La Petite Mort (A Short Story)

"Catch it?"  

"Why, yes, Brunhilde's an avid hunter. She prefers making meals as fresh as possible, so she's lately taken to hunting in the woods near our modest little chateau." Is that even legal in France? Huh. Well, whatever works, works. "I'll leave you to get settled, then. Au revoir, my dear." Dr. Mange left, leaving me to gape in awe-and slight discomfort-at the canopied bed, plush carpet, and attached bathroom. The whole place just had an eerie feel. As I set my luggage down and began to unpack, I heard the noise of running water from the bathroom. I don't know if it was those stories I'd heard a year ago about "cousin Claude" going crazy and trying to eat the family hunting hound or if it was my overactive imagination, but I froze up in fear. It was completely irrational, but... still. No one had entered the room - I'd have seen them, wouldn't I have? The door to the bathroom was only very slightly ajar. Had it been completely shut before?  

"Hello?" I called, my voice hoarse and a bit screechy. Pull yourself together, for God's sake.

A pleasant voice replied, "'Allo?" A brunette, very well-built young woman poked her head out of the bathroom, holding a dusting cloth and Windex. Huh. Didn't know they called Windex 'Windex' in France. She had dark circles under her green eyes, but there was just something about her - maybe the way her full, cupid's-bow lips curved, or how she gave off an air of vulnerability. Upon seeing me, her eyes widened, and she fumbled the Windex in shock, dropping it to the floor.

"Oh, hi." See? Nothing. Coward. I was ashamed at the rush of relief that flowed through my quivering limbs. "I'm -"

"What are you doing here?"  she hissed, her pretty face contorting in terror. Before I could stop her, she grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into the bathroom. "Are you an idiot? They will find you here!"  

"I'm... sorry?" I replied, rather confused - then my eyes landed on the bloodstain at the collar of her shirt. "What - ?"   Suddenly, she spotted the luggage behind me, and her eyes ceased to bug out of her skull. "Oh. My apologies. I thought you were one of Brunhilde's - erm, visitors. Je m'appelle Sabine. I'm the maid here." Sabine explained that Jolie's salary wasn't exactly to her liking, and she therefore occasionally invited "visitors"-men and women-over to the Mange home to offer her...services. The doctor and Clarice knew nothing whatever about it, but Sabine was slightly intimidated by her, so she silently allowed  Brunhilde's mini-brothel to parade around under the family's noses. Now, that explanation seems so stupid, so idiotically see-through - but I was blinded by Sabine's French charm, as well as her... various assets. I had ample time to explore those assets for the next six weeks-and explore them I did, whenever I was at the Mange house and not the doctor's private practice. As a college student, I'd had flings, yeah, but - God, Sabine was phenomenal. We also had various discussions about abnormal psychology, a subject that fascinated us both. Her knowledge of plants and the flavors and fragrances they produced was astonishing; I could listen to her lecture me on the virtues of rosemary and thyme for hours, focusing on those gorgeous red lips. She was nearly perfect.... save for her selective, extreme shyness.  

She was, for some reason, extremely timid around other staff, and took the first opportunity to vanish whenever someone other than myself was in the room. I detected a sense of animosity between Clarice Mange (a tall blonde Amazon of a woman, who had maybe 30 years to the good doctor's 56) and Sabine, since Sabine would shoot her a half-cringe, half-glare whenever they happened to pass by in a hallway. Clarice, for her part, simply pretended Sabine wasn't there, her icy disdain nearly tangible as she would make small-talk with me, even flirting a little, while Sabine would slink away. The only person Sabine seemed to dislike more than Clarice was our esteemed cook. She scurried away whenever Brunhilde would clomp by, evidently terrified of her. I myself didn't blame her at the time. Brunhilde was gigantic... but hell, did she have a way with food. Meats, in particular, were delicious. She was an absolute artist with bacon.