• AN: Early update! It's actually been finished for a week, but whatever. The story moves along (though slowly). Apologies for my suckiness ahead of time.

    TWO: In Which Emerson is a Pansy

    Ok, so I was a bit of a wuss. I did go to class, and managed to seem normal, but all throughout lectures and lunch, all I could do was think of that jacket, how Artur only seemed to have one, and how I was horrible, horrible person. How can I condemn him when I was a criminal as well?

    After laying in bed for a hour, plagued with guilt, I finally got up and went outside to the garbage dump and just looked at it. I really didn't want to go dumpster diving, and I probably looked ridiculous enough already in my pajamas when it's only 2 in the afternoon.

    What would Grandma think? Surely she would be horrified to know that her only granddaughter, even in desperation and emotional trauma, would resort to what should be a crime. Grandma was such a sweetheart; what kind of awful granddaughter am I that would disappoint her so easily?

    I went back to the apartment to grab a wooden chair and dragged it outside. Setting it next to the dumpster, I tossed back the lid and looked in.

    God it smelled. And it looked disgusting too. Haven't some of these people heard of trash bags? I gingerly pushed some cans away with the tips of my fingers, before I got the courage to grab a bag and tossed it aside. Under it, a leather sleeve was sticking out. A dirty grimy sleeve.

    Ew. . .

    I pulled it mostly out, but it got stuck a third of the way out, where I had to toss away more bags. I got it free eventually, but it was smelly and and covered in unidentifiable liquids that didn't bode very well.

    God I was terrible.

    In the throes of my woe, a familiar voice said, “Emie? What the heck are you doing?”

    I jumped and turned around, making sure to keep the jacket as far away from me as I could. Jerral, dressed for his work at Mikky D's, was standing in the middle of a lane in the parking lot, looking at me like I just announced that the sky was chartreuse green.

    “Uh. . .” I answered intelligently.

    “Oh God,” he said, running a hand over it perfectly bald and shiny head. “Don't tell me you're getting into dumpster diving. . .”

    “NO! I just. . .accidentally tossed something.” Accident my left foot.

    “. . .is that a leather jacket?” he asked incredulously. “I thought you hated leather!”

    “Only once when I watched them peel it off the animal! Since it's dead, I figured it won't need it anyways. . .”

    He sighed, probably exasperated, and just held up his hands. “Just. . .get back in the apartment.” I nodded glumly, and followed him in, but he kept talking, “By the way, Aunt Clara called. She said that someone told her that you were nearly mugged last night on your way home.”

    I cringed. “Uh. . .”

    He smirked at me. “Good luck not getting chauffeured.”

    I hated being chauffeured everywhere like I some kind of invalid lame person, but since mom was in on it, there wasn't much point in arguing. I'll give Jerral an earful when he walks to Bruno's Books anyways. I just grumbled and went straight to the bathroom and tossed the coat onto the bottom of the tub.

    How would I clean the jacket? I suppose I could stuff it into a washer and dryer at the laundry mat a few blocks away, but I wasn't sure I wanted to spend a few quarters on Artur, let alone have any to spend.

    Jerral stuck his head in. “You're seriously not gonna wash that thing by hand are you?”

    “No!” I paused. “. . .maybe.”

    He rolled his eyes.

    “I don't have quarters,” I grumbled

    He shakes his head like I was a moron (which isn't far off considering I still had the stupid jacket in my stupid tub), and pulled out some change from his pocket and handed me a few quarters.

    “Don't spend it all in one place,” he said, and I only scowled at him.

    ~*~

    After changing and hauling the jacket to the laundry mat and cleaning it twice, it was nice and warm and smelled kinda nice. Though I was little annoyed at the need to scrape the bathtub at home clean with a wire brush and a gallon of bleach. It's like I was afraid of his germs.

    . . .ok. Maybe I was. But that's not the point!

    “I'm sure whatever the jacket did, it's sorry,” a teasing voice said beside me.

    I blushed in embarrassment and looked at the speaker. It was a kindly looking old man who had a large bald spot on the top of his head in the middle of stuffing his wet clothes into the dryer. He only smiled at me and nodded in greeting.

    “Hello,” he said pleasantly.

    “. . .hi,” I mumbled, a little mortified. Well that wasn't embarrassing at ALL.

    “That's a nice jacket,” he continued, though personally I don't think that my response said 'I want conversation plz', but maybe he's one of those old people who need to talk to everyone. “It's got an interesting cut. Where'd you get it from?”

    “Uh. . .” I got it when some freak with super arms ripped another guy's head off carried me back to my workplace, probably after I fainted. “It's not mine. Someone. . .just forgot it at my place, and I feel the need to wash it, I guess. . .?”

    So I was bad liar. That's not entirely a bad thing!

    “Sounds like a gentleman,” he grinned, and I grinned back weakly, not really feeling it. “You come here often?”

    I shrugged, and decided the stuff the jacket in a clean new bag. “Once a week usually in the evening.”

    That wiped the smile off the old man's face, and it kinda piqued my interest. “You shouldn't wander around at night. It's very. . .dangerous around these parts at night.”

    That was putting it mildly. “Yeah, I noticed. Um, I need to go now. It's nice talking to you.” I collected my stuff, and gave him a smile as I left.

    I could kinda see our reflections on the glass window, and I could see him. . .sniffing?

    Can't say I blame him. The laundry mat got some new detergent that smells REALLY nice. Hope he doesn't accidentally snort it. . .

    ~*~

    Jerral insisted that he walked me to Bruno's Books, and even went as far as to calling Mom. I reluctantly agreed, but I made sure to make my disapproval VERY obvious. By the time we got there we were both mad at each other, and Jerral left in a huff. I felt bad about it, but I was annoyed too, which kinda canceled it out.

    I actually kinda didn't want to go to work. Artur was a regular here, wasn't he? So what if I see him again? Then what do I do? I'd probably freak, which wasn't the greatest idea. But what he did to the weirdo freak. . .

    I shivered, and my grip on the bag I carried that had his jack tightened. I was being a baby. I had to face him.

    I did a very good at BS-ing my confidence, and managed to wave off Corrine's mothering gracefully. I even successfully convinced Roger to let me work everyday as opposed to five, but he only agreed on the account that my shifts were shorter, which was fine by me because it was more hours overall. But all for nothing.

    I didn't see him for several weeks.

    ~*~

    Mid-November was rainy and dreary, and it made walking to work terrible. I didn't have a car as I was a penniless, lame college student with a monstrous student loan, and even if I did the thought of driving to Bruno's Books, which was only a twenty minute walk away from home, was wasteful.

    I finally gave in and purchased a raincoat in a cheery shade of yellow in sheer defiance to the moody weather. Nothing said 'MUG ME' like glowing in the dark with a yellow raincoat, but Jerral still insisted on walking me to and from work. Nothing scares off potential muggers more than a big, burly,black guy with half a dozen tattoos and a dream to teach kindergarten, but frankly I was more worried about being eaten.

    The weeks passed by normally. I hadn't see any further signs of man-eating dead people, and I'm pretty sure neither hide nor hair of Artur. This didn't exactly hurt my feelings. Though at times I half expected to turn around and find him, but I'm sure this is more of a manifestation of my fears of him coming to realize letting a witness live, even one who wouldn't talk, is a bit silly than any desire to see him.

    Though. . .Bruno's Books did see a bit empty without him. It was a bit odd to seeing almost every night at work, to suddenly nothing. It's like his empty space disturbed the natural order of the Universe, and for the first time I was more ticked than scared of him.

    I'd rather he never come around again, but at the same him not being there was slightly disturbing. Was I never meant to be happy? Or at least a little less stupid. . .

    On a good note, I sorta made friends with the old guy at the laundry at. His name is Mister Gregs, and he has a penchant for green sweaters. He was odd, and there's something weird about a guy who suddenly starts appearing at the laundry mat at the same time as you after telling him when it was, but the one of the attendants spoke of him in disdain once, so I figured he was lonely.

    The poor thing. He was kinda sweet actually. Talked a lot too.

    “You kinda remind me of a my ward,” he mentioned in passing once, as he was folding his sweaters.

    I had only just got there and was in the middle of tossing my clothes in a washer. His statement was a little embarrassing, but kinda sweet. “Oh?”

    He nodded fervently. “Oh yes. Maria. She was my brother's foster daughter from Yugoslavia before he passed away. Here.” Like a doting parent, he pulled out a small picture from his wallet and handed it to me.

    She was a pretty girl, about six or seven with loose black curls and a pale face. The photographer caught her reading a rather large, worn book in a dark room under the orange glow of a nearby lamp.

    “She looks like a sweet girl,” I finally said, before squinting and holding the photograph closer. “. . .hey, is she reading Alice in Wonderland?”

    He nodded. “She loves that book. She reads a lot in general, but the chances are high it's that one.” He sounded proud of her.

    I really don't know how anyone could not like him.

    ~*~

    I remember the last Friday of November being rainy and dreary. Neither my obnoxiously yellow raincoat or my incoming paycheck could cheer me up. Jerral was unusually somber, and didn't even attempt to try and start a conversation on our way to Bruno's Books. I had thought it was slightly ominous in an attempt to amuse myself, but I would later kick myself for that thought.

    I had trouble sleeping, so I just decided to get to Bruno's Books early and see if Roger would let me squeeze in some extra hours. I swear that man doesn't sleep or something.

    I wasn't prepared to find Artur with no jacket passed out on the bench in the employee's break room, the only window in the room covered with a thick blanket.

    I think I shrieked.

    Some kid named Vu, who I only knew because he usually worked early evenings to midnight, was sitting at a nearby table, reading a magazine, jumped up. “Emerson! What's wrong?!”

    For some reason I couldn't produce the necessary sounds to confirm the reason for my horror's existence in the room, so I only mutely pointed at Artur, who, oddly, didn't seem to have stirred.

    “I know you know who Artur is,” Vu had said, sounding a little confused still. “He, uh, sometimes crashes her in the day. Roger lets him.”

    “But--” my voice cracked, which was a little embarrassing. But I had a more important thing to worry about. Though Roger didn't seem to mind Artur's presence at all, I wouln't have guessed that my boss was in league with some heading ripping creep! Oh God. . .

    “It's just Artur. Do you have a beef with him or something?”

    “No! Uh, no. It's just—“ What was I supposed to do? Vu probably thought I was a problem-riddled nut, Roger was in league with Artur, and I couldn't skip work! I need the money! And I started leaving his jacket at home after I hadn't seen him for a week. . . .

    I sighed. “No, I'm fine. Is Roger here?”

    “Yeah, he's on the floor.”

    Man definitely doesn't sleep.

    Well, weeks ago I decided to just man up and take this the best I could, didn't I? Wasn't I once ready to face him and take it the best I could?

    . . .alright, so maybe I was pretending. Lying to myself, in a way. I would face this, cause no vampire-wanna-be was going to threaten me!

    Well, maybe until they look at me. Sometime during my inner monologue, Artur yawned and sat up , noticed me, and looked at me. Straight in the eye.

    He had surprisingly normal looking brown eyes.

    I gawked at him.

    TO the side, though I couldn't see, I could hear the scraping of the feet of a chair against the floor, and the shuffling of magazine pages. “Roger should be up here in a few,” Vu said. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

    “Go away!” I cried, grabbing a nearby empty soda can, and turning around to throw it at him. Unfortunately Vu closed the door behind him in time. “No wait! Come back!”

    There was some quiet laughing that I would've assumed from Vu the Jerk-Face if not for the fact that not only did it not sound like Vu, it wasn't muffled by a door.

    I hesitantly turned to face Artur, who was laughing at me. At me! The jerk!

    “What?” I snapped.

    Artur just smirked. “Glad to see you recovered well. Don't recall you being this energetic though.”

    Oh yeah. I grimaced, suddenly remembering that even if the jerk was laughing at me, he was the guy that. . .yeah. I really hope he won't hold me angry at him against me.

    “I—uh—I'm gonna go get something to eat. Uh, bye,” I stuttered. I quickly turned around nearly ran to the door, before I remembered to open it.

    “I'll accompany you.” He followed me out the door. I don't think he got the hint.

    “I'm fine! Don't bother!” I rushed through the shelves of books and passed some coworker who's name I don't know, but Artur did a good job staying just a foot behind me, unfortunately.

    “Girls shouldn't run around at night on their own.”

    “Go away!” I almost wailed, and thinking back it was a bit embarrassing. My voice was raising in pitch too. “Please!”

    He ignored me. “It's a nice night isn't it?”

    McDonald's was across the street, and when the crosswalk light blinked 'WALK', I practically ran down the crosswalk. I was pleased to note that Artur had to speed up to an almost run to keep up with me, but also horrified he was going through the effort.

    Why, God, why?

    Now that I think of it, I should've stayed in the brightly lit bookstore, where there was PEOPLE and it would be harder to kidnap then eat me. Even if he had ample opportunities to do that by now, but maybe he was slow?

    Just as I got the to the door of McDonalds, I reached for me wallet. . . .except it wasn't there. I frowned, stopped, and started patting down all my pockets. I didn't leave it on my dresser did I?

    No wallet. Dangit, I did. Augh! Now what?

    “. . .are you just gonna stand there?” Artur asked.

    “. . .maybe,” I muttered, feeling a bit sheepish. I ran over here, and I wouldn't even grab a bit to eat! Come to think of it, that means no lunch, too. Sweet Jesus in Heaven, I was such a moron!

    “Well, if you're gonna do that, answer a question for me—“

    “Never mind, I'm going to the bathroom.” I rushed in and pretty much tried to tear the door off the girl's room before I saw the little red rectangle on the lock saying 'OCCUPIED'.

    Well that was stupid. . .

    “Well, you have some time now,” Artur said almost pleasantly, walking up to me, and stopping barely a foot away from me. Unfortunately, the bathroom doors are out in the own little hall in the corner of the restaurant, which created our own little space.

    I cringed, and backed myself as far as I could against the door, making myself as small as I could while still standing up.

    Artur raised an eyebrow. “Do I scare you?”

    Only a lot. But I would never admit that to him. “Uh, no.” But I wasn't a great liar.

    He suddenly grinned and shook his head. “You are, aren't you?”

    “I said no!” To my credit, I sounded more confident.

    He suddenly put a hand against the wall near by hand and leaned on it, creating a kind of hovering effect over me (he evidently drank his milk as a child), and I flinched. Artur just shook his head, looking as if he was fighting to keep that smile off his face. “I'm not gonna eat you.”

    “. . .so you say. . .” That slipped out before I could stop it.

    Artur didn't seem to mind. “So I won't. Anyways, I wanted to ask, have you met any weird guys since that. . .” He paused. “. . .night?”

    “No.” That was true. Unless he was talking about Mrs. Sanchez in apartment #102's grandson, but he was odd in the manner of green and yellow spiky hair and his eight piercings. I doubt it was him though, as he ran around in broad daylight, and bloody steak made him queasy.

    “So no one's interested in you? Not at all?”

    “No. I'm not terribly interesting.”

    He thankfully backs off, and raises an eyebrow. “Only sometimes.”

    “Only sometimes?” I accidentally echoed. I nearly smacked myself when I realized what I said, but it was soon overridden by the realization that being interesting, even in the amount of time that's opposite to only sometimes, to someone who ate other people was NOT a good thing.

    Wait, that mean most of the time, right? What?

    The girl's bathroom door unlocked, and the lady in there walks out. She stops when she sees us, and smiles a bit sheepishly. “Sorry about taking so long.” She just walks off.

    Curiously, the urge to run in there screaming and locking the door to never come out again wasn't . . .there. I'd rather he stepped back several more feet away from me, but at the same time I was a little curious: did he mean interesting as I would be interesting to eat, or was he talking about my character?

    How would he know about my character anyways? Other than my penchant for freaking out and wussiness? Or did he think I was interesting for bawling my eyes out for some loser who tried to eat me?

    Considering how unperturbed he was during the. . .uh. . .head removing, he probably didn't share my belief that life was important, dammit, and not to be trifled with. Sure, some debatable, like a lot, but still!

    “. . .are you alright?” he asks suddenly, and I suddenly realized that I ditzed off in front of him for a bit.

    Oh, there's my urge to run screaming into the bathroom and locked the door and never come out. Which I did. Well, no, I didn't scream, not out loud anyways. It was all in my head, where it should stay.

    “Hey, are you alright?” he asked through the door, knocking on it once. His voice was fairly muffled, and I wondered for a brief, horrifying second if that girl in here before me could hear us.

    “Nnn,” was all I could say, and not very loudly, so I'm not sure he heard me.

    “Roger doesn't want you running around this late on your own,” he said. “So you know, I'm not leaving you alone til you get back or sun up.”

    And I needed to work, too. This was not my day. At all. Dang it! I can't skip, I have the power bill to pay, and Roger was getting a new shipment of graphic novels next week! No!

    But. . .wasn't missing a day of work and having no electricity and books better than going out with Artur and getting eaten, carelessly leaving Jerral alone AND with no power? We can't live without power though! What kind of monster would I be leaving poor Jerral with no TV and hot water? The awful kind! He hadn't eaten me, yet, so maybe if I ran fast enough, Artur wouldn't be able to eat me if he changed his mind. It would leave a better chance of keeping our power than just sitting in a slightly disgusting McDonald's bathroom. Besides, my boss was in league with a head-ripper, so I'm pretty screwed either way. I just have to not think of my chances for an untimely death!

    . . .ok, so maybe that wasn't all that helpful.

    I quickly unlocked the door and swung it open before my brain could form a logical objection. Artur was against the opposite wall, rocking from the balls of his heels to his toes, hands in his pocket, and eyes on McDonald's strange taste in wallpapers. I might've looked at him a second too long, or maybe he just heard the bathroom door opening, cause he looked up at me. It was a little embarrassing and startling, so I just did my best to look sulky and storm past.

    He really did follow me back to Bruno's Books, but he kept a few yards distance between us (thankfully). I managed not to run across the crosswalk, and was very proud that I made to the store at a consistent walking pace. Go me.

    I got the door and just when I grabbed the handle, Artur called, “Have fun at work!”

    That was odd. I blinked and looked back at him with frown. “. . .huh?”

    “Have fun at work,” he repeated, and though he briefly shook his head, he seemed amused. “Keep an eye out for strange people. People even stranger than me, anyways.”

    I resisted saying that I wouldn't have to, they'd be like a beacon. But all he did then was smile, waved, and walked off.

    I watched him quickly disappear among the lights and night life in the light rain, slightly gawking, all the while feeling slightly bad for stealing his jacket, however inadvertently.