“And you, our guest,” the voice pierces from across the table, “what is it that you do?”

My fork clatters on the plate. My voice slips past the unmasticated food and out through my curled lips and crooked teeth. “Thank you, sir, for your having me on this unfortunate night,” I say through coughs and painful swallows.

“We’ll come back to that.” His gaze looks through me. He furrows an eyebrow and shakes his head. I turn around hoping his contempt was for someone else. A gangly waiter holding a platter with intricately carved glasses whooshes behind me. As the large platter eclipses the top of my head, the liquid sways and splashes onto my lap and arm. He disappears through what must be the kitchen on the other side of the room.

He continues, ignoring my desperate but silent pleas for a towel or napkin. “I asked you what you do? Please indulge me. I’ve already given you what you wanted,” gesturing to the plate in front of me, “and a little bit more.” He cackles and gives a nod in my direction. “Cicero, fetch a towel. You’ve made a mess.” The waiter named Cicero appears to my left with a towel no bigger than my palm. I forge a smile and begin vigorously dabbing. “Well?” the man persists.

“Oh, right. I’m an educator.”

“How noble! What an honor it is to be bound together, even for one evening, with a woman so devoted to depriving herself of material comforts and respect. Your lot never gets what they deserve,” he tisks. His gaze catches something from across the room. He lingers, again in my direction, but this time above my head. I turn around to see Cicero standing just beyond where the circular puddle of light illuminates the dining room’s floor. I decide its probably best to continue eating than wait for whatever rite Cicero is about to perform next.

The man across the table’s eyes glaze over and his mouth slowly unhinges, widening his maw. Like an untimely show curtain, his thin lips rise and reveal small, pointed teeth. I drop my fork again. A loud clap breaks the silence and I turn to its origin. Cicero stands behind my chair, emotionless.

“Right, Cicero,” his cadence returns. “Apologies, when you get to be my age, it’s easy to lose track of time and your mind. That’s why it’s important to do things that make you feel young. Like hosting an impromptu dinner.”

“Again, sir, I am very grateful for your feeding me and taking me in while I wait for someone to help me with my car.” The man nods. “I do feel rude; I must admit. I have been scarfing this delicious meal while your plate has been empty. Are you sure you won’t join me in eating?”

“I cannot,” he shakes his head again, probably at Cicero. “I usually eat either much earlier or much later. You’ve caught me in a certain purgatory.” The man smiles for the first time this evening. His thin lips are demarcated with deep cracks that fissure under the pressure of his contorted smile. Even with thin lips, he manages to conceal most of his teeth. Still, some needlelike spires emerge through. “As a matter of fact,” he covers his mouth, “you’ve come at an excellent time. Thank you for pointing that out, my Cicero. It’s been a long time since Cicero and I have had a guest. It’s been a long time since someone has savored Cicero’s food. And, I would guess it’s been a long time since you’ve been alone.”

“Excuse me. How do you— Why do you think—“ I stammer.

“Your engagement ring is absolutely fabulous. If I wasn’t so rich, perhaps I’d cover it.”

“Right, thank you, I guess. My partner knows I’m here,” I inform him, “I also called them earlier.”

“It’s easy to notice things when you’re not consumed with food. Have you ever seen a wild dog eat? At first it’s hesitant, lurking in the bushes in noseshot of the rotting carrion. So decayed that it is below the most noble beast. But, when starvation consumes you, anything will do. Then the dog decides to risk its own life just to just live another day by entering the clearing to investigate the rotting thing. It doesn’t matter what it was, a deer, a human, a brother.”

“What’s the point of this?” I interject.

He continues like a devoted actor in the throngs of a self-serving monologue. “The dog eats, always with caution. It peels the flesh and then darts around so it won’t become the next wellspring. It cracks a bone and looks over its shoulder, always watching so it cannot be watched. You’ve lost that.”

“Pardon?”

“You ate so ravenously and trusted so blindly that you haven’t noticed where you are.”

I slowly put my utensils down and swallow hard. I slip the knife into my sleeve. I try to run for the door but Cicero emerges from the shadows to grab me. I take out the knife and jab furiously until he collapses in front of me.

The man across the table bellows, “What you didn’t notice, what you didn’t learn from the dog, is that you are my meal, sweet. And you have willingly entered my domain, my hunting grounds.” He hisses revealing rows of pointed teeth.

The man lunges from across the room and I ready myself for the end.

No one would come to save me.

Years later, a minute in a life of immortality, we receive a knock on the door. A young man, desperate and harmless, asks for shelter in a cataclysmic deluge. The rain spites the man from all directions. I let him inside and tell him to wait in the dining room for the host to arrive. There, he will find a wonderful meal.

I lurk in the shadows as the young man and the man across the table trade small talk. I wait on contradictory and tired nods and shakes of his head, waiting for the right time to do his bidding. I hope this one will kill me as I killed Cicero many years ago.