The Chef's Children

The chef’s knife whirled across the various vegetables and fruits as he selected the ones that he needed and quickly diced them up. His eyes sparkled with happiness as he practiced his art, dropping slices into different bowls. Michael loved what he did and did it very well. This is where the world faded away and it was just him and the food.

Michael had a different view on food than most chefs, which was obvious by how thin he was. Michael didn’t just love food, he worshiped it. Every dish was like a child to him. The man ate very little and certainly not anything that he prepared. He hated the people that ate his dishes and most of all hated his boss who sold his food. His food! Restaurant managers in Michael’s mind were seen as slave traders.

As he looked outside the kitchen window in disgust, the chef saw a pair of teenagers walk in. They were very obvious about being twins, wearing similar clothes and having similar hair styles. They looked up at him and smiled, waving. Michael quickly turned around to avoid them seeing his grimace.

A few minutes passed in a haze of creation before the restaurants only waiter tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes?” he said irritably.

The man didn’t notice his tone. Looking down at his notebook he said, “I have two orders here for some twins.”

Michael took the paper and went to work. Lovingly, his hands crafted his child, forming it out of the air. Buns and meat and vegetables almost slid together under his fingers. It was just a simple burger, but he took pride in it. It was his burger. After it was done he then went to make another one, just as caringly. Every part of the work was special to Michael, from frying the burger to cutting the lettuce. Even making the fries had its merit.

He was always very fast at his work, and had both done in a matter of minutes. He called the waiter over and sadly handed over his children. He watched as they drifted away.

It was a slow day so Michael leaned against a wall and looked out the kitchen window into the restaurant. He saw the twins, and what was left of his happiness from making the burgers drained from his body. He watched as they took their first bites, touching his food with their disgusting hands. What business had they eating his children? His creations? Michael clenched his fists at his sides, fuming. His mind was a chaotic jumble of words and emotions. All the stress from his life was pouring onto him at once, and it was making him angry. And all the while he could see the sacrilegious destruction of his art.

One of the twins looked up and saw him. He smiled.

Something in Michael snapped.

He grabbed his kitchen knife.

...

Joe had been in the police for seven years, but this was a strange one. The business man in front of him was fidgeting. This was probably very hard to him. He was scared of what this could mean for his restaurant, or to him. Not to mention the traumatic scene he had watched an hour or two before.

“I’m sorry sir, you’re probably tired of this,” Joe said kindly, “but I’m going to need you to tell me once again.”

The man nodded before speaking. “The twins came in a few hours ago, and ordered two burgers. They were nice…” He looked towards his restaurant while wringing his hands. They were standing across the street. “I really don’t know what happened. My chef just ran out with his knife… and…” He shivered. Joe nodded simply. I had seen what it looked like.

“Please sir, is there anything else at all you could tell me?” Joe asked.

He stood there for a few seconds looking at the horribly clear doors of the building. Was that a hint of blood he could see? He took out a cloth and wiped his forehead. “Well… after… after, you know, he was just standing there and…” The man looked at his feet. “He took the burgers… he was almost stroking them…”

Joe nodded. This was unique. “Thank you again for your time,” he said and turned to walk away.

“Wait!” the manager grabbed Joe’s shoulder and quickly recoiled. “There… there’s something else.”

Joe sighed. “Yes?”

“He called them his children,” he said before the chef broke free and charged.