A Blood Wine Date

Alexandria, what a strong powerful name. I stare at her as she introduces herself at my front door. She then mumbles something about how she should have brought a bottle of wine. She is right, it would have been the polite thing to do. Although, I did not expect much from a woman who accepted an invitation for a first date at someone’s home she has never met, and whom she has never even talked to on the phone. We had only texted for maybe two hours this morning.

I invite her in. She stares in awe. “Your place is so beautiful!”

Yes, it is. I think to myself. It is a modern hilltop cabin, floor to ceiling windows, a massive stone fireplace in the center of the room. Large greenery plants everywhere. Leather, fur, and marble all around. The whole place screams luxury and wealth. It had been passed down from my father and his father before him, and it came with some unimaginable strings. If only she knew what she could not see. I smile warmly and just say thank you.

I usher her towards a sitting area where two oversized chairs sat and said “Dinner should be ready shortly; I apologize I did not cook myself. If I had, we may not have been able to keep it down.” I laugh and see her relax even more.

“He might not be an excellent chef, but he can make one hell of a Merlot.” My butler, Mr. Fred, walks in. “I will have some hors d’oeuvres out shortly. Why don’t you show the young lady your cellars.” Just ever so slightly he nods his head to one of the corners of the room. Without looking I know what he is trying to convey. Little red lights, invisible to the untrained eye, have turned on all over the house. It has started.

Long ago my family made a deal with the wrong person and we have dealt with the consequences ever since. Once a year, a group of elites in the one percent would get together on an encrypted call to bid on a specialty case of wine. It all starts with the girl. With modern technology they now can watch the entire “date” in live stream, to see before they buy.

“You make your own wine?” Alexandria asks.

“Yes. I make and sell my own wines. The vineyards are not far from here. I also make a small batch here occasionally.” I pause “Would you like to go down to my wine cellar?”

She squeals like a little girl. “Oh, I would LOVE to!”

We head downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs is an old heavy metal door with massive locks, and a keypad. When I am home, I leave it open for easy access. We walk through and I see Alexandria’s face light up as she looks around. The perimeter walls are made of cedar and stone. Inside the room there are two smaller rooms made of glass. Inside the first room stands rows and rows of hundreds of wine bottles. Inside the second room there are only about one hundred bottles, but they were all displayed in their individual display box. Between the two glass rooms is a lounge setting with a table and chairs. If you keep looking passed all of that there are two other doors on the far side of the cellar. That is where the wine that is bid on is made and processed.

“This is absolutely stunning down here! It should be in some sort of magazine!” She walks over to second glass room. “May I go in?”

“Yes of course.” My face never betrays anything. I would have made a great actor. I follow her into the room.

“These bottles are gorgeous. You made these?” She gently brushes her hands across one of the bottles. I hold my breath and can bet that at least one other person if not everyone watching us right now also cringes at the thought of one of these priceless bottles possibly being knocked off the shelf. She must have sensed it and pulled her hand back.

“Yes, I have made a few bottles on these shelves, but not all of them. The rest were made by my father and my grandfather.”

“I love that they are all named after woman. Is there a story behind that?”

This was turning out to be a little more interesting than I had first anticipated. How do I even respond to this question. If I told her the truth, I would be killed. Right now at least twenty potential buyers were zoomed watching us, probably on the edge of their seats waiting for my response. I answer, “Every woman is unique, just like these bottles of wine. Let’s just say each bottle has a note of the name on the bottle.” I just had to add that last piece of information, hoping for something.

“Awe oh my gosh, that is so awesome and romantic!”

I am so deeply disappointed. She is just as stupid as I had thought when she first showed up. I just smile at her again.

She picks up one of the bottles and shows it to me saying, “I have never seen a blush chardonnay before! Chardonnay is my favorite, can we drink this bottle, The Alena?”

I stare at the bottle; flashbacks flood my mind as I remember Alena. Beautiful, with long blonde hair and green eyes. I did not want this for her, I wanted her to escape or figure it out, but in the end, she had been just as oblivious as the rest of them.

“I don’t think that bottle will go with tonight’s meal. Why don’t we pick a nice merlot from the other room.” I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, I pull it out and say, “Excuse me,” walk out of the room and answer.

“We would like you to let her try the bottle of Alena. If you do so we will start the bidding at 50 million.” A deep voice on the other end said then hung up without another word. I could feel the color draining from my face. Tasting the wine was one thing but actually drinking a whole glass was another. I try to regain myself before I walked back into the room. I know they are watching my every move more than ever now.

“I changed my mind. Let’s open the Elena.” I feel unsettled as she carries the last bottle of Elena upstairs. I recall that the whole case, minus this one, had gone for 150 million dollars. I see the hors d’oeuvres sitting on the small table with two wine glasses and a wine key.

I pour her a glass and watch as she takes a sip. “This is really interesting!” She exclaims. “It’s like drinking a nice buttery wine out of a Moscow mule mug, I love it!”

I am horrified but keep a calm countenance. I take a small sip. The day I made this bottle comes back to me. I try to keep the process as simple as possible. I cannot drug the women, or it will spoil their blood. So, I must lure them in and make the kill fast and undetectable. Then I drain the blood from their bodies and filter it. It is then mixed with the best grapes in a very specific method and equation as not to ruin the whole batch. I was taught by my father and had apprenticed since I was young. I was numb to the process, but still had no desire to partake in the sick madness of enjoying the wine.

Dinner was a blur. At the end of the night, I walked her to the door and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The trick here was to give them the impression that this would be the first and only date there would ever be, so they do not try to call or text and or give too much information to friends and family about me. Then I stage a coincidental run about 2-4 weeks later leaving no ties or connections back to me. It has worked too well for a very long time.

One year later…

Gabriella. What an enchanting name. She had a mysterious air about her. Her dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail. He slender form dressed in a sleek black bodysuit. I stand at the table and watch her as she looks over the wines in the second glass room. She picks up a bottle off the shelf and reads “Alexandria.”

At that moment I catch a glint of something reflecting in her open purse on the table. For the first time since I can remember I feel something inside me. A thrill of excitement shoots through my body. Was it finally going to be over soon or is it just a coincidence. All I could think about was the gold detective shield I had just seen as I answered. “That is the newest bottle I have added to my collection.”