The crisp, fall air made Amanda feel like baking something special. Something really special. Standing at the kitchen counter, she brushed her dark curls out of her face and sipped on a steaming mug of fresh coffee. Outside, the autumn winds were stirring. She contemplated her ingredient list. She had almost everything, except for one last ingredient, to make the recipe complete.
• Flour
• Sugar
• Eggs
• Salt
• Chocolate
• Pumpkin Pie Spice
• Blood
Nothing made her happier than baking. Her eight to five job paid the bills, but as she drives home at night over the damp, dead leaves, she dreams of the hushed lights of her kitchen. Amanda’s neighbors found her a bit strange. There were pots clanking at all hours of the night and the smell of burnt sugar emanating through the open windows. Sometimes they called the landlord, complaining of the smoke detector going off for hours at a time. As if she didn’t even hear it. And in fact, Amanda usually didn’t. Because for her, baking was like casting a spell and nothing could distract her from the enchantment.
Her cup of coffee finished, Amanda was ready for the outdoor chill. She surveyed her mixing bowls and measuring instruments lined up in a row on the counter like sentinels ready for battle, just waiting on that last ingredient. Her coat smelled like pine and she breathed in the aroma deeply and with a smile. She was remembering the last encounter she had while wearing that coat. Breathless running through the woods, her heart pumping from the thrill. She held up her coat sleeve. But that blood stain really would just not come out.
“Morning, Charlie!” Amanda called out to her letter carrier, passing the lanky, shaggy-haired man in the terrace outside her condo.
“Ms. Clarke,” Charlie acknowledged. He shifted the bag on his shoulder. This woman and her baking magazines, he couldn’t forget her name even if he wanted to. He pulled out an armful of her mail. “I have your magazines.”
Amanda grinned. She stepped a bit too close, smelling him. Watching his neck as he swallowed. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed, reaching over to unlock the front door to her condo. “I’m in a rush, would you mind just dropping those in the kitchen?”
Charlie paused. “Well, that’s not really allowed.” First, it would be dropping off magazines. Then, it would be moving furniture. He’d been down this road before.
“I’ll make you one of those cupcakes you love you so much,” she whispered, as though if anyone else heard she was making cupcakes then she’d be overwhelmed with requests.
Charlie paused again. “I suppose…”
“Thank you so much! Just lock the door behind you. Bye, doll!”
Then she was gone, sprinting down the terrace walkway with a rapid clicking of her heels, disappearing out of sight. Charlie sighed and looked down at the dozen or so magazines he had been carrying around all morning. Sprinkles of rain started to dribble on his head.
“Just get to it,” he said to himself, stepping through the open doorway. He glanced behind himself one more time and quietly shut the door.
Sometimes he fantasized what the inside of the homes on his route looked like. He got small glimpses into his customer’s lives from the mail they received. Some people were obviously in debt, receiving thick envelopes of credit card statements. Others had shopping addictions, their daily mail riddled with enticing coupons. And then there were the magazine subscribers, like Ms. Amanda Clarke. Old school, overcharged customers who were still willing to pay for the written word and a bunch of pictures. He was about to buy her an iPad just to save himself on his chiropractor bill.
Amanda’s house was not much different than he expected. Smelling heavily of perfume, it was a single woman’s paradise filled with candles and wall decals with cute yet inspiring messages like Live, Laugh, Love or Home Is Where The Coffee Is. Charlie shook his head, stepping into the kitchen. It was impressive, the walls lined with shining stainless steel pots and pans, impeccably organized spices, and a bright red refrigerator. With finality, Charlie dropped the stack of magazines on the nearest counter, knocking over a measuring cup and sending a piece of paper fluttering to the floor. He retrieved it and examined the writing beneath the window light. An ingredient list.
—
Illuminated by the warm glow from the oven light, Amanda sat on the kitchen floor. She felt safe and calm in that little circle of light. The outside world no longer mattered or existed. Her legs crossed, she is folded over in her lap, chewing nervously on her stained fingernails. The warm heat from the oven soothed her, tempting her with sleep. But she won’t sleep. She has worked all day for this moment and she is about to see the payoff as the ingredients react with the heat and build a perfect little masterpiece. Or so she hopes. Will it rise? Did she get the ratios right?
Her stomach burned with hunger. It is better for her to be hungry to do the things she had to do. It raised the stakes and helped with the guilt, she had found. She saw herself as a huntress, something out of the storybooks from Amanda’s childhood. Those dark figures in long cloaks looking over their shoulder, half concealed behind a tree high atop a hill. Off to do some dastardly deed in which the details were left out. Amanda looked away from the oven to examine the dried blood on her hands. Hot tears begin to stream down her face. She wiped them away and pressed her face up close to the oven again. There was darkness in the details, sometimes.
—
It really was a delicious looking cupcake. Dark and velvety, tiny granules of sugar sparkling in the Monday morning light. Charlie stared at it intently, imagining the cupcake would sprout a heartbeat from the amount of blood probably pumping through its chocolate veins. It sat politely atop the mailbox, wrapped neatly in cellophane that was tied with an orange ribbon. A small piece of card stock was tucked into its depths, with the note For Charlie followed by a winking smiling face. Charlie swallowed hard. He didn’t trust that winking smiling face.
Amanda caught his eye as she watched him from the kitchen window. She nodded and acknowledged him with a grin and raise of her coffee cup. She motioned for him to take the cupcake and waved, disappearing into the shadows of her house. Charlie picked up the cupcake, being careful not to crinkle the perfectly smooth cellophane. He had just enough room in his pack to nestle the cupcake in between some outgoing mail. Tucking his head down, he darted into a whirlwind of swirling leaves and continued on his route.
Charlie carried around the cupcake in his pack all day. The last time Amanda made him a treat, he consumed it immediately. In fact, he had consumed many of Amanda’s thoughtfully-prepared baked goods and now felt sick at the thought of it. He had been contemplating that ingredient list since he found it. Of course, it could have been a joke. Or an early Halloween prop. Or even just a list of random words. He unwrapped the cupcake that evening in the safety of his apartment and sniffed it. There was definitely something there. And he didn’t want to know why Amanda was sharing it with him.
—
“Blood?”
“Yes, it was on the ingredient list,” Charlie confirmed. He brushed his messy hair out of his face. He hadn’t slept all night, imagining that cupcake staring at him through the walls. He even thought he heard it clanking around the kitchen in the midnight hours, preparing a late night snack.
Charlie’s friend, Dan, took a quick sip of his espresso. He stared at the velvety cupcake sitting in front of him on the coffee shop table. He leaned in for a quick sniff.
“I don’t smell anything except chocolate and pumpkin. Did you try it?” Dan asked, taking another sip in an attempt to mask his smile.
“Of course not!” Charlie exclaimed. He looked around and tucked the cupcake back into his coat pocket.
“You realize carrying a cupcake around in your pocket looks strange. Right?”
“I might need it for evidence.”
“And that’s even stranger,” Dan added. He sat up in his seat. “Look, if you’re that worried about this chick, just ask to change your delivery route.”
“I’m more worried about where this blood came from,” Charlie whispered, tapping the table for emphasis.
“You don’t even know if there’s blood in there!” Dan shouted. He looked around at the other patrons and lowered his voice. “This is stupid, just toss it.”
“I’m trusting my gut here.” Charlie stood up from the table with a loud screech of his chair.
“Interesting choice of words,” Dan laughed. “And where are you going? I thought we were going to the movies!”
“Can’t.” Charlie zipped up his jacket and pulled his hood over his face. Outside, a storm banged against the coffee shop windows. “If you don’t hear from me in a few days, call the police.”
“Wow,” Dan marveled with a shake of his head. “I might just call the loony bin and reserve you a spot right now.”
—
It was a cold and wet evening. A very, very cold and wet evening. Charlie’s cotton jacket was soaked through and it had been for several hours. The cupcake pressed against his chest, it was melting in his pocket from both heat and dampness. Perched in a Rhododendron in the terrace outside Amanda’s condo, Charlie couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a creeper. He had been watching Amanda since she came home from work. He began to doubt his judgement of her. In that warm glow of the kitchen, she looked like a perfectly sweet girl, her dark curls falling onto her face as she laughed on the phone or sang to herself.
For hours, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. She cooked herself some dinner then disappeared for a while, coming back to clean the dishes. Then she left again and for another hour, all Charlie could see was the faint flicker of a TV screen in the window reflection. Finally, he got sick of being soaking wet and decided to go home. He felt like a paranoid idiot, what a waste of time. He’d have to be up early for work the next morning and he was really going to regret this. Removing his jacket to wring out the rain water, he noticed a huge stain on his jacket.
“The cupcake. Damn…” he sighed, examining the stain left by the melting cupcake. He grabbed the cupcake and tossed it into the mud beneath his feet. He brushed the remaining crumbles of cupcake off his hands and paused. In the dim light from the terrace, Charlie could see his hands were stained red. He held up his jacket to smell the stain. Unmistakably blood.
Charlie started to run, leaving his jacket behind. He ran almost blindly, his hair in his face from the heavy rain. He felt fear, real fear, for the first time in a long time. Was he being chased? He imagined he heard the clicking of Amanda’s heels behind him. Finally, he stopped to catch his breath on a street corner, buckled over as he tried to calm the rushing in his head. He jumped as two booted feet appeared in front of him.
“You okay, son?” It was a security guard for the liquor store down the street. His slicker was shining from the rain but it might as well have been a gleaming suit of armor for all Charlie cared.
“Oh, thank God. I thought – “
Charlie stopped as the security guard stared at the red stain on his shirt.
“What have you been into?” the guard asked, his right hand reaching under his rain slicker.
“It was… a… cupcake,” Charlie whispered.
Suddenly, a knife flashed in the gray rain. Before Charlie could react, an arm wrapped around the security guard’s neck and cut across without hesitation. The man gasped and grabbed his neck, falling onto the road. Behind him stood Amanda with a kitchen knife in one hand and Charlie’s jacket in the other. She smiled at him and winked.
“Hello, Charlie.”
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