Sadie the Sadist: X-tremely Black Humor/Horror by Zané Sachs Page B

wondering if I could fit a chest freezer out here, wondering if it’s against the covenants. I could use the extra storage space for meat. I’ve learned a lot from watching Nightmare Next Door; for example, if you freeze a body before sawing into it you don’t have to deal with blood. Maybe I could put a freezer in the spare room.
    I climb down from the chair and pass through the sliding door into my bedroom. I open the closet. All the power tools are clean and in their correct places. Despite last night’s excitement, I remembered to charge the chainsaw’s battery.
    I decide to wear the red sundress I bought recently and high-heeled sandals. Decide to paint my toenails to match.

    The potluck is held in the courtyard where there’s a lawn, flowers, trees, a picnic table and a playground. Lots of residents have kids. About forty people show up. Most of my neighbors look familiar, but that doesn’t mean I know them. I say hi to Lisa; she lives downstairs and reads a lot. I see her out on her little patio (downstairs they have patios instead of balconies) sitting at a tiny table, her nose stuck in a novel. Sometimes she drinks a glass of white wine, and once she invited me to share a glass. We talked about books . Unlike me, she prefers fiction. Other neighbors include a few people from work—two women from Bakery share an apartment across the way. And weirdo Jayne, who sits out on her balcony even when it’s snowing. A lot of college students live here too, and there’s the old lady with the cat. Which reminds me, I forgot to put the tuna out.
    Children run around the picnic table where we’ve set our offerings: casseroles, green salad and macaroni, a chocolate cake, two apple pies, guacamole, and of course my chili. Other kids hang upside down on the jungle gym, swing on swings, shoot down the slide. Watching them, I feel more normal than I have for weeks, until a thought flashes through my brain: tender meat .
    Sometimes I disgust myself.
    Sometimes I wonder if I’m sane.
    Speaking of tender meat, my chili is a hit. All my neighbors want the recipe.
    A man I’ve never seen before is working on his third bowl. My gaze keeps drifting back to him, not because he’s devouring my chili, but because there’s a calmness about him that I find attractive, an air of intelligence. He’s older than me, graying at the temples, but in great shape. I can tell he works out.
    He catches me staring, and our eyes meet.
    Blinded by his smile, I blurt, “Hi, I’m Sadie.”
    “Marcus.”
    He extends his hand and we shake.
    “You new here, Marcus?”
    “Yeah. We moved in a few weeks ago.”
    We moved in. Bummer. Of course, a guy like him is married. Not that a wedding ring has ever stopped me. But I don’t see one on his finger. No jewelry, except a small medallion strung on a gold chain around his neck.
    He notices my gaze.
    “Saint Christopher,” he says. “Patron Saint of Travelers.”
    I lean closer to examine the medallion.
    “You religious?”
    “Not really. My grandma gave me the medal, and I never take it off. She raised me.”
    “Still alive?”
    “Grandy passed on a while back.” He takes another bite of chili. “You try this? I swear, it’s as good as hers.”
    “Thanks.”
    He pauses mid-bite.
    “You make this chili, Sadie?”
    “Yeah.”
    His smile widens to a grin, but before he can take another bite, a little girl runs up to him and grabs his hand.
    “Daddy, push me.”
    Marcus gives me his bowl of chili as his daughter drags him toward the swings.
    Just my luck. Not only married, but a father.
    An ache runs through me, not cramps, something deeper. Using the spoon Marcus used, I take a bite of chili and find the spicy meat difficult to swallow. Feeling woozy, I set the bowl on the picnic table, my gaze fixed on Marcus and his daughter.
    The little girl pumps her legs, giggling as Marcus draws back the swing.
    “Higher, Daddy.”
    He pushes her, and she leans backward, dark curls dangling in the