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Hilary Briss ripped the leaflet off the wall, screwing it up and throwing it in the bin. Locals walking by the butcher’s shop nodded at him through the window, smiling. He forced a smile back, though it felt more like a grimace as he clenched his fists. He took his place behind the counter again, preparing for his next customers who he wished didn't even exist.
A sudden brightening in the sky outside signalled the sun appearing behind the clouds; one of its rays streaming through the window, highlighting dust, striping over the balled-up leaflet in the bin. He went over to it, unfurling it reluctantly. It was creased now, the ink had ran through with white lines from wear and tear. The white letters burned into his mind.
“MURDERER!”
Hilary ripped it down the middle, tearing it into tiny pieces that littered at the bottom of the bin.
All he wanted was to build a community. He heard Edward’s voice in his thoughts.
“This is a community! We don't bother the outside world, and we don't want it bothering us!”
Hilary had known he belonged in Royston Vasey by those words. He would never dream of leaving here, even if his own kind turned on him. But this, the poster, wasn't the work of his special customers. They knew better to expose him on this; they knew what happened to Maurice. So inebriated on it he hadn't been able to eat normal food, he couldn't go back. It had started so well for Maurice, too, that Hilary had felt some empathy, though it had soon disappeared when he knew he had Maurice.
Hilary wanted that first thrill. That buzz of satisfaction, satiation. Taking the first bite. But the aftermath. He didn't want that. The downfall; clocking in for work and reaching for the fridge with greedy hands. Stuffing packages under his jumper on his way home from poker. Waking up in the bathtub, slimy, orange vomit on his best waistcoat. Maurice and Samuel had that life. Hilary knew better than to surrender to it - who would be in control if he joined in?
Of course, his wife would be oblivious to the addiction, dozing in bed, a pretty pink duvet draped over. Hilary, on a bleak Sunday night, had sat at his desk, preparing the content for his next meeting, thinking about what life would be like if he had not had his wife. One thing, his bedroom would be far less smelly. He wouldn't be woken by snorts and grunts in the night. He wouldn't run upstairs after work, praying the bed wasn't chewed up.
Though, there wasn't anyone else who would give him a benevolent lick both in the morning and before bed. Well, no one willing. There was always a strange, faraway image of him, alongside a charming man, working in the shop. Matching aprons, matching hats. After work they would walk up the road to the Mason’s Arms to pick up a poker stick. It seemed like an okay life. But, that Sunday, he had put his pen down, shook his head and looked back to his wife nestled on the bed. He couldn't betray her. It would've been like losing a part of him.
The sound of the bell above the door ringing lightly brought Hilary back to the present. To behind the counter, pretending to look busy as he shuffled empty bags under the counter.
“Hilary.” He looked up at the stern voice. Eunice Evans.
“Eunice.” Hilary nodded, preparing himself for a lecture about what he’d done. Her pearl necklace sparkled in the fading sun and she thrust her hands in her coat pockets with a steely expression. Hilary bit back the urge to ask how prison was.
“I’m surprised this is still up and running.” She remarked, peering around with a judgemental stare.
“Well. Business keeps going.” Hilary said plainly.
Eunice laughed coldly. “I have every right to turn you in. You did this. You know it, you bastard.” She spat, her eyes narrowed at him.
“Eunice. Don’t threaten me. I’ll have you know that you kicked this off. Health inspectors, people dying from their own nosebleeds, for God’s sake, half of Royston Vasey have all dropped dead!” He stopped before he said too much, crossing his arms and taking a step back to lean on the back wall. “This is useless. It’s done, we can’t change the past.”
Eunice had looked startled at Hilary’s outburst, but she returned back to her firm expression, jabbing a finger toward him. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Hilary Briss.” She turned to leave, high heels clacking on the concrete.
“Hang on, Eunice.” Hilary called. She turned slowly. “What exactly were you and Samuel conversing about when Maurice took you to one of my meetings?”
Her face tightened. “None of your business.” The door swung after her as she stormed out.
Hilary chuckled, looking down at his array of knives under the counter, the pork chops and sausages laid out above, the display in the window. He still had a lot going for him, in this business. He doubted more health inspectors would be sniffing around, and if Eunice were true to her word, then he would know what to do. To do what he’s always done.
They were going to be Maurice’s and Samuel’s next midnight snack.