All You Can Eat - Chapter 2
No Sleep, No Exit
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The bell clanged against the door as the creature left. She was around the corner before anyone moved.
“Siya, get some ice and towels from the kitchen,” Dad said, cradling Mom against his shoulder. “And some water.”
I was still frozen, unable to move.
“Siya!”
I looked at my father, then at my mother. I nodded and ran to the kitchen, grabbing some towels and an ice bucket before heading to the soda dispenser. I filled the bucket with ice, then filled a glass with water, only to dump it out and opt for Powerade instead.
“Orange juice is better,” Sanjay said. Tears streaked his face. “Folate is good for blood loss. I’ll get some from the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
When I returned, Dad wrapped a towel around Mom’s injured hand, packing it with ice. I wrapped ice in the towel and rubbed it over my mother’s face. Her eyes fluttered open, giving me a weary smile.
“Siya,” she said.
“Just rest, Mom,” I said as tears slid down my cheeks.
Sanjay knelt beside me, holding a glass of orange juice. “Drink this.”
Mom sipped slowly. Color returned to her skin, but she was still ashen. Dad motioned for me to take his place, cradling Mom’s head. Once I had her, he jumped up and gripped my Uncle by the lapels of his suit coat.
“You did this! This was you!” he screamed.
“I saved us!” Uncle Samir screamed back. “We were going broke, I had to do something! It would’ve been fine if Siya hadn’t -”
At the mention of my name, Dad gripped my Uncle by the collar and reared back his fist.
“Do NOT blame Siya. It is here because of YOU!” he yelled.
Dad was much bigger and stronger than my Uncle. Samir recoiled, shielding his face.
Sanjay grabbed Dad’s arm. Dad turned to look at him, then lowered his fist and stalked away, kicking a chair in frustration. Uncle Samir straightened his suit, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Mom,” I said. “What was that thing?”
She looked over to Dad, who nodded.
“Brahma-Rakshasa,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“A demon,” Sanjay said. “The damned soul of a Brahmin who misused their knowledge for dark purposes. Brahma cursed them, turning them into demons unable to achieve peace, even in death.”
“But if you earn their favor, they can grant you great riches,” Uncle Samir said. “Which is what happened today. All of those customers, where do you think they came from?”
Dad wasn’t having it. “You never should’ve done this! Look what your actions have done! Look at my wife!”
Dad turned to Uncle Samir with his fist raised. Sanjay stood between them, doing his best to hold him back.
“Stop fighting!” I screamed. “She needs a hospital!”
Dad turned, looking at me, then to Mom. He nodded and approached Avi, who was still in shock.
He snapped his fingers in front of Avi’s face. “Avi, Avi, Avi!”
Avi looked up. Dad took his hand and dropped his keys in Avi’s palm. “Bring the car around.”
Avi nodded and headed out through the back entrance, past the kitchen. Before he even made it to the swinging door of the kitchen area, the bell clanged against the front door. Avi froze. We all turned toward the front door.
The Brahma-Rakshasa had returned. She said nothing as we stared at her, all of us waiting to see what she was going to do. She looked each of us in the face in turn, then slowly walked between my Uncle and Sanjay, who parted to give her a path to her booth, where she sat down.
“There’s nothing like the taste of blood to stir your appetite,” she said, folding her hands on the table.
Uncle Samir and my father shared a look, then nodded. Dad knelt beside me, taking Mom’s head in his hands, and kissed her.
“Siya, go with Avi. Take your mother to the hospital,” he said, then kissed me on the forehead.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
He stood up. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Dad nodded to Sanjay, motioning to the table. Sanjay hopped into action and brought over a fresh table setting, a glass of water, and a plate for the Brahma-Rakshasa. He didn’t bother with silverware. She never used it anyway.
She smiled up at him as she took her plate and headed to the buffet. She picked up the serving spoon for the goat curry, scooping a large helping onto her plate. She skipped all of the vegetarian dishes. Meat was back on the menu.
I saw the headlights of Dad’s Outback pull up in front of the restaurant. Avi came in and helped me get Mom back on her feet. She could walk, but she was still very weak, so Avi and I held her up.
I turned back to see Dad’s head through the window of the kitchen as he fired up the burners. He waved me on to take care of Mom. With me on one side and Avi on the other, we headed to the door, where Uncle Samir waited, holding it open for us.
“Siya, I,” he began, but never finished. His lip trembled as he looked away, stiffening his posture as he fidgeted with his bow tie. I wanted to scream at him, but now wasn’t the time.
On the way to the hospital, Avi and I came up with our story to tell the doctors in the emergency room about Mom’s injury. She was taking out the trash when a stray dog bit her in the alley behind the diner. I didn’t know if they would believe me, but if I told them the truth, they’d not only admit Mom for surgery, they’d bring me in for a grippy sock vacation.
Turns out it didn’t matter; as the ER nurses peeled back the bloodied kitchen towels to inspect the wound, the gruesomeness of the bite jolted them into frantic action, shouting commands and rushing to gather supplies. I managed to get out the words “she was bitten” before a nurse sent Avi and me to the waiting area.
We stayed at the hospital until she was admitted and stabilized. She needed surgery to repair the damage, but the doctors were optimistic that they could save it. They gave her two pints of blood and something to ease the pain. When they let us go back to see her, she was groggy, barely able to keep her eyes open. I sat beside her bed, holding her good hand while she slept.
We returned to the restaurant sometime after 7 a.m. Our best customer was still there, sitting in her booth. Her appetite had grown more voracious, piling her plate higher and stuffing her mouth with bigger portions. She was in her smaller, human form, but the constant feeding was taking its toll on her frame, her stomach swelling to keep up with her consumption.
Since she showed no sign of slowing down, the rest of the family huddled in the kitchen and devised a game plan. We’d rotate so there were always three people in the restaurant: one in the kitchen cooking, one on dish duty, and one out by the table to assist her if she needed anything.
Dad stayed with Sanjay and me for the rest of the morning, letting Samir and Avi take the first rest after they made a trip to the closest Walmart for sleeping bags and NoDoz. We made a makeshift sleeping area in the back office. Going home would cut into rest time.
No one really slept the first night or the second. During regular business hours, we were busier than ever, with more customers than ever flocking in. By the weekend, we had amassed over 300 five-star reviews on Yelp, making us one of the highest-rated Indian restaurants in the state in less than a week. We had people coming in as far away as Chicago and Indianapolis to eat here.
We were finally a success, but all the profits went to feeding our hungry, ever-present customer. We had no choice but to stay open so we could afford to feed her.
When Mom was released from the hospital, we set her up in the back with her own cot. Her hand would heal, but for the time being, she was going to be one-handed. The plan was for her to work shorter relief shifts out front until she regained her strength.
Uncle Samir avoided me as much as possible. He would never stay in the same room as me if we were alone. If I entered the kitchen, he would go to the front of the restaurant. If I went to the office, he would find a reason to leave. We never slept at the same time, and he did his best to stay on opposite shifts. I still wanted to scream at him and rip off that fake bow tie from his neck and cram it down his throat, but we had bigger, hungrier issues to contend with. My issues with my Uncle had to wait.
I stopped going to class; there was no time for it now that we were working around the clock to feed an insatiable monster. With all the dried food that missed her mouth and crusted over the front of her pantsuit, she was beginning to smell foul. At least I thought it was the food.
Her body swelled the more she ate, going from a tiny, thin old woman to a short, fat one. The wrinkles on her face and hands smoothed out as she grew more and more plump, her spring roll wrapper skin still as transparent as ever.
We were all weary and tired. All of us, except for the Brahma-Rakshasa. She never tired and was always hungry, always eating. Father said if we kept her happy and fed, she’d move along on her own, but it’s been over a month, and her appetite shows no sign of slowing down.
I don’t know how much longer we can keep this going.
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