TABOO © 2002 M.D. KOFFIN THIS DRAFT IS FOR PREVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT COPY OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S EXPRESSED PERMISSION. Author's notes with plot spoilers at the end of the story. Jonathan scanned the crowded room and tried to look as casual as possible. He held two full glasses of red wine, carefully balanced so that they would not spill if he was bumped by one of the many moving bodies. "Senator!" A loud baritone voice called above the music. "Pete! How are ya?" Another loud voice answered, emanating from a big man in a gray suit to his right. The two men were on a joyful collision course that would sandwich Jonathan in the middle. He moved quickly, and skillfully dodged around the reunion without losing a drop of wine. The two men did not even notice him as they greeted each other with a handshake that turned into a happy bear hug with familiar back thumping. He finally spied Jacqueline among a group of well-cut young men. She was laughing and flirting openly with all of them. He frowned and set down one of the wineglasses on the nearby buffet table. He should not feel jealous. She was not his girlfriend after all, he barely knew her. She did invite him to escort her to this little gathering though. He sipped the wine as he continued to watch her in action. The wine tasted flat and bland, not the fruity bitter taste that he had been used to. One of the men leaned over and began whispering in Jacqueline's ear. She moved closer and put her gloved hand delicately on the man's shoulder. The other men turned to each other, suddenly discussing some trivial matter earnestly. They seemed oblivious of the one man's succeeding advances toward their prize. They all expected to get their chance. Jonathan was disgusted. He turned away towards the buffet table and began selecting raw hors d'oeuvres, throwing them carelessly onto a small china plate. He did not expect much from Jacqueline, but she could have at least introduced him to some of the guests here before making her rounds. Maybe abandonning him to his own inept social skills was part of her fun. As a sculptor, he spent most of his time designing his statues, and consequently very little time was spent associating with real people. He increasingly found relationships too demanding and confusing. He endured them less and less, becoming practically reclusive. Now he was thrust into the middle of a roomful of highly respected and distinguished individuals. He felt uncomfortable around so much power and did not want to make a fool out of himself. Jacqueline had impressed him as being a little flighty though. It probably just did not occur to her to show him around. Finished with abusing the food, he surveyed the room once again. He spotted an older gentleman sitting alone at a small side table. The man was observing the room passively, but more than that, he looked completely relaxed. Jonathan purposefully headed in that direction. Heads turned with predatory interest as he passed around clustered groups. Several of the guests gave him furtive glances. He smiled back with polite refusals, not in the mood for the seductive games implied in each sly smile. "May I?" Jonathan asked before setting down his plate. The table was close to a stereo speaker and Jonathan had to shout to be heard. There was a band elevated at the front of the large ballroom. They were playing some rowdy heavy metal rendition of a classical sonata. Jonathan found the musical variety amusing. Since he had gotten there, they had managed to play twisted versions of everything from Raggae to country. He guessed that they were going for politically correct, multicultural entertainment. "Please." Horace invited, managing to project his voice without yelling like Jonathan had to. Jonathan sat down and promptly held out his hand. "I'm Jonathan." He shouted just as the music abruptly changed to a lighter, and quieter, melody. He laughed nervously at the sudden exposed feeling. Horace took the young man's hand in his long thin fingers and gripped it firmly. "Horace. Welcome to the party, Jonathan." Jonathan noticed the cultured accent. He unobtrusively observed the gentleman as he shook his hand the required number of shakes. The older man was casually dressed in a loose tan sweater over a silken maroon shirt. He looked to be of some kind of Indian or Mediterranean descent. Dark brown eyes regarded him wisely out of a tanned face framed by long black hair. He cast an air of total comfort and ease. Jonathan released the man's hand. He sat back and picked a cheese-coated ball off his plate. He noticed that Horace had no food or drink of his own. Jonathan gestured for him to take from his pile of appetizers, tipping the plate forward. Seeing Horace's disdainful frown at the sloppy tidbits, he set the makeshift platter back down. He replaced the hors d'oeuvre he had selected back. He was following the gentleman's cue, even though he was ravenously hungry. He took a polite sip of the flavorless wine instead, still holding onto it out of an ingrained habit. His face must have given away what he thought of the taste. "I know. I can't stand it either." Horace said with a sympathetic grimace. "I used to be more of a beer drinker anyway." Jonathan agreed, finally setting down the glass. "I preferred ambrosia and nectar myself." Horace remarked dryly. Jonathan laughed. Food of the Gods. Sure. A hand lightly gripped his shoulder from behind. He turned to see Jacqueline leaning over him, her ample cleavage exposed immodestly. Her black dress was low cut and clung thinly to her curves. Lace gloves extended up to her elbows. She looked elegantly sluttish. "I'm glad you're having a good time." She sighed, implying that she was not. She slowly traced a gloved finger down the side of his neck. "Uh, Horace, this is Jacqueline." He made a clumsy introduction. "We know each other." Horace revealed candidly. Jacqueline narrowed her eyes in irritation as she corrected him. "We've met." Then she whispered to Jonathan, tickling his ear with her warm breath. "Watch out for this one, Johnny. He's more dangerous than he looks." She slipped her hand in the side pocket of his jacket, giving Jonathan a quick kiss on the cheek before straightening with a folded paper. Her touch had been almost undetectable. She could learn to be a master pickpocket. She fanned herself with the party invitation that she had taken from him. "Doctor." She nodded stiffly to Horace. She released her hold on Jonathan and turned away with a snobbish shrug of her bare shoulder. Then she strolled off to find better fun. "I came here with her. It's a long drive out here from San Francisco." Jonathan explained, attempting to recover from the interruption without giving hint of Jacqueline's peculiar warning. "But worth it. I heard it's going to be a good spread tonight." Horace smiled, as if reminiscing about past feasts. Thinking of eating made Jonathan's stomach growl. He was hungry, but he was not looking forward to the usual ritual ordeal before the meal. He hated formal parties, and Jacqueline said the host was a real stickler about protocol. He played with the cheese ball on his plate. The coated orb rolled back and forth. "I came for the baby oil, really." Horace added with a wink. "I have a certain female acquaintance who insisted that I get some more." The music stopped all together. Several dozen curious eyes turned toward the front of the room. "May I have your attention please!" A tuxedo clad gentleman called from the bandstand. "Tonight is a very special occasion." He paused for effect. When the questioning mumbles died down he announced. "We'll be honoring one of our own." There were oohs and aahs from the assorted guests. Excited murmuring swelled from eager faces. "Dining will begin shortly. Enjoy the party." The announcer stepped away from the microphone and the music picked up again. An electric guitar screamed out an unusual complex riff in a Jimi Hendrix like style. "Carlos always brings truly superb samples." Horace continued as if there had been no interruption. His smile widened into a zesty grin. "Her skin has never been softer." Jonathan shrugged indifferently. He finally plucked the cheese ball off his plate and popped it into his mouth. The coated eyeball burst like a cherry tomato when he chewed it. He frowned with distaste. The retinal fluid in the center had spoiled. It slid down his throat unpleasantly like sour ink. Another cheese ball stared at him from his plate. Some of the cheese had rubbed off and the exposed iris glared up at him lifelessly. He pushed the plate away and stood up. "Leaving so soon?" Horace asked, feigning insult. "Was it something I said?" "No. The wine is not settling well." Jonathan explained with a hand rubbing his burning stomach. "I think I need some air." "I'll accompany you. It's getting too crowded in here for me." That was an understatement. The room was now so full it was impossible to navigate smoothly. Someone was always stepping in Jonathan's way or backing into him. Jonathan urgently zig-zagged for the French doors leading out to the lawn. He craned his head around as he left, but he could not spot Jacqueline. He finally made it out onto the lawn and took a relieved breath. There was a cool breeze and the night air felt clear and crisp. Jonathan drew in several more deep breaths, briefly looking up at the winking stars. His stomach was still turning from that sickening snack. Horace managed to push his way outside after Jonathan. "Whew, I feel like I just made it to the top of a mountain." Horace joked, but he was practically out of breath. Jonathan knew the feeling. Breaking out of that room felt like a monumental accomplishment. "Feeling better?" Horace asked, also drawing in the fresh air. He stretched leisurely, his bones popping audibly with the exercise. Jonathan nodded in response, even though he did not. His stomach gurgled. He needed to eat something soon. Something fresher than that unappetizing appetizer. He walked out over the dark lawn, circling around to the back of the mansion. Everyone else was heading inside. He could see through the large arched windows to the brightly-lit interior. The long dining tables were being laid out. The ritual was about to begin. "So, you're an artist." Horace guessed as he matched Jonathan's pace. Jonathan gave Horace a surprised look. "You've seen my work?" "Unfortunately, I have not had that pleasure." Horace answered, affecting sadness at the missed experience. "Jacqueline, on the other hand, is quite the art aficionado. She's quick to show off her collection." Jonathan studied Horace's face. He could not tell if Horace was explaining his intuition or hinting at something else. He was not sure if he should be amused or offended by what he felt to be indecent innuendoes. "So, you're a doctor." Jonathan mimicked, not covering his insult very well. "Yes I am." Horace affirmed with pride, puffing up his chest and nodding. "A surgeon. Thoracic specialist." Jonathan almost expected a flamboyant bow. He got the impression that Horace was playing with him for some reason. Under that placid exterior was lurking a devious personality, or maybe he was just being too sensitive. He decided to play along. "I had a knack for biology in school. I dissected everything from grasshoppers to pregnant cats. The sheep's brains were really interesting." Jonathan stopped walking and took a moment to reflect back on his formative years. "But I could never handle actually being a doctor." "Why's that?" Horace prompted, stopping with him. "I'm too shallow. I really just don't care for people at all." Jonathan aimed a meaningful look directly at Horace. "That's funny." Horace grinned, ignoring the jab. His teeth were frighteningly yellow. "I agree, excepting of course, for their culinary assets." Jonathan responded unconsciously by running his tongue over his own teeth. Then realizing it, he looked away. He checked his watch. It was twenty minutes till midnight. He looked up and began studying the full moon overhead. He could make out the details of the scarred surface remarkably well. "It's absolutely amazing." Horace began, starting a new conversation. "Our footsteps are up there somewhere. Permanent imprints of our brief presence on an alien world." "What's that?" Jonathan asked. He was startled by Horace's observation. He had been thinking similar thoughts as he gazed above him. He guessed that that was not so strange. It was easy to be amazed by the tireless frontier spirit that guided them to push the boundaries of their simple existence. Crossing lines that were rarely broken, especially those that were still marked by cultural taboo, was the lure of the party tonight. "The imagination and fortitude it must have taken to traverse that sea of emptiness between us." Horace praised, again following Jonathan's line of thought. "You have some of that fortitude in you. I can tell." Jonathan did not know whether to take that as a serious compliment, but Horace did not pause for a reply. "Some of that same explorer spirit too. It takes guts to come all the way out to a remote private celebration like this, where nobody knows you. Guts, to strike out on your own and attempt to make a connection with people you never met before. People who you know very little about, and who know virtually nothing about you either." Was Horace really admiring him, or was he mocking him? Jonathan tried to read Horace's expression again without success. The man had a perfect poker face. "Well, I know Jacqueline..." Jonathan pointed out. "Do you really? Do you really know Jacqueline?" Horace emphasized. Jonathan regarded Horace quizzically. He had already been feeling insecure, he did not need the addition of Horace's dramatics to unnerve him further. Horace adopted a carefree attitude. "Then I suppose you two will be meeting each other later." "What are you talking about?" Jonathan asked impatiently, tiring of Horace's obscurities. "Oh, she didn't say good-bye to you?" Horace acted surprised. "She left the party with a very handsome gentleman." Jonathan felt the pinch of jealousy again, mixed with a dash of doubt. He knew she was flighty, but he did not think that she was that flighty. Would she leave him here alone? He looked toward the mansion. He could not see her through the windows, but of course she could just be mixed in any number of crowds. The thick groupings of people could easily hide her petite figure from him, and the reflection on the glass prevented anyone from seeing them out on the dark lawn. "Why the anxious expression? Maybe you're not so brave after all." Horace was openly goading him now. Jonathan felt rage slowly building. He may be naïve, but he was now sure Horace was trying to make fun of him, preying on his uncertainty about Jacqueline. "I'm sure we'll hook up later." Jonathan answered with false confidence. "Maybe you will." Horace agreed patronizingly. Jonathan clenched and unclenched his fists. Then consciously calming himself, he turned away from the windows. "You know, as a specialist, I think I have significant insight into nature's design of the human heart." Horace began leading the conversation again. "Are you speaking metaphorically or literally?" Jonathan asked through gritted teeth, again reading hidden meaning in Horace's words. "Oh, literally, of course. I don't have the habit of hiding things that I want said." Horace declared modestly. Yeah, right. Jonathan thought rolling his eyes, but he did not contest Horace's claim. Horace obviously gained pleasure in annoying others. He was definitely pushing all the right buttons with Jonathan. His first impression of Horace had been wrong. The man was not sitting back from the party to avoid the games, he was just waiting for the right game to come to him. As irritating as it was, Jonathan had no intention of walking away from the challenge Horace was presenting to him. "Don't you ever wonder why the human body isn't designed better? Why we have nearly perfect bilateral symmetry, yet we have only one heart." Horace asked, tapping on his own chest. A rhetorical question. Jonathan shrugged and maintained a neutral expression. He was waiting for the punch line. "The heart in our body is kind of like the battery in a watch." Horace reached in his pocket. Jonathan thought he was going to pull a watch for demonstration but he pulled out what looked like a case for an expensive pen. "You can destroy just that one part," He made a stabbing gesture with the cylindrical box as he kept talking. "Or remove it without damaging it at all, and the whole body stops working." He made a cupping motion with his free hand, as if carefully cradling a human heart. Jonathan was only half listening to him babble, he still expected Horace to jibe him about Jacqueline again by going into some poetic tirade about the frailty of love or something. "It's the part that keeps our biological clocks ticking." Horace opened the case and took out the pen. "The rest of our body could be completely healthy, but without a heart, we're completely dead." Jonathan wondered briefly if Horace planned on drawing him a picture. Instead, Horace drew the pen across his throat, mimicking a morbid slashing finale to life. The pen flashed silver in the moonlight causing Jonathan to notice it for the first time. It had a small triangular blade on the end. It was not a pen at all. It was a scalpel, and it looked razor sharp. He involuntarily took a step back as Horace put the empty case back in his inside jacket pocket. He acted as casual as a man simply putting away his wallet. "Bringing the office home?" Jonathan joked uneasily. "No, this is more of a leisure activity." "What are you doing with that thing?" Jonathan questioned seriously, even though he really did not want to hear the answer. Maybe the old guy was losing it, one too many stressful hours spent in surgery. Jonathan took another careful step backward. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to kill you." Horace answered coldly. Jonathan did not have to ask why. The platters of carved human delicacies laid out on the long tables inside answered that question for him. Jonathan's heart was pounding in his chest. At least it was still in his chest, for now. "Have you gone off the deep end? How do you plan on getting away with it?" "Easy. No one here will miss you. No one here knows you. Everyone here is anxious to avoid publicity, at least, this kind of publicity." He pointed to the tables with the scalpel. A precise jabbing motion. "I bet you didn't tell anyone you came here tonight. You're friends will think you disappeared in some nasty San Francisco alleyway. None will think to look miles away, to dig up the well tended flower bed of a private home." He pointed to overturned earth at the edge of the yard. A new garden dug up for tonight's special occasion. New seedling would be planted in the morning, over the unused portions of the secret feast. In a couple of days beautiful flowers could be flourishing over his mutilated remains. "Jacqueline will..." Jonathan began. "Jacqueline set you up." Horace sighed impatiently. He crossed his arms and shook his head as if pitying Jonathan's ignorance. "Why do you think she took her party invitation back?" He paused a moment to let that sink in. "Like I mentioned before, you don't really know Jacqueline at all, not like I do." "That's where you're wrong." Jonathan argued desperately. "She warned me that you might be dangerous." "That was just to throw you off your guard." Horace explained. "You are least suspecting of the dangers that you think you are prepared for." "Not so." Jonathan patted the pocket where she retrieved the invitation from, and his whole attitude changed. "She gave me a little present." "Present? Something to defend yourself with you hope?" Jonathan just smiled and slipped his hand in his pocket. Horace watched him warily, but Jonathan did not pull his hand back out. He stood there with his hand tucked in, like a male model posing for a photo. The bulge of his hand hid whatever secret he held. "A knife, or a gun perhaps?" Horace taunted, but his face lost some of its surety. "You're right about how fragile the human body is. You remember, I told you that I'm no stranger to biology myself." Horace waited for Jonathan to enlighten him. He continued to eye the hidden object curiously. "I admire your romantic devotion to the heart, though nowadays it ceases to draw as much public interest. The heart is now as reparable and interchangeable as a bad engine, or a battery, as you yourself pointed out." Horace's eyes narrowed at the insult of Jonathan's ho-hum attitude towards his specialty. "I'm more of a brain man myself, though it's not easy to keep subjects alive. It's difficult to work with and impossible to replace. It's the most mysterious part of the human body." Horace continued to listen in impatient silence. Jonathan could not help enjoying the controlled anger he saw smoldering in Horace's dark eyes, but he still had to be careful. The scalpel winked at him with a sinister gleam from under Horace's arm. "As an educated man, I'm sure you read the paper. So you were probably already aware of my uh, hobby." Jonathan picked his words with studious care. Horace snorted derisively, but his expression changed to dawning realization. Jonathan imagined Horace was picturing the San Francisco Tribune or a similar national with captions reading Degenerates Discovered Decapitated or Homeless and Hookers Found Headless. Knowing he had him now, Jonathan continued. "And you, sir, are a walking trophy." Horace's face was a tangle of conflicting emotions, as impossible to read as his most impervious poker face. Jonathan smiled grimly as it was now Horace's turn to take a step back. Horace held the scalpel out in front of himself defensively. "How do you expect to get away with it, here at this party?" Horace asked boldly, but the scalpel wavered in his hand. "Easy. I didn't tell anyone I came here tonight. No one here knows me. Everyone here is anxious to avoid publicity, at least, this kind of publicity." Jonathan repeated the elements of his apparent vulnerability turning them into advantages. "I singled you out very carefully. A loner, an older...weaker man. Just the process of natural selection really." Horace looked over Jonathan's strong frame. Traces of doubt now lingered openly on his expression. "I usually don't let it get personal, but sometimes it's unavoidable." Jonathan sighed, as if at his own clumsiness. "I guess we're two of a kind." Horace admitted grudgingly, and the two men stood facing each other at a temporary impasse. Back inside, the ritual was ending. The host stood at the head of the center table. An overloaded platter of fetuses, none larger than six months, lay steaming in front of him. A cherry was placed carefully in each tiny mouth. Beyond that delicate dish was a long coiled pink sausage, stuffed human entrails. Next was laid out a complete human being on a bed of decorative romaine lettuce. She was split all the way down the center. Her open body cavity was filled with candied yams and toasted genitalia. The host held the woman's eyes up in the palms of his hands. The head was otherwise intact, except for the very top of the cranium. It was painstakingly sawed off and filled to overflowing with cerebral coleslaw. "We reclaim Norma back into our fold, as we all hope to one day come home. We honor her by consuming her flesh and her spirit. Within us, she will live forever." He concluded the rite with clear and practiced precision. The standing guests repeated his words ceremoniously. "Within us she will live forever." They all solemnly held up goblets brimming with blood to toast their departed friend who was now a tastily prepared dinner. They sat down and prepared to eat. Several people opened the linen napkins and spread them daintily on their laps. Eager whispering ensued as they all waited for their portion. Jonathan walked back into the ballroom through the patio doors, slipping the scalpel in his pocket. "Jonathan!" Jacqueline called, coming out of a short hall. The hall led to rest rooms that had been made public by the party. Did he detect a hint of surprise in her voice? "Where have you been all this time?" "I was outside getting some air." He explained as he took her in his arms. She clung to his shoulders. "Aren't you going to come eat?" Jonathan licked his lips. "I don't seem to be hungry any more. I think I'll avoid the pageantry tonight. Can you find another ride?" Her face took on a pouting expression, but she nodded. He smiled and gave her a long kiss good-bye. Then he walked out of the ballroom through another set of double doors, heading for the front of the mansion. He handed his parking tab to the valet in the front hall. While he waited for his car to be brought around, he wandered over to some souvenir tables. One was covered with an arrangement of fancy glass bottles. Jonathan picked one up and read the stylish label. Baby oil. A slightly misleading term used by blood bathers. They soaked themselves in human blood, reveling in the precious liquid. He believed infants were too innocent to be used for such superfluous purposes, but people of wealth were allowed to indulge their eccentric quirks. Jonathan felt a brief twinge of emotion. It was not that long ago that he would have called himself human. He waved the salesman over. The salesman was a shriveled looking little man with a woven poncho thrown over his shoulder. He looked out of place in the elegant foyer, like he should be selling flowers or fruit on the side of the road, rather than designer vials of baby blood. It did not look like he used his own product. "Thanks, Carlos." Jonathan gave the old man a friendly smile as he paid for the bottle. Even at the mention of his name, Carlos avoided direct eye contact, apparently a carefully practiced aversion. He would not remember him. No one at the feast would. Author's Notes: Most who have read this either feel confident that Jonathan killed the old man, or they feel cheated out of a resolution. I was actually going for the ambiguity of not knowing whether Jonathan had planned to come to the party to kill some random stranger. This story is modeled after a clever tale I saw on a Ray Bradbury Theatre starring Jeff Goldblum as a man who randomly gets off a train in a unknown small town only to meet a hobo who wants to kill him. I remember they showed the hobo waving to the man in the end as he got back on the train and how much I hated that ending. I thought it would be so much better if you didn't know for sure whether the man was bluffing his way out of being killed. TABOO © 2002 M.D. KOFFIN THIS DRAFT IS FOR PREVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT COPY OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S EXPRESSED PERMISSION.