Chapter Text
“Can I help you?”
“I’m thinking.”
There was a pause. A long pause. “Care to think a little faster?”
“How on earth do you manage to keep your job? It’s certainly not your attitude that keeps you here.” Overall, the slight boy with brunette hair looked bored to death with his job as a barista. Pitch noted the way he tilted his head with impatience, how his nostrils didn’t flare, how his eyes were somehow a shade of brown that could easily be mistaken for blue if one stared too hard. “Your eyes have a habit of changing color, don’t they?”
“Somehow, this is not the kind of conversation I find enjoyable. In fact, I’m feeling a bit disturbed right now. Can I help you, sir?”
That’s what Pitch got for giving voice to having noticed small details in the people he accidentally observed. Pitch’s hand tightened on his notebooks and folders as he reached up and adjusted his glasses. Steeling himself and giving the boy a hard stare, he said, “Just bring me some coffee. I don’t care how you fix it.”
“You’re giving me free reign to fix you whatever comes to mind? Do you realize how irresistible it would be for me to exploit your dollar?”
Pitch’s eyebrow raised as the boy slipped the pencil he had been holding behind his ear. “I expect you won’t. You don’t seem to be of that nature. Just surprise me with something dark and . . . less sugary. I’ll pay as soon as you’ve finished concocting something.”
“You’re actually serious about this.”
Oh, he was a bright one. It was a wonder the boy wasn’t blonde. Pitch blinked, dispelling the number of possible quips that came to mind automatically. If not for the curiosity and smallest hint of joy at being challenged in the boy’s face, Pitch may have chosen to walk away at that moment. But he didn’t. “Do your worst,” he glanced at the boy’s nametag, “Jack.”
Jack liked a challenge. Just when the day had grown boring and almost no customers had come in, that guy had shown up. When the tall, black haired man sat at the bar to watch what Jack concocted, the boy allowed himself a slight smile. He immediately set to work. He thought hard, reaching for the dark coffee instinctually. Yeah, Jack thought this guy seemed like the kind to drink dark coffee. But what kind of dark coffee, and what would he appreciate going into it. He didn’t like his drinks overly sugary. Jack peaked at the guy briefly. No laugh lines. Overall very sharp looking. Had he ever smiled in his life? Probably not. If he had, then not for very long. He was probably used to bitterness.
Jack started off making a long espresso. Though the guy didn’t seem the sweet type, he figured it wouldn’t hurt him if he added a teaspoon of sugar to the cup. Adding a little steamed milk turned the drink into an espresso macchiato. For fun, he drew a design using the foam. When he finished the process, he handed it to the customer.
The customer looked up from his papers, which were now carefully arranged before him. He took the cup from Jack, looking at it carefully. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“A drink.”
“I’m talking about the design. You couldn’t have drawn this yourself in that short amount of time.”
Jack felt the slightest blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I practice when I get the opportunity. Anything to upset the manager.”
“Again, I wonder how you still have a job.” The man continued staring at the design. “I almost feel guilty drinking it.” Then he took a sip. “Almost. That’s not bad.” Another sip. “Not bad at all. Is that sugar?”
“Only a teaspoon.” Jack began cleaning up as he spoke.
“Only a teaspoon.” At first, it sounded like a scoff. “It makes quite the difference. Not bad at all. How much do I owe you?” Jack recited the menu pricing, and the man handed him cash. “Keep the change.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asked.
“Yes. You look like you could use a haircut. Save up a little, and you can go to the barber across the street.” Without thinking, Jack looked down and ran a hand over his hair. He glanced back up at the customer as he placed the money in the register. “I was right, by the way.”
“About what?”
“Well, two things. You didn’t exploit my dollar too much, for one. You didn’t take cash out for the tip I offered you, either. Also, your eyes do change color.” He pointed at his own pale eyes to demonstrate. “While you were making the coffee, your eyes were blue. Your eyes darkened just now, when I mentioned the condition of your hair. I find that rather interesting.”
“Do you make observations about people often?”
“Very often. I try not to say these things out loud, but sometimes I slip.”
“I’m just hoping you’re not a serial killer. My day was going so well.” He pulled his pencil from behind his ear and grabbed a napkin, doodling.
“What about my observation gave you that impression?” He was looking over his own paperwork as they spoke.
“I’m not used to people paying too much attention to me, believe it or not.”
Just then, the bell on the door rang and a tall man with tattoos running up the length of his arms stepped in. He looked like he belonged on a hike in the mountains rather than in a coffee shop. He carried with him rolls of paper, and Jack could tell he had just been commissioned for a design. “What’re you doin’, mate? I thought I told you not to draw on the job.”
“I was doing no such thing.” Jack replaced the pencil behind his ear, crumpling the napkin.
“Yeah, whatever.” Jack’s manager Aster looked to the man drinking the espresso macchiato. “Pitch Black? Back in town, are ya?”
“Pitch Black?” Jack asked. “The horror novelist?” He glanced at the man sitting at the bar, somewhat surprised he hadn’t recognized him. Then he grinned mischievously.
“Glad to see you still use my pseudonym and not my real name, Edgar,” Pitch uttered before he sipped his coffee again.
“Keep calling me by my first name and that’ll change.”
“So you are a serial killer,” Jack interceded, a smirk on his face.
“You’re ridiculous.” Aster turned to Pitch. “Has he bothered you as incessantly as he bothers me?”
“You manage this young man? How on earth do you do it?”
“You’re this close to unemployment, Jackson Overland,” Aster said, holding up his fingers to indicate just how close. “Don’t be bothering my customers.”
“He wasn’t bothersome. Quite entertaining, actually.”
“Well, that’s a first. You just received a compliment, you brat,” Aster grumbled as he set his designs in the back and returned with an apron.
“I can’t believe your name is Edgar,” Jack whispered, his smile widening as he began straightening out various items on the counter to occupy himself. Honestly, he was more impressed with that than being in the same vicinity as a writer such as Pitch Black. Aster just didn’t look like an Edgar. It’s the little things that make Jack happy.
“If I hadn’t just landed another job, you’d be receiving one helluva beating right now.”
“You could get in trouble, threatening your employees like that.” Jack’s teasing elicited a chuckle out of Pitch as he continued staring at the papers in front of him. “What brings you back to Burgess anyway, Mr. Black?”
“That’s Professor to you,” Aster pointed out.
“Just Pitch, thank you. I’ve taken up a position as an adjunct at the community college.”
“Awesome! Teaching what? English?”
“No. Psychology.”
Jack’s smile reached his ears by this point. “Somehow, that seems fitting.”
“I know that grin. Stop thinking.” Aster turned to Pitch. “It’s dangerous to let him think.”
“How do you two know each other, anyway?” Jack asked.
“Went to college together. He was about . . . ten years older than the average student. Made for some interesting conversations. Fun times. No one could pronounce his real name properly,” Aster said openly.
“Don’t remind me,” Pitch murmured as he continued reading without stopping.
The bell rang again and in stepped a hulking figure of a man and a petite woman, each holding the hand of the little girl between them. The man wore a red shirt and brown trousers, his sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on each forearm. His brown hair, mustache, and beard were starting to gray. The woman was brunette with light brown skin, a pair of colorful feathers dangling from her ears. The earrings matched her equally colorful dress. Jack straightened up and beamed, looking at the little girl in particular. She was dressed just as eclectically as her mother, but didn’t look the least bit pleased with how her day was going. Pitch fell noticeably silent at their appearance. “Look who’s out and about after her first dentist appointment!”
The little girl glared at him, he cheeks swollen from the procedure she’d endured. Her mother spoke up. “She’s not very happy with me right now. Hopefully a milkshake will change that.”
“I want chocolate,” the girl grumbled. Jack successfully kept himself from laughing at how her swollen cheeks affected her speech.
“Vanilla, please. No whipped cream,” her mother corrected as she lifted the five-year-old onto a chair two seats away from Pitch. After sitting down, she turned to her daughter. “You don’t wanna be bouncing off the rafters, okay dear?”
“Heh. Something she and Aster have in common,” the man commented with a snort.
“Hush, you,” the manager replied. It was normal for them to poke fun at each other. North and Aster had been friends for a long while.
Jack did chuckle as the girl rolled her eyes at the banter. “One vanilla shake for Baby Tooth.” He set to work making the beverage.
“I want a cherry,” she murmured to her mother.
“No solids for a few hours, Searra.”
“How’s work, Toothiana?” Aster asked the woman as North folded his arms and stared at the menu a little longer.
“It’s busy at the dentist’s office. Hardly any time for my side projects.” She gestured to the man staring at the menu. “North’s been really busy. You should see the progress he’s made.”
“I’m sure we will at the meeting this weekend,” Aster said.
“Indeed you shall. It is my best yet,” North boasted. His confidence made Jack smile.
“I’m looking forward to it. I could use the creative thinking and all,” Toothiana stated. She perked up at something before asking him, “Did you get that gardening job?”
It was Aster’s turn to beam. “You betcha. You shoulda seen their faces when I showed them my designs.”
Toothiana withheld her squeal of excitement and just resorted to triumphantly shaking her hands in the air. “Congratulations!”
“Milkshake done,” Jack said, setting the drink in front of the girl happily. Even though it wasn’t the flavor she’d wanted, the girl smiled happily at the ice cream and began sucking it down greedily. Jack looked at Toothiana. “Mango smoothie, as per usual?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“What are you trying today, North?” Jack asked as Aster set to work on Toothiana’s order.
“I can’t decide,” the man spoke, scratching his beard.
“Is there something you haven’t tried? I’d be surprised, honestly.”
North sniggered at Jack. “You are probably correct.”
“Let him surprise you. He won’t disappoint,” Pitch muttered without looking up.
North and Toothiana glanced at Pitch. North had to do a double take before throwing his arms up excitedly. “Pitch has returned!”
“Hi!” Toothiana said at the same time, surprised at herself for not having noticed beforehand. “How are you?”
“I am we—!” Pitch was cut off by a massive hug from North, who almost lifted him out of his seat. Pitch’s eyes bulged behind his glasses as undignified grumbles of surprise escaped him. Jack wanted to feel embarrassed for the man, but he was too busy laughing with Aster and North. When North finally released Pitch, the writer took a moment to breathe before smoothing out his outfit and readjusting his glasses. “I see that hasn’t changed,” he growled after a moment.
North let loose another hearty laugh. “Why so surprised?”
“I would think you would’ve learned assaulting people wasn’t always welcomed by now.”
“Don’t be so surly,” North said, chuckling and patting Pitch’s back. Jack felt bad for the guy. He looked wholly uncomfortable with the situation.
“What brings you back?” Toothiana asked, changing the subject as her daughter finished the milkshake and Aster brought over Toothiana’s mango smoothie.
“Business. Bit of writer’s block as well,” he answered, reorganizing his papers.
“You should come to our meetings! We get together every month to talk about what we’re working on,” she said.
“You are writers, now?” Pitch asked skeptically.
“No, we work in other mediums. North’s into woodworking. Aster does both interior and landscape designing. That’s also their careers. Hearing them talk about past and current projects helps a lot. Meetings really get the juices flowing.”
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I paint. Acrylics. Sandy meets with us, too.”
“He still dabbles in the arts?” Pitch asked.
“Yeah. He tried glassblowing recently, but I think he gave up on it.”
“That was for the best, I think,” North added. “He almost burned his hand off.” North turned to Jack. “Go ahead and surprise me. Make it good.”
“Sure thing,” Jack said cheerily. It must be his lucky day. Although, it really didn’t take much to please North.
“I will consider your offer. For now, I have other matters to attend to.” He gathered his assortment of papers, folders, and notebooks before standing up. Polishing off the macchiato, he bid them farewell. The bell rang as he left.
“Still a stick in the mud, that one,” North said as Jack handed him a variation of a white chocolate mocha.
“He’s not too bad,” Jack said. “Did you guys always make him feel uncomfortable?”
“Honestly, it never really took much to make him feel uncomfortable,” Toothiana explained. “He was altogether a very private individual. He never spoke much. He simply . . . observed.”
“Heh. Writer thing, I guess,” Jack said.
“You just like him because he complimented you,” Aster jibed.
“He said I was entertaining. That’s nothing to swoon over, Edgar,” Jack jested.
“Clean up this mess, you gumby.” Jack laughed at Aster’s disgruntled look, then began wiping down the counters. Aster thought about something for a moment, then turned to Toothiana. “I didn’t think he drank coffee.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Pitch.”
She pondered before responding, “I didn’t think so either.”
North took a seat beside her as Jack said, “Maybe he’s doing some research.”
“Researching coffee? Really?” Aster asked, a note of sarcasm in his tone.
“Some writers do that kind of thing!” Jack defended himself. Then another thought struck him. “Or he really is a serial killer and he’s looking for his next victim.”
“Guess that means your next, kiddo. Nice knowing ya,” Aster said. Jack hit him with the rag, making Aster turn around and splash him with creamer. Jack chuckled. “You’ll be cleaning that up, too.”
Jack’s schedule was an unexciting one. Well, it was unexciting according to most people. He enjoyed every minute of each job he had. Working for Aster, Sanderson, and Toothiana, there was much fun to be had. His schedule on a good day was as follows: early mornings at Aster’s coffee shop, picking up and babysitting Searra until Toothiana got off work, and late nights at Sanderson’s club. The coffee shop job was consistent and easy. He needed consistency most mornings, considering he was usually at the club past midnight. Working at the coffee shop could get boring depending on the day, though. Business tended to dwindle in the hours between seven and noon, then began dying off after the lunch rush. Jack was okay with that level of boredom most days. His club job varied a great deal. Some nights he was helping tend the bar. Others he was filling in for a bouncer. Though he was small, he could talk just about anyone out of a fight. That got handy when things got rough at the club. He had the most fun with Searra, though. One of Jack’s favorite things to do with her was take her to the park to hang out with some of the other kids. She and her friend Sophie were notorious hiders, but Jack was an amazing seeker. When Sophie’s older brother Jamie struggled to find them, Jack could point them out without even blinking.
Jack enjoyed his hectic life. He didn’t always have enough money to enjoy what other members of his age group boasted about doing on the weekends, but he liked it. His landlord thought his late nights meant he was, in fact, acting his age. Honestly, he stayed busy and kept up with his bills as much as he could. Busy worked for him, especially when his jobs were this gratifying. He was having fun in his own way.
He was enjoying the Saturday of Aster’s meeting with Toothiana, North, and Sanderson very much. He had the whole coffee shop to himself, save for the few straggling customers. It was the perfect time of day. People weren’t pouring in through the doors. Things had settled rather nicely. Even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to, he kept his sketchbook handy on these days. Somehow, he still managed to keep it out of the customers’ lines of view. It wasn’t like they noticed what he was doing anyway. As he’d told Pitch Black, hardly anyone ever noticed him. The customers were creating a healthy amount of commotion. Nothing too loud, but just enough for Jack to work on his current sketch without completely losing focus on the job.
The bell rang, bringing Jack’s attention to the incoming customer. Speaking of Pitch Black, in came the novelist, carrying what looked like the same set of folders and notebooks.
“Hello, hello,” Jack greeted, hiding his sketchbook under the counter. “I see you decided against attending the meeting.”
“I am neither social nor likeable, two things that those four individuals have in common with one another. Therefore, I choose to spend my Saturday being pestered by a bored youth such as yourself.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for said youth. Would hate for him to interfere with your business,” Jack joked. Pitch actually smirked at that. “What will you be having today?”
“Go ahead and give me that same concoction,” he said as he began organizing his folders just as he’d done before.
“So I chose well! Awesome,” Jack rejoiced as he began making another espresso macchiato.
When Jack finished making the beverage and got ready to hand it to Pitch, the man asked, “What were you working on when I walked in?”
Jack paused, the drink still in his hand and hovering just in front of Pitch. He cleared his throat, setting it down in front of the novelist. “You only get to ask questions like that if I can ask you what you’re working on.”
Pitch sighed loudly. “I suppose that’s fair. So what were you working on? Homework?”
Jack snorted. “Nah. Been out for a few years. Still paying dearly for it.” He began cleaning up the counters. “So what are you working on?”
“Combination of ideas and paperwork for the college.”
“Sounds like so much fun.” Pitch handed him the cash. Once put away, Jack settled back into his seat and pulled his sketchbook out again. Before he opened it, he glanced at Pitch. “Would you mind not saying anything about this to Aster?”
“I saw nothing.” Jack grinned at the novelist’s answer and opened his book, pulling the pencil from behind his ear. He resumed sketching uninterrupted, listening to Pitch move his papers and folders about while the other customers talked. After a few moments, he got caught up enough in his sketching that he didn’t notice the lack of movement in the novelist in front of him.
Pitch stared at the boy, his hands folded in front of his chin. The rapid changes in the boy’s eye color had intrigued him at first, but now he was trying to figure out more about him based on his body language. Jack’s shoulders seemed to be in a permanent slumped position. He sat like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He hunched over his work protectively. Pitch found himself believing the boy’s words from their previous meeting. It was quite obvious that he was used to going unnoticed by his physical appearance alone. If anything, he’d grown so accustomed to it that he struggled to accommodate those who did garner attention by taking up the minimal amount of space.
Being back in Burgess felt strange. Here, people knew him. Here, he wasn’t isolated. He was beginning to miss the solitude, and yet at the same time there were enough fresh faces in what he considered his hometown to occupy his inquisitive mind. One fresh face in particular was staring intently at his sketchbook.
The boy seemed ordinary at first glance. However, Pitch found him a more interesting specimen compared to the rest of the individuals in the shop. He glanced around, unimpressed with the small groups of people. Everything about them was easy to read. Everything about their current situations seemed obvious. They bored him. Jack didn’t.
“Choosing your next victim?” Jack suddenly asked.
Pitch turned back to the boy, raising an eyebrow at his comment. “You honestly think I’m a serial killer, don’t you?”
“Hey! I’m not judging. What you do in your spare time is your business,” Jack said with a smile, gazing back down at his sketch.
“What if I were a serial killer? How do you think I should take your words?” Pitch inquired.
“Aster already thinks I’d be your next victim, so I may as well get a few jokes in.” Pitch reluctantly smiled at Jack’s reasoning, hiding his lips with his hands as he looked around more. When Jack spoke again, it was only a whisper. “Tell me what you see in the customers, and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”
Pitch turned and squinted at the boy. “You know all of these people?”
“Not personally.”
“But you know about them.”
“Hey, I get bored and eavesdrop. I only get to sketch when Aster’s away.”
“So you’re drawing.”
“You gonna accept my challenge?”
Pitch stared at the boy a little while longer before glancing back at the customers. He hesitated, then uttered just low enough for Jack to hear, “The couple by the window. He is interested in her, but he has done something to upset her. He likely did it a long while ago, and she still bears a grudge against him for it. Most likely, she only comes here with him because someone puts her up to it. A member of her family or a close friend, maybe.”
“Her little brother. He likes the guy, but you’ve hit the nail on the head. She’s still pissed at him for . . . well, what she calls a kidnapping. Don’t know all the details and he looks shifty to me.”
“Can’t be too painful of an arrangement. He’s obviously wealthy.”
“Always picks up the tab.”
“He is significantly older than her.”
“She likes to remind him of his age, too.”
“He appears to be prepared for her to splash him in the face with her drink.”
“It’s about time for it. Coming in three . . . two . . . and—,” Jack pointed his finger at the couple just as the young woman removes the lid from her cup and splashes the remainder of her coffee in the gentleman’s face. He sits there, unmoving with his eyes closed as she gets up, slings her bag over her shoulder, and exits the coffee shop. Pitch looks away, stifling a chuckle and trying to cover the fact that he’d just witnessed the man’s embarrassment. Jack called to the man, “I’ve got it, J.”
“Thank you,” the gentleman said as he dried himself with table napkins and followed after the woman who’d stained his white shirt.
Jack takes a moment to clean up the mess, leaving Pitch to his work. Pitch shakes his head, still smiling over the ordeal. He really shouldn’t find so much pleasure in watching another man’s misfortune, but had to admit that the ordeal was entertaining. When Jack returned after wiping down the table and mopping the floor around it, he slid back behind the counter and leaned over again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?”
Pitch smirked. “The young man by the wall. With the laptop. He’s been struggling to either finish or edit his story for many years. It may very well be that he is about to achieve his goal and see the work in action. Must be a script of some form.”
“Screenplay. He’s a horror fan,” Jack confirmed.
“Explains the faces he’s making.”
“I thought he was writing porn until I asked.”
“What?” Pitch asked, narrowing his eyes on Jack.
Jack shrugged and blushed. “He confuses me with those facial expressions. Don’t judge me.”
After getting over his bafflement at the boy’s honest reply, Pitch continued, “The old couple in the booth own a farm out of town.”
“I knew they were from out of town, but how can you tell they have a farm?” Jack asked.
“You didn’t notice all the horse hair on their clothes?”
“Never heard them talk about horses.”
“With most horse people, it would sound like they’re talking about human beings when they refer to their equine.”
“That makes sense,” Jack uttered with a smile. “I just always thought they had a lot of kids.”
“In their eyes, they very well could be their children.”
“Just how far into the future can you see with those glasses?” Jack asked wryly.
Again, Pitch squinted at the young man. “What does this have to do with my glasses?”
“How were you able to see hair from all the way over here?”
“My eyesight isn’t that bad. These are reading glasses.”
“Do you ever take them off?”
“If I did that, I’d forget them.”
“Explains why you’re always looking over your glasses when you stare at people.”
So he’d been watching him, too. Suddenly, Pitch had found himself saying, “It seems I am crossing into another killer’s territory.”
Jack stared quizzically at him for a moment. When he understood what Pitch was suggesting, he flashed a white grin and tilted his head in appreciation. He held up his hands in mock surrender and whispered, “You caught me.”
Pitch smirked. “Conditions of boredom, I suppose.” Jack nodded. Then Pitch asked, “Shall I tell you more about yourself?”
“Other than the eye thing, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Jack seemed to give the offer serious consideration. Then he picked up his sketchbook again and said, “Maybe some other time.”
With that, they returned to their work.
Pitch Black became a regular at the coffee shop. He usually appeared on weekends, and sometimes on weekday afternoons not long before Jack clocked out to pick up Searra from school. His and Jack’s game of people watching persisted, but Jack had not yet allowed Pitch to give him his observations of the boy.
But today, Jack actually had a day off. The day was overcast, but the temperature was just perfect for him. September weather was his favorite, and he couldn’t bear to sleep in any longer. On his rare off day, he tried to catch up on his sleep. That just wasn’t going to happen on a Sunday like this. Slipping into jeans and sneakers, he threw a hoodie over his head and grabbed his sketchbook before running out the door. Halfway down the hall, he had to double back to make sure he locked his apartment. When he was certain it was secure, he turned back down the hallway. Seeing as he was faster than the elevator, which often got stuck on unsuspecting tenants, he preferred to run down the stairs instead. If he was lucky, he didn’t run into the landlord at the bottom. If he wasn’t, he got sidetracked by whatever mood the man was in that day.
This wasn’t a lucky day.
“Late for work, Overland?” the gray-haired old man muttered.
Jack paused briefly to work through what his landlord had asked him. The old man’s voice was so gruff that Jack had once made the mistake of asking him to repeat himself. That had immediately put him on the man’s bad side. So now, he tried to figure out what the old man had grumbled at him before guessing and risking an answer. “No. Day off.”
He’d hoped the answer would satisfy the man, but was rewarded only with a glower. “Your rent was due yesterday.”
Of course. That was the only thing the landlord cared about. “I get paid this Thursday. I’ll have it for you before you know it.”
“You bet I’ll have it,” the landlord groused before moving past Jack. As Jack left, he heard the old man grumbling about the irresponsibility of the boy’s generation. This sort of thing usually put Jack in a mood just as bad as the landlord’s. He didn’t feel like giving in to that today, however. Deciding not to linger on the tardiness of his payments, Jack continued on outside and made his way down the streets of Burgess.
He didn’t stop walking until he was just outside the town limits and sitting on a rock beside the lake. Kids came here to play every now and then. In the summer, the lake was a great place to swim. If it froze over enough in the winter, kids could ice skate. Jack hadn’t seen that happen in years, though. Winters just kept getting warmer, which honestly bothered him. He liked the cold. He was outside more during the winter than he ever was in the summer.
Gathering his pencils together, he got comfortable on the rock and opened his sketchbook. Setting to work on his latest piece, he was glad that the lake was free of people today. He was alone with nature. And with his thoughts. Most days, being alone with his thoughts bothered him. Not today.
He wondered what had brought on such cheer. He hadn’t felt so stimulated in a very long time.
The origins of the drawing he was working on seemed simple enough. He’d started off with a rough sketch of a busy street in Burgess. Once that was finished he’d started to duplicate it, only this time he began redesigning the individuals and objects on the paper. Instead of simple lines, he’d used words and descriptions to create the images. This next stage in his project involved adding color to the words and descriptions which made up the busy street.
Jack worked at the drawing, not even bothering to keep track of time. He didn’t bother to keep track of his surroundings, either. So when a stick hit him in the head, he jumped and dropped his pencil. He scrambled to catch it before it rolled into the lake below. “Hey!” Jack exclaimed, glaring out at whoever had thrown the stick. It was Jamie. Settling back down into his seating position, he sighed and tried for a smile. “What are you up to, kid?”
“Catching up on some reading. Or trying to, at least.”
Jack shook his head, going back to his sketching. “Schoolwork?”
“Yeahno,” Jamie combined the two words, holding up his latest acquisition. Another book involved something cryptozoological.
“Still looking for Big Foot?” Jack asked.
“No. This time it’s the chupacabra.”
“That’s a creature I’m gonna have to say no to.”
Jamie actually looked deflated. “Why? Have you seen all the evidence? The victims?”
“Spoiler alert: it can all be explained by the natural decaying process of a carcass.”
“Not all of it!” Jamie was incorrigible when it came to this sort of thing. Jack actually liked that he was so willing to believe in things like that.
So most of the time, he went along with it. Today, he smiled and said, “If you say so.”
“Anyway,” the kid continued, “what are you working on?”
“Pet project. Where’s Sophie?”
“With Searra. Doing girl things.”
“Hey. Girls have fun, too.”
Jamie settled down on the ground beside Jack’s rock, opening his book and reading in silence. The two didn’t speak for a long time, Jack continuing with his work and Jamie doing research on his latest creature. Time seemed to move at a slower pace when people were around. At least, that was the case with Jack. Maybe it was just him, though. He usually wasn’t so sure. After what was most likely only a few minutes (it honestly felt like an hour to Jack), Jamie asked, “Are you friends with a serial killer?”
“Where on earth did you hear that?” Jack asked absently.
“Searra’s mom was talking about a guy coming to town. Or back to town, actually. Said you called him that.”
Jack chuckled. “He’s not a serial killer. I just call him that to get on his nerves.”
“She said he likes it.”
For some reason, that made Jack look up at the boy. Jamie was still looking at his book as he spoke. “Did she, now?”
“Yeah. Said he was never this social with anyone.”
Jack squinted. “That seems odd. Weren’t they friends in college or something?”
“Dunno.”
Silence resumed, but now Jack was starting to come up with questions of his own. Before long, he asked Jamie, “What else did Tooth say?”
He swore he saw a smile on Jamie’s face. “He was in the army. She called him a funny name.”
“Really? What’s that?”
“I can’t pronounce it.”
“Dude, that is not how you reconnaissance. You gotta remember these details!” Jamie and Jack laughed at that.
It wasn’t until after they fell silent again that Jack wondered why the thought of Pitch Black enjoying his company made him giddy with excitement.