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He doesn't know what he expected to find in that freezer but he knows it wasn't the face of the love of his life splattered in blood. He holds the locket in a trembling hand. A million thoughts run through Rody's head. Whydid this have to happen? What did Vincent do to her? The possibilities flood his head and drown him with dread before one thought comes bubbling to the surface.
Vincent loves his restaurant, he would never leave it a mess. Rody is gripped by panic, he has to get out of this freezer before he gets caught, he has to tell somebody! He whips around just in time to come face to face with Vincent, hovering right over his shoulder. His cold eyes are the last things he sees before he loses consciousness.
As he comes to Rody slowly realises the danger he's in, the danger he will be in for the rest of his life. He's lying face down on a metal floor, the cold surrounding him biting the flesh from his bones and sleep still blinding him, Rody attempts to reach a hand to his face but finds that he is unable to move. His arms are bound to his sides with a sturdy rope.
The confinement serves to wake him better than any cold or noise ever could. He struggles against his binds and it feels as though his fear tightens the rope around him, cutting off his air and sending him spiralling into a whirlpool of despair.
Rody stops struggling against his binds when he hears the freezer door open with a squeal not dissimilar to the one he lets out, light floods the room and the silhouette of the bistro owner takes over the door frame. In his hand is a kitchen knife.
"G.. Get away from me— Don't come any closer!" Rody panics, he turns onto his side to sit up and squirms away from the other man.
"Stop. Just stop. You don't have to struggle, it won't change anything." Vincent's voice sounds almost bored as he circles Rody. He freezes in his tracks, "Actually, that's no fun. Maybe you can save yourself. I'll even give you a 15 second head start."
Rody's voice shakes with fear "R..Really? You would.. You would do that for me?"
"Of course Rody, consider it my parting gift to you." A cruel look of amusement spreads across Vincent's face "Go on, go."
Rody struggles to his feet and stumbles towards the open door, his head spinning from the cold and injury from when he lost consciousness. He almost makes it but his legs give out underneath him and he collapses just shy of the exit.
He looks over his shoulder to see Vincent standing in the freezer, in the same position as before but with a conflicted expression plastered on his face. A bit of disappointment and… Shame? "You can't even hurry when your life depends on it. You're pathetic. How did you make it this far? How did I…" Vincent trails off as he approaches.
"Why are you doing this?" Rody asks, pulling himself up to lean against a rack of kitchen supplies. His mind is filled with fog but he knows absently that he should be getting out but he's too angry. "Why would you butcher her like that? I saw the letters, she loved you. She loved you and you killed her for it. You have a good life so why?" He demands.
Vincent walks past Rody and shuts the freezer door, never taking his eyes off of Rody. "Can you even imagine, sweet Rody?" Vincent approaches with something like despair on his face. Each clack of his polished shoes against the cold metal echoes through the freezer. "For every mouthful of food to struggle down your throat like a drowning dog thrashing down the long neck of a giraffe? I'd think not, people like you have tasted love on your tongues since before you could remember." Vincent brushes the hair out of Rody's face with the tip of the knife in his hand.
He applies just enough pressure that Rody can feel the impeccably sharp point but his skin remains intact, the scraping sensation of its tip reminds Rody of a swimmer the moment before emerdging from the water and he has the distinct thought that when blood is first drawn, there will be no chance of returning to his normal life.
"I've spent my entire life chasing after a sensation that others feel implicitly, for them it's as simple as the taste of their own saliva. Why is it so wrong for me to want something —that I've given to so many others already— for myself, even just once would give my exsistence some break from the monotany." He takes Rody's face in his hands and the handle of the knife presses against his skin. His hands feel shockingly warm, or maybe it's just an illusion brought on by the contrast between the skin and the ice and cold metal in the freezer with them.
Rody recoils from his touch as if burned and scrambles away, putting his back to the surface where he found his Manon's locket. "You're disgusting, what you did to Manon, what you're doing right now? Have you ever considered that you can't taste because you don't deserve to? Something as cruel as you could never be capable of loving someone so why would you be allowed to be loved in return?" He spits the words out and his eyes burn with tears.
"Manon… She's, or rather, she was, so full of love for all the natural world, I know you saw it, I saw the picture of you together. Why did you do this to her? I'm sure she loved you too, maybe she could have even helped you." His voice is strained with anguish.
Vincent scrunches his face into a bitter expression and groans, "You idiot." He runs a hand down his face and his eyes seem hollow as he looks down his nose at Rody. "You still don't understand do you? Just as it's impossible to hear the ringing in someone else's ear, the taste of love can only be processed if it's something both parties feel."
Rody is dumbstruck Vincent was a monster but he was still a man with working eyes wasn't he? Sanity be damned, Manon was a beautiful woman with a gentle demeanour to match. "How could you—or anyone for that matter— not love Manon?" He asks.
Vincent sighs and straightens his legs, he begins pacing the room "I think that perhaps you weren't so far off a moment ago, when you said I could never be truly loved because I myself don't give love. All my life I've heard whispers of this slippery beast called love that tears into its unsuspecting victims and leaves its teeth embedded deep within their skin well after it leaves but…" Vincent trails off and turns his back to Rody and looks down at the gleaming knife in his hands.
"It appears that I am fated to be the only man left with skin unmarred all my life. Not once has my chest been filled with this supposedly irresistible fervour for the fairer sex." He takes a steadying breath and turns to face Rody again, brandishing his knife, "I guarantee that she would not have been able to offer any meaningful respite from this curse."
Rody's grief is pushed off the saddle by fury "You still haven't answered my question. If you didn't feel anything for her then why did you kill her?" Rody clenches his jaw so tightly he thinks he might push his teeth into his gums.
"She was never meant to die for me, I didn't feel anything for her, but you did." Vincent huffs.
"What are you saying, that this is my fault?" Incredulity marinates Rody's words.
"No, that's not…" He groans, putting his head in his hands with no regard for the sharp tool that he's still holding. "The critics always say that my food isn't made with love, that it was missing something crucial." Frustration is evident in Vincent's voice but Rody can't quite place its origin.
"The dish was meant to be for you." The words come out quietly, they bounce around the empty room before reaching Rody. Every syllable echoes through his cold ears and becomes static in his mind. It's more of an admission of guilt than anything he had said up to that point.
"What?" His voice shakes as his mind begins reeling Rody feels bile rise in his throat, "Why would you…" His voice loses strength before the thought is released in full, its meaning still gets across.
Vincent contemplates something for a moment before approaching Rody and looping his hand between Rody's bound arms, heaving him to his feet. Rody struggles against the sudden touch, He pushes past the drowsiness of the cold to protest the movement.
Vincent shushes him like he's a scared dog as he opens the freezer door. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this…" He begins. "I was about to call you, I was going to say it was a tasting party but when you showed up, 'Oh no! everyone canceled, looks like you'll have you sample my new menu.'" Vincent walks him out of the kitchen and into the main dining room where a table is set for two, a bottle of expensive looking wine chills in a bucket of ice, and an ornate candelabra pattered with waves, on it, an octopus' twisting tentacles hold up two candles.
Vincent sits Rody down in a chair and then moves to the other side. He lights the long candles and takes a step back to observe his face for a moment. It's covered with confusion now more than anything else. "It was perfect, I had it all planned out so what are you still doing here? We could've talked for hours, you would taste her and start gushing over how tender her flesh was and tell me how much you love my cooking, that you wanted to eat with me every day." Vincent speaks in a dreamy voice, sounding entirely divorced from reality.
Rody looks down at the table, it has two flawless place settings but there's only food on the plate in front of him, a perfectly cooked steak. He feels nauseous, it's not just a steak it's…. Rody can't bring himself to finish the thought, he gags and turns his head away from the table sharply as Vincent sits on the side of the table with the empty plate, setting the knife in his hand next to the knife of his place setting, the difference between the two tools is almost laughable.
"What I have for you tonight is a grilled hangar steak, cooked medium rare in a neutral oil to preserve the flavours of the meat." Vincent smiles sweetly, reaching around the candelabra between them and begins cutting into the 'steak'. "The lemon used for the garnish was grown in my own home."
Rody feels sick to his stomach, he garnished her. Vincent Charbonneau fucking garnished the love of his life. "Some lemon and a damn leaf don't magically change who's on that plate." He seethes. "She's not fine dining, don't treat this like some tasting party."
Vincent just chuckles, his attention on cutting the woman on the plate into smaller pieces. "Fine dining is all I know how to make. I'm sure you'll change your tune once you have a bite." He holds her out on his fork and Rody grits his teeth. Vincent's hand darts out like a coiled snake and siezes Rody's face. He squeezes the sides of Rody's face until his mouth opens a sliver, he swiftly places the meat behind Rody's teeth and holds his mouth closed. "Stop being difficult. Eat." He commands. Rody chews carefully under Vincent's unwavering gaze. Satisfied with Rody's compliance, Vincent removes his iron grip from Rody's face and the pleasant smile returns to his face. "That wasn't so hard now was it?"
Rody stays silent for a moment as tears bloom in the corners of his eyes. Manon drags across his tongue on her way down his throat. She's an excruciating delicacy. Manon is the best steak he has ever tasted and it's a fact that Rody will take to the grave.
"How did it measure up to those leftovers? What did you think?" Vincent pries, leaning in with little regard for the flames dancing on the tips of the candles.
"I didn't think anything, I didn't eat what you gave me." Rody lies. He did eat the leftovers, it made no sense for someone as broke as he was to turn down free food, from a professional chef no less, especially not while he was saving for… He shouldn't think about that, he'll only make himself ache at the thought. Vincent never had to know. He was already satisfied enough knowing what he had already done to them.
Vincent frowns, leaning away from the fire disappointedly. "Do you not like those foods? Well I suppose that's not too unbelievable, I had to guess. You never told me what your favourite food was." Rody doesn't know if it's his tone, the situation, the fact that he can still taste her between his teeth, or some sick combination of everything that was going on, but he can't endure is any longer.
Rody wraps his legs around the base of the table and pulls, sending its contents scattering across the floor. Taking advantage of Vincent's momentary shock, Rody dives towards the sharp kitchen knife and turns onto his back, blindly grasping for the handle.
Vincent recovers from the shock as Rody gains hold of the knife. Vincent lunges at him, avoiding the kicks Rody sends his way as he struggles to angle the knife to free himself from the ropes. Vincent manages to grab hold of one of Rody's ankles, "You don't have to fight me," He plants his other hand on Rody's inner thigh and pushes himself up between his restrained legs so they come face to face. Rody turns his face away and leans back as far as he can without falling onto the knife. "All I want is to know about you." Rody can feel his breath, hastened from the struggle, on his left ear.
Rody grits his teeth as he smashes his head into Vincent's with all the force he can muster and finally slashes the ropes, freeing his hands and cutting his arm in the process. Vincent reels backwards, releasing his grasp on Rody. He scrambles to his feet and puts as much space between them as possible, kicking the knife away in his haste. Vincent also stands, staggered from Rody's attack.
As Rody rubs his raw wrists, henotices something dangling from between Vincent's lips, Rody must be panicing so much he can't see straight because it almost looks like… skin. The adrenaline coursing through Rody lulls for a moment and the pain returns to him like a strike of lightning. His hands still for a moment, his mind filled with white hot pain. His left hand comes up to his head to press against the space where his ear was as his right hand squeezes his forearm in a pathetic attempt to stop the blood flowing from his arm. The shock comes out in a gasp, and then a scream.
Rody looks up to find Vincent standing across the room, there's blood on his face as he spits out the ear. His blood. His ear. Tears flow freely down Rody's face. Vincent brings up a hand and swipes a bit of blood from his cheek, he touches the bloody finger to his tongue and wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Terrible texture." He comments.
"Wha… WHAT THE HELL!?" Rody exclaims, still desperately tryinng to stem the blood flowing from his body. "You just tore off my ear, why the hell would you… Is all the food you serve…?" He asks, his voice shaking with fear and pain and whatever else he's feeling that's being drowned out by the need to run.
Vincent looks disapointed. "No, that's disgusting. I would never serve anything like that in my kitchen." He rubs at the back of his neck as if working out a kink, "Just think of the reviews."
Rody's fists clench, he can't think straight. Rody charges at Vincent, pinning him to the ground. Vincent has the nerve to look surprised and it enrages him even further. The bottle of expensive wine lay broken on the floor. The bottom is shattered, its luxury contents spread over the floor but the top… it looks like it was made for him.
He grabs the neck of the bottle with his left hand and tangles his fingers in Vincent's jet black hair, wrenching his head back. Rody cocks back his arm and lets out an agonising scream as he drives the broken glass into the bistro owner's exposed neck. Vincent struggles beneath his weight, gurgling out half screams as he drives the bottle into his neck repeatedly.
He catches a whiff of smoke, he turns to find that the unattended candles rolled away, lighting the curtain to the kitchen ablaze. The rage fueling his movement subsides, replaced by panic. "Where is she? The rest of her?" He demands of the man beneath him.
Vincent can not respond, blood gushes past his hands as he attempts to limit its escape from his right neck. Rody stands, looking down at him with contempt. He looks so pathetic and yet… Rody still needs him.
His eyes dart around the room, locking onto the octopus which broke loose from its waves. He pulls off a tablecloth and wraps it around his hand, when he picks up the metal creature he can still feel the heat leeching through. "Hold still." He says, pulling Vincent's hands away from the wound, he doesn't fight it. It's all the warning he gives before pressing the hot metal against Vincent's open wound, it's suckers fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. Rody is sure he screams, but his voice is drowned out by the sounds of fire eating away everything he holds dear.
"Freezer." Vincent rasps. A perverse glee spreads across his face in a weak smile, the growing light of the fire gleams over the red and white of his bloodied teeth. "Enjoyed my dish that much?"
Rody looks down at him blankly, it's a question he'll never answer. He climbs through the winndow to the kitchen and moves towards the freezer, coughing through the smoke. He finds her easily, tucked gently in an out of the way corner. She looks so small and cold. Fragile even.
He rescues her from the flames and returns to the dining area. He gazes forlornly at the pre-packaged darling cradled in his arms. "Manon deserves a proper burial," He looks at the killer on the tiled floor, "And you deserve a proper punishment." He hoists Vincent up by the arm and drags him out the front door, Vincent's legs, weak from the blood loss, do little in the way of aide as he kicks at the floor.
"You're not going to kill me?" Vincent coughs out. His question is almost disappointed.
"No." Rody proclaims, holding Vincent's limp body upright with a hand on his face, keeping his eyes on the destruction. Rody tucks what he thinks is Manon's head to his chest. Rody watches the bistro crumble to the ground, in the company of the love of his life, and the one who ruined it, as the smoke blots out the stars in the night sky.
Steam billows through the air as the train winds through the mountainous terrain, the white dispersing in the clear blue sky and than dissipating like blood in water. Vincent sits on the window side with Rody blocking him from the eyes of the other passengers.
"Where are we going?" Vincent inquires.
"A house in the woods." Rody answers curtly as he flips through a news paper.
"Given the area your apartment is in, I was under the impression you had no money. How do you have a house?" Vincent questions.
Rody narrows his eyes at the mention of his living situation. "How do you know where I live?"
Vincent looks at him unimpressed. "It was on your application."
Rody warily accepts the answer and gives one in return. "It's not mine, a local man built it when I was young, it was a wedding gift for his son and his fiancée."
"Do they not live there anymore?" Vincent attempts to tilt his head but winces in pain at the aggitation to his burns.
The failed action makes the corner of Rody's mouth twitch upwards for a moment as he shakes his head, "No, the man's other son killed them both on their first night together. He was taken away and the family hasn't tried to do anything with the property since."
Just then, an attendant rolls her cart towards them. "Good evening gentlemen, would either of you care for any refreshments?"
"We ate before we boarded." Rody declines, edging forward a bit to block her view of Vincent.
She does not relent, the attendant moves forward and addresses Vincent directly. "And you, sir?" Rody watches concern slip onto her face as her eyes flit over their injuries. "Are you well?"
Rody pulls his sleeve down over the edge of the bandages wrapping the gash on his arm. He prepares to find an excuse but Vincent cuts in with a smile. "No thank you, it was just a little mishap in the kitchen. No need to worry ma cherie."
Rody watches as the tension slips from her face and she rolls her cart away with a mind at ease. "If you're capable of that civility," He turns to Vincent. "Why do you treat your employees so harshly?"
"She doesn't work for me, I see no reason not to be civil." Vincent states with a shrug of his left shoulder. "The treatment of my chefs is to improve their technique. I know what you think of me but I don't particularly enjoy senseless violence."
"I'm not a chef," Rody retorts. "I have no tecnique to speak of but you hit me." He tugs on the lobe of his remaining ear pointedly. "And more."
"It falls under the same umbrella." Vincent brushes him off. "A bit of dicipline is necessary in order to have a well run kitchen. When I was in culinary school I endured similar treatment."
"Oh really?" Rody looks at him incredulously, struggling to imagine someone like Vincent Charbonneau being treated the way he treats his employees. "Like how?"
Vincent looks him in the eyes. "I once had the stove turned too high and burnt a dish during an exam. The instructor was so mad that he handed it off to farmers to feed their pigs and held my face over the fire. He told me that a flame as high as mine was only good for burning things. My hair was a bit long at the time, I had it tied up of course but it caught fire, I panicked and he stuck my head under the faucet until it was out. Then he told me to go home."
"And that… helped you?" Rody asks, voice laced with doubt.
Vincent nods. "I went home and cut my hair short. When I went back to the kitchen the next day I paid better attention to the heat, I haven't burned anything unintentionally since. That sort of thing instills an amount of discipline you can't get anywhere else." He must catch doubt in Rody's expression because he adds onto his statement. "Have you ever seen a mistake in my kitchen outside of that idiot who was afraid of fire?"
Rody considers his words momentarily. "Maybe your methods work afterall," Rody throws his arm around Vincent in a way that might seem friendly from the outside, he winces at the friction on his well done skin. "I didn't even work as a chef at the bistro and I was still capable of giving you this wonderful char."
They sit now in the old cabin, which is no longer quite so rickety due to Rody's efforts. The holes in the walls are stuffed with newspapers and tree sap and the broken door is held shut by a log Rody rolled in front of it. The building is furnished with a few splintered wooden chairs, a rusted bed frame, and an armoire with all the clothes inside bitten to tatters by moths over the cabin's many uninhabited years. There had been a matress on the iron frame but it had been the home of all manner of rodents since Rody was young so he disposed of it.
Rody peels open a tin of cold soup and produces a nub of stale baguette from his coat pocket along with a spoon "What I have for you today is onion soup with a baguette," He quips.
A smile plays at Vincent's lips as Rody lifts the spoon to his mouth with a hand trembling with what he hopes is disgust. "What are you smiling at?" Rody demands "You're being held captive by the man who hates you most in this world and you don't have a thing to your name." Vincent just continues smiling.
"Could it be nostalgia? There was something similar served at the bistro. Spilled a hot bowl of it down a patron's back too." He chuckles breifly but it soon fades. "I wonder, is the reason you didn't fire me before that soup cooled love?"
"I hardly see the similarities between a cold can of Habitant and the soupe de l'oignon of Le Guele de Saturne." Vincent chuckles lightly in return, Rody's tension seemingly lost on him. "And I wouldn't know," Vincent continues wistfully. "It's been such a long time, I don't know what the feeling could compare to. Perhaps I could measure it against the care you give to me now."
"What I feel for you? It's not love." Rody states. "This could never be love."
"It doesn't matter if you claim to love or hate me Rody, it never did. What matters is that your feelings for me —and mine for you— are so strong they drive our actions. You claim to want nothing to do with me and yet you've cared for me all this time. You nursed me back to health, you feed me from your own hand, and dedicate your every action to me." He tilts his head and the burn wounds decorating the right side of his face glisten in the evening sun. "Even this is a testament to your love, you saved my life. I finally understand. That is love, to be so driven by the sensations of another person that you would abandon all the rest of the world."
"I may care for you," Rody forces the rage from his voice and scoops up another spoonful of the canned soup. "But I don't care for you." He gathers the saliva in his mouth and spits it onto the spoon. "Maybe your brain's a bit over cooked so let me spell it out for you. A man who spits in every bite of your food is not a friend." He stares into Vincent's coal black eyes and it fuels the fire inside of him.
Vincent doesn't break eye contact with him as he leans forward in his chair "I'm not the only one who was in that building. Smoke inhalation is a silent killer, it could be causing you a bit of confusion." He takes the contents of the spoon into his mouth and holds the liquids in his mouth for a moment before he swallows the mixture, still looking deep into Rody's eyes, which are no longer locked with his, but watching the bob of his throat as he swallows with all the interest of a starving man gazing on at a feast. "When the same saliva is in two mouths, it's generally called a kiss."
A feeling of disgust overtakes him and Rody snaps out of his stupor. He whips the spoon to the floor, raising from his chair in the process and fights the instinct to move closer, he pushes himself to the other side of the room, repelled from Vincent as two sides of a magnet with the same charge.
"You should probably go pick that up, we wouldn't to lose our silverware on our first night." Vincent says conversationally, as if he didn't just do that.
Rody shrinks away from him even more. "On second thought, you can eat on your own." He turns towards the door, prepared to run.
"And how exactly am I expected to eat soup without a spoon?" Vincent asks dryly.
"Just drink it from the can." Rody offers, inching further towards the door.
"Drink it from the can?" It's Vincent's turn to look disgusted. "Like a savage? I would rather you have just killed me if you expect me to eat without the proper utensils. This is just wrong."
Rody looks at him with disbelief. "This is what's wrong? Eating soup without a spoon? This is wrong and killing the love of my life and feeding her to me was what? The nobel thing to do? Was that act of murder the most princely thing you could think to do?"
"You're twisting my words." Vincent huffs. "Eating, food is love. If I were to have served that dish to you with a salad fork and a teaspoon, that would have been wrong. It would be disrespectful, to you and to her. That kind of disrespect is the closest thing to hate in this world."
Rody narrows his eyes and moves away from the door, forgetting to fear the man in the chair. "Oh yes, the real tragedy would be if I ate my girlfriend with the wrong utensil."
"She wasn't your girlfriend," Vincent corrects. "But you loved her, that's all that matters."
"That's not how it works," Rody scoffs. "No wonder you're such a miserable bastard, you center your whole life around food and yet you can't even master an ingredient as simple as love." He crosses the remaining space, invading Vincent's space. "If you never make so much as ice water again, you'd be doing the world a favour." He spits.
"I don't know if I'll ever cook again," He concedes, lowering his head. "But there is one thing I do know." Vincent leans in in turn, there's barely a whisper of space between their faces. "Everything you've fed me has tasted superb."