Roaches were unacceptable in his spotless palace. In quick succession, Michael proceeded to chop the onions and celery with the most delicate of precision. He melodiously hummed to himself as he opened the refrigerator door. He reached in to take out the chicken he had purchased earlier that day while the kids were at school. Sweet little Melanie had asked him to make her favorite roast chicken for that night, and he had happily obliged, as they had been eating red meat all week long. Michael held the bare, raw meat in his hands, and it gave him an immediate sense of calm and familiarity. After disposing of the giblets, washing thoroughly, adding just the right amount of seasoning, and stuffing the bird chock full of vegetables, her gently pushed the shiny metal pan holding his masterpiece into the waiting oven and set the timer.
Michael paused and looked at his almost picture perfect family sitting around the dinner table. He had taken his own seat after being sure that everything was in its rightful place. The chicken had turned out spectacular from its smell alone. He had like his new grocer's recommendations much better than those of the incompetent one he had dealt with last week. He had gained a wider perspective on professional butchery and was sure the dumb prick now had a new appreciation for different cuts of meat. What meticulous timing to schedule a meeting just after closing; he knew he was a charmer and it was so simple to talk his way in or out of anything. Moving his thoughts away from his freshly sterilized butchery set, he now focused his attention on his precious daughter, awkwardly chewing and speaking at the same time.
"Ms. Johnson said I was the only one to get all my spelling words right! Daddy aren't I a genie?" Melanie grinned as she finished chewing and instantly stuffed another piece of drumstick into her tiny open mouth.
"Genie?" Brandon smirked as his mother shot him a disapproving look.
"I think you mean genius, honey," their mother corrected.
He had sympathy for his children, who were turning out to be just like him; at least outwardly. His wife was always correcting. Belittling. Michael could never do anything right. Just because he had chosen "house dad" over "most sought after criminal lawyer" he was inferior. Didn't she ever realize what he sacrificed so that she could go out into the world to pursue her dreams? His thoughts suddenly shifted as he vaguely heard Melanie spelling the word "hamburger". Last night's had been exceptionally good. Sweet and tender. He wondered then if this had been due to the extra pounding he had given it. He smiled to himself as he tucked that little nugget away in the back of his brain for later retrieval.
Michael collected the empty plates, washed the dishes and scrubbed down the countertops. He made his way up to Melanie's room to perform their ritualistic reading of Hansel and Gretel. It had taken them exactly twenty minutes from the first to the last page, and now he stood waiting at the bathroom door. Michael counted to sixty as his princess finished brushing her teeth. After tucking her in and kissing her goodnight, he poked his head into Brandon's room, and with the usual response to, "Hey buddy, finish all your homework?" he was satisfied.
Michael continued down the steps leading to the garage. Now, he was in his second favorite spot in the house: the immaculately clean garage was a space all his own and definitely the only place to compare to his prized kitchen. He usually unwound by analyzing the day, planning for the next, and checking the freezer. He sat in his favorite plush chair, after noting that the freezer was running low. One slab had remained, and being his least favorite, he was still in the process of deciding whether or not to dispose of it all together. Michael let his mind analyze each pro and con until he could barely keep his eyes from drifting shut and head rolling forward onto his chest. He realized that there was no other solution. The garbage bin was where it belonged.
He let out a yawn, stood up to stretch his cramped muscles, and with long languid movements walked over to flick off the light-switch. Lazily walking up the stairs and down the hall, Michael paused at the bedroom door. He watched as the silhouetted figure's chest rose and fell with the slightest sound of breath to be heard. She looked so peaceful while asleep and he had trouble swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. He did love her, and it hadn't always been the struggle it was now to remember that. He tiptoed toward the bed, slipped under the covers and hazily drifted to sleep listening to the sound of peace.
It had been a long day. Michael and the kids were enjoying their meal, while Kate sat rigid and unresponsive. "May I speak with you in private?" she asked, frowning at him.
"Yes, dear. Kids, finish up, and there's some brownies waiting for you on the counter. Ice cream's in the freezer." His smile almost cracked along with his voice as he finished his last word, and followed his wife out of the dining room.
"I specifically asked you to stop by the dry cleaners this afternoon. I need that suit Michael! It really wasn't that much to do, and with the day I'll be having tomorrow, I don't have the god-damn time." She pacing around the garage, brow still furrowed.
He glared at her unnoticeably as she continued to reprimand him, and whine about her life in general. "If your life sucks so much Kate, why bother." He said flatly, not looking at anything in particular. "Why not just disappear from our lives?"
"Oh, that's rich Michael. When did you become such a child?"
As she turned to sulk away, her eyes missed the glint from the kitchen knife that his quick and well-practiced hand now held. He roughly grabbed her hair and pulled her directly around so that they were face to face. She looked shocked, but not convinced for what actually came next. He stared at her with such an eerie calm in his eyes; a calm that had not ever occupied them to her knowledge. She found herself unable to look away from his serene smile, as he began to slice through that first bit of naked flesh underneath her right ear. The single moment before reality had hit her, she realized that her screams were silenced before they had even begun. She felt nothing but a warm dribble of crimson down her neck.
There would be time to deal with her later. He was sure of this, as he had just finished his first round of scrubbing. He didn't even bother changing his clothes, but was careful to slip the key into his pocket after locking the garage door.
"Daddy, hurry up! Tonight I feel like a new story. Hansel and Gretel isn't my favorite anymore," Melanie called from the top of the stairs.
"Of course it isn't, you're a big girl now," Michael smiled up at his little angel, "Fairytales, especially ones with old witches wanting to eat little children, just don't suit you. Why don't you go brush you teeth while I choose a new one for us."
Melanie looked curiously at the dried blood spots on his shirt, before shifting her attention back to her father's face. "Okay, and I'll go say goodnight to Mommy too."
"I'm sorry, honey. Mommy's already asleep because she flies out tomorrow for her special meeting, remember?"
"Oh yea. Okay, I'll be right back."
"Make sure you count to sixty." Michael watched as his daughter ran from the room.
Michael was back in the garage, now relaxing after thoroughly cleaning everything. Twice. The bitch had it coming to her. She had a tough day tomorrow? Hah, he thought she would have been grateful to him for taking her stress away. It was always about her, that selfish cow. His day had been worse by far: a piece of shit. He had searched all day for the perfect cut, perfect specimen, and nothing. Nothing. He had never thought it would bring him so much peace. Happiness. He felt energized and renewed throughout every cell in his body; it was like the last time, but better. He continued to peer into the freezer, and imagined he had seen a twitch, a slight muscle contraction.
Michael turned off the crock-pot. All day, the amazing smells had filled his kitchen: his home. He called his children to come downstairs while he set the table allotting heaping portions of comfort food to each of the three bowls in front of him.
"Mmmm, yummy!" Melanie exclaimed.
"I gotta say, this is good stuff Dad." Brandon choked out the words between massive bites of his dad's famous beef stew. "Mom's missing out on this one."
"You're right, but don't worry, I'm sure she doesn't even have time to think about beef stew right now." Michael chuckled as Melanie picked a piece of meat off her brother's plate and received a dirty look as he tried to shield it.
"Sweetie, there's plenty more."
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