The water, which was only lukewarm, felt welcome and hellish against my poor aching skin. I won't go into details on the shower because, to be honest, it's not all that relevant. Did I wash my asscrack? Yes. That's all you need to know.
When I got out, it was Lewis's turn and, as if like clockwork, it was time for dinner almost immediately after that. How convenient, right?
Dinner was a simple affair. Mr. Salucci had me help him set the table while everyone else pulled the chairs out of the closet and found a turkey-patterned tablecloth. (It was the only one he had. It didn't exactly fit the springtime we were currently in but, then, nothing did anymore. This was a spring break apocalypse and it was fine to use a turkey tablecloth for dinner.)
When we sat down to dinner, Mr. Salucci instructed us on how he would prefer that we fix our plates (I was annoyed by that, but I didn't mind so much as to make a scene). He tried to talk to us about our lives and our day.
"I'm writing a story with some college-aged characters," he admitted, just so that his intentions were clear, "and I would appreciate it if I could just talk to you to get a feel for how things go these days."
I nodded while putting some canned green beans on Lewis's plate (I was in charge of the beans, apparently). "Sure. What do you want to know?"
"Nothing specific. I'd just like to listen to you talk. You're, what, sophomores?"
"Freshmen."
"Interesting. I assumed you were older."
"Not really. Lynette and I are only a few days apart."
Mr. Salucci looked at Lynette, who was sitting to his right while he was at the head of the table. "You're Lynette?
She nodded. "Yep."
"And who are the rest of you?"
"I'm Kurtis," I jumped in (because I wanted to talk and it was my turn), "the guy sitting next to me is Lewis, and the guy across from me is Peter."
"It's nice to meet you all. I hope that you have found my home welcoming and warm. It's nice to have visitors, after so long. Now, I'll allow you to talk, as long as I am allowed to listen."
"In that case," Lynette said, then immediately launched into a complicated conversation with Lewis about something so incredibly stupid that I couldn't bring myself to properly listen to.
About ten minutes later, a timer went off in the kitchen and Mr. Salucci rose. "That'll be the meat. I'll go grab it. You kids enjoy yourselves."
As soon as he came back with a steaming platter of meat, Peter stopped talking. There was a weird expression on his face, but I couldn't place it. Was it hunger? Was it disgust? Was it both? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that he wasn't talking and he had almost completely frozen.
He didn't touch the meat at all. I considered making up an excuse about how he was a vegetarian but, honestly, there was no opportunity or need to. I found out why later that night, after dinner was done and over with and everyone was asleep.
For now, though, I was at the dinner table, eating the best meat I had ever tasted. I'm being serious here. I'm not a huge meat guy, but, at that moment, I felt like I understood why some people were. My heart swelled with respect for Mr. Salucci as I tasted the spices, the marinade, the everything. It was similar to veal, in a way, but not quite. (I had veal once at a fancy dinner party my father dragged me to, back when we were still talking to each other.) The flavor was immense and the meat itself was so incredibly tender... I would have gone back for seconds if my stomach weren't still in knots from the day's events.
I was very clearly not the only one enjoying myself. I knew that Lynette loved meat (it was a product of her upbringing, I was sure), and, while she looked confused at first, she got a second cut of it. Mr. Salucci was happy to oblige. Lewis finished his plate and everything. Peter, though... Peter was silent and he barely picked at his vegetables. I couldn't stop myself from worrying about what was happening behind that blank expression of his. Was it a genuine emotional thing? Was it a side-effect of the bite? I longed to unravel his psyche.
We went to bed full and happy that night. Lewis went to sleep by the glow of hs phone's screen as he video-chatted with the girl he had been texting and they fell asleep together(she wasfine, and she was sheltered in Orlando now, where things were getting pretty weird and okay at the same time); Lynette curled up in the bed, which she was willing to share with the rest of us (I was willing to climb up, Peter wasn't, and Lewis wanted to sleep on the ground because he's a fucking weirdo); even I was feeling better, having almost completely forgotten the thing I bumped into in the crawl space.
Peter was the only one of our little group who didn't seem to be feeling it. Sometime around three in the morning, he rose from the beanbag, where he had been sitting for most of the night, and snuck out of the room. I assumed he was going to the bathroom, but I didn't hear the door to it open or close. Seconds later, one of the stairs creaked, and I figured that I knew where he was going.
I, too, rose from the bed. I had to untangle myself from both Lynette (who was a real clinger. I wish I had known that before I agreed to share the bed with her) and the topsheet I was using as a blanket before I could follow him down. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand in pure instinct and shoved it into my pocket; it was done without a single thought on my part. Through the darkness I went, stumbling and fumbling for the thick wooden railing so I could make it safely down the stairs without hitting my head even more.
As soon as I made it to the bottom, I realized that I was once again an idiot. My phone had a flashlight app. I didn't have to suffer in the dark.
Sure enough, I found Peter in the kitchen, looking at the contents of the fridge. He was swathed in sickly yellow light; it only covered his face and the top part of his torso as he leaned in around the door, making him look almost monstrous.
"Hey, Pete?" I asked, tentatively, unsure if something was wrong or if I was genuinely going to provoke him. "Are you okay?"
He spun around and nearly slammed the fridge door open. His foot was caught in it, though, which caused the fridge and everything on top of it to shake, but the fridge stayed open.
We stared at each other for a moment.
"Are you okay?" I asked again, probing and expecting an answer this time.
"I'm... fine. No I'm not. Shit. I don't know. There's something wrong here, and there's something wrong with me." The words spilled out of him like soup out of a bread bowl without a bottom. They were everywhere; they were painted on the walls, the ceiling, his face, my shoes.
"Pete--"
"No listen to me!" he hissed. Half of his face was illuminated by the yellow light of the fridge. That half was wild; the light skipped and flickered across his eyes. The other side of his face lingered in the darkness, lurking, watching, waiting, as if it was going to take over him at any second. "There's something wrong here. I wanted to eat that meat a little too much. I don't know if you noticed, under the table-- my legs were bouncing. My hands were holding each other. It was a stupid pathetic attempt at keeping myself from lashing out."
Peter ran a hand through his hair. He could tell that I was about to open my mouth and say something stupid, so he raised a hand to stop me as he ran the other through his hair again.
"Lewis was right, Citrus," he continued, using his old nickname or me. (It came from the fact that I kept a basket of citrus-- lemons, clementines, navel oranges-- on my desk.) "I think I really am infected. I don't know what's keeping me from changing fully or if there is anything keeping me from going full-on zombie, or if I'm just living on borrowed time, but... Peter, there's something wrong with the meat.
"Like what?"
"I think it's human.
I laughed awkwardly. "What?"
"You heard me. I think it's human."
"Peter, that's crazy--"
"Is it?" His eyes were wild and dead serious. "Is it?"
I thought it over. It was crazy--but it was also possible. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, though, and implicate an innocent man in the process, so I answered, "Yeah, it is."
Was it, though? I had never had meat like that before, and I had no idea what human meat tasted like... Who was I to say that it couldn't be?"
Peter frowned. "Fine. Don't believe me. Whatever."
I reached over his shoulder to pull open the freezer door. "There's probably, like, a bag of meat in here or whatever."
"Like a bag of frozen chicken breasts?"
"Yeah, like that. Let me open it."
Peter did, closing the fridge in the process. We were plunged into complete darkness. I opened the freezer and held it open with my left hand while I fished for my phone in the pocket of my pajama pants. "There's probably nothing in there," I said, still trying to get it out.
"Are you seriously struggling to get your phone out? You're right-handed, Kurtis, how are you messing this up?"
"Same way I messed up your mom's marriage! Oh-- I got it!" I turned on the flashlight.
I could feel Peter physically jump behind me. "What the fuck?" he whisper-yelled.
I turned my flashlight-- and, with it, my eyes-- upward. I saw why Peter jumped and I instantly realized that he had been right all along. There was a reason that the meat seemed so incredibly appetizing to him. There was a reason that he was so on-edge at the dinner table. That reason was right here, right in front of me.
There was a human head in the freezer. No-- scratch that. I miscounted.
There were two.