A Twist in the Tale

“Tomato soup?” Vincent stared at the bowl of simmering red liquid in front of him, feeling the beginnings of a sigh building at the back of his throat. “You’re not being serious right?”

Rennie grinned across the table at him. “Try it before you knock it. You might be surprised.”

“I’m getting heartburn just looking at it.”

“Your heart hasn’t beaten once in about three hundred years. Somehow, I think you’ll be ok.”

Vincent grumbled to himself, playing with the spoon in front of him. He should have trusted his gut about turning Rennie; veganism just wasn’t a good match for this particular lifestyle. Besides which, Rennie had an irritating habit of jumping on the newest bandwagon. If it wasn’t for his ability to not turn up in photos or videos, he’d be seconds away from making a TikTok for all his health tips.

“And you’re sure this is edible? Given our… requirements.”

“I’m sure. It’s just a psychosomatic effect.”

“A what?”

“It’s like – because we think we need to drink blood to survive, we’ve convinced ourselves that it’s the only thing we can eat, right? But this right here – it has more iron, more nutrition and is less heavy on the stomach than blood. Plus it’s red.”

“So?”

“So it tricks your brain into thinking it’s blood. Pretty clever, huh?”

Vincent wiped a palm across his head. He was tempted to point out that it wasn’t particularly clever if they already knew it wasn’t blood, but the entire endeavour was giving him a splitting headache. Besides, the sooner he got through this, the sooner he could go out and kill one of those godawful tourists who had come for the Fringe. That would definitely cheer him up.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, before taking his first sip.

What came next, he could only describe as a revelation; a harmony and melody of flavours that he hadn’t experienced since his days in Florence (back before his unyielding lust for blood). Each mouthful invigorated him, filling him with images of summer, the fields stretching out as far as the eye could see. Maybe humans were more than just delicious bags of meat after all. Maybe there actually was something to this culinary thing that he hadn’t considered before. Maybe –

Maybe he should get to the bathroom before –

Vincent went to speak, and released a stream of bloody red vomit across the table, the floor, the ceiling, the Playstation (he had literally killed to get his hands on that), and across Rennie’s face.

There was silence. The two men sat, motionless. Rennie gently wiped the mess from his face, blinking slowly.

“Vincent – “

A final burst escaped Vincent’s mouth, hitting the wall. There was little chance of them getting their deposit back now.

“Vincent. No offense, but that was a little overdramatic.”

“I… oh god. I need to – “

Vincent rushed to the bathroom before the next wave could hit him. In the background he could hear Rennie, cursing as he set about cleaning up. After what felt like an eternity, he staggered back to the dining room, his face redder than it had been in centuries. Rennie had set about mopping the floor, his eyes never making contact with Vincent’s.

“So. About what just happened…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Vincent crossed to the worktop, flicking idly through the recipe book left lying there. Any second now, Rennie would change his mind, and when he did –

“Actually, I do want to talk about it. I get it. It’s a change. But for god’s sake, it was a tomato soup, not fucking bleach. Did it ever occur to you how much time and energy I sank into making that for you? I had to bribe a neighbour to go out during daylight to get me those tomatoes. Freshly picked, mind you. And you have the nerve to stand there and – “

Vincent had tuned out. He was reading and re-reading the same list of ingredients from the recipe book over and over and over, a sigh building at the back of his throat.

“Rennie. Did you follow this recipe exactly?”

“Of course I did. I used the freshest tomatoes, a pinch of sugar, some nice basil, oregano, thyme and…”

The two stared at each other. Vincent reached into the spice rack, pulled out the tiny, dusty vial of garlic powder, and at long last, let the sigh escape from his mouth.

by Jamie Cowan.