Soul Mates
Dane Hatchell
These stories are a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Dane Hatchell
Cover Copyright © P.A. Douglas
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
From Severed Press:
From Severed Press:
Other Titles Available from the Author
Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution
A Gentleman’s Privilege: Zombies in the Old South
A Werewolf in our Midst
Apocalypse³
Club Dead: Zombie Isle
Dead Coup d'État
Dreaming of an Undead Christmas
It Came from Black Swamp
Lord of the Flies: A Zombie Story
Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare
Pheromone and Rotten
Red Rain
The Garden of Fear
The Last Savior
The Turning of Dick Condon
Time and Tide: A Fractured Fairy Tale
Two Big Foot Tales
Two Demented Fish Tales
Zombies of Iwo Jima
Zombie God of the Jungle
Zombie’s Honor
Soul Mates
Haley Deucett lived a thousand lives and died a thousand deaths. No one would know that just by looking at him, although his uniform would impress you. The gentleman dressed in starched black slacks and wore black patent leather shoes. The black jacket had red piping along the lapel, and gold rope adorned his Remington hat above the shiny, black brim. A white shirt and black tie completed his outfit.
Earlier that morning he found himself trapped in a hospital with flood waters rising. A door to the upper floor containing a horde of zombies was the only means escape from a certain death. The previous day a teddy bear in the attic crawled down and sought the blood from his beating heart.
A short, wide man dressed business casual clomped toward him down the hall. Haley dry mopped his way by the wall and turned his back just as he passed. Guests of the Honesta Royale Hotel demanded cleanliness but didn’t want to be bothered by the help.
I wonder which restaurant in the French Quarter he’ll be eating at? Haley thought. Maybe a night of gambling by the river or go down to one of them high dollar strip clubs on Bourbon Street.
People traveled to New Orleans to experience the illusion of a carefree lifestyle. Laissez les bon temps rouler— let the good times roll. A place where unique cuisine is offered, the best of drunken times are to be had, and where the lusts of the flesh are certainly to be quenched.
Living those illusions brought nothing but sorrow: financial ruin, throbbing headaches, and diseases that couldn’t be washed off. Haley had found them unable to fill a wanting in his soul. That’s why he spent most of his off time reading. Reading was something he had loved to do from his earliest memories. Comic books featuring muscular men wrapped in tight-fitting, colorful costumes first hooked him into embarking on fantastic adventures. Haley became a traveler across the world—to the highest of mountains and into the deepest pits of the oceans. Neither time nor space were obstacles. In the end, the good guys always won.
Eventually, good always triumphing evil lacked a certain appeal. That’s when Haley found himself drawn to comics offering mystery, terror, chills and thrills. There was a certain comfort the dark tales brought. A particular need that watching evil win filled. His love for horror expanded into the world of paperback books. The used bookstore down the street had kept him with a steady supply for several decades now.
“Piss man!” Chef Barque boisterously roared, giving Haley a startle. “I see you working hard as usual. How long have you been staring at the wall?”
Haley turned but let his gaze drift to the floor. He continued to mop and forced a grin. “Not long, sir. I was just thinking that it’s getting time to start my second shift cleaning the restaurant.”
Barque had been drying his hand on a paper towel. He rolled it into a tight ball. “Yes, about you work. I have told you before since you start cleaning at night, the floors, they feel slick.” Barque spoke with a slight French accent.
“Excuse me, Mr. Barque. I clean the floors super special. Why, you could eat off them after I’m finished.” Haley’s chest expanded. He straightened his back and framed his shoulders. The yellowing whites of his eyes bulged slightly.
Barque ignored his retort. “And piss man, someone helped themselves to the Caciocavallo Podolico last night. Did you have some of my expensive French cheese with your pork skins for midnight snack?” Barque’s lips tightened, his brows raised.
“Mr. Barque, I don’t eat any of your food. That would be stealing. I don’t eat any cheese other than American anyways.”
Barque leaned forward with his hands on his hips. “Eh, piss man. You watch you step. I take you job. Get you fired.”
“Mr. Barque, you leave me be! Go on, get yourself home and let me get back to work.” Haley turned his back and mopped double time.
Barque grinned. “Yes. Yes, you get back to work piss man. I have left you a gift in last stall. I show you what I think of you . . . work.” He tossed the wadded paper towel to the floor and left with a laugh.
Haley felt a clamp tighten against his temples. In all his years of working no one had ever treated him with such disrespect. Barque was a perfectionist. Haley picked up a second shift cleaning the restaurant at the hotel when the night guy quit. Mr. Antoine, the hotel’s chief of staff, specifically asked Haley to take over the kitchen duties knowing him for his high quality of work. Haley was happy to step in and take over, although it did cut into his reading time at home. He didn’t want to give up his afternoon shift. He enjoyed being around the guests at the hotel. In an odd way he considered them all part of his family. Now that he was pulling two shifts, he was making more money and saving to buy a newer car.
Haley mopped his way to the bathroom door and opened it. Barque had left a smoldering pile of feces on the floor next to the toilet. Haley dropped his head and closed his eyes. After a deep breath he began his sordid task.
*
His shift in the kitchen seemed to pass quickly. Barque had fueled Haley’s rage and he channeled the negative energy into his work. The dining room was as clean as ever, and the stainless steel counters glistened. When he made the final pass with the mop, the clock on the wall showed 4 a.m. The floors were so clean they reflected the florescent lighting fixtures as he made his final inspection. A job well done, he put away his cleaning supplies, and made his way to his car for the short ride home.
The hotel allowed Haley to park his car in the garage but only on the top level. He climbed into his 1981 Delta 88, drove six stories down, and turned on Bienville Street toward home.
A red light brought him to a stop at the intersection of Bienville and Baronne. Of course, there was no traffic at that time of the morning. He twisted a knob on the steering column and watched the red light through a stream of water battened down by the windshield wipers.
The passenger door sprang open and a small, dark figure plopped next to him and closed the door.
“Hey! What! Get out of my car! Get out of my car!” Haley shouted.
“Hey, Papi Chulo, that’s no way to talk to a senorita,” sheepishly said a petite woman with long dangling earrings.
“Are you crazy, woman? Get out of my car!�
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“Why should I get out of your car? You stop for me.”
“I didn’t stop for you. I stopped for the red light. I’m on my way home, and I need to turn left here. Now get out!”
“Not so fast, Papi Chulo. How about we party?”
“Party? It’s four in the morning. I just pulled two shifts and I need to go home and get some sleep,” Haley said with his hands up in dismay.
“We party at your house. You know?” The woman reached her hand down on his crotch and gently rubbed.
“Miss! Get your hand off me!”
“Victoria, my name is Victoria.” When she said is it came out like ‘eese.’
“I don’t care what your name be. I want you out of my car.”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like Latino girls?” She pouched out her bottom lip and blinked rapidly.
“I don’t like Latino girls who jump in my car at four in the morning.”
“Okay. I get out then,” she said with a sigh.
“Good. Now why don’t you go home and get some sleep.”
“I get out when you pay me.”
“Pay you? For what?”
“Pay me for my time. Give me fifty dollars, and I get out.”
Haley dropped his hands onto the steering wheel. “I’m not giving you fifty dollars. Now, out!”
Victoria shoved her hand in his crotch and squeezed. “You give me fifty dollars and I give you balls back.”
“Get your—AHHHHHH!” Haley yelled as Victoria dug in with her boney fingers into his testicles. “Okay! Stop! I’ll give you the money.”
Victoria squeezed harder. “You give me a hundred dollars, I stop.”
Haley grabbed Victoria by the hair and slammed her head into the steering wheel. She made a small cry and dug in even harder than Haley imagined possible. His hands went to her throat.
Victoria squawked chokes of protest but continued her assault.
Haley slammed her head against the dash maintaining his grip around her throat until blessed relief washed over him. Victoria was out cold. He pushed her back over in the passenger’s seat and dug his pants away from his testicles.
Haley looked in his rearview mirror and saw a car approaching. The light had turned green. He made his turn and parked on the side of the road at the next empty spot. Victoria’s eyes were open but held in a vacant, distant stare. His heart sunk.
“Victoria. Wake up. Time to get out. Victoria?” Haley tapped her gently on the arm, but she wouldn’t rouse. He reached for her wrist and felt around but couldn’t find a pulse.
This was terrible. What was he going to do? How was he going to explain this to the police? How was he going to explain this to his boss at the hotel? He was going to have to hire a lawyer, miss work, and maybe even spend time in jail. Going to jail was something he had vowed he would never do.
He needed to get rid of the body. Victoria was just a prostitute. Maybe no one would miss her. Haley needed time to think. A police car slowly past by but didn’t stop. He breathed a sigh of relief, and merged back on the street.
*
It was a short drive as he lived about a mile down Baronne Street in a house his Grandmother had owned. Haley’s Mother left him the house when she died thirty years before. It still had the same curtains on the windows and was in severe need of painting.
Haley pulled underneath his carport. For once he was glad he had never replaced the burned out bulb. He didn’t think any of his neighbors were awake yet but you never knew. He thought better of leaving the body in the car and moved it into the house under the cover of night. Fortunately, Victoria weighed no more than ninety pounds, and he had little difficulty dragging her in.
He entered the living room and closed the door and pulled the curtains to before turning on the lights. Bookshelves filled with hardback and paperback books covered two walls. A wooden roll top desk set pressed into one corner. The top was open and showcased a black and white picture of JFK and an old IBM Selectric typewriter that had a half-typed page still in it. The rest of the room’s sparse furnishings included an old television, a lounge chair, couch, and rug. All were all very old, but clean.
Haley decided he would put Victoria in the bathtub, ice her down, and deal with her later. He stuck his hands under her arms and pulled her into the hall. During the move he glanced up and his gaze caught the cover of an EC classic comic book displayed on a bookshelf. The cover showed a man holding the severed head of a beautiful blond in one hand and a bloody hatchet in the other. The woman’s body lay sprawled on the floor exposing long, sensual legs.
This inspired him. He could chop Victoria into pieces. It would be easier to dispose of the body. What then? Find a pile of fire ants and let them pick her bones clean? Find a garbage dumpster and toss her in there? He needed to get rid of the body in such a way it could never be traced to him. He had read once that hogs would eat a body. Too bad he didn’t live on a farm.
Then, a strange little thought popped in his head. I could eat her. The thought brought a slight moment of embarrassment, not too different from the time he told Beatrice Johnson he liked her in the third grade. Haley had held a dark fascination with cannibalism for years. Horror stories explored what society abhors. Does human meat really have a sweet flavor? More than one story he had read suggested as much.
He continued his backward trek into the bathroom. Victoria was limp and her head flopped from side to side eerily as he undressed her. Haley lifted the body into the old cast iron tub and sat on the toilet.
Why would eating her be wrong? It’s not like men haven’t done it in the past. Warriors would eat parts of enemies killed in battle to get their bravery. The more he thought the more rational it sounded. I will never get a chance again to know what it’s like to eat a human. The thoughts titillated a perverseness he had masked over. It crawled from a crack and grew into a swelling compulsion.
Haley rose and began filling the tub. There was no way he could continue without washing off the filth and grime she had picked up in the French Quarter. He used a little bit of soap and a washcloth and gave her a thorough scrub down.
Victoria’s body felt cool and soft. The sweet tenderness of youth had been long lost from Haley aging body. “You sure were a pretty thang.”
Her vacant stare answered hollow.
After rinsing the body, he went to the kitchen and retrieved a meat cleaver, a few knives, some plastic trash bags, and began his work.
Applying skills he learned while spending time at his cousin’s deer camp, he started off by removing her feet and hands and tossed them in the trash bag. Next, he cut the limbs off at the joints, until only the head remained connected to the torso. An excess of blood made a mess of things. He rinsed the body parts and put them in a trash bag.
The limbless torso of Victoria reminded Haley of the movie ‘Boxing Helena.’ Now that would be a woman that had to really trust her man. He chuckled to himself.
He used a serrated blade knife to saw off her head and a meat cleaver to chop off the top of the skull. The later proved to be more difficult than he anticipated, but determination rewarded him with the prize of grey matter.
The brain was smaller than he thought it would be and he decided then to it eat first. The heart, liver, and kidneys were put in a bag together as he gutted the torso, and threw the remaining organs away. He rinsed what remained of the body and separated the ribs and wondered if her ass would make a worthwhile roast.
His gaze was drawn to her genetalia. A dark, perverse feeling flushed through him. Her vagina didn’t look like a taco and he was sure it couldn’t taste like one. And despite all the stories he had heard about Cajuns eating anything, he had never seen animal genitals in a jambalaya.
I wonder what it would really taste like? Haley started feeling a little giddy. Eating’s not cheating. He chuckled to himself again.
How would he prepare it if he did want to eat it? It’s pussy. I don’t have a recipe for cat. They call it tuna, but I don’t thin
k it would go well mixed in with mayo and pickle relish. Haley just cracked himself up with his bad humor.
He snapped back to the task at hand and decided to throw the rest of the body parts away. After a quick clean up, he changed his clothes and brought the bags into the kitchen.
A large cast iron skillet bought new in 1952 went on the stove and began to heat. Haley cracked two eggs in a bowl, sprinkled in some Creole seasonings, and whipped it all together. He took Victoria’s brain and cut it in half and then sliced one half of it into equally thick slabs.
A thin wisp of smoke rose from the skillet signally it was ready. Haley threw some butter on the hot surface and waited for it to sizzle. He sautéed some chopped garlic for a short time and placed the brain slabs in the buttery mixture.
The brains cooked quickly and emanated a heavenly smell throughout the kitchen. Haley put two slices of bread in the toaster and set the heat to medium to get them going. Then, he poured a glass of orange juice and drank a sip while scooping out the brains. He dumped the bowl of eggs into the skillet and shoved them around with a spatula until they were nice and scrambled.
It was like Christmas morning. Anticipation had a large smile cut across his face. He scrapped the eggs up onto his plate just as the toast popped up and sat down to eat.
Haley sliced off a piece of brain and jabbed it with his fork. The decisive moment had arrived.
The rubbery looking slab went into his mouth. He chewed slowly, waiting for all the flavors to develop. It tasted, it tasted like, well, it sort of tasted like liver. Haley had never eaten cow or pig brain, but when he was a child he once ate squirrel brains. His Grandmother had made a gumbo and she had put the squirrel heads in it. I guess all brains taste alike.
The flavor was not altogether unappealing. The garlic and spices livened it up a lot. In fact, the more Haley ate, the more he enjoyed it. It was different, and good for a change of pace every now and then.
Something though, was missing. It needed another ingredient to make it complete. Ketchup. He was used to a eating his eggs with ketchup and a little tobasco sauce. He grabbed a bottle off the counter and squirted some on his plate, then shook a few drops of tobasco sauce on top.
Soul Mates: Higher learning through Cannibalism Page 1