Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (2 page)

EAT YOURSELF

Michael Shimek

Josephine Kline felt as if her every hair stood straight as an arrow, bats flapped wildly in her stomach, and her heart had started its own drum circle.

She was going to go through with it, though.

Maybe.

How could she not? It was the experience of a lifetime. She and her husband had somehow won tickets to the most exclusive restaurant in the world: Eat Yourself.

The reviews, signs, and advertisements spoke for themselves:

Top notch ... frightfully entertaining!
– George Fannelli,
The New York Times.

Treat yourself to ... yourself!

Five thumbs up!
(attached to a billboard with five human hands giving the thumbs up sign, the last one with a bite taken out of it)

The restaurant was one of a kind. Only A-list celebrities were invited – yes, it was invitation only. No one who wasn’t rich or famous was ever invited.

Until now.

“Paul, I’m nervous.”

“Jo, there’s nothing to be worried about. This is exciting!”

“I don’t know ... We don’t belong here. We’re not these type of people. I mean, look.”

Outside their limousine was a mass of paparazzi, lights flashing at anyone entering and exiting the upscale restaurant. It was a two-story building with no windows, painted all black. Somehow bypassing fire codes, it had only one set of doors, which were so large an elephant could stroll through. A red carpet ran from the entrance to the curb, velvet rope keeping back the gawkers.

Jo’s husband was nothing but wide eyes and smiles as he stared at the glamour that was so foreign to them.

They were from a rural town in Minnesota. She was a schoolteacher, and he was an accountant for a local hardware store. They had never been to New York City, maybe traveling to Minneapolis once or twice a year for fun. They were small city folk; the big city was a whole new experience. They’d immediately found themselves lost at the JFK airport, even with a man stationed to greet them.

“It’s
amazing
, Jo! We’ve never been pampered like this before, and I don’t think we’ll ever get another chance. We’re living like celebrities! How can you not be enjoying yourself?”

He ignored her pleas of concern, too caught up in the spotlight. She sulked back into the leather seat. Their vehicle was second in line. She couldn’t see who had exited the limo in front of them, but the flashbulbs popped wildly for whoever walked down the carpet. Their chariot rolled forward. It was their turn.

All of Paul’s teeth could be seen. Jo faked a smile.

The door opened. Cameras blazed with blinding twinkles. Paul grabbed Jo’s hand and pulled her into the craziness. Her dress sparkled, and his suit shone. He waved for the cameras; she did, too, but quickly and hurrying toward the entrance. When the giant door opened, she darted inside, losing her husband’s grip in the process.

Paul came in soon after. “Whoa,” he said, his smile never faltering. “That was intense.”

“I’ll say,” she said, hoping he would get the hint.

He did not.

Jo tried to ignore his ignorance and breathed a sigh of relief. The new surroundings helped her relax.

The room they were in was quite fancy: leather couches, ultra-modern art and décor, water cascading down the entire side of a wall. Although it was more elegant than anything she was used to, Jo still found the room calming.

“Welcome to Eat Yourself.” A voice came from the only other doorway in the room. The woman was tall and svelte, prettier than most models. “My name is Teresa, and I will be assisting you with the preparations. Please, sit.”

They sat on one of the couches. e the waivers. You
must
sign these before going any further.”

Paul immediately began skimming and signing next to the red tabs.

“There’s so much of this,” Jo said, hesitatin

Teresa handed them each a stack of papers and a pen. “These arg. “What does it all say?”

“Basically, that you know what you’re getting yourself into,” the hostess said. “You can’t sue if something goes wrong, we’re not liable if you die or are unsatisfied ... minor legal things like that.” She raised an eyebrow, the implication clear. Sign, or leave.

“Honey, come on,” Paul said. “Just sign the papers.”

She caved. Without even reading what was written, she signed and dated all twenty-three lines. Paul grinned at her and pulled her close.

“Excellent,” Theresa said as she took the waivers. “Now, if you follow me, we can begin with the drugs.”

Jo’s worry increased. “Drugs?”

“Of course,” the hostess said. “You don’t expect to be operated on without any drugs, do you?”

“Um, no, I guess not.”

Theresa smiled and winked at the couple. “Don’t worry, it’s a good cocktail of stuff. It’ll help calm you down, too.”

She brought them into a large and noisy room filled with tables and reclining chairs. At several tables were diners in various stages of their meals. Many were awake, drugged and laughing, and trying to hold conversations with those around them. Some were passed out, the doctors in the middle of the operations. Those with bandages either ate in quiet, or loudly to proclaim their achievement. Jo saw rich politicians, famous movie and television stars, athletes, and many people who belonged to royalty.

“Oh, wow!” Paul grabbed Jo’s arm and pointed. “Is that the queen’s son? We can see right into his chest. And so can he!”

Depending on what was removed, the surgery could be done on someone who was fully conscious. The prince had apparently opted to be awake, and he stared in horror and excitement at the open cavity in his chest. Jo looked away from the gruesome sight.

“Ribs,” Paul said. “He must be having ribs. I hear that’s a popular choice.”

Jo avoided looking at anyone else’s table, focusing on the hostess and the empty chairs she brought them to.

“Here you are. If you two will have a seat, I will inform a nurse to come and hook you up. Congratulations on winning this once in a life time opportunity. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” With a smile, the woman was gone.

“She was nice,” Paul said.

“You mean pretty,” Jo said. It was a joke, but with her nerves it might have sounded a little harsh.

Paul blushed and was about to say something, but a very good-looking man approached the table, pushing a rolling tray equipped with various medical instruments.

“Hello, my name is Daniel, and I’ll be your nurse tonight. Are you two ready?”

“We sure are,” Paul said.

Jo nodded but kept silent.

“Good. There’s nothing to worry about. First, I’m going to take a quick blood sample and attach these IVs to you. Lay an arm out on the table, either arm works.”

Both Jo and Paul complied. With professional care, like they were at any hospital or doctor’s office, the nurse pricked their arms, filled up two small tubes of blood, and then attached them to the IV bags.

“The saline will feel a little cool as it travels through you. Next, I’ll inject the mix of drugs that will help mellow you out and prepare you for your surgery.” He pulled out two syringes and injected a purple liquid into the bags. “While that circulates, I’m going to go and test your blood, just to make sure there’s nothing to throw off the operation.”

Jo stared at her arm in disbelief.
I can’t believe I just let that stranger do that,
she thought.
What am I doing? I’m
really
going to let them hack a part of me off so they can cook it and feed it to me? How is this right?! How can this be the “in” thing?
She wanted to scream, but her mind and body felt as light as a cloud. She was nervous and angry, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered much anymore.

“Say, these drugs are working pretty fast, huh?” Paul lifted his arms and waved them across his face. He giggled and put them back down. “Can you feel it?”

“Oh, I’m feeling something,” she said. She wanted to sound upset, but it only came out in a mumble.

Paul giggled some more, and before she knew it, Jo was laughing right along with him.

Daniel returned. “Both of you are good to go. I’ve got some menus for you, and in about ten minutes Chef Baron LaVour will be out to take your order. Any questions?”

Jo had one. “How long will it take to regrow the limb, or whatever part is removed from the body?”

“That depends. A finger usually takes an hour. Nothing takes longer than a day, though. With the highly trained scientists, geneticists, and doctors we have here, Eat Yourself has the most advanced technology involving medicine and health in the entire world.”

After the nurse left again, Jo opened the leather-bound menu and glanced at what the restaurant had to offer. It all sounded fancy, and oh-so gruesome: blood bisque, fillet of tongue, roasted thigh. If she hadn’t been hopped-up on drugs, she might have either fainted or puked all over the table.

“Paul, I’m really having second thoughts about this.”

He scrunched his eyebrows. “Are you serious? You want to back out
now
?”

“Well ...”

Two men walked up to Jo and Paul’s table. The larger man was tall and thick; he looked ex-military. With strong arms crossed over his barrel chest, shades tinted so his eyes could barely be seen through the lenses, and a black toque resting on top of his head, Chef Baron Lavour was indeed an intimidating person. The smaller man reminded Jo of a remora, the fish that hangs onto a shark through suction. Dressed with a black bowtie and holding a high-end electronic tablet, he never wavered more than an arm’s length from the boss.

“Good evening, and congratulations on your winnings. I am Troy, Chef Baron LaVour’s personal sous-chef and assistant. I will be speaking on his behalf. Any questions before we begin?”

They shook their heads.

“Good. Before you order, I will need to ask a few questions. First, what are your names?”

Paul spoke for them. “Paul and Josephine Kline.”

The assistant pecked away at the screen and continued on. “Ages?”

“I’m thirty-nine, and she’s thirty-seven.”

“Had you heard about Eat Yourself before receiving an invitation?”

“Yes, of course. Who hasn’t?”

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Kline. Do either of you have any food allergies?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Now, have you decided what to order?”

Paul smiled and winked at Jo, and it was then that she realized what dish he had chosen.
No, not that one,
she thought.

“I want the Suicide Feast,” he said.

A hush fell among those seated nearby. It was the most dangerous meal in the entire world. Choosing the Suicide Feast involved the aorta, a section each of the carotid and radial arteries, and both corneas. It was prepared only one way, and that was Chef Baron LaVour’s way.

The chef’s gaze bored through the tinted glasses, narrow slits studying Paul as if taking his measure. Then the large man nodded. He turned to Jo and waited for her order.

“Um, I’m not really sure ... can I just have, like, a couple of fingers fried? Like, only one, maybe two?” Her voice quavered. She didn’t want to do it, not even with the drugs pumping through her system. She hoped the chef would see her unease and dismiss her from this gruesome trend that was somehow acceptable in today’s society, but she could tell he would have none of that in
his
restaurant.

The chef’s eyes glowed with a fiery anger. He hissed something to his assistant and stormed off.

“Chef Baron LaVour has little patience for indecision,” Troy told Jo. “He will decide for you and return when he is ready.”

Before she could argue, Troy snatched the menus from their hands and left the table.

“Geez, Jo, way to embarrass me,” Paul said.

Her face flushed. “
I’m
embarrassing
you
?”

“Shh, honey, don’t raise your voice–”

She cut him off. “I’ve been telling you how uncomfortable this whole thing has made me, and you’ve ignored every bit of it.
You
just ordered something that could potentially kill you. Remember when that actor ordered it and died from complications?”

“That was when Eat Yourself first opened. It still had its bugs to work out. Nothing like that has happened in months.”

“Right,
months
,” she said.

“It’s perfectly safe, Jo. They have scientists and doctors on standby just in case. I bet they’re always updating their procedures to keep up concerns. A business can’t continue if the customers keep dying.” He paused and added, “I won’t let you ruin this experience for me. We’ll talk about it later. Sit back, and go along with the ride. When it’s all over, you’ll be happy you went through with it.”

Divorce had never been a thought in her head until now. Paul had never acted so stern toward her before.
Never.
This whole experience had changed him, and not into someone she appreciated. She wouldn’t divorce Paul, of course; she loved him, but they were
definitely
going to talk when the night was over.