For Here or To Go: A Novel of Horror (Our Family Recipe Book 2) Read online

  For Here or To Go

  Christian Burch

  Copyright © May 2016 by Christian Burch

  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or used without written consent by the author and publisher.

  This story is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and names are ideas created by the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons, living or deceased, or an event is wholly coincidental.

  Books by Christian Burch

  The Mirror: Seven Mind-Bending Tales

  E.V.I.L.

  Haunted

  Dark Horizons

  Haunted: Awakening (September 2016)

  Dark Horizons II (October 2016)

  Dangerous Impulses (November 2016)

  E.V.I.L. 2: Regeneration (January 2017)

  The Collector Novella Series

  Picture Perfect

  Snapshot

  Worthy Opponent (Date TBD)

  Our Family Recipe

  Good Home Cookin’

  For Here Or To Go

  Our Family Recipe (June 2016)

  Secret Ingredient (August 2016)

  Shattered Dimensions

  Cuddle Time (July 2016)

  Careful… I Bite (September 2016)

  Wishes Can Be Deadly (December 2016)

  To my mom, who always encouraged my love of reading and bought me numerous books to stave off my appetite. I wouldn’t be on this path had you not supported and flamed my love for reading.

  Prologue

  May 17th, 1996

  White. It was all that surrounded her for the majority of her day and had been for the past nine years. Even her meals were served to her in isolation. She hated to think of how long she would be forced to endure it. The silence was deafening and combined with the separation from the other living souls that inhabited the prison, she wondered how she had managed to not kill someone during her time incarcerated.

  Not to mention the effect on her precarious mental state. Did having full length conversations with oneself point the arrows towards the end destination of insanity? Possibly. The padded cell she now called home was dull, to say the least. The first few nights had found her curled up on the floor in the fetal position as tears rolled down her face. Not remorse for the things she'd done, just a frustration and sadness by how everything had turned out.

  How had it gotten so fucked up?

  The answer was clear enough but she shied away from it, not giving the mocking voice in her head the satisfaction. The night Gabe had brought in that younger man, the musician, Dylan, was the cataclysm that brought about her family's downfall. Tears threatened to come as she thought about the events of that day. Things had turned ugly and bloody.

  Footsteps outside her cell brought her mind back to the present and she knew who was here to see her again. Visitors were a privilege she was not allowed, but the no visitors rule was a joke with her. Friends were a luxury she’d never had These men approaching weren’t just some random people from the street. It was the two officers from the previous afternoon. The information they’d had at their disposal was sketchy and lacked the vital information that only she could give. The statements of the officers on scene were taken at face value due to all of the confusion. The number of victims they’d originally reported was twenty.

  If only that was the case.

  It was upwards of thirty five that she could recall. The faces of all of them manifested on a regular basis but failed to bring about any feelings of guilt. If anything, reliving those moments helped pass the time.

  She hopped to her feet as the locks on the door disengaged with a clank. It wouldn’t do good to appear weak or beaten down in front of them. She was damned if she was going to let them see that this depressing white hell got under her skin like a festering splinter.

  “Let’s go Elena. Your friends are here to see you again.”

  With a smile she sniffed once, not willing to give the guard the satisfaction of the response he so clearly craved. The other guard kept both hands placed in front of him, and his eyes were daggers directed in her direction. A few days prior she’d given him quite the kick and he was not going to make the same mistake. The beating she’d received was worth the look of pain plastered on his face. With a wink, she blew him a kiss as she walked past. It made her happy to see his jaw clench in frustration. It wasn’t hard to see that he was turned on by her. The things she would do to him if she were given the chance.

  "You and I could have some real fun together. A bloody good time."

  Chapter 1

  August 1987

  The dripping had lessened considerably during the last twenty minutes. Shuffling and voices from the other side of the door could be vaguely heard but inside the store room only the occasional drop on the floor disturbed the eerie silence. Most of the room was blanketed in darkness. Had there been windows, the sun would have provided some illumination. The light seeping in from underneath the door was weak and barely penetrated the dark. It had taken a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dark of the room.

  Another drop fell on the already slick floor.

  Lying on her back, Elena looked upwards at the lifeless eyes that stared back. Lifting her hand, she touched the pale, cold skin of his face and smiled warmly.

  “Don't look so down. We had our fun didn’t we handsome?”

  Shifting slightly on her back produced strange, squelching sounds. The bottom of her cream colored shirt and ripped blue jeans were soaked through. Another drop fell next to her face adding to the steadily growing pool of blood that she was lying in.

  The drain underneath the chair did wonders for keeping the floor empty of fluid buildup but not when it was intentionally blocked. A blood stained, black shirt covered it, shoved into the holes to keep the drain from working properly. Elena tilted her head to the side so that she would be able to catch the next fat drop of blood on her tongue. It landed with a plop sending shivers of delight coursing through her body.

  * * *

  Sitting on the counter in the kitchen, Gabe gnawed lazily at a carrot while occasionally stirring the port that was steaming next to him. The things he did erased any hopes for him to have a taste for meat.

  His mother had just finished the last of the pies for the day and was washing her hands. She was an obsessive hand washer. He could recall several times where she’d washed her hands bleeding raw. Stress tended to do that to a person. A clanking from outside and the sound of the hose meant that Jameson was washing his tools outside. Expecting perfection, he didn’t trust anyone else to clean his tools. A firm believer that if one wanted something done right, one must do it themselves. Bleach and other cleaning supplies cluttered one of the shelves behind the work bench. He would take his time as he stripped his tools of all traces of anything human

  “Would you mind taking these pies to the fridge to cool down?” Eleanor asked, motioning to the finished pies next to her.

  Hopping down, Gabe took one in each hand and headed to the store room. They needed a couple of hours to get to the right temperature before being served to the customers. Balancing one of the pies on his left arm, holding the other in that same hand, he opened the door and nearly dropped both at the disturbing sight in front of him.

  Elena was kneeling in a pool of blood, making out with the dead body. He almost gagged as the kiss continued for longer than necessary. He knew his sister was teetering on the edge of crazy and trying to deny it wasn’t working anymore.

  Gabe deposited the pies on the rack next to him and rushed over to his sister.
He yanked her to her feet, separating her from the corpse.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  The hose was still running which was a good sign. Gabe was the only one who knew how twisted his sister was. If Jameson knew that Elena harbored certain tendencies and desires... he would blow his top.

  “You know what dad would do if he walked in here and saw this? You've got to be more careful sis. What were you thinking?”

  She smiled innocently and shrugged her shoulders as blood dripped down from her hair, face, and shirt.

  “Go clean yourself up before dad comes in.”

  Without a word, she hurried out of the room, avoiding the kitchen and her mother, as she crept her way to her room. Picking up the pies, Gabe put them in the fridge like he’d originally intended before intruding on his sister’s perverted fantasy. He looked at the clock above the work table. Just under two hours until the first customers started showing up.

  With a disgusted grunt, he bent down and yanked the bloodied shirt from the drain, allowing the blood to escape. His sister was fucked up but he considered it his job to protect her, from herself and their father.Gabe couldn't ignore the fact that Elena was getting progressively worse.He tossed the ruined shirt into the corner, leaving it to deal with later.

  There was no question that the man in front of him was no longer in the realm of the living. He pushed the man’s head back, cold and clammy, as he took out his knife to cut the ropes from his legs and arms. Gabe didn’t want the body to fall into him. He would need to work in a timely fashion to get this next part done.

  The part of the process that he dreaded most and had never gotten used to.

  The hack saw sat in its normal resting place on his father’s work table next to the box of black trash bags. This was the one tool that Jameson allowed Gabe to use in order to perform the task that he had no desire to do himself. So he delegated it to his son. Quick, shallow breaths through his mouth was the key to keeping himself from vomiting as he started cutting above the knee.

  Chapter 2

  Hand under the soft pillow his head rested on, body nestled under the blankets on the bed, he tucked away from the rigors of the world. Sprinklers running outside created a nice white noise to fall asleep to. A sneeze from his right rudely interrupted his internal day dream and his eyes popped open.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thanks,” Mac responded, wrinkling his nose.

  Instead of awaiting the embrace of sleep in his bedroom, Warren was sitting in a restaurant parking lot with his partner in their cruiser. Still no word on the missing young man and he needed to eat and build up his energy. Working a double required more than the usual boost. Two cups of coffee and a decent meal would go a long way towards replenishing him.

  “I’m gonna go in there and see if they can whip us up something quick and easy. I know you're exhausted and haven't been getting much sleep lately. Why don't you just get a bit of sleep? ”

  Warren sighed and pointed to the sign on the door. We Open at 10:00. He was starting to regret throwing out the breakfast sandwich. It would have been better than nothing. His stomach growled in agreement.

  “That’s just for regular people. You know they’ve got to have things started in the kitchen by now. I’ll just go in, be my charming self, and see what I can do.”

  Warren motioned extravagantly towards the entrance of the establishment.

  “Be my guest good sir, but don't bother with a smile. It won't do you much good.”

  Mac scoffed at him as he exited the car. Hitching up his pants, he strode to the door at a determined pace. Warren informed dispatch of their current location. Getting himself into a more comfortable position, he shut his eyes for a bit hoping to give his mind a break.

  Falling asleep had always come easily to him. Working nights and having a tight, busy schedule during the day nurtured the mindset of sleeping whenever the hell you get the chance. Within moments his mind was drifting.

  * * *

  February 17th, 1985

  It took time to develop nerves of steel and he just didn’t have them yet. Being his first week on the job, no one would expect it of him either. He was with his training officer and they responded to a domestic abuse call. Not knowing what to expect he just followed procedure. In his mind, Warren was envisioning the typical abuse scenario.

  Husband beats wife on a regular basis. Neighbors call to report the incident when it gets too loud, blah blah blah. How wrong he was.

  As they pulled into the apartment complex, Warren expected to hear screaming, things being broken, and a crying woman standing in the midst of it all trying to weather the storm. No whirlwind of craziness greeted them. It was quiet when they approached the apartments and started searching for the apartment numbers.

  Second floor. Apartment number 203. The complex was nothing to write home about. Peeling, light yellow walls. Faded reddish brown carpets. It was clear the owners were not big on upkeep and maintenance. No tenants were in the hallway and they didn’t hear any yelling, or anything that would point towards a domestic disturbance call.

  “You sure this is the right building?” Warren whispered.

  His training officer nodded and raised a finger to his lips, trying to listen for any clue as to what was going on behind the door. Nothing. He nodded to Warren again and gave two knocks on the door..

  Silence. Two more knocks and a stern order. “Police. Open the door!”

  A stirring on the other side, followed by light footsteps to the door. Warren moved from one foot to the other, trying to keep still but failing to do so. The door opened to a point, stopped by the chain, giving a glimpse of a woman in her early thirties. Her eyes didn't seem to give any indication of foul play.

  “How can I help you officers?”

  The training officer spoke with a clear, unclipped tone. “We received a noise complaint for this address. Is everything okay ma’am?”

  Warren cleared his throat and tried getting a better view into the apartment. She filled in the gap well, closing off any hope of seeing past her. Alternating glances between both of them, she smiled and asked for one moment. The door shut and the chain was removed.

  “You’re welcome to come in. My husband is… indisposed at the moment, but I can answer any questions you have.”

  They followed her in and she took a seat in a weathered, torn recliner. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Warren’s initial thought was that it had been a prank call by an annoying neighbor. No noticeable bruises, or cuts on her person. What was going on?

  Both of them were making observations and mental photographs of the apartment. The only thing out of the ordinary was the bulging, blue, traveling suitcase that sat crooked against the couch.

  “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

  “Tea if you have it, thank you.”

  With a nod, she left the room and went into what Warren presumed was the kitchen area. He knew the tea request was just to give them some time to look around. With a gesture from his training officer, Warren performed a quick search of the room and hallway leading out of it as the woman busied herself in the kitchen. No sign of the husband in the hallway or bathroom. Where was he?

  Warren swore under his breath as his foot connected painfully with the suitcase, knocking it to the side.

  It was damn heavy!

  “What the fuck is in this?” he whispered.

  His training officer shrugged and approached but froze halfway to Warren. In one smooth motion, he undid the clip on his sidearm. His confusion vacated him as his view shifted to the briefcase. Blood was dribbling out of it in streams, staining the carpet and spreading fast.

  The sound of the refrigerator door closing brought him back to his senses and he had his gun drawn as well. His training officer approached the kitchen and shouted at her to get down on the floor, hands behind her head, etc.

  Dropping to his knees, he shifted the suitcase carefully and opened the latches. Warren would be forever
haunted by the contents for the rest of his life. The woman had gotten fed up with her husband’s laziness, drugged him, and then proceeded to cut him into small enough pieces to be fit into their traveling suitcase. Holding down the bile that was creeping up his throat was a challenge but he managed. The body parts arranged in an organized manner of sorts caused a cold sweat to break out over his skin.

  It was obvious that she’d had a breakdown of some kind. She never should have allowed them entry into her apartment or at least moved the evidence prior to opening the door.

  * * *

  Warren’s eyelids fluttered as the nightmare culminated in his opening of the dreaded, blue suitcase for what must have been the hundredth time over the past few years. Recurring nightmares were common for him. Even when he realized it was a dream, he remained powerless against changing the outcome. Just one time, he'd like to not open the damned suitcase.

  Chapter 3

  Knocking on the door for the third time, Mac was ready to head back to the car and break the bad news to Warren. If they wanted to satisfy their appetites, shitty gas station food seemed to be their only option.

  A lock turned and an attractive older woman opened the door. Surprise showed briefly on her face but quickly vanished as she fell into her role as hostess.

  “Can I help you Officer?”

  She seemed to be in her early fifties. Dark hair speckled with gray fell to just past her shoulders, fair skin… the stained cooking apron around her middle was the only thing detracting from her appearance. Eyebrows raised, she leaned toward him waiting patiently for his answer.

  “Yes, sorry. My partner and I have been working the night shift and just found out that our day is getting extended. I know your sign says you don’t open until ten. Is there any way you could whip something up in the kitchen for us?” Mac said with a smile, then patted his pocket. “We’re good tippers.”