The chapter below is from the sci-fi, triller book Fear is in the Air by Eva Newermann
Rare, Medium or Well Done?
The limo drops me off at my hotel a little after nine. I say goodnight to Lovise, who is going on to Southampton. I’ve told her I’m dead tired and going straight to bed.
When I get inside the lobby, I walk down the hallway, past my room and to the emergency exit door. No alarm goes off when I open it and there are no security cameras any place…I can even open the door from the outside.
Crime has not yet come to this part of town. They haven’t had many visitors like Ewa.
I go back to my room and hit the bed fully dressed. It will take me 40 minutes to walk back to the pit-cooking site and my meeting with Genie. That gives me nearly an hour’s rest.
Genie is already there, sitting on top of the mud bank. When he sees me he tries to get up. Looking like a stumblebum he stoops back down.
“Hey!” I say, “What’s cooking?”
“Oh, hell!” he wipes his nose “I got us some coke all right, but I don’t know about this shit.” He shows me some white powder.
“Are you crazy?” I bark, “I didn’t mean that kind of coke!”
He grins and holds up a six-pack of Coca-Cola. “Oh, so you meant this?”
The bastard has a sense of humor.
I slump down next to him and give him a kiss. I think he deserves that. He grabs my breasts and squeezes them softly.
“So, so,” I remove his hands, “we have all night for that. Let me show you what I’ve got.” I pull out a bottle of Bacardi 151. “This is a very special rum, you’re going to love it.”
What he doesn’t know is that with an alcohol content of 75.5 percent, this is one of the strongest rum drinks in the world, and very flammable. In fact, it is so potent that Bacardi adds a special device called a flame arrester on top of the bottle.
“Bring it on!” Genie puts his cup close to the bottle for me to fill. I pour him a strong one with a dash of Coke. I fix myself one, too.
I think I’m going to need it.
“This drink is called a Cuba Libre,” I tell him, “and it’s going to put some hair on your balls!” I put my hands into his crotch and pinch him lightly.
“I will drink to that,” he says, red-faced, drinking nearly all in one gulp.
“Cheers and bottoms up!” I reply and pretend I’m finishing mine, too. Adding some more Cola to mine and some more Bacardi to his, I can see he is getting hammered.
“Do you know we’ve got a Stonehenge in Maryhill, in Washington State?”
Genie looks at me blur-eyed. “No shit?”
I know you couldn’t care less.
“Yes,” I go on, “in 1918 Samuel Hill, son of Quaker parents, built a full-size replica of Stonehenge. They didn’t have the right kind of stones though, so they used reinforced concrete.”
“Cheers for them!” Genie empties his cup and I hurry to refill it.
I pour myself some plain Coke and continue. “It’s called Stonehenge Memorial and is dedicated to servicemen of Klickitat County in Washington, who died for their country during World War I.”
Genie, now flat on his back, is trying to focus on me. “I tried to get into the military,” he is slobbering, “but they wouldn’t have me.”
That’s because you are a disgrace to those brave men, Genie.
I bend over and force him to drink some more. “No, no more!” he whimpers, “I think I’m going to be sick.” His eyes roll back and he is out like a light. And brighter he’s going to be.
I shake him, no response. Checking his pockets, all I find are some keys and his driver’s license. There is still some Bacardi 151 left, I pour it all over his body. Afterwards I toss the bottle, keys and license into the burning coals.
Genie follows when I give him a push and he rolls straight into his hot grave. I can see the coals are still warm enough for some serious cooking. His clothes catch on fire right away and I have to step back a little.
Suddenly I hear a muffled scream. His body, blazing like a fireball, is trying to get out of the pit.
What in the world should I do? I could hit him with the shovel. No, if they do find him that will surely look like murder. What if I just hold him down with the shovel? No, he would have some marks on him and the shovel would be burned.
He has nearly managed to crawl out of the pit, but as if in slow motion, he slides back down into the coals.
Genie Flambé! Should I stick around until he is rare, medium or well done? Well, I’ll let him roast for ten minutes and then I’ll cover him up.
I lie down, with my head cupped in my hands, staring at him. While he is dying, the electric current burns throughout my shivering body.
A gravel machine and some shovels are standing next to the pits, waiting for the handymen. I know they are going to cover the pits in the morning. Also, every morning, a heavy fog has been sneaking across the meadows. It is so dense you can hardly see your hand in front of you.
I’m hoping it will happen this dawn, too, then nobody will notice that somebody has already started filling the pit, or they might just think some of the walls have caved in.
I get a shovel and start working.
Phew! He sure stinks! See what happens when you pester my friend, Lovise and me! This is my Stonehenge Sacrifice Ceremony.