Chapter 1: Pickles and Capers
Jeremy Young.
Not very tall. Not very strong. Not very witty. Not very ambitious.
Overall, an unextraordinary man.
He woke up one morning to find that his refridgerator had been broken into. Or, rather, that it appeared to have had its contents explode over the small surface area of his apartment kitchenette. The glass of the pickle jar displayed a jagged smile across the ceramic floor, the distinct sour smell overwhelming the off-white space.
Jeremy was not a morning person, but even he found it strange that the noise of the shattering glass did not rouse him from his sleep. His nose wrinkled at the smell of the spilled pickle juice. He did not particularly like pickles, but Stephon couldn't live without them.
The thought made him pause for a moment as he reached down to clean up the broken glass. Where was Stephon anyway? Jeremy gathered the large pieces off the floor and threw them in the trash can. He washed his hands, using plenty of soap to get the smell off him, then turned into the hallway to grab the vacuum cleaner. To his surprise, there was a pickle lying in the hallway. A small, unassuming cornichon. Dill.
As he looked at the vegetable condiment, Jeremy noticed another one just a few feet down the hallway. Close to the door of Stephon's room. Damn it, Stephon. He picked up the trail of pickles, slightly sticky in his hands, and faced the closed door of his roomate's bedroom.
"Stephon, you douche. What did I say about leaving pickles aroud the apartment?"
He could hear a small clicking sound behind the door, but no answer.
Jeremy rolled his eyes, and turned the door knob. Locked. Stephon was smart.
"Oy, get your fat ass off the computer already and clean up the mess in the kitchen!" Jeremy yelled, banging on the door.
Still quiet, except for the clicking sounds which continued at an even pace.
Jeremy rattled the doorknob a few more times, but eventually gave up. Knowing Stephon, he'd be tightly locked up in there for the rest of the day: happily munching on pickles and playing StarCraft.
Jeremy pounded the door frame one last time. "Screw you. I'm going to work." He had a late morning shift at Brett's Meat Shoppe, and it was already half past 10. Brett did not like late employees, and Jeremy figured it'd be smart not to piss off a man weilding a butcher knife.
He splashed some cold water on his face, and threw on some jeans as he brushed his teeth and tongue. Jeremy figured the extra few minutes of dental hygiene would be better than suffering another trip to the dentist - especially after what happened the last time he was there. Rinse. Spit. Semi-clean grey T-shirt and out the door. Shoot, forgot the keys for the lock. Jeremy fumbled through the change bowl on the kitchen counter and grabbed the key ring for his bike lock.
"Get that shit cleaned up before I come back, okay Stephon? I'm closing the shop tonight, so I'll bring some stuff back for dinner."
Shithead doesn't even answer. Jeremy locked the front door, not noticing the bottle of capers spilled at the front entrance of the apartment.