It was a short walk from the police station to Sybil and Vera’s house, just long enough for Tristan to compose himself. When the large front door opened, he stepped inside and into Vera’s embrace.

‘’Good to see you!’’ she said warmly as she ushered him in from the empty street.

‘’Can’t be too careful these days,’’ said another voice, Sybil’s, as the door clicked shut and locked behind them. Tristan glanced back, his face pale.

‘’Tell me about it,” he muttered.

‘’The food’s not quite ready. Why don’t wait in here instead?” Vera led him into the a small room, her movement practised and deliberate as she gestured him into a chair.

“So,” she began as she turned to make him a drink, ‘’how are you holding up?’’

‘’I-’’ he trailed off as he checked his phone for a text, his recent ones still left unanswered.

‘‘It’s been hell.’’ He sent another message, waiting for the familiar notification sound which never came. Vera handed him a tall glass, and he took a sip, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste.

“Have you heard anything?” Her voice softened as her hand hovered near his arm, then withdrew. Tristan finished his drink quickly, a tinge of nausea rising in him. “There’s been no sighting of her,” his gaze lingered on the floor before facing Vera.

“They don’t expect to find her alive.” She greeted the dark circles of his eyes with a pitiful smile.

‘’I just don’t see why anyone would want to hurt Mallory,’’ Vera remarked as Sybil entered the room.

“They’ll find her. And they’ll find whoever took her.” It was almost a promise. Sybil gestured for them to follow her to the dining room. Tristan rubbed his clammy palms on his jeans before following the two of them. Sybil had already vanished into the kitchen when he sat at a large table. An old speaker in the corner was playing classical music. Sybil returned with a large tray.

“Who doesn’t love a charcuterie board?” she said, placing the plated works of art onto the table.

”And a vintage Chianti,” Vera added, filling their glasses.

Tristan’s gaze drifted from the full glass to the tray of delicacies; fresh and preserved fruits, aged cheeses, and soft bread. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something proper and neither could his stomach.

“This looks amazing,” he managed. He bit into a rolled slice of meat, the taste distinctly rich, melting on his tongue. He washed the taste down with the full glass of Chianti. The wine was dark, and bold, its bitterness masking the unease that gnawed at him.

“Like it?” Vera asked.

“It’s delicious. What is it?”

“Spalla Stagionata,” Sybil said with a smile.

‘’It’s cured pork shoulder,’’ Vera chuckled.

Sybill placed more food on his plate and Vera refilled his empty glass. Nerves and hunger warred in his stomach, but in the end hunger won and he devoured the succulent meat.

“So,” Vera’s tone seemed tastelessly casual, “did they let you back in the house?” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“Not yet. They’re still,’’ he hesitated, collecting his strength, ‘’trying to get the blood out of the floor.’’

“It must be awful, coming home to that. Not being there to protect her.” Tristan held his tongue, bestowing another sip of wine on it. It didn’t help.

“Still hungry?” Sybil’s voice was close, her hand replenishing his plate with the last of the appetisers before he could respond. She and Vera cleared the table, returning promptly with a domed serving platter, and the room was engulfed by the aroma of butter and herbs. “Roasted loin,” Sybil announced. “Served with a Cumberland sauce.” Her smile was wide as she sliced into the meat, the silver knife gleaming as she cut with a methodical level of precision. The nerves in Tristan’s stomach gnawed again.

”What kind of meat is it?” he asked.

‘’It’s just pork.’’ Sybil said, glancing at him before sitting down.

‘’Gorgeous.” Vera chimed in, pouring another generous measure of wine in all of their glasses. ”This one is a rare Bordeaux. Please,” she purred, “drink your fill.’’ He wasn’t a connoisseur, but Tristan found it surprisingly sweet, cloying on his tongue. He glanced at Vera’s silver necklace, the familiarity gnawing at him.

“Did the police interrogate you?” Vera’s tone was light, yet her gaze was fixed on him.

“It’s standard procedure.” His voice cracked. “But it’s cruel how they always suspect the spouse.” He looked down, the nerves knotting his stomach with dread. “My wife is missing, and they think I’m capable of—”

“Where were you, then?” Her voice cut over him. His hand tightened around his glass.

”Vera, darling, let the man eat,” Sybil said, not quite insistent.

”I was just asking. No harm done, right?’’ Vera asked. Tristan shook his head in

response. Interrogated once more, he thought as he forced his attention onto the plate in front of him. Does pork always look like this?

“I was at work, with my assistant. We stayed late.”

‘’Of course, she’s your assistant,’’ Vera laughed, not looking up from her plate. Tristan’s eyes snapped up from the table.

‘’What’s that supposed to mean?’’ he snapped, knocking his wine over. A drop spilt over the edge onto the tablecloth. Too red, too bold. He sat his glass back upright on the table.

‘’What was her name, again? Izzy something?’’ Sybil asked, her hands clasped under her chin.

“Isobel,” he replied stiffly, averting their studious gazes.

Vera leaned forward, her voice soft.
“But you called the police closer to eleven, didn’t you? Must have been some overtime.” He forced an awkward laugh.

“I drove her home afterwards; She lives across town.”

‘’Mhmm,’’ Sybil murmured to herself, sharing a glance with her partner. “It must be nice to be close with someone you work with.” Tristan swallowed a mouthful of the saccharine meat.

“You haven’t heard from her, have you?’’

‘’Izzy?’’

‘’No,” he said, “Mallory.’’

‘’Well, no. I’m sorry.” Sybil declared quickly.

‘’Do you and Isobel know each other?’’ he asked.

‘’Chatty lady, that one,’’ she added as if to herself. ‘’Well, I’ll need a moment to garnish the dessert. Vera?’’

‘’Coming.’’ They both rose from their seats and collected the empty dinnerware, disappearing into the kitchen.

Tristan dried his palms again and found his phone in his pocket; no new notifications. In between songs, he could hear his ears ringing. The women returned carrying bowls, spoons, and a bottle of wine.
‘’Have you tried Sanguinaccio Dolce before?’’ Sybil asked as she placed a bowl before him. He glanced at her warily.

‘’Isn’t that, uh, blood?’’

‘’It’s Italian,’’ Vera remarked, digging into her portion. ‘’I know you’re not squeamish, Tristan. Try it.’’ They watched him lift the spoon into his mouth and swallow. He followed it with another sip of wine, surprisingly sweet against the bittersweet chocolate.

“It’s special,” he said, forcing a smile.

‘’It’s an acquired taste, for sure,” Sybil said. “Most people are, as well.’’ Vera giggled.
He thought it had an unsettlingly metallic aftertaste. His vision was bleary between stress and the heady intoxication of so much fine wine, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Vera clutch her necklace. Its chain was too long for her neck, the

dim lights caught on the silver, and he squinted at it. It looked stained by something dark. That was pristine when I bought it, he thought sluggishly.

Silently, Sybil filled his glass to the brim. He raised the glass in one hand and his phone in the other, clicking on Isobel’s number as he drained the wine. This one’s sickly sweet. The speakers paused in between songs; he heard a familiar tune from behind the kitchen door. His gaze swivelled from his phone to his hosts, and landed on his half-empty bowl. The last spoonful sank smoothly down his throat and threatened to rise again. Sybil gestured to the glass in his hand and, complying, he tried drowning the dread in his stomach. As she moved to refill it again, Vera uncorked another bottle. It looked different. As thought it had been kept separate. Its finish disagreed with him, clung to his tongue, and grew stronger with each desperate sip to wash it down.

‘’Chatty, as I said,’’ Sybil repeated with a sigh and her eyes locked on his. ‘’Couldn’t keep a secret if she tried.’’ Vera nodded without bothering to face him.

“Excuse me,” he slurred slightly, his heart threatening to punch through his chest. Rising from the table, his phone slipped through his sweaty fingers. The women merely watched him calmly. He aimed for the doorway. His hosts sat still. He swayed as he walked, leaning against walls as he searched the hallway for an exit, an escape. Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard one of them.

‘’He thought he was clever, didn’t he?’’

Finally, he found the door and tried to open it. It didn’t move. He tried it again. He rattled the handle, holding onto it for balance as his knuckles turned pale. They were catching up to him, but all the fear in the world wouldn’t pick a lock. He sank to his knees, the carpet was soft, waiting for him. He didn’t know if it was the light fading around him or his vision going dark. The dread threatened to spill out of his throat along with wine and the meat, the sickeningly delicious meat.

Featured Image Credit: Pexels / Markus Spiske