Page 1 of What I've Tasted of Desire

Chapter One

A spit of lightning danced across the black expanse of the midnight sky, illuminating my view of the dilapidated garden that lay just below the kitchen window. Heavy raindrops slipped down the glass pane, blurring the street beyond. The small yard left much to be desired—not even the weeds seemed to be thriving. The thorn bushes and invasive horticulture had taken over everything and long since died. Bits of storm-thrown rubbish snagged on twiggy, thorny bushes, adding to the nastiness of it all.

Despite the normal swelter of late August, the chill riding on the gusting wind was enough to send a shiver down my spine. This was the kind of night you locked your doors early, and tucked yourself away from the cold, unforgiving night.

I was pulled from my storm-gazing trance as the tea kettle began a low whistle. As unnerving as the sound was, I allowed the kettle to remain on the stove a few moments longer. I liked my teaextrahot, which I hoped my companion in the next room wouldn’t mind. I knew loud noises could be uncomfortable for some people, especially when they were already feeling ill at ease.

I grabbed a large mug from the left-hand cupboard, though, admittedly, I’d looked in the one to the right first. After all, I was still trying to orient myself to this unfamiliar kitchen. I ripped open the small pouch and dropped the bag inside the mug, draping the string over the lip. It was rather unfortunate, I thought, that an evening of this magnitude had finally come around, and there was only dollar-store green to be enjoyed.

“I guess it’s true what they say,” I singsonged to the empty room. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

With an exaggerated sigh, I grabbed the handle of the mug in one hand and the steaming kettle in the other before heading back to the living room.

“Oh, dear… you’re still asleep.” I walked over to the small coffee table in front of the recliner and deposited my mug before filling it with piping-hot water, making the thin tea bag float to the rim of the cup.

Barbara Cantrell had a peaceful look on her face, as if she were having a pleasant dream. Her salt-and-pepper hair had started coming loose from the messy bun she always kept it in, and a few stray locks lay haphazardly across the side of her cheek. A few other strands curled themselves delicately at her fringe, coming to rest across the age-worn skin on her forehead. Each line on her face was like a ground-plan of the foundation of her life.

The light from the small lamp in the corner of the room flickered once,twice, but remained on. I was happy, if not a little surprised the electricity was holding as the storm just outside seemed to only be intensifying. The last thing I wanted to do was have this conversation in the dark. My father had always taught me to have important talks face-to-face. It showed respect and honor to look someone in the eye, difficult though it might be at times.

I shouldn't have been surprised she hadn’t woken up yet, given her advanced years. Strenuous activity was harder to bounce back from the older we got. I did wonder exactly how old she was, but it was hard to be sure. She must be at least pushing 60, or even possibly well past it. The years of self-neglect and unhealthy habits had a tendency to age the skin beyond its years. But, of course, it was never polite to ask a lady her age, no matter what the circumstances.

I took a few small steps, swinging my leg rather wide to get around the corner of the table. Another crack of lightning split the sky above, illuminating the room well beyond the low-watt bulbs doing their damndest to keep the shadows at bay.

One Mississippi…

Two Mississippi…

Three…

The monstrous clap of thunder surged through the old house like a freight train.

“Lightning's close,” I whispered before making my way across the room to the sleeping woman.

“Miss Barbara…” I called softly, not wanting to startle her. “Miss Barbara…”

Hmm…

I picked the kettle up from the coffee table and held it high above the rumpled housedress covering her massive body. I slowly began applying pressure to the thumb release on the handle and bent my wrist, allowing the scalding water to pour out of the spout and down onto her chest and stomach. Within seconds, her eyes shot open, and she screamed around the sock I’d stuffed into her fat mouth as she writhed and flailed against the restraints binding her.

“There we are!” I said cheerfully. “Good evening, sleepyhead. I was beginning to think I was going to have this party all by myself.”

She tried to scream again, tilting her head to the side. Tears began to stream down her sagging, lined cheeks as she gagged.

“Bet you weren’t expecting this today, were you?” I stood back up. “You know, you gave me quite a scare. I thought that, maybe, I’d given you too much tranquilizer. Given your advanced years and…” I paused, raking my eyes down her bulbous figure. “How do I put this delicately?Unhealthy lifestyle—I thought maybe I’d already killed you!” I shrugged my shoulders and chuckled. “And what fun would that be?”

She began to sob again as she choked on the gag, trying to turn her head away from me. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had some trouble stuffing that big ol’ dry sock into the mouthpiece of yours, so I pissed on it while you were napping.”

She started to thrash around again, pulling against her restraints, the plastic tarp wrinkling under her. She was far too large to roll herself over without the use of her hands or feet, and just slammed the side of her body in the legs of the table.

“Hey, take it easy! My tea is up there; you’re making a mess!” I stood up and gave her a disappointed look. “Stop flailing around, or you’ll get the hot water again!”

I giggled at my statement and shrugged, holding my arms out to the sides. “Who am I, Buffalo Bill?”

Miss Barbara made a guttural moan and her body went limp, all but her abdomen heaving up and down as her lungs tried desperately to inflate under the weight of her massive chest. I ignored her tantrum and took a sip of tea.

“Yuck!Do you actually drink this garbage?” I asked, holding the mug away from my face as I examined the cup's contents. “That sock in your mouth probably tastes better than this shit.” I flung the ‘tea’ at her, mug and all. It wasn’t a great shot on my part, honestly. The mug bounced off her shoulder, splashing her with boiling tea as she screamed behind the gag once more.

Another burst of energy from the heavens lit the room up again. “We’ve gotta move our little party along, Babs, I don’t want the lights going out before I’ve finished with you. It wouldn’t be wholly satisfying… don’t you agree?”

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