by Willow Rose
"You just hang in there, my Princess," he said and tapped at the side of the box. "It'll be over soon."
Then he went to look in his cookbook and sip the wine while feeling excitement spread in his entire body. This was perfect. He couldn't have imagined a better plan. Forcing the prince to eat the foie gras made from the liver of his own daughter. It was the completion of his masterpiece that he had been looking for. This was perfect. Finally Allan was happy. Happier than ever. For the first time since the day they had told him they couldn't have him at the castle anymore, he was actually happy again. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of satisfaction, but was disturbed by the constant banging on the box from the journalist woman. She hadn't been quiet ever since he walked in, but he wasn't going to let her ruin his moment with her screaming.
"Let me out! Let us out of here!" She went on and on, but Allan had become immune to the plead of his victims. On the contrary it had become his fix, it had become the thing he enjoyed the most. He walked towards the box with the woman in it, holding his book in his hand and the wine in the other. The pump force feeding Princess Amalie was humming quietly across the room, a humming that to him sounded like the sweetest music.
The woman was grunting and kicking the ceiling of the box, while screaming at him to let her out, to let them go. Allan put the book and the wine down and listened to every word she said and like a conductor he put up his fingers and pretended to be directing an orchestra. The other girl Camilla was now joining the choir with her crying while the sounds coming from Princess Amalie was like an extra addition to the music, like drums or a violin joining in every now and then. It was beautiful, he thought. So perfect.
"You crazy lunatic!" the woman cried. "What do you want from us? Why are we being kept in here?"
Allan stopped conducting and opened his eyes. He stared at the woman then picked up the cook book and leaned over her box to better show her the pictures.
"See these pictures?" he asked. "Now let me explain. We all enjoy a great meal, don't we? Do you enjoy a good meal, Rebekka Franck? Are you une gourmante?"
The woman stopped screaming and stared back at him with distrust. She didn't answer. It annoyed him. He wanted them to obey him, to fear him enough to not dare to not answer when spoken to. Where were people's manners these days anyway? Allan had been taught strictly as a child. You always answer when spoken to.
"I take that as a yes," he said trying to not let her silence get to him. "We all love a good steak or a roasted chicken and it's no secret that the life of an animal headed for the slaughterhouse isn't all smiles and happy songs, right? And sometimes you run across a dish that requires that the animal to not only be brutally killed, but also tortured in what most people would consider a horrifying and diabolical way. Unfortunately for the animals those kinds of dishes often turn out to be among the most tasteful. In many ways we can thereby conclude that sometimes cruelty can be delicious."
"I don't understand," the woman said. "Are you fighting for animal rights or something? Is that what this is all about?"
Allan couldn't help laughing. "That was a good one," he said. "No I'm not fighting for animals." He paused for effect.
"I'm fighting for cruelty."
This time the woman's silence gave Allan great pleasure. He flipped a page in the book and showed it to her. "Look at this picture. Come on, just look at it. I think that's going to be you in a couple of hours. Yes, I think that's the one I'll pick for you."
The woman tried to hide it, but Allan saw the fear in her eyes. She was fighting to keep the panic down.
"Looks good, right? Ikizukuri. A delightful Japanese dish. It literally means 'prepared while still alive.' It works like this. When you go into a Japanese restaurant you choose the fish that you would like to eat, then the chef will grab it out of the tank and start slicing it up while it still flops around on the cutting board. The really hard part is that the chef - that would be me - has to cut the fish - that being you - without killing it. It is served with its heart exposed and beating, trying to gasp for air while it's staring at you with pain filled eyes while slowly dying right there on the plate."
Allan paused and waited for his audience to react. Just looking into the woman's eyes was enough of applause to him. "The good part is that it doesn't demand much preparation time. I will just have to cut you open after the guests have arrived. So I'll probably do you last."
Allan grinned and turned in one movement to face Camilla. She whimpered when his eyes met hers. "And you, my dear. You'll be prepared like an Ortolan. Do you know, what an Ortolan is? Well of course you don't. You're not familiar with French cuisine and its delightful cruelty, are you? No, you weren't born into richness like Princess Amalie and I. You are a worker. Your parents worked their way up to be like us. And look where that got them, huh? Never having any time for their precious daughter. Well I bet they regret that now, don't they? Don't you think so, huh, Camilla? Huh?"
Allan hit the box aggressively wanting her to answer him, to fear his wrath. Camilla whimpered and nodded.
Allan relaxed with a deep breath. It wasn't time to lose it now. He had to stay calm or he risked ruining everything. "Well an Ortolan is a tiny bird. It's only about six inches long and weighs four ounces. It's olive green and yellow with a touch of ruby. The recipe is easy, actually. First you capture the bird in the wild," Allan said and looked at Camilla with a smile. "Well I've done that. Next is to stick it in a tight cage so it can't move and then drown it in a snifter of Armagnac." Allan studied her face and went close to the box. "Well I guess we'll need something a little bigger than a snifter, won't we? I have an idea. Why don't we use the box? We've seen it work before, haven't we, Camilla? I bet this time you won't last as long." He laughed while thinking about the barrel of Armagnac he had ordered from France waiting for him in the garage. It was the best money could buy. Expensive as hell, yes, but completely worth it.
Camilla shivered with fear inside her box. Allan squatted next to it and looked in. Oh the delight, he thought and tilted his head while studying her anxiety inside the box, breathing it, sucking it out of her, letting it fill him with both strength and passion.
CHAPTER 47
I HAVE TO admit I was scared to death. This guy was so creepy and clearly insane that it frightened me badly. I was hurt from the blow to my head and in constant pain. It made it difficult to think. It felt like a dream, a surreal dream. It was so unbelievable. The strange man was showing me pictures of food and telling me he was going to kill me, kill all of us, in order to prepare a meal for some party? If it wasn't for the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke, I would have thought he was joking, that he was just trying to scare us. But he meant every word. I had no doubt after he spoke to me and went to talk to Camilla with the book in his hand. I tried to wrap my mind around this entire situation. The box, the basement, the man, the girls and the strange machine he had the Princess hooked up to. I felt awful for her, she was in obvious pain, struggling for her life in that box. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do.
This can't be, I thought and tried once again to open the lid. There had to be some way out, some opening. How did we get in here in the first place? I wondered. I felt the sides and the corners. Yes, there seemed to be an opening, if I squeezed my body and crumpled up by my feet, I could reach the end wall and soon I realized that was where the opening was. The end could open up and that was the way he had gotten us all in there. Slid us through. But even if I kicked it hard it wouldn't open. It was screwed on with four screws on each side. Maybe I could somehow work them from the inside? I couldn't see the back of them, so the screws didn't go all the way through. Maybe if I tried with my nails, I thought, maybe I could scratch the plastic enough to reach them from the other side. I sighed resignedly. Even if I did manage to work my way through, it would take too long.
I watched as the man walked towards Princess Amalie. He squatted next to her and looked inside, like she was a fish in a tank. The sounds coming f
rom her box weren't nice, they were the sounds of someone suffocating, choking. It was the sound of someone dying.
"Stop this!" I yelled and kicked the box so hard it hurt my leg. The ceiling didn't move an inch. The man got up and looked at me.
"You're killing the poor girl, can't you see? She's choking!" I shouted.
The man tilted his head and approached me. "Well don't you know that's the entire point?" He said with a gentle voice.
"Why?" I cried. "Why is it so important to kill her? To kill all of us?"
The man smiled. "Ah, we're doing that now," he said. "We're doing the talk. The talk where I tell you all why I am killing you? Well we might as well get it done with." The man walked back to Princess Amalie's box. "Well, my dear, sweet Princess. You don't know me, but believe me I know you. I know your family, because I used to be part of it. See, my name is Allan Witt, but just like you I didn't used to have a last name. I used to be living in the castle in Moegeltoender like you do now. Actually I lived there until you were born. Until you changed everything."
Allan Witt. The name didn't ring a bell to me. If he was a part of the royal family, I would certainly know. "You used to live with the Prince? How come?" I asked trying to keep the conversation going, trying to buy us some time.
"I was born at the castle," he answered. "I lived there the first ten years of my life."
"Were you parents working for the Prince?"
Allan lifted his head, then shook it. "No."
"Then how come you lived there? Are you related to the royal family?"
Allan exhaled in an eccentric manner. He was quite the drama-queen I realized. Maybe I would be able to use that to my advantage, I thought.
"You could say I'm related. Very much indeed."
"How come no one has ever heard of you? Why have I never heard your name before?" I asked.
"Because I'm what they like to call a 'well-kept secret.' One that isn't supposed to slip out to the public."
"Why is that?" I asked.
Allan looked at me, then snorted. "You're making me lose valuable time," he said. He began to walk towards the stairs. Then he turned and looked at me again.
"You haven't heard about me, because I wasn't supposed to exist."
CHAPTER 48
ALLAN RAN UP the stairs with grace and strength. Then he closed the door and walked towards the garage. He opened it with the remote, and walked towards the corner where he had the barrel covered by a large tarpaulin, one he used to have on his boat. He pulled it aside, then found a garden hose and swung it over his shoulder. He whistled as he bent down and lifted up the barrel and held it in his strong arms. Then he carried it back into the house, when suddenly the front door opened.
"Sebastian?" Allan said and looked at the door to the basement to make sure it was closed. It was, but it wasn't locked. He put the barrel down on the tile floor.
"Wow, that's a lot of Armagnac," Sebastian said while carrying in the bags and putting them on the counter.
"You're back early," Allan said.
Sebastian gesticulated resignedly. "Well, I had to come home with the first load before I went to the next store. We don't want any of these expensive delicacies to go bad, do we?"
Allan sighed relieved. For a moment he had been afraid that Sebastian was already done. "Of course not," he said. "Let me help you put the things away."
Allan grabbed the first bag and began unpacking. "Someone's dressed for cooking, huh?" Sebastian said and looked at Allan's outfit. Allan took off the chef's hat and put it on the table. Sebastian went close and sniffed his breath. "Oh beginning the day with a Chianti, are we?"
Allan chuckled. "It is after all my birthday."
Sebastian clapped his cheek. It enraged him but he kept his calm. It was all about getting Sebastian out of here again. "Just don't get too drunk like at the last party we went to," he said.
Allan fantasized about grabbing Sebastian's throat and killing him right there. The very thought made him shiver with joy. Maybe he should kill him next. To finally get rid of him. He didn't need him anymore. Police would never suspect Allan of anything. Not the nicely dressed, handsome, meek gentleman. No he was safe. And if they did, he would just kill them as well. He was untouchable.
"Well I'll be off again, then," Sebastian said and kissed him on the lips.
The kiss left Allan numb. Sebastian waved with a loose wrist and started walking towards the main entrance, when he stopped.
"What's that sound?" he asked.
Allan froze. "What sound? I don't hear anything." Allan laughed nervously as Sebastian backed up and stood in front of the door leading to the basement. "It's in your head, you're just stressed out. Now get going, we're in a hurry," he said.
Sebastian turned and looked at him. "You've been in the basement this whole time, haven't you?" he asked. "The door isn't properly closed."
Allan looked up with wide eyes. Sebastian was right. In his hurry Allan hadn't closed the door entirely. Damn it, he thought.
"Are you drinking wine in the basement?" Sebastian asked. "What are you doing down there while drinking your wine?" He put his hand on the door, then looked at Allan. "Can I peek in?"
Allan sighed. Then he nodded. "Go ahead."
"Are you sure?" Sebastian said with cheer. "I don't want to push you to show me, it has to come when you're ready."
Allan exhaled. "I guess I'm ready now. Go ahead."
"Yay!" Sebastian cheered. Then he pushed the door open with the palm of his hand. He took a step inside, while Allan grabbed the kitchen knife, polished it in the towel, then approached him slowly from behind.
Allan hesitated, waiting for his cue while he watched Sebastian's body freeze. He stood completely still for seconds. The only thing moving were his hands that were shaking like leaves on a tree.
Allan waited until the scream came before he lifted the knife.
CHAPTER 49
I HEARD NOISES from behind the door and looked in the direction of the stairs where the man had disappeared through the door. I had tried to talk to Camilla while he was gone, but she had been struck with such terror, she was unreachable. She was lying in her box, trembling while mumbling the same sentences over and over again. It appeared to be some song.
Seven devils all around you
Seven devils in my house
See they were there when I woke up this morning
I'll be dead before this day is done
She kept repeating the last sentence over and over again and hardly noticed that the door opened. I did however hear it and looked in that direction as a new face showed itself. Relief overwhelmed me when I realized it wasn't Allan Witt, but another man instead, a man I had seen before, a man I knew from all the magazines and the paper's high society-pages. Sebastian Devalnier was his artist-name, known in the fashion industry as one of the most successful designers in all of Europe. Widely known to be a party-animal and gay. He stopped at the end of the stairs and I realized by his look that he had no idea what he had walked right into. At first I thought he was with the royal family since he was known to be seen socially with them, and maybe just maybe he was sent by Princess Amalie's father to find us, but as soon as he began whimpering and screaming, I knew he had walked in by coincidence not expecting to find us or this basement of terror.
Our eyes locked for just a second as I saw the horror in his eyes and a second later spotted Allan Witt behind him with a big knife lifted in the air, ready to stab him in the back.
That was when I screamed. "Behind you! Look behind you!"
Sebastian reacted much faster than I had expected and turned to face Allan Witt and the knife. With a quick movement, he grabbed Allan Witt's wrist and managed to stop the attack or at least postpone it. Allan Witt groaned and tried to pull his arm free. Sebastian kicked him hard in the stomach forcing Allan to bend over and gasp for air. Then Sebastian wrenched Allan's hand and managed to get the knife out of it. The knife landed on the floor.
"You're forgetti
ng who you're dealing with," Sebastian said panting. "I used to live on the street. I used to beat up guys like you. I'm used to watching my back and I know how to react fast."
Then he lifted his knee and placed a perfect knock-out under Allan's chin. Allan was thrown backwards and landed hard on the floor. I couldn't see him anymore, but I could hear it when his head hit the floor and then I heard the moaning.
Feeling the hope rise in me I stared with great anxiousness at the two men as Allan now got up and threw himself at Sebastian. The two of them were fighting massively, beating, punching each other while panting and gasping for air. It seemed Sebastian was the strongest, he kept ending on top of Allan to my relief. But Allan was the smarter one. As he was down on the floor and Sebastian was punching him, he reached over and grabbed the knife from the floor. I didn't realize it before it was too late. He raised it in the air and with a fast movement plunged it into Sebastian’s chest.
"NOOOO!!" I screamed as Sebastian’s body fell backwards down the stairs, bumping each step on the way. He landed on the stone floor with the knife still in his chest. He was still alive but bleeding heavily as he tried to grab the knife and pull it out. The sound of it leaving his flesh made me sick as he pulled it out and looked at it, then turned his head and looked at Allan as if to one last time ask him Why?
Allan panted and ran down the stairs. Then he leaned over him and as life slowly oozed out of Sebastian, Allan closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
"NO!" I screamed again as hope fled me and left me helpless.
Allan touched Sebastian's face with a wide smile. Then he grabbed him by the neck and pulled him across the floor leaving a trail of blood. He tied Sebastian's hands together with a rope, and then hung him up on a meat-hook dangling from the ceiling. I watched with fear how the blood ran from his body onto the stone-floor and made a puddle underneath.
