Still no answer, although a sudden clatter said the clumsy cow had dropped something. As much as I’ve spent on her stuff in the kitchen, you’d think she’d take better care of it. He scowled and slapped his round gut in agitation. “VERA!”
She finally appeared around the corner, wiping greasy hands on the apron cinched tight around her waist. A few strands of black hair had escaped her bun and patches of flour dotted her forehead and nose.
“What?” his wife said with an exasperated sigh. Dark circles discolored the skin under her eyes; she hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Serves her right. She should have gotten started sooner.
“Don’t take that tone with me, woman.” He hitched his pants up. “Where’s my bowling ball?”
“Did you look in the closet?”
“Of course I looked in the closet. You think I’m some kind of moron?”
“I’m sorry, dear. I really don’t know where it is.” She flapped her hands toward the kitchen. “Don’t you think you should stay home, anyway? They’re going to be here tomorrow, and we’ve still got a lot to do to get ready.”
“You’ve got a lot to do, you mean. I’ve got a bowling team counting on me tonight.”
“Come on, Charlie. This is your family we’re talking about. This house is going to be packed. I could use a little help in the kitchen if we’re going to get this turkey done on time.”
Charlie shook his head. “We’ve been over this before, Vera. The kitchen’s your responsibility. I don’t know the first thing about the stuff you do in there. I’ve dropped a lot of bread for appliances and whatnot over the years, how about you show some appreciation and use it?”
Some brief emotion flared across her face. On anyone else, he might have called it rage or even hatred. She’s probably just tired. Then it was gone, swallowed in weariness so quickly he wondered if he’d seen it all. “Alright,” she said and sighed.
Turning back to the closet, Charlie scratched his head again. Where is that thing?
“I think I found your ball,” Vera said behind him.
“Well, let me have it!” He turned just in time to catch a rolling pin between the eyes.
Groaning, Charlie woke to a massive headache and the sound of metal rasping against metal. Every scrape sent another bolt of pain through his head. Even the light filtering through his eyelids hurt. “Vera,” he whispered. “Whatever you’re doing, quit it.” He tried to rub his head, but couldn’t move his arm. He tried wiggling; he couldn’t move anything but his head. Something held him immobilized against a hard surface. He opened his eyes. “What’s going on here?”
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Vera swam into view. She held a large knife in one hand and a sharpener in the other. She gave the blade a few more licks, set both on the counter and smiled. “I’ve been thinking. It’s all my fault you don’t know how to help out in here. You’ve bought me all these wonderful tools for my kitchen.” She gestured behind her. Charlie tilted his head, but couldn’t see past his gut. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I really do, but I guess I’ve never really told you. Time to make that up to you!”
As she talked, Charlie twisted his head. A glance at the windows showed night had fallen. He lay on the dining room table; boards bolted to the sides held his arms out, secured with belts and rope. He figured his legs had been tied down in the same fashion. What is that woman up to? A stinging slap brought his attention back to that woman.
“You’re not listening, Charlie. That is quite rude.” She scowled down at him.
“Sorry,” he muttered, tugging at the restraints. They refused to budge.
“Quite alright.” The bright smile returned. “I was just saying that I thought the best way for me to show my appreciation was to teach you how all these things work. How does that sound to you?”
“Great, great.” He pulled his right leg. Did it give a little?
“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands and walked out of his field of vision. Something slid off a countertop, and she returned carrying what looked like a long metal stem holding a round dial. “This is a meat thermometer. You use it to check the internal temperature of your meat so you can tell if it’s done all the way through.” She smiled at him. “I believe you bought this… three years ago. Thank you!”
Vera jabbed the pointed end deep in his left thigh until it dug into his femur. Charlie screamed and arched his back off the table, he could see the dial wobbling back and forth as he thrashed. Her hand chased it for a moment before catching hold of the stem and yanking it free. Blood dripped from the end. “Clumsy me. I am so sorry about that.”
“What is wrong with you?” Charlie fell back against the table, panting.
“I honestly don’t know. I guess I just got in a rush.” She stabbed his other thigh, and he shrieked. “There. That’s better. You’re not supposed to let it hit bone. You can’t get an accurate reading that way.”
Eyes bulging, he watched his wife lean over and study the dial. “Around ninety-nine degrees. Well, you’re not exactly a pot roast, but at least we know you’re healthy!”
She reached over and grabbed the large knife she’d been sharpening earlier. Charlie tried to shrink back into the table. “A butcher knife? W… wha… what are you going to do…” He cut off, trembling and sweating.
“You really don’t know anything, do you? This is a chef’s knife.” Shaking her head, Vera tsked and set the blade back on the counter. She disappeared for a moment, then returned with one hand at her side. In the other, she carried what looked like some sort of blowtorch, which she set on the table. “This is a butcher knife.” She lifted something that looked more closely related to a hatchet than a kitchen utensil. “They’re really quite different. This one is all about chopping.”
Charlie couldn’t catch his breath or take his eyes off that rectangular blade glittering in the fluorescent lights.
The butcher knife rose overhead. Its blade cut through the air and buried itself in the board supporting his left hand with a solid thunk. Four fingers bounced off the quivering wood and pattered to the floor. Blood spurted across the blade and Vera’s white apron. Charlie screamed and pulled against his bonds.
“Oops,” Vera said. “Missed one.” She wrenched the blade free and chopped his thumb off with two quick swipes. More blood flowed, making her frown. “That’s a big mess you’re making here, Charlie. Just one more thing for me to clean later, I suppose. But for now…”
Retrieving the blowtorch, she clicked a switch, and blue flames jetted from the tip. “I never had much use for this cooking torch, but I got to tell you, I’ve always had a lot of fun playing with it.”
Charlie whimpered and struggled harder. His head whipped from side to side, and his shrieks renewed, louder than before, as she ran the fire across his maimed hand. He gagged at the smell of roasting meat. He barely heard Vera trying to tell him something, but couldn’t make it out past the sound of his own screams and the agony burning up his arm.
The butcher knife hitting the table by his ear caught his attention.
“You are making entirely too much noise, Charlie. I’m glad we live out in the country — I hate to think what our neighbors would say if they could hear you being such a baby. But I am not going to try to talk over you, either.”
He closed his eyes as Vera walked away from the table, breathing in ragged gasps. They opened when a wet, foul-tasting cloth forced itself into his mouth. He tried to spit the dishrag out and gagged when Vera jabbed it back in. A ripping sound came from somewhere over his head and he caught sight of a flash of dull silver as she slapped duct tape over his mouth.