The day was just settling into evening when Rody Lamoree returned home, his steps slow and weary. The streetlights were beginning to flicker on, casting soft yellow halos against the encroaching darkness. The air was crisp with the chill of early winter, and the scent of burning wood lingered in the atmosphere. Rody, in his mid-thirties, with his strong, broad shoulders slightly slumped from the day’s work, glanced around his quiet neighborhood as he approached his home. The small house he shared with his wife, Manon, was nestled at the corner of the street, a cozy place that once buzzed with warmth and love.
But now, it was silent.
It had been nearly a week since Manon disappeared. She had gone out for groceries and never returned. Rody had scoured the city, the police had searched, but there was no trace of her. No sign of struggle, no clues, just the empty absence of the woman he loved.
Every day without her weighed on him, and he felt his hope dwindling.
As Rody approached the front door, a familiar figure emerged from the house next door. Vincent Charbonneau, a man in his mid-twenties, stepped out onto his porch with a plate in hand. Vincent’s pale skin was illuminated by the warm light spilling from his doorway, his dark eyes glinting with something that Rody couldn’t quite place. Vincent had always been an enigma, quiet and polite, though something about him had always unsettled Rody.
“Rody,” Vincent called out softly, his voice carrying through the still evening air.
Rody paused, glancing over at him. “Vincent,” he responded, forcing a small smile. “Evening.”
Vincent descended the steps and walked towards him, his movements smooth and purposeful. “I thought you might be hungry. I’ve been experimenting with some new recipes, and I made too much, as usual.” He extended the plate toward Rody. “You should try it. It’s my best work yet.”
Rody hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but Vincent’s insistent gaze made it difficult to refuse. The aroma wafting from the plate was rich and savory, instantly tempting him despite his lack of appetite.
“Thanks, Vincent. You didn’t have to go out of your way,” Rody said, taking the plate. He glanced at the neatly arranged slices of meat, the sauce drizzled over it in an artistic swirl. Vincent was a talented chef, a fact that everyone in the neighborhood admired.
“It’s no trouble,” Vincent replied, a slight smile curving his lips. “I just…wanted to do something for you. I know things have been hard.”
Rody looked up, meeting Vincent’s gaze. For a moment, he saw something in those dark eyes-something intense, almost possessive-but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Yeah,” Rody muttered, lowering his eyes. “They have.”
“If you ever need anything,” Vincent continued, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “anything at all, Rody, I’m here. Whatever you need.”
Rody nodded, feeling a strange discomfort settle in his chest. “I appreciate it, Vincent. Really.”
Vincent’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m glad to help.” He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze sweeping over Rody’s form, before turning back towards his house. “I’ll see you around, Rody. Take care.”
As Vincent retreated to his home, Rody watched him go, unease gnawing at him. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling that had settled in his gut. Something about Vincent’s behavior had changed recently, becoming more…intense.
Shaking his head, Rody dismissed the thoughts. He was exhausted, mentally and emotionally drained. The last thing he needed was to start imagining things. With a sigh, he unlocked the door to his home and stepped inside.
The house was cold and empty, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to fill it when Manon was here. Rody set the plate down on the kitchen counter and wandered through the silent rooms, each one devoid of the life that Manon had once breathed into it. Her absence was a palpable void, a constant reminder of what he had lost.
Returning to the kitchen, he stared at the plate Vincent had given him. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten much all day. Reluctantly, he picked up a fork and took a small bite.
The taste was incredible-rich, flavorful, and unlike anything he had ever had before. It melted in his mouth, the flavors perfectly balanced, each bite sending a wave of warmth through him. Despite his earlier reluctance, Rody found himself eating more, the plate quickly emptying as he savored every morsel.
When he was done, he leaned back against the counter, feeling a strange sense of contentment. It was the first time in days that he had felt even a hint of satisfaction. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing at the empty plate.
What kind of meat was that? He hadn’t even asked. It was so tender, almost like…
Rody shook his head, pushing the thought away. It didn’t matter. Vincent was an expert in the kitchen, always experimenting with new and exotic ingredients. Whatever it was, it had been delicious.
But as Rody prepared for bed, a nagging thought tugged at the back of his mind. The taste of the meat lingered on his tongue, and with it, a sense of unease that he couldn’t quite explain.
Over the next few days, Vincent continued to bring Rody meals. Each time, the food was exquisite, unlike anything Rody had ever tasted before. It was almost addictive, the rich flavors and perfect textures a welcome distraction from the grief that clung to him.
And yet, with each meal, that same unease grew. There was something off about the way Vincent looked at him, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long, the way his smile seemed too eager, too pleased.
But Rody couldn’t bring himself to say no. Vincent’s kindness, strange as it was, had become a lifeline in the cold, empty days without Manon.
Then, one evening, as Rody finished yet another meal provided by Vincent, he caught sight of something unusual-a small, delicate chain embedded in the food. His heart stopped as he pulled it free, his hands trembling.
It was a necklace. Manon’s necklace.
His breath hitched as he stared at the familiar piece of jewelry, disbelief and horror flooding his mind. His eyes darted to the plate, the remnants of the meal that had once been so comforting now turning his stomach.
The realization hit him like a freight train, the horror of it twisting his gut into knots. The taste, the texture-it hadn’t been beef, or pork, or any other kind of meat he had ever encountered.
It had been Manon.
He stumbled back, the plate clattering to the floor as bile rose in his throat. Rody’s world spun as he clutched the necklace in his hand, the last connection to the woman he loved, the woman he had unknowingly consumed.
Panic and revulsion surged through him, but before he could even react, the doorbell rang.
Rody’s heart pounded in his chest as he slowly moved towards the door. He knew who it would be. He knew, and yet, he couldn’t stop himself from opening the door.
There, standing on the doorstep, was Vincent. His eyes were dark, his expression a mix of twisted affection and pride.
“Rody,” Vincent said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “How was the meal?”
Rody couldn’t speak, his voice caught in his throat as he stared at Vincent, his mind screaming with the truth he could no longer deny.
Vincent took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Rody’s forehead. “You liked it, didn’t you? I made it just for you. Manon was…quite the delicacy.”
Rody recoiled, the bile rising again as he shoved Vincent away. “You…you killed her,” he choked out, his voice trembling with rage and fear. “You…monster!”
Vincent’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “I did it for you, Rody. She was in the way. You belong with me, can’t you see that? I love you.”
Rody staggered back, his mind reeling. How could this be happening? How had he let it go this far?
But Vincent didn’t stop. He advanced on Rody, his voice low and soothing, as if speaking to a frightened child. “We can be together now, Rody. No more distractions, no more obstacles. Just you and me.”
Rody’s hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. “Stay away from me,” he growled, backing away.
But Vincent only smiled, a cold, eerie smile that sent chills down Rody’s spine. “You’ll come around, Rody. You’ll see that I’m the only one who truly cares for you. And I’ll keep you safe. Forever.”
With that, Vincent turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him as if sealing Rody’s fate.
Rody collapsed to the floor, his entire body shaking. The necklace fell from his hands, landing on the cold, hard tiles. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The world had turned into a nightmare, and there was no waking up
Hours passed in a haze of disbelief and nausea. The house was suffocatingly quiet, the shadows in every corner seeming to press in on Rody as he sat hunched over in the kitchen. The necklace lay on the floor, its delicate chain gleaming under the harsh kitchen lights. The truth, now fully realized, weighed on Rody’s chest like a boulder, crushing any remnants of hope or normalcy he had clung to.
Manon was gone-because of Vincent. Her laughter, her warmth, her love-all of it had been snuffed out by the twisted obsession of the man who had once been his neighbor, the man who had once been a mere acquaintance.
But now, Vincent was much more than that. He was a monster who had not only taken Manon’s life but had also taken the sick satisfaction of feeding her to him, piece by piece. The thought of it made Rody’s skin crawl, his stomach churning violently.
He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t continue to exist in a world where Vincent was free, where Vincent could come and go as he pleased, knowing the horror he had committed. The fear, the grief, the revulsion-it all coalesced into something sharper, something that pierced through the fog of despair.
Hatred.
Pure, unfiltered hatred.
Vincent had to pay. He had to suffer for what he had done. And Rody would be the one to make sure of it.
Rody stood, his movements slow but purposeful. The numbness that had paralyzed him was gone, replaced by a cold, steely resolve. His gaze flickered to the kitchen drawer, and without hesitation, he pulled it open and retrieved a long, sharp knife. The blade gleamed under the light, cold and unforgiving, just as Rody intended to be.
He didn’t feel fear anymore. He didn’t feel uncertainty. All that mattered was that Vincent was going to die, and it was going to happen tonight.
Rody stalked out of the house, the knife clutched tightly in his hand. The air outside was biting, but he hardly noticed it. His focus was singular, his thoughts a maelstrom of anger and determination. The world around him faded into the background as he crossed the small distance to Vincent’s house.
He didn’t bother knocking.
The door was unlocked-of course, it was-and Rody pushed it open with a force that sent it crashing against the wall. Vincent was in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in hand. He looked up, surprised, but that surprise quickly morphed into a twisted smile.
“Rody,” Vincent began, setting the glass down on the coffee table. “I didn’t expect-“
Rody didn’t let him finish. He lunged, the knife flashing as he brought it down with all his strength. Vincent barely managed to dodge, rolling off the couch and scrambling to his feet.
But Rody was faster.
He cornered Vincent against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion and fury. The knife trembled in his grip, but his resolve didn’t waver. “You took everything from me,” Rody spat, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You took her from me!”
Vincent’s eyes darkened, his smile fading as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Rody, you don’t understand. I did it for us. Manon was-“
“Don’t you dare say her name!” Rody roared, the knife slashing through the air as he aimed for Vincent’s throat.
Vincent dodged again, but the blade caught his shoulder, tearing through flesh and muscle. He cried out, the sound a mix of pain and shock, and staggered back, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his shirt, but Rody didn’t care. He wanted to see more of it. He wanted to see Vincent bleed out for everything he had done.
“Please, Rody,” Vincent gasped, his voice trembling as he backed away. “I love you. I did it all because I love you!”
“Love?” Rody hissed, advancing on him with lethal intent. “You don’t know what love is. You’re a sick, twisted freak!”
Vincent’s back hit the wall, and he realized there was nowhere left to run. His eyes flickered to the knife in Rody’s hand, the fear in them unmistakable now. “Rody…don’t do this. We can still be together. We can-“
But Rody wasn’t listening. He was done with Vincent’s lies, his manipulations. He was done with everything.
With a final, decisive movement, Rody plunged the knife into Vincent’s chest, driving it deep until the hilt pressed against his flesh. Vincent’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening in a silent scream as the life began to drain from him.
Rody twisted the knife, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone as he did so. He wanted to make sure Vincent felt every ounce of pain, every bit of suffering that Manon had endured.
Vincent’s hands flailed weakly, trying to push Rody away, but he was too far gone. His strength was leaving him, his vision blurring as darkness closed in. Rody watched as the light in Vincent’s eyes dimmed, until there was nothing left but a lifeless stare.
When it was over, Rody pulled the knife free, letting Vincent’s body slump to the floor. Blood pooled around him, dark and thick, the smell of it filling the room. Rody stood over the corpse, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest.
But he didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he would. The hatred was still there, burning inside him, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing would ever be enough to bring Manon back.
But at least the monster was dead.
Rody turned and left the house, not bothering to look back. The knife was still in his hand, sticky with Vincent’s blood, but he didn’t care. Let the world know what he had done. Let them see the truth.
As he walked back to his house, the reality of what he had done slowly began to sink in. Vincent was gone, and Manon would never be avenged. There was nothing left for him now, nothing to hold onto.
But as he stepped into his cold, empty house, Rody knew one thing for certain.
He had done what needed to be done. And that was enough.
Comment