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libraryledge · 18 days ago

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Have a Heart (A Thrilling Tale) Pt 2

A/N: Halloween may be over, but thanks to the positive feedback and comments on the first part of this story, I was motivated to write a second part. Please enjoy, and let me know what types of stories you'd like for me to write next.

Driving down the road at night was never my strong suit. It was on the list of my worst fears, yet here I was, navigating the dark path unaware of what dangers lay ahead. Except at that moment it was very probable that the danger was sprawled across my back seat. I knew I was taking a risk by picking up a strange man from the side of the road and against my better judgment, giving him a ride home. However, something about him compelled me to give into his plea for a lift. I felt like Marion Crane in Psycho, fleeing from one peril, right into the mouth of another. Perhaps my brash decision making would be the death of me, but for now, all I could do was focus on getting to my destination in one piece.

After what seemed like an infinite number of twists and turns, I finally saw the first sign of civilization: a small two story house perched upon the top of a hill.

The quiet figure in the back of my car came out of the shadows, placed his hand upon the headrest of my seat, and said, "That's my place.”

The way that his voice filled the uncomfortable silence, sent chills down my spine.

“Are you sure that you’re not hiding your dead mother up there?” I asked, half-jokingly.

The young man frowned, understanding my Hitchcock reference. “Hey! Not funny!” he said, attempting to look stern, but a wry smile crossed his lips.

“Sorry, but this entire situation is straight out of a horror movie, " I replied, with a nervous shrug.

“I would have to agree. I've accepted a ride home with a girl who almost killed me, and her shotgun passengers are a bunch of creepy baby dolls, " he retorted, his green eyes shimmering with mischief.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Touché.”

I saw him wiggle his eyebrows playfully through the rearview mirror. As I parked the car in front of the lonely house, my heart began to beat even quicker.

“Well, we both made it here intact,” I said, not really knowing how to proceed.

“So it seems,” he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

He slowly opened the car door and walked out. Then, he carefully closed the vehicle door behind him and walked over to the driver's side window.

“Thank you for the ride,” he said and leaned ever so slightly toward me. “So…are you coming inside?”

“Well…I don't want to impose with it being so late and all…” I replied, my voice trailing off.

The fellow waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense! I asked you, remember? Besides, didn't we agree that we're doing it for your sister?”

His silhouette shone in the moonlight, which was both spine chilling and enchanting. I sighed and put the car in park.

“Has anyone ever told you that you could kill someone with that charm of yours?” I asked him.

He shrugged and had the decency to look slightly apologetic. “But it's working isn't it?” he replied.

I rolled my eyes and stepped out of the car. “Twenty minutes,” I said, putting my foot down. “That's all you get. I still need to drive home, mind you.”

His devilish smile returned. “Perfect! That's more than enough time to get the job done.”

Slowly, he guided me inside his home. The air indoors was cold, and I almost bumped into him as I attempted to navigate through the dark.

“Wait here,” he said, as if he expected me to run off. I listened as his footsteps echoed across the empty home. He quickly returned, and I heard a small flicker. Before I knew it, an old timely candelabra was in front of my face.

“And God said, let there be light,” he said, his cheekbones raised with mirth.

“Smooth,” I replied, attempting to mask the apprehension coursing through my veins.

He chuckled. “This way please,” he replied, leading me down a long hallway. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned and guided me into a large room. Compared to the hostile ambiance of the rest of the house, this room had an odd sense of warmth, like it was the most inhabited space in the entire structure

It took me a second to realize that we were in the kitchen. The cabinets were lined with ceramic bowls and plates. Upon the counter were jars filled with unidentifiable liquids. At the center of the room was a long dining table adorned with a lacy white tablecloth. The seat at the head of the table was already set with a dinner plate, a glass, and silverware, almost as if it was expecting someone.

Taking note of my inquisitive expression, the young man said, “You never know when you'll have a guest over. A good host is always prepared.”

I nodded, uncertain of how to respond. He pulled out the chair at the end of the table, and motioned for me to sit down.

“Like I mentioned before, I'm fond of the culinary arts, but since I don't have people over often, I don't usually have the opportunity to showcase my abilities,” he smiled impishly. “So forgive me if I take advantage of this moment to show off.”

I chuckled nervously as I settled into the seat and said, “Be my guest. Well… technically I'm your guest, but you know what I mean.”

His grin grew wider. “Indeed I do,” he responded. He placed the candelabra on the table, so the only light source came from this old fashioned candle. I shivered at how intimate the entire setup was. I watched anxiously as he opened the drawer and pulled out a long knife. I held my breath as he began to sharpen it, the screeching sound ringing in my ears.

“Does she prefer something savory or sweet?�� he asked, his back still turned to me as he tended to the utensil in his hands.

“What?” I asked, unsure of what he meant with his question.

“Your sister. Does she prefer savory snacks or a sweet treat? I need to know before I proceed,” he responded casually. I sat there in the eerie silence for a second, and upon not receiving a response, he turned to face me with an expectant look on his face. He polished the knife as he waited for my answer.

“Uh…sweet?” I replied, hoping that my response would satisfy him. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, he nodded as he turned around and placed the knife on the counter.

“So, she’s one to crave sweet things? Me too,” he replied with a twinkle in his gaze. I felt my heart race as we locked eyes for a second.

Then, he returned his attention to the kitchen, where he began to unscrew jars of unidentifiable substances and combine them in a large bowl. I watched on the edge of my seat as he sifted and mixed them until the final concoction was a dark red. The young man then opened a cupboard and pulled out two glasses, like the type that were used for cocktails.

Humming to himself, he opened a large, ceramic jar and pulled out something brown. Using the knife that he'd prepared earlier, he chopped it up into miniature pieces. I couldn't make out what it was due to the low lighting. He placed the mysterious item at the bottom of the glass. Then, he proceeded to place a saucepan over an open flame and poured the mysterious red liquid inside of it. The only sounds that I could hear were his hums and the solution simmering as it heated it up.

Slowly, he shut off the flame and transferred the red substance into a tea kettle. Then, he made his way over to the table with the glass in one hand and the kettle in the other.

“You shall be the guinea pig, as they say, and try my concoction before bringing it to your sister,” he said with a teasing grin. He blew on the kettle to cool it down, and I felt a sick feeling in my stomach as I watched him gleefully pour the scarlet liquid into the martini glass. That was the final straw. I couldn't do this anymore.

“She's dead!” I blurted out, relieved to finally release the reason behind the anxiety I felt all night. I watched as the playful glint in his eyes disappeared and was replaced by a perplexed look.

“What?” he asked, clearly flabbergasted by my sudden outburst. He placed the kettle upon the table, and he gave me a confused look over the glow of the candelabra.

“My sister. She died a year ago,” I confessed, as I felt tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.

The young man, who appeared to be at a loss for words, finally spoke up and said, “I don't understand. I thought you said you were going to visit her later.”

The tears rolled down my cheek as I woefully responded, “Her grave. I was going to visit her grave. She was killed by a drunk driver one night when a friend was driving her home.”

A loud sob escaped me, and I felt the shame of crying uncontrollably in a stranger's home. The man didn't know how to respond and patted me on the back, awkwardly attempting to console me.

"So the dolls and mochi were for her grave?" he asked, trying to piece the clues together.

I nodded. “It’s ridiculous, but I figured that honoring her with her favorite things would help me feel closer to her,” I croaked. “That’s what I was planning to do when we…” I began, but was overcome with emotion and unable to finish.

“When we crossed paths,” he offered gently, and I nodded.

“You were so willing to help me out, despite the fact that I could have killed you,” I said wearily. “I am usually reluctant to trust people, but something about you coming out of the blue and offering to do something for the person I love most, truly moved me. It’s crazy. I know.”

His gaze softened, as he took a seat next to me, and replied, “Not as crazy as you think. Want to know why I was at the pond so late?”

Unsure as to why he was bringing this up now, I shrugged.

“It was my father’s favorite place. We’d go on nighttime swims every Saturday until he died about five years ago,” he responded with a sad smile. “People think I’m a weirdo and a loner for my unusual nocturnal habits, but I’m only relishing the memory of the one person who believed in me.”

The sincerity and calm tone of his voice allowed my accelerated heartbeat to relax. “I had no idea. I'm so sorry to hear that,” I replied empathetically.

Despite the low lighting, I could make out his a small smile as he responded, “I'm doing all right. I've invested my time into my hobbies with the hope of sharing them with others someday.” He gestured to his culinary creation, which was still positioned in front of me.

I studied the glass and asked him, “What is it?”

The young man chuckled, “It's my latest creation. Lava in a cup! Basically, it's a brownie bathed in warm strawberry syrup. It's like a lava cake, only fancier," he said, mimicking a chef’s kiss.

I smiled. “It sounds delicious,” I replied, wiping the remaining tears from my eyes.

“You're welcome to try it if you'd like. My offer still stands,” he said encouragingly.

“I'd love to,” I replied, and he handed me a fork. I pierced the utensil into the desert and then placed a piece of the moist delicacy upon my tongue. I closed my eyes as I felt the flavors of dark chocolate and sweet strawberry combine beautifully in my mouth.

“This is delicious,” I proclaimed. “My sister would have loved this!” I watched as his expression shifted from one of pride over my reaction to one of affection as I mentioned my late sibling.

“That's the highest compliment that I could ever hope to receive,” he said with a tender smile upon his face.

“I mean it. This is exactly the type of dessert that she would have enjoyed,” I said. “ So you're telling me that this is a hobby for you? I'd say you should make a career out of this.”

He shrugged almost bashfully, deviating from his charismatic persona. “Perhaps, but it won't pay the bills unless I have a substantial number of customers. I work as a busboy at a little diner,” he admitted almost reluctantly.

I've hummed sympathetically. I worked as a production assistant on community filming projects, so I knew a thing or two about taking up odd jobs to make ends meet. In fact…

“I'm a PA at the local TV station, and they're always filming cooking shows over there. You'd be so much better than all those wannabe chefs seeking fame,” I said with a smirk.

The man gave me a piercing grin. “Glad to see a smile upon your face,” he teased.

I shook my head. "I'm serious. You managed to cheer me up a bit on the anniversary of the worst day of my life. I know the entire situation is bizarre considering how we met, but if you can help this depressed stranger, imagine how many more people you can bring a bit of joy to with your creations.”

“You flatter me,” he replied, brushing a loose curl away from his face. “But the sentiment goes both ways. I haven't had a meaningful conversation, like this one, with anyone in a long time. I guess it's true what they say: trauma really does bring people closer.”

“Tell me about it,” I responded with mirth, as I let out one final sniffle. I took another bite of the dessert in front of me. I had no idea what time it was or what my next stop was from here. The entire scene was surreal. We were two people who three hours prior, didn't know of one other's existence, yet here we were bonding over grief and loss, all while savoring the almost ironic sweetness of chocolate and strawberries, which incidentally paired so well together

As we sat together in the comforting silence of the dimly lit dining room, I felt my accelerated pulse and relentless anxiety begin to ease. Up until that moment, driving in the dark was my greatest fear, but after that night, I learned not to be afraid of what lurks in the shadows. I internalized that lesson due to an unusual turn of events and because a stranger decided to have a heart.

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