Alister
Pale morning light crept in through the kitchen blinds, casting striped gold patterns across the floor and the small dining table where I sat. The glow was muted, diffused by dust motes floating lazily in the air, that still carried the faint scent of tea and toast.
The sound of my fork scraping the last bite off the plate felt almost too sharp in the silence. Even the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the ticking clock in the living room seemed distant, blending into the background like white noise.
Some people would have hated this stillness. To them, an empty home meant loneliness, something to be filled with television noise or idle conversation. But I preferred it. No expectations, no one to answer to. Just the steady, predictable quiet.
Coiled loosely around my forearm, Finch was more content to snuggle into warmth than slither around. His muted orange and brown body contrasted sharply with the sleeve of my black shirt. The Kenyan sand boa wasn't much for activity this early in the day.
I lifted the red ceramic mug, the rim pressing against my lips as I took a slow sip of the lukewarm tea, the faint notes of bergamot lingering on my tongue.
With my free hand, I scrolled through my phone, my thumb moving absentmindedly over the screen. News headlines blurred together—political disputes, stock market trends, another high-profile scandal. Finch shifted slightly at the movement before settling again with a tiny flick of his tongue.
"You don't care about any of this, do you?" I mutter, thumb brushing over his smooth scales.
A familiar vibration buzzed against the wooden table, breaking the quiet. I glanced down at my other phone. A new message.
Fine. Where do you want to meet?
I smirked, fingers already moving across the screen without hesitation. I'd known this would go exactly how I wanted.
Willow Heights Complex, Vesper street. Back entrance. Now if you're free.
An abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of town. The place had been gutted years ago—windows shattered, walls stripped bare, graffiti scrawled across every surface. No security, no cameras, no unwanted interruptions. Just empty halls and silence. The kind of place no one had a reason to visit.
I hit send and set the phone down, watching the message deliver.
The clock on the wall ticked forward, a slow, steady rhythm in the background. I checked the time. My classes weren't until the afternoon, which meant I had plenty of time to handle this. No rush.
I stood and stretched as I moved around the kitchen. The plates clinked softly as I rinsed and placed them into the dishwasher. I pull out the knives sticking out of the wooden board on the wall and add it to the mix.
Opening the fridge, my eyes swept over the cluttered shelves, filled with half-empty cartons, jars, small amber bottles of chloroform along with larger clear unmarked bottles of Pancuronium Bromide. My gaze land on the row of Tupperware containers that lined the top shelf. They were all sealed tight, but the smell was unmistakable. The food my mom had made—days, maybe weeks ago—was now decaying inside, forgotten. The thought of throwing them out had crossed my mind weeks ago everytime I saw a new addition, but I'd let it slide. Too busy. Too distracted.
With a shake of my head, I grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge door, walking into the living room, making a mental note to toss them out when I leave and to change the lock to my apartment so she can't break in again.
I move past the couch and the small coffee table covered with neatly stacked books and papers, reaching the piano tucked in the corner of the room. My fingers brushed lightly over the keys. A note echoed as I let my hand hover over the ivories.
Suddenly, The phone rang, its sharp tone slicing through the stillness of the room. I clicked my tongue, already irritated at the interruption. I reached for it, half-expecting a reminder about some class or a call from someone who didn't really matter.
But when I saw the name on the screen, my stomach tightened.
Clara.
The hell does she want?
I don't have the patience to deal with her today, especially not after what happened at last night's party. The sound of her voice was already grating in my memory, her insufferable attitude echoing in my mind like a bad song I couldn't get out of my head.
I toss the phone aside, watching it land harmlessly on the couch. I don't need to hear any ridiculous thing she wants to say. Let her leave a message, let her rant on about the gift I gave her, or whatever nonsense she thought was worth my time. I wasn't in the mood.
I gently uncoil Finch from my arm and place him back in his glass tank. He wriggles forward an inch, then immediately begins to burrow into the sand, his body disappearing until only the tip of his tail remained.
The phone vibrated softly on the couch, but I didn't bother to pick it up. Instead, I walked away, letting the ringing fade into the background.