He offers them a drink

"Right this way, please," the man says, calmly stepping past them into the inappropriately-named living room.

The two of them hesitate on the threshold. Becky holds Roger's hand. "Close your eyes, follow my lead. You don't want to see this up close." She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and follows the butler, with Roger nervously trailing blindly after her.

The butler directs the two of them to the one sofa which has somehow remained free of blood and bodies, which is only a mild comfort. Becky does her best to study the bodies as she leads Roger around them. Adults of mixed gender and ethnicity, all in various states of undress with clothes strewn haphazardly around the room, as if they'd been in the middle of some sort of spontaneous orgy. The men's wounds show clear signs of ****, though Becky struggled to identify with what kind of weapon with this cursory inspection. At any rate, it seems they got off easy compared to the women, who had all been split savagely in half at the abdomen.

Roger feels nauseous. Even without seeing the scene up close, the smell is so indescribably putrid that he knows he'll be haunted by it for the rest of his days. He squeezes Becky's hand tightly, so glad to have her dependable support to rely on.

They both sit on the sofa. Becky looks at the butler expectantly, while Roger keeps his eyes tightly shut.

The table in front of them is set with two wine glasses and a bottle one-third full of red liquid, presumably wine. The butler pours the liquid gracefully into the glasses and slides them towards the couple. "Please, drink."

Becky looks around the room. Other tables have empty bottles on them matching the one in the butler's hand, and there are wine glasses strewn about, many of which are broken. It seems very likely that these guests also partook of this wine before whatever happened to them... happened.

"And if we refuse?" Becky asks, watching the butler very closely.

"Then I'm afraid I will have to kill you," the butler responds, still as monotonous as always. Roger inhales sharply and tenses up, fresh tears rolling softly down his cheeks. Becky gives his hand a comforting squeeze. "In order to dispell any doubts regarding my ability to do so, could you please shoot me right now, Madam Carmine?"

Becky hesitates, keeping her gun ready but pointed down for now. She frowns at him, trying to figure out his game.

"If you do not shoot me in the next two seconds, Madam Carmine, then I will kill you both right now."

BANG!

Roger curls up and clutches his ears as the gunshot rings out. He dares to open one eye, and glances over to where he heard the butler's voice coming from.

The butler is stood, stoic as always, holding a bullet between his finger and thumb in front of his forehead. He places it delicately onto the table in front of them.

Becky stares slackjawed, dumbfounded, and the gun drops from her shaking hand onto the couch.

"Now that we know where we stand," the butler continues calmly, "please, drink."

Becky looks fearfully at the wine glasses and gulps. "Is it poison?"

"It can kill, but that is not the intention. Heed my instructions, and it will give you life anew."

Becky and Roger look at each other. Roger can see her composure slipping as she loses control of the situation, the hardened detective facade crumbling away to reveal the soft, **** woman he fell in love with. He puts his arm around her and hugs her close to him. He can feel her start to sob.

"Please drink within the next ten seconds," the butler insists. He doesn't give them any kind of countdown out loud.

Becky sits up and sniffs, wiping her eyes. She nervously picks up both glasses and hands one of them to Roger. "I love you," she whispers, looking him in the eyes.

"I love you too," he whispers back, then forces a cheeky smile through his own fear and clinks his glass against hers. "Bottoms up."

They put the glasses to their lips, and tip the contents slowly into their mouths. It mostly takes like ordinary red wine, but with a hint of something odd lurking in the background. Before they even realise it, and crucially before the butler's internal countdown is finished, the glasses are empty.