A Dish Best Not Served

A Dish Best Not Served -

Arthur Volk was a renowned sociopath in this small, isolated community. It would be a fair assumption he carried the same reputation wherever his travels took him, and it was said his travels took him to any number of points across the globe.Matters of personality aside, he was known as a scoundrel and a theif, responsible for any number of stolen heirlooms or widows bilked of their inheritances. He wasn't even below such common crimes as mugging or burglary. Yet the very fact he remained a free man spoke volumes about the degree of intimidation he held over his victims. Although many spoke of his unforgivable acts, none were quite willing to step forward and speak through the proper channels. So he carried on with impunity, like a demonic locust passing from town to town leaving ruin and destruction in his wake. But it was here that he had made his home for these past few months. Perhaps planning his next deplorable scheme or perhaps just taking some time off and enjoying the fruits of his labors. In any event, it will be his final resting place.
My desire for revenge agaist Volk began in a place quite removed from this. I was the only son of an extremely wealthy shipping merchant, who met with an untimely demise at the helm of his fleet's flagship when it was caught in a freak squall at sea. Mother was despondant over the loss, but when a mysterious stranger began to present himself in a charming and spontaneous manner, it appeared to be the tonic needed to begin the process of repairing her wounded heart. Within months, this stranger, who at the time was travelling under the name of Spencer Lembry, had been moved into our stately residence, and within weeks of moving, he disappeared with nearly everything of value. The descent into poverty was a rapid one in a society where no one seemed concerned with the fate of unfortunates.  Our manor was sold in order to feed ourselves, and besides, the upkeep alone would have been well beyond what Lembry (Volk) had left behind. A few short years devoured what was left of our once proud possessions and in the end, Mother was reduced to the life of a scrub woman, working 16 hour days in order to provide for her only son. Finally the hard life thrust upon such a delicate beauty, and the despair of her lot, snuffed her life, quietly, in the cold night of destitution.
Nearly a decade has passed, and through relentless investigation and countless cold leads, I have finally come to this place, the den of the monster. Over the past few weeks, I have been making subtle queries in regards to this individual, and as stated, he is looked upon as one to be avoided. I'm told people will cross the street at his approach for fear of either being the subject of his viscious brand of unprovoked degradations, or the victim of spontaneous physical attacks. Yet, on the whole, no one seemed to wish him ill will. He was only thought of as a sociopath, and not known to be one, and therefore, most were willing to let him be.  But through a few well placed questions, so as not to make me seem too interested, I learned of his habits and the businesses he regularly frequented (which were for the most part drinking establishments). My plan was simple, I would follow him to his pub of choice and wait until an appropriate time , so as to allow for the alcohol to have dulled his senses, to approach him as a hapless traveller seeking a few hours company over a pint. Surely no opportunistic drunk can refuse an offer of free booze and perhaps something else a little more ill-gotten.Then with the help of a knockout potion concocted by an acquaintance in the field of apothecary, I would incapacitate the brute by slipping it into his drink when his attention was diverted. Then, as a show of what a compassionate human being I am, I would offer to take this poor inebriated fellow home to his warm bed. Of course the "warm bed" would actually be a stout tree in the forest to which he will be bound. And once he has recovered from the dope enough to be fully aware of what is happening, I shall begin the understanding. I will make him understand using all that remains of my once sunny life; The ceremonial dagger that has been in my family's posession for centuries. My father was to pass it down to me when I came of age. Since he was taken away before that time, I had pilfered it from his belongings and tucked it under my bed shortly before the arrival of Mr. Lembry. The hilt in my hand always comforted me, more so as the day of my vengeance approached. It's razor sharp edge, honed to infinity through ages of care, would glint at me, in an almost mischevious wink in anticipation of the moment of understanding.He would understand how wrong he was to choose this path, he would understand how he will never harm another living being, he will understand slowly and he will understand painfully.
  As luck would have it, he would commonly impose himself on the barkeep until long after the other patrons had returned home and the village went to sleep. The less eyes the better.
So here I am, on the brink of completing my obsession. The village has already begun to sink into darkness. The windows of more and more houses have been shuttered for  the night and from my vantage point the pub that Volk has been at for these past few hours is empty. All but for Volk and the hapless barkeep. Maybe it's time to see if that barkeep would be willing to pour one off for a tired traveller.
I enter and sure enough, there he is in the corner,and he appears to be quite intoxicated. He barely even registered my entrance. Good,good. I approach the bar and inquire, " Is there any possibility  that I may be served a drink at such an hour?"
" Sure," says the barkeep, motioning to the lush in the corner " I gotta stick around 'til he leaves anyways."
" Then perhaps you could make it two, and I could convince this fellow to leave and let you get home to your family."
The barkeep shrugs as if to say " Anythings worth a shot."  and proceeds to fill two steins with a frothy brew. Good,good, things seem to be proceeding as planned so far.I grab the steins in one hand and as I turn my back on the bar sneak into my pocket to produce the glass vial that contains the catalyst for this bastard's demise. Using my thumb to pull the stopper, I pour it into the stein I have selected to be his. A small chip in the rim will help me identify it in case he tries the switcheroo, not that he'd have a reason to, but it's best to be prepared. And luckily he hasn't even noticed any of my actions despite the fact I've gotten right beside his table.
" Would you care for a drink for the road and some mild chatter ,my good man ? "
Volk jerks his head as if just being awoken from a dream.
" Huh..? Where'd you come from ?" he says in a gruff and alcohol slurred voice.
" I'm passing through town and was just in the mood for some idle chatter, and maybe a drink before I continue on . No charge? " I ask in my best eager to please tones while setting down the steins.
With the offer of a free drink in the works, his eyes light up and demeanor changes. With a hearty laugh he assents to my eagerness while hollering at the barkeep, "Hey , maggot ! Why can't you be as hospitable as my new friend here , and pass off a free one once in awhile??? For all the money I dump into this rat's nest, you oughta be a little nicer to me! ".
" Hey, kid, just remember what you said, one drink apiece and you've both got to leave." says the barkeep.
I turn and offer my best, good-will smile and assure him we shall leave, no questions no problems and then have a seat with my nemesis and ask " Isn't that right? One more for the road?"
"One more for the road indeed, friend, I'm about filled up and ready to leave this pit for the night anyway."
The anxiety I had been feeling all this day was beginning to subside and transform into a near giddiness as the hour of retribution drew ever closer. This shift made it much easier to let the conversation flow into a fair impression of small talk, all the better to hide my intentions. Perhaps a toast to honor the occasion.
" Well, friend before we drink ,what is it we shall drink to?" I ask him jovially.
" Considering the free drink, what say we drink to chance encounters? It's served me well this evening !" he chortles out amidst a mist of spittle.
Chance encounters indeed ! If only he knew...we clink mugs and drink heartily, both sinking nearly half our vessels in one slug. Only minutes now ! Minutes until the real fun begins. We'll see how well you've been served come morning you ignorant shit !
Now just a matter of waiting, discussions of our respective travels ought to do quite well to pass the time.Just to see how many of the stories I know of that he will skip over.
" Say, you strike me as someone I may have come across in my travels," I say almost off-handedly, " Would you have spent any time roaming the Southern Isles? "
He just sits staring at me. Has the toxin begun to take effect yet ? What is that look he gives? It seems too clear for intoxication, but wasn't he drunker than this when I arrived ?
" Pardon me sir, did you hear the question ?" I ask him,and what was that strange timbre in my voice? I don't feel quite so giddy anymore...and why does he stare so? His eyes seem to be peering into the back of my skull...untill all that exists are his eyes... so dark and yet, somehow in contrast to the dimness that surrounds them... this could be it !!
" Iz errythi awwwwwwww..." .....what the Hell was that?!? My tongue won't work like it should... he's still looking...do I see the corners of his mouth twitching? Is he repressing a grin ?? Everything's in motion now...impossible to focus ....just glimpses ....the splintered and pitted wood of our table...the stout beams of the rafters...the chipped rim of the stein before me....is that right?.. that doesn't seem ....how did he...when did he...how.......


My head is throbbing, I still can't quite focus to see. I try to raise my hands to rub my eyes,but find them bound fast to the arms of a large and archaic dining chair. As my vision begins to clear on it's own I can see a hearth to my left with a fire roaring within under a charred and smoking pot. Before me sits a thick wooden table, scarred by thousands of blows by a sharp instrument, and stained with a blotchy,  unpleasanrt hue.Atop this table sits the relic of my youth, my family's dagger ! This is a serious change in plans. I should be able to find a way , maybe persuade him with what meager possessions I have to let me go. Surely he doesn't know my original intents.
" Ahhh, it wakes." comes a voice from the shadows. Stepping from the shadows, devoid of any trace of the stupor I had assumed him to be in , appears Arthur Volk ,eyes gleaming hungrily.
" Please, friend, what is all this ? " I attempt ,but he silences me wuth a backhand to my face.
" Silence, whelp ! Do you take me for a fool ?" he asks. Before I have the chance to answer he continues. " I recognize you, aye, I do. You're the shipping magnate's son aren't you...or is it orphan ? You looked like a priss back then and you look the same now. " he chuckles. He walks slowly, methodically to the fireplace, to stir whatever is within the pot, then turns to me, an evil grin etched on his lips. " Was it revenge you were seeking. For stealing what Daddy worked for? Or is because you wanted it for yourself , to cater to your priviledged whims, to remain a soft nothing into the time of frailty? Or perhaps you want revenge for your sweet, lovely mother...? If not now, then I'm certain you would after I told you the things I forced her to do before I bled her dry. She should have passed on the life of a scrub-woman and became a whore instead, she would have made a mint ."
Again, he takes that slow methodical step until he stands in front of the table. Reaching down with a look of genuine interest, he picks up the dagger and waggles it in front of me.
" I knew there was something about you to be watched for the first time I saw you almost two weeks ago." he said almost distantly as he studied the blade. " You stuck out in this village like a duck in a fox pen, looking so sneaky, and asking questions. I thought you would be good for a theiving until I heard your questions for the most part were in regard to me. Do you honestly believe you're the first to try to track me down? My boy , I was on the run long before your mother spread her legs and shot you out. I'm well accustomed to all the tricks. A few questions of my own led to the probability of your identity and this..." again he waves the blade in front of me, much closer this time, " confirmed it. I had been wondering how to dispose of you, but I guess you took care of most of the hard work yourself, no?" and again, that despicable chortle, although now it doesn't sound quite so benign.
" Now, before we proceed, I need to find a book...one moment." and with that he drives the dagger deeply into my thigh. I'm too dumbfounded to know what to do...ohhh , pain, here it comes.. becoming a screaming agony, but it's not bleeding bad... he must have missed the artery ... God, I want shock to set in ...please...it's overwhelming me...he's coming back...Oh Jesus, he's coming back !
" You asked of my travels earlier," he says as he twists the kinife out of my thigh, which gets the blood flowing at a much quicker pace....God ! Help me !...
" As I am sure you're aware,my travels have been extensive.I always found it interesting to explore the darker sides of a culture,and there are so very many to choose from.For instance, I am currently reading up on a forgotten tribe who believed that to eat one's enemy was to gain his powers. Are you my enemy, orphan? " , he's gone mad...with the book in one hand and the bloody dagger in the other he looks like a lunatic chef...it's getting so cold in here...how can I be getting tired?I'm snapped back to alertness with a crashing blow to my ear...
" Don't be getting woozy on me now, priss, I'm not done my seminar." he bellows, probably to increase my awareness of the next stage. I interpret the volume of his voice as a sign we're secluded enough that screaming won't help me.
" This tribe believed the brain would grant you the victim's intelligence; the heart would grant his strength;  the liver would grant his courage and so on. Now granted , you'll be a light meal, but any's better than none,what? ". He sets the book down and approaches me and leans down staring deep into my eyes. " But as an hors d'ouevre, I think I'll give my vitality a boost." ...there's a wrenching pain in the deepest part of my guts as he carves out my vitality....oh,fuck,what have I done??....oh Jesus...he's walking to the fire...something goes in the pot with a muffled plop and I hear the metal spoon as it clanks against the sides as he' stirring....I can distantly sense the warm stickyness of my blood soaking into the thighs of my pants..so dizzy...I can barely make out what he's saying... someting about...whore mothers.....hearts...how ....how did...it... wasn't supposed to....happen.....wasn't .....