Wren
Ch. 9
Rich woke up in his bed, unsure if the events of yesterday truly happened, or even what those events were past the point where a dead man melted on him. He sat up, and noticed that his sword was not on top of the chest of drawers where he normally left it. In its place was a dagger, with some flesh-colored residue on it. Oh. So it was real. Shit. He got out of bed and considered his next steps while he dressed. I definitely want to check in with Brandon. He’d probably know what the fuck that was last night, and maybe he’s found something that might help. But I also need to go figure out what else this freak wants from me. I know the next message is in Bellevue, but I don’t know how long she’ll let me put it off before she offs me. I’ll grab the note first. If nothing else, it’ll give me time to decide what my next steps will be while I’m checking in with Brandon. He finished getting his shoes on and walked over to the dresser where the dagger laid. He picked a dirty pair of trousers up off the floor, and used them to wipe the residue off of it, before dropping them back down. I really should clean this place up, he thought as he was leaving his room.
He got to the bottom of the stairs and was about to open his front door when his stomach growled. Shit. How long has it been since I last ate? Did I eat at the bar last night? I don’t think so. Then it’s been over a day since I’ve had any food. I’ve been so distracted by this disaster that I forgot to eat. He re-locked his door and went into his kitchen. He gathered some kindling and a couple modestly sized sticks and arranged them in his fireplace under a metal grate. As he walked away, light wisps of smoke started to rise. So many people just jump straight to starting a fire, Rich thought, if only they knew that a few sparks do the job just as well, and take way less time off your life. He grabbed a skillet that was hanging on the wall, and a small jar of bacon grease that he had sitting on the counter. He scooped a bit of the grease out with his fingers and flicked it into the pan, and set it above the fire that was starting to show signs of life. As the grease fully melted, Rich found where he’d put his eggs. He cracked four into the pan, and grabbed a spatula. He didn’t let the eggs stop moving until they were fully set up, and once they were he removed the pan from the grate. Shit, I forgot to get a plate. He grabbed a fork out of a drawer, and simply ate the eggs straight from the pan.
Once he had eaten his fill, he chilled the pan enough that it wouldn’t be likely to burn his house down, and placed it on the counter. By now, the fire was little more than embers, so he raked the remnants of the fire to the rear of the fireplace, where there was little chance of them being able to light anything else. Convinced of the safety of his home, he finally walked out the door, and began his trip to the message awaiting him in Bellevue. Who knows, maybe I’ll catch the bastard still writing it.