Instructions: Proceed with caution.

The room remained still.

No one spoke.

The only sound came from the flickering lights overhead.

Rogers smiled.

Not the gentle smile they had grown used to.

This one was different.

Almost nostalgic.

He folded his cuffed hands together.

"My first customer..."

He looked down at the table.

"...was a young woman."

Allen waited.

"So she came to eat?"

Rogers chuckled softly.

"Oh no..."

"Not at first."

Sal frowned.

"What do you mean?"

The old man looked at him.

"She came looking for the bathroom."

Silence.

Monroe slowly looked toward Allen.

Allen's pen stopped moving.

Rogers continued.

"Our restaurant sat beside the farm."

"We had one bathroom inside."

"But it was out of order."

"So whenever customers asked..."

"I'd tell them there was another one behind the barn."

He smiled.

"There wasn't."

No one moved.

Sal's jaw tightened.

"You lied to her."

"Yes."

Rogers answered so casually it sent a chill through the room.

"She believed me."

Allen swallowed.

"How old was she?"

Rogers closed his eyes.

"I remember her telling Claire her age."

He paused.

"Sixteen."

The room froze.

The word lingered.

Was. 

Monroe leaned back slowly. The chair squeaked.

Sal stared at the old man.

Allen's pen shook. He gulped.

"You murdered a child."

Rogers shook his head.

"No."

"I murdered a stranger."

"She only became someone's child after she died."

His tone never changed.

Allen wrote nothing.

For the first time since entering the room, he couldn't.

Rogers rested both elbows on the table.

"Claire loved her. She was our first customer since Tom's death. She told Claire her name..."

He paused, smiled, and adjusted himself in his chair.

"Roxanne."

"Beautiful name. Rhymes with Marianne... our daughter who died as an infant."

"They laughed."

"Claire hadn't been that happy for months."

"I watched."

"I was always watching."

The men froze, almost as if any movement would delay the narration.

"She ordered iced coffee."

"And apple pie."

"My wife served her."

"What happened after she finished eating?"

Rogers smiled.

"She asked where the restroom was."

No one spoke.

He continued.

"I offered to take her there."

"She was polite..."

"A little too polite."

"Always said sir."

"Made me think she pitied us."

"I hated that."

"My wife apologized for sending her away from the restaurant."

"Said she'd make it up to her with a slice of chocolate cake."

"She always hated sending customers out there."

"Roxanne didn't mind."

"I wanted to make small talk, but I didn't know what to say."

"So I asked if she'd come back sometime."

"Did she suspect anything?"

"No."

"She thanked me."

The old man's smile widened.

"She even called me..."

"...a sweet old man."

The room felt colder.

Monroe slowly crossed his arms.

"And then?"

Rogers stared at the tabletop.

"I walked ahead."

"She followed."

"She was walking while looking at her phone."

"I showed her the shed."

"She smiled."

"I excused myself."

"A few minutes later, I heard... Tom's voice."

"But there was no one there."

"Tom was already dead, Mr. Rogers."

"Yes."

Sal and Monroe exchanged uneasy glances.

"What did Tom say?"

"I don't remember."

"That part's foggy."

He sighed.

"About five minutes later, I hid behind the shed."

"I don't know why I did that."

"She walked out, her back to me."

"She never noticed me."

"I picked up my shovel."

"I remember thinking..."

"'This won't bring Tom back.'"

He smiled.

"But I swung anyway."

Silence.

No one breathed.

"I only hit her once."

"I thought that would be enough."

"It wasn't."

Monroe felt his stomach turn.

"She was still alive."

Rogers nodded.

"She looked at me."

He paused.

"I'll never forget her eyes."

"Her lips parted."

Allen forced himself to ask, "What did she say?"

The old man looked toward the empty corner again.

For a brief second, his smile disappeared.

"Nothing."

"She couldn't."

"I broke her jaw."

Monroe pushed his chair back.

The screech echoed through the room.

"I need some... air."

He hurried toward the door.

The moment it closed, he doubled over in the hallway and vomited into a trash can.

Inside, no one reacted.

Rogers continued as though nothing had happened.

"I dragged her into the barn."

He sniffed.

"I cried harder for her than I did at Tom's funeral."

"There was so much blood."

"I kept apologizing."

"I don't know why."

"I already knew she was going to die."

Allen's knuckles turned white around his pen.

"What happened next?"

Rogers looked at him.

"I stood there for almost an hour."

"I didn't know what to do."

"I couldn't leave her there."

"I couldn't call the police."

"So..."

He inhaled slowly.

"I remembered something my father used to say."

Sal narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Rogers smiled again.

"Waste nothing."

The room became impossibly quiet.

Even the flickering lights seemed to fade into the silence.

Allen felt his heartbeat quicken.

Sal slowly stood.

Monroe walked back into the room, pale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rogers watched all three men.

Then he spoke.

"So..."

"I picked up the knife."

He paused.

"I wasn't going to cook her."

"I promise."

Another pause.

"I was just trying..."

"...to make her disappear."

Silence.

Long.

Heavy.

Allen looked up.

"What changed your mind?"

Rogers' smile widened.

"The smell."

No one asked what he meant.

He leaned back in his chair.

"When the meat began to cook..."

"...I realized I'd just saved my restaurant."

The room fell silent.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Sal felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Rogers looked at each of them one last time.

Then he smiled.

"And the funniest part..."

"...was that everyone came back asking for seconds."

To Be Continued...