Page 35 of Shrapnel

The Demon Screaming in the Distance

Scrapingmetal and the sizzling pop of cooking fat dragged Owen from his slumber. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he tried to chase the fogginess of sleep as he came awake.

His comforter was twisted around his ankles and as he scratched at the tufts of bed head, he tried to remember the events of the night before.

After picking up Jamie, he dragged him back to his apartment. At the time it had seemed like a good idea but in the bright light of day, he thought that it probably wasn’t. He should have taken him back to Elijah. Dropped him off on the doorstep with a note pinned to his shirt like an unwanted child at a church.

But there was something in Jamie’s eyes. Something unfathomable and uncomfortable. It was hard to look at, but even harder to look away from. A delicate sense of fragility that was sounlikeJamie that Owen brought him home. Back to the couch he had abandoned only a few days prior. Tucked in under his spare blanket, Jamie curled up on the old couch and fell into the kind of sleep only possible to the drunk.

Owen watched him for a while. Jamie was irritatingly complex. More so than he had ever given him credit for. It was easy to forget just how deadly the man snuffling into his couch was. How his fingers had taken more lives than Owen could even fathom.

Last night he had seen a different Jamie. One that was far more frightening than anything else. Owen always just assumed that Jamie was fine with his life. He had accepted there were parts of his job that were unpleasant, but necessary. Like a surgeon separating the patient from the body under his scalpel. But maybe Jamie wasn’t like that…maybe under the superficial façade, Jamie projected there was a tangled web of something. Something Owen wasn’t sure he was equipped to shed light on.

Kicking the covers off, he decided he needed a dose of caffeine if he was going to get this philosophical.

Scratching his stomach under his baggy shirt, he padded into the kitchen. He was surprised to see Jamie standing over the stove. Wearing the same clothes he had fallen asleep in, he was hunched over the stove stirring something that smelled good and weirdly wholesome. Nothing at all like his usual breakfast of caffeine and a pop tart—real food was being cooked in his kitchen for the first time in…possibly ever.

Creeping farther into the kitchen, his feet made little plopping sounds against the linoleum as he peered over Jamie’s shoulder.

Fluffy eggs were piled high in the pan, and bits of what looked like bacon, spinach, and bell peppers peppered the scrambled peaks. Jamie smiled at him, waving the spatula at him.

“A…scramble?”

He shrugged. “It was supposed to be an omelet but halfway through I realized I don’t know how to make an omelet. I thought it would be intuitive, but it is apparently more difficult than it seems so…”

Owen smiled. “That’s when you say it’s just deconstructed.”

Jamie chuckled as he continued flipping the eggs, scrambling them against the sides of the pan. Open cartons and the innards of red and green bell peppers were spread out across his counters. Owen opened his fridge to see the three cans of energy drink, a jar of pickles, and two expired cartons of cream cheese. Exactly as he left it the night before.

“Where did you get this food?” Owen asked, suddenly suspicious. “I didn’t have any of this in the house.”

“Nah,” Jamie jerked his chin toward the kitchen window. “But your neighbors did.”

Owen glanced at the third-story window. It opened to nothing but a sheer vertical wall above the parking lot. His closest neighbor's window was at least twenty feet away.

“You stole my neighbor’s food?” Jamie looked over at Owen as if he was being completely unreasonable. “You can’t just…steal food from my neighbors.”

“Obviously I can,” Jamie said as he gestured to the spread. “What? Are they going to tell the cops that someone snuck in through their unopened, third-story kitchen window just to steal breakfast?”

Owen ran his hand through his hair and tugged on the dyed strands in frustration. He took back everything introspective he thought about Jamie—he was just insane.

That being said, he could cook. Huddled around Owen's counter, standing over their food because he didn’t own any kind of bar stools, he moaned in pleasure as the buttery eggs melted over his tongue. The peppers might have been a touch undercooked, but it was the first home-cooked meal Owen had eaten in ages and he could feel the nourishment chasing away all the chemicals from the constant supply of energy drinks and fast food he consumed.

Jamie didn’t eat much. He poked at the food, sliding the eggs around his plate until they were cold. It was the only indication he was suffering from the night before.

“So, about last night…” Owen began tentatively, staring down at his plate.

“Don’t remember anything about last night.” Jamie pushed his plate away. “Guess Rhett called you?”

Owen didn’t believe that for a moment. There was nothing on Jamie’s face to give it away, but he remembered. He remembered and he didn’t want to talk about it.

While he contemplated, Jamie stole his plate and began washing them while asking him how his latest game design was going. The whole morning was giving him whiplash—one moment Jamie was talking about stealing groceries and the next he was washing plates and asking Owen about work.

And the truly insane thing is that Owen told him. He was lulled into Jamie’s hmm’s and wry chuckles, pulled into telling him all about his chair and about a boss who had no distinguishing features and even after working for him for months Owen wasn’t sure he could identify him in a lineup.

“It’s just…not what I thought it would be.” Owen sprawled out on his couch, letting Jamie have free rein in his kitchen.

“You’re bored,” Jamie said as he pulled out his phone and took a picture of the overstuffed garbage can. He smirked to himself as he tapped out a message and then pocketed the phone.