The Last Supper

By Hank Fredo

When her boyfriend, Michael, goes missing, Audrey finds herself on a fast track towards a strange village out in the middle of nowhere. She's expecting to find that Michael has gotten in over his head in his search for the perfect meal. He's traveled the world looking for something that could help him transcend into another state of being with just a single bite!

It turns out, he's been given a chance to do exactly that. To have a meal that will go above and beyond anything else that he's tasted in the past. There's just one catch: this meal will be his last.

While Michael is quick to agree, Audrey is far more hesitant.

Is one last meal really worth all of the pain? Can you truly release your grip on the concept of fear long enough to enjoy the flesh from your own bones? It's a haunting question, and one that she's going to have to answer before long.

Audrey will have to decide how far she's willing to follow Michael. Is she going straight over the edge of human norms with him? Or will she leave before tasting the ambrosia of his flesh?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223297284

Book preview

Chapter One

Hurry up, shouts the trail guide, a taller teenage boy. He’s a good ten foot ahead of Michael Jennings. We’re almost there!

Michael nods, wiping the sweat off of his brow and hurrying after the boy. Almost? You said that an hour back.

The boy, Markus, laughs. I mean it this time. Look, right over there!

He points. In the distance, above the stretch of aspen trees, there is a single roof top visible. It peeks above the trees, and Michael knows that there’s a village of smaller houses spread out around it. The man has been hiking since very early in the morning, before the dawn light had even crept over the rich, golden sands, and it now hangs past the highest point in the sky.

Thank God, says Michael, with a shake of his head. He settles in to step next to the boy. I was starting to think we would need to make camp again.

I told you three days walk, and it has been three days walk, says Markus, with a shake of his head. The Chef will be glad to see you.

And I am glad to finally meet him, says Michael, earnestly. They lapse back in to silence. The sun beats down on the back of their necks, sweat staining the khaki shirt that he’s wearing. His long brown shorts have the same dark marks on the fabric, droplets of it running down the backs of his calves.

Markus leads them through the trees, and finally, an hour and a half later, the village comes in to view.

It doesn’t look like much.

Houses on either side of the dirt road that cuts through the center, with laundry lines hung up between them and colorful shirts pinned to the wire. People were out and about, working in their gardens, kids playing kick ball in the street, and adults sitting out on their front porch.

The only thing that really stands out is the long, more modern looking mansion that’s been built at the far side of the building. This is what Michael saw from the other side of the trees.

Markus stops and shoves a hand out towards Michael. This is as far as I go.

Michael fishes the little white envelope out of the back pocket of his shorts and hands it over. Of course. Here you are. Thank you for the help.

Markus takes the envelope, ripping it open and picking through it to make sure that the right amount of cash is there. It is. Michael would never skimp someone that was doing him such a huge favor. Alright. Good luck, buddy.

He steps backwards, away from Michael, and then pauses. His gaze flicks to the mansion house, at the other end of town. A frown pinches at Markus’s mouth, and he shakes his head.

Softly, Markus asks, you know what you’re getting in to, don’t you?

I know exactly what I’m getting in to, Michael promises. He thanks the boy once more, and then continues his way through the village, up towards the manor house.

He knows that the people of this village, they don’t understand.

But Michael has devoted his entire life to food, to drugs, to chasing that high; that perfect meal, that bite that takes you to another world entirely. He’s almost forty seven now, and when he was younger, he travelled all across the world.

He would go to Cambodia, and Mexico, and Ireland, and he would taste the regional dishes that they had there. Coconut shrimp soup, samlor kako, Mexican conchas baked fresh that morning; chorizo that was made in house, and then cooked over an open fire at a low, low, heat. He’s had haggis, and he’s had escargot He’s had the most expensive meals that the world has to offer, but he’s also had the poorest – the things that single mothers cook in villages that have never known electricity.

Meat cooked beneath the ground on hot coals, grains wrapped in grape leaves, whole hogs that were roasted over an open fire. He’s had regional barbecue from every state in America, and he’s tasted it elsewhere, too, soaked in pineapple juice, and slow cooked pork.

He’s had wagyu, and he’s had sirloin. He’s eaten raw beef, salmon, and tuna. He’s had blood pudding and blood sausage and – everything that he could get his hands on. Michael’s entire life, he’s been obsessed with the concept of food. That’s been his passion, his devotion, the only thing stable.

As the rest of the world crashed and burned around him, food always remained.

And today, he is going to taste the final dish.

Perfection.

Chef, as he’s known, has no singular name. His true identity is hidden behind a cloak of shadows. Reporters have tried to figure it out. Online sleuths that wanted to doxx him. People who don’t understand that sometimes, sacrifices must be made in order to truly taste ambrosia and elysium.

He works closely with a very, very rich man – another name that Michael was unable to get – who helps fund his excursions.

It’s taken a long time for Michael to make arrangements for this meeting. He takes a step forward, starting down the road. At first, the other people smile and wave at him, but once it becomes obvious that he’s taking the road up towards the manor house, that stops.

The villagers have a great amount of respect for the Chef, but they also want nothing to do with him or his customers. That’s no problem. Michael doesn’t want to stop and trade small talk and pleasantries. He would rather hurry to his appointment, and