The scent in the kitchen was divine.
Rich meat caramelizing in its own juices. Garlic frying in butter. Herbs burning just enough to smell holy. Gerald stood over the stove, apron soaked, face damp with heat. He stirred the bubbling stew with long, patient strokes.
Chunks of meat floated to the top. The fat had risen and congealed in swirls, shimmering like oil over water.
He plucked out a piece with tongs. Let it drip. Then bit in.
Steam hissed between his teeth. He chewed slowly. Eyes half-lidded.
"Perfect," he muttered. "So tender."
[FLASHBACK – THREE DAYS AGO]
They had fought again. Nothing new. Her voice was shrill, accusing. He barely listened anymore.
"Get out. You're sick, Gerald. You need help. I'm done with this."
He stood by the doorway, silent. Watching her pack, watching her hands tremble as she stuffed a coat into a bag. Her keys jingled in her other hand.
When she turned her back, he moved.
The frying pan was still on the stove from breakfast. He didn't think. Just swung.
The crack was like a baseball bat hitting wet mud. She crumpled, legs folding under her, fingers still curled around her car key. He hit her again. And again. The sound was louder the second time, bone on metal.
Then there was silence.
Her head was caved in like a crushed melon.
Gerald pulled the roast from the oven.
The meat had browned into something beautiful. The bone curved delicately beneath the muscle, like a hidden smile. He rubbed it with a final glaze, thick and sticky.
The ribs hissed as he laid them on a tray. The meat slid off the bone like it had been waiting to be eaten.
He was humming now. A lullaby.
[FLASHBACK – LATER THAT NIGHT]
He stood in the bathtub, naked. Covered in blood. Hers.
He had to cut her up. There was no choice.
The first cut was the hardest, through the belly. He nicked something inside. The smell hit like a hammer.
He gagged. Then laughed.
"Sorry, baby," he whispered.
He sawed through her thighs next. Took him hours. His hands blistered. Her body thumped wetly against the tiles as he disassembled her.
Organs spilled out like rotten fruit. Her intestines coiled like a broken hose. The bathroom floor was slick with her.
When he tried to drag her torso, it left a wide smear behind him like a slug trail.
That morning, he spent five hours boiling ribs and scraping off tissue.
The spine cracked like dry twigs. The skull went in last. For the broth.
By the time the guests arrived, the house smelled like Heaven.
Her mother hugged him hard. Her father shook his hand like he forgave everything. Her sisters clutched tissues.
"She was everything to us," one whispered. "You were lucky."
"I still am," Gerald said, and smiled.
The dinner was beautiful.
Stew with soft chunks of meat. Roasted ribs, lacquered and glistening. Bone marrow on toast. A family recipe, he said.
They devoured it.
Her mother moaned with pleasure.
"This... this is incredible. What is it?"
He smiled.
"Something she left behind."
They laughed. They toasted. They cried.
No one asked why the meat had such a delicate sweetness.
[FLASHBACK – CLEANUP]
The trash bags were buried in the woods. The headless torso burned in the fireplace over two nights.
He kept a tooth in his pocket.
Something to touch when he missed her.
After the guests left, he sat alone at the table, sipping wine.
The leftovers were still warm. He picked at them with his fingers.
Then got up. Opened the freezer. Labeled bags stared back at him.
Elsie – Thigh
Elsie – Shoulder Roast
Elsie – Sweetbreads
He ran his hand along the cold surface of the bags, lovingly.
Next to them sat a new tray. Empty. Waiting.
He scribbled a new label.
Samantha – Tenderloin
Her sister had hugged him tight tonight.
She smelled just like Elsie used to.