A Taste Of Deceit

Pictures scattered across the desk had captured scenes from the Salem Witch Trials. Not paintings or charcoal sketches, but high-resolution photos taken with a professional camera.

The 50-megapixels revealed, with exquisite clarity, the fear-laced intensity in the accused’s eyes. The woman's gaze remained downcast as judges and clergy, dressed in elaborate outfits, pointed at her with palpable anger.

“This is some of your best work Tobias,” said a woman behind the desk. “I envision the next issue of the Chrono-Chronicle featuring this picture front and center.”

Tobias Locking stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the crowded street 34 stories below. It reminded him of August 15, 1945. It was only a couple of months ago he was walking around the VJ Day celebration, inconspicuously taking pictures of the event that marked the end of World War II.

Tobias walked to the executive desk and watched Sabrina Davenport examine his latest assignment. He gazed at the older woman with admiration. She was not only his boss, but also his mentor, a pioneer in the field of Time Journalism. Her body was now much too frail to traverse historical events, but she seemed quite content with the title of Editor-In-Chief.

“Are there any pictures of the women being burned at the stake?” Sabrina asked.

“Turns out that’s just a myth,” Tobias replied. “Stake burnings were more of a medieval Europe thing. In colonial Massachusetts, they hung the guilty.” He gestured toward one of the pictures on the desk, a mob surrounding a maple tree. “You should have heard them cheer when that woman took her last breath.”

“Absolutely brilliant,” Sabrina said. “These will indeed offer a fresh perspective on a significant chapter in history. We shall prepare for online publication immediately.”

Tobias released an audible sigh of relief. He was a rookie Time Journalist with only five assignments to his name, yet he diligently worked to make a meaningful impact at the world-famous Chrono-Chronicle. Tobias began to pack his laptop and file folders into a leather satchel.

“Before you leave,” Sabrina said. “I’d like to discuss your next assignment. How familiar are you with Foxglove Brothers?”

“The fast-food chain? Lots of fond memories there as a kid, and I don’t think anybody has figured out their secret recipe. But what really sticks out is that story about how their recipe was so good, the owner of Harlow Hamburgers just packed up and left town.”

“Foxglove Brothers is regarded as an institution in this country, not merely for its extensive presence and cultural influence, but for the Foxglove Charity, which is dedicated to eradicating homelessness. The restaurant's 50^th anniversary is approaching, and we wish to honor the founders, Edward and Beau.”

“You want pictures from their grand opening?” Tobias asked.

"Consider an even more historical approach. We have details on the exact time and location when the brothers perfected their recipe, and we would like images capturing the founders in action.”

******

Tobias sat in the Launching Pad, a mostly empty sterile white room within the Chrono-Chronicle office. A technician provided the usual speech through an overhead speaker. Don’t approach your subjects, make sure to wear era-appropriate attire, AI will automatically abort the mission if timeline alterations are detected.

Tobias double-checked the gear in his satchel and then fastened a TimeLink controller around his wrist. It looked exactly like a watch but was his only connection between the past and present. A blue holographic keyboard appeared an inch over the TimeLink and Tobias used his index finger to enter the coordinates. After a series of affirming beeps, an automated voice began counting down. Tobias’s entire body tensed up, he gritted his teeth and slammed his eyes shut. The time travel was instantaneous but came with the side effect of nausea.

A warm gust of wind quickly replaced the low hum of an overhead fan filter—an earthy scent filled Tobias’s nostrils, along with the occasional hint of manure and hay. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by a wall of green leaves. Tobias was in a vast cornfield, with rows of tall stalks stretching endlessly.

The sun was burning out over the horizon. Tobias took a deep breath to combat the upset stomach, then fastened the satchel over his shoulder and headed west toward the Foxglove farmhouse. Within minutes, the silhouette emerged against a vibrant backdrop that exploded in hues of yellow, orange, and pink.

Tobias surveyed the area and noticed figures moving back and forth in an open window. He snuck across the farmyard and crouched below; gruff voices escaped the opening and carried off into the night sky. Tobias rummaged through his bag, then slipped a pair of black framed glasses and adjusted an endoscopic camera. The instrument looked like a bendy drinking straw, and he lifted it into the kitchen window. The image projected into his glasses.

“Any product you develop simply can’t compete with mine,” said a skinny, balding man in a suit.

Tobias was surprised to see a third person in the home. The information he received suggested only Edward and Beau had been working on the property that night. The two men towered over their guest; their height was equally matched by their substantial girth.

“Why don’t you just get the hell outta here, Harlow,” said Edward.

Tobias realized the man was Thomas Harlow, the owner of Harlow Hamburgers, the man who skipped town.

“Let’s make an offer gentleman,” Thomas said. “I have a figure written on this here piece of paper. I’ll hand over that sum if you agree to abandon this restaurant idea. The town can’t support two competing burger joints.”

Beau snatched the paper from the businessman’s hand and flung it open. Both brothers glanced at the number, then locked eyes and erupted into a belly laugh.

“This some kind of joke or what?” Beau managed to get out.

Thomas adjusted his necktie and wiped the sweat from his glistening forehead. “I assure you; the offer is far more than you’re worth. I’m being quite generous given your lack of experience and dubious expectations.”

“Did you just insult us right here in our own home?” Edward took a step forward and puffed out his chest. The size difference between the two men was like a watermelon next to a banana. “You best get outta here.”

“Not until we’ve at least come to terms on a gentleman’s agreement.”

Beau stepped forward, his arms coiling back like a large metal spring before his palms unleashed directly into Thomas’s chest. The skinny man was propelled like a leaf in the wind, and he slammed into the kitchen wall. As he fell, the side of his head struck the corner of a table. The resulting sound was like a twig snapping underfoot and carried out through the kitchen window.

Tobias yanked the endoscopic camera away and threw one hand over his mouth, silencing the forthcoming screech. He threw the gear and glasses in his bag and scrambled across the farmyard to a rusted pickup truck, far out of range of the house lights.

He crawled on top of the roof for an elevated angle and removed a camera with a telephoto lens from his satchel. Through the viewfinder, Tobias peered into the Foxglove kitchen and continuously pressed the shutter button. The body of Thomas Harlow lay motionless, his unblinking eyes fixed on the ceiling, blood pooled around his head.

Tobias lowered the camera to gather his thoughts, trying to process the reality that he was now wrapped up in a murder investigation. The Foxglove Brothers story had always been presented as one of entrepreneurial spirit, not one of manslaughter and cover-up.

The farmhouse door was thrown open, a harsh thud cutting through the chorus of crickets. Edward dragged the body by the ankles across the farmyard heading towards a large shed nearby. Beau sprinted ahead, grabbed the rusted handle of a faded garage door, and heaved it open. The door creaked and squealed as it lifted to reveal the dark interior. 

Tobias aimed the camera at the shed and took pictures until his memory card was full.

******

The auditorium was packed with guests in black tie and cocktail dresses milling around dozens of tables. The number 50 was plastered across the room, on place cards and balloons hanging from the ceiling. A stage featured a long VIP table of Foxglove Brothers executives, including the elderly founders Edward and Beau.

Sabrina Davenport approached the microphone, and the crowd gradually settled into silence. “Foxglove Brothers stands as one of the country’s most iconic restaurants. From its humble beginnings in a town of just 500 people, it has expanded to over 10,000 locations. To commemorate its 50^th anniversary, the Chrono-Chronicle undertook a journey to explore the creation of the world's most beloved hamburger. Time Journalist Tobias Locking traveled 50 years in the past and brings us an exclusive look into the birth of a legend.”

The audience applauded as Tobias walked on stage. He was underdressed for the occasion, sporting days' worth of stubble, an open dress shirt, and no tie. He stood silently in front of the microphone, the spotlight accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. He fixed his gaze on Edward and Beau for an uncomfortable amount of time, leaving the pair to exchange puzzled glances.

“There’s a famous quote,” Tobias started. “History is written by the victors. It appears our two honored guests this evening were the victors some 50 years ago and managed to write Thomas Harlow out of the  history book.”

Murmurs and confused glances began to ripple through the audience.

Tobias once again fixed his gaze on Edward and Beau. “Is nobody going to say it?” he yelled. Tobias removed a remote clicker from his jacket pocket and pointed it at a large projection screen behind him. “Here’s what happened to Thomas Harlow, the man who so famously skipped town.”

An image of his body on the kitchen floor appeared, eliciting gasps from the crowd.

“He was murdered by the Foxgloves,” Tobias shouted. “But that’s not all. I figured out what’s so secret about their secret recipe.”

He pointed the remote at the screen. Click. An image appeared of the two brothers in the shed, hunched over. Click. The naked body of Thomas Harlow was hung upside down from a bar attached to a pulley system. Click. The two brothers prepared butcher knives. Click. The body of Thomas Harlow partially skinned. Click. Meat being put through a grinder with several fresh bones in the background.

“There’s your secret,” Tobias explained. “Human meat in every bite. And I poked around, this Foxglove Brother Charity is nothing more than a front to detox, fatten up, and prep homeless people for harvest.”

The sound of vomiting could be heard as the room exploded into chaos. Tobias watched and couldn’t help but wonder: if the Foxglove origin story wasn’t true, what other pages in the history book may have been falsified or concealed? How much of the world was built on lies?