured he must have found his way back to the resort on his own.

  Most would conclude that the pasty visitor and his black umbrella had tempted Delilah’s wrathful spirit one too many times and vanished, like her, into the cane.

  Winnie reached for the tool belt strapped around her waist and gripped the handle of the butcher knife secured in its fittings.

  She had grown fond of White Wally, despite his eccentricities, but their short-lived camaraderie was no match for the allure of the glittering diamond hanging around his neck—and the wealth for which she could exchange it.

  It was a ruthless impulse she had indulged once before.

  Her muttered words thudded through the darkening forest.

  “With Delilah.”

  ~

  PAUSING TO CATCH her breath, Winnie thought back to the night, roughly twelve years ago, when she’d found herself on a similar mission, climbing this same trail—carrying the same knife.

  There were parallels, too, in the underlying motive.

  The younger Winnie had set her sights on her ideal mate, a burly fisherman who could provide much needed structure and stability for both her and her fatherless daughter.

  The only problem was that Burt was already married.

  For the single mother, recently employed to help out at Delilah’s Beachside Diner, that was a simple impediment to remove.

  ~

  WIPING THE SWEAT from her brow, Winnie stared into the swaying reeds by the trail, remembering how she’d lured Delilah up the side of the volcano.

  The plan had started with a simple fish sandwich.

  First, Winnie had prepared a seared filet for her boss to sample. It was an early prototype of the now classic version, but even in its pre-optimization stages, the result was a mouthwatering piece of fish.

  The key, Winnie had whispered so that only Delilah could hear, was an island spice derived from a rare plant that grew high above the cane fields, cultivated by the French settlers who occupied the island for a short span during the colonial days.

  Winnie described the plant in great detail, including its leaves, the tiny dried peppers that clung to its stems, and, most important, where to find it, at the top of the trail that cut through the cane field near the resort.

  Delilah asked if she could get more of the spice to use in the diner fulltime, but Winnie shook her head. Her body shuddered with pretended fear. She had heard the tales about the volcano and the haunted cane fields that surrounded its base. She had no intention of hiking up to the area where the plant grew.

  “You won’t catch me anywhere near the place,” Winnie had vowed solemnly.

  It was an effective ruse, one that played directly into Delilah’s biggest insecurity: her cooking.

  Determined to harvest a stash of the elusive herb for use in the diner, Delilah asked Winnie to take over the counter for the evening.

  With a discreet smile, Winnie had watched her employer scurry off down the road into the afternoon sunset. Storm clouds had begun to circle the volcano’s summit, ensuring there would be an evening downpour—the perfect means by which to wash away the evidence of her contemplated crime.

  After closing the diner, Winnie circled behind the grocery store to the trail through the trees behind what was then Bert and Delilah’s cinderblock house.

  Once she found the designated spot, all she had to do was wait.

  The other woman never saw it coming. A swift blow to the head knocked her unconscious. Winnie’s trusty cleaver did the rest.

  The body was quickly carved into a dozen or so segments. It was a gruesome job, but, in the end, not that much different from carving up a fish or a chicken, tasks she’d done all her life.

  The evening downpour carried away the blood, diluting it into the dozens of guts and ravines across the island that filled with water during stormy weather. The rest of the body required a little more work.

  Winnie buried the larger bones near the volcano’s crater. The smaller ones, she distributed the along the trail, sprinkling bits and pieces into the thick reeds. The fattier chunks of flesh, she minced and tossed into the sea from the edge of the boulder pile outside the diner.

  It was a successful dismemberment. No one ever identified any of the scattered body parts as being human, much less belonging to Delilah.

  Such a shame the whole scheme had been for naught.

  Winnie glanced down at her plump figure, worn from over a decade of working in the diner. Living Delilah’s life had been far tougher than she’d expected.

  As for Burt, Winnie never would have believed that possession of the item she’d so desperately sought would turn it into a pillar of salt. The having of her prize negated all passion for it, her desire for the man deadened by the means of his acquisition.

  She didn’t expect to have the same problem with the doctor’s diamond ring.

  ~

  REENERGIZED, WINNIE RESUMED her climb up the trail.

  A few minutes later, she neared the shrine where Burt routinely went during his emotionally distraught episodes. Gaugin
g by the voices she heard up ahead, she would soon have the fisherman and the doctor in sight.

  She’d kill them both if she had to, but she didn’t anticipate any difficulties from Burt, particularly in his delirious condition.

  Creeping through the trees, she could just make out the silhouettes of two figures, kneeling in front of the makeshift altar.

  Her face hardened with resolution as she stood at the edge of the clearing. Gripping the cleaver, she raised it over her head.

  She squinted her left eye, aiming the sharp blade for the sliver of skin beneath the doctor’s chin.

  She wasn’t an evil woman—at least, not to her way of thinking.

  She was merely prone to covetous compulsion.

  And right now, she bore a great longing for the item strung from the chain around the dermatologist’s neck.

  Chapter 17

  A Present from Delilah

  BURT KNELT BEFORE the wooden cross, his eyes tightly closed, his expression one of fervent concentration.

  All around the clearing, he sensed his dead wife’s spirit, in the gritty volcanic dirt, the whipping gusts of wind, and the forest’s musty ooze. Even after all these years, her essence still inhabited the place.

  No matter how hard he tried to stay away, to move on with his life, to leave the past behind—he couldn’t resist the mystical attraction of this spot. It was a feeling so real it drew him into otherworldly detachment. While he occasionally caught glimpses of his beloved at other locations on the island, it was here where he most felt her guiding presence.

  His shoulders swayed back and forth as he conversed with his departed and yet still so dear Delilah.

  “The fish were out this morning, just where you said they’d be. I used the flashy green lures, the ones with the speckles. Line wasn’t cast more than five minutes before I got a bite.”

  The otherworldly response was heard only by Burt.

  Dr. Jones stared apprehensively at the ground, shuffling sideways on his knees, trying to distance himself from the crazed fisherman. After a while, Burt transitioned from the spectral conversation to a gentle humming, singing along to an eerie soundtrack that was playing inside his head.

  When at last the tune ended, a hush fell over the clearing.

  “Listen,” Burt repeated hoarsely. “If you listen, you can hear her.”

  The doctor responded with a quizzical look, but once more, he bent his head, closed his eyes, and opened his ears.

  He still didn’t hear anything that sounded remotely ghost-like.

  But Burt did.

  Delilah warned of a dark force that was closing in on the shrine, a dangerous current that threatened to disrupt the sanctity of its sacred ground.

  Slowly, Burt raised his head, his senses attuned to the vicious creature circling the edges of the clearing, stalking her prey.

  Winnie’s dark eyes gleamed as she aimed her blade at the doctor’s throat. She had been strategizing on her approach throughout Burt’s rambling commentary and nonsensical humming. The doctor was her main target, but if she left Burt alive as a witness, she wanted to make sure that he was fully submerged within his delusional mindset.

  Satisfied that Burt had lost all touch with reality, she stepped in for the kill.

  But before she could commit to her swing, the fisherman broke out of his trance.

  “Come on, Dr. Jones,” Burt said, suddenly pulling the startled dermatologist into a standing position. With a sharp tug, he yanked the doctor to the side, in the process stepping into the direct path of Winnie’s blade.

  She clenched her fist, holding back her blow, hesitating to plunge the knife into Burt’s muscular torso—for a moment too long.

  “It’s getting late,” the fisherman said, dragging the doctor across the clearing toward the path on the opposite side. “Time to get you home.”

  Before Winnie could regroup, both men were well out of knife range.

  As they disappeared down the trail, her bloodcurdling scream echoed across the slopes of the volcano.

  “What was that?” the doctor asked, cringing at the sound.

  The crazed expression returned to Burt’s face as he cryptically replied.

  “A gift from Delilah.”

  ~

  TWO HOURS LATER, Burt dropped Dr. Jones off at the resort’s front gates.

  The bemused guards waved him through with a pair of matching shrugs. At this point, nothing White Wally did would surprise them.

  The doctor followed the line of Tiki lights down the front drive to the reception area. Past the front desk, he veered off toward one of the cafe counters for a late snack. Despite the array of options, he couldn’t help thinking there was nothing on the menu that could come anywhere close to the taste of Winnie’s fish sandwiches.

  His stomach full if not completely satisfied, he returned to his room. After all the hiking up and down the mountain—not to mention the ride in Burt’s odorous pickup—he was ready for a hot shower and a clean set of clothes.

  As his pants hit the ceramic tile floor, he heard a slight clink.

  Curious, he felt through his pockets until he found a rusted metal object.

  He pulled it out and held it up to the light, illuminating a silver trinket, forged in the shape of a boat’s steering wheel.

  Brow furrowed, he replayed the events of the evening, trying to identify when the trinket might have fallen into his pocket.

  He could only guess that Burt had dropped it in when he ushered him away from the shrine.

  With a cringe, he set the little wheel on the bathroom counter and took a wide step away from it.

  For some inexplicable reason, the thing gave him the creeps.

  “Another present from Delilah,” he said with a shudder.

  Chapter 18

  The Ode

  “MORNING, WINNIE,” THE doctor sang out the next day after his walk into town.

  He drummed his fingers against his waist. He’d worked up an appetite, and his stomach had already begun rumbling with anticipation for the day’s lunch special.

  Winnie glanced up from her workstation and shot him a surly look. She balled up a paper towel she’d been using to clean her cutting board and tossed it into the trash can. Wiping her hands on her apron, she reached into a basket of produce and pulled out a bundle of carrots.

  “I had the strangest evening last night, Winnie,” the doctor said, propping his umbrella against the outer wall as he leaned over the counter.

  Forcefully snapping off the carrot’s green tops, the chef spat her terse reply. “You don’t say.”

  She turned to rinse the carrots in the sink as the doctor continued.

  “Riding home on the bus, I saw Burt’s truck parked by the side of the road.” He paused, waiting for Winnie to register some sort of response, but her expression remained stoic as she shook the water from the carrots and pivoted back toward her counter.

  “I was concerned, so I asked the driver to let me out,” he chattered on, undeterred by the chef’s dismissive demeanor. “There by his truck, I found the trail that cuts through the cane field. I don’t know how I missed it all the times before. The entrance must have been covered up by the reeds.”

  With a grunt, Winnie selected a carrot and rolled it beneath her palm, flattening the curve against the counter.

  “Anyway, I caught up to Burt, but he, uh…he wasn’t quite right.” The doctor gulped uncomfortably. “So I followed him up the side of the volcano.”

  He lowered his voice. “Did you know he’s got a shrine up there? Dedicated to, uh, hmm…” Pursing his lips, he nodded at the sign over the menu board. Then he squeaked out a whisper. “Delilah.”

  Winnie slammed her knife onto the carrot. The blade, vigorously sharpened that morning, sliced through the vegetable and thunked onto the cutting board.

  “You want the special?” she asked curtly.

  The doctor gave the splintered carrot a wary glance, but he wasn’t bothered by the violent chopping motion.
He’d grown accustomed to Winnie’s cranky disposition—and her savage knife wielding skills.

  “Yes, of course,” he replied with a broad smile. Grabbing the umbrella handle, he popped open the canopy and twirled it over his head.

  “I’ll be at my table.”

  ~

  THE DOCTOR’S CHIPPER mood accompanied him to the beach. As he set up the makeshift umbrella stand, he licked his lips, thinking of the lunch that soon would be headed his way.

  An inner jubilance bubbled up inside him, and he felt himself overcome by emotion.

  “Is there anything so wondrous as a fish sandwich?” the doctor asked to no one in particular.

  No matter the lack of reply, it was clear that his opinion was in the negative.

  He could hardly believe that he had tried to pass up the entree when he first visited the diner at the beginning of the week. Now, the thought of returning home to the States, where he would be separated by thousands of miles from his favorite meal, was a prospect almost too painful to contemplate. His daily fish sandwich had become a complete and full-on addiction.

  As Winnie trudged across the sand carrying his tray, he stood from the table and sang out his praises.

  “I hereby declare my appreciation to the fish sandwich!”

  Startled, she looked over her shoulder, as if searching for the third party to which this outburst was directed. After seeing no one—and nearly tripping on the sand—she returned her gaze to the doctor.

  “What are you going on about?” she demanded, frowning her disapproval.

  He beamed his response, his fish-inspired joy undiminished. His culinary tribute was only getting started.

  “What indeed.” He bent into a deep bow. Upon straightening, he added. “Today, I sing my praises to this uniquely delectable dish…this artistic triumph…this fantastic fusion of the sea brought to land. I say, what a contribution to humanity!”

  Winnie set his plate on the table, hoping that would encourage the doctor to sit down and shut up.

  The dermatologist swooped into his seat under the umbrella, but the eulogy was far from finished.