I apologize for my lateness. I am ill. Also, this chapter isn't as long as the ones previous. Enjoy it anyway.
I own nothing you recognize.
At first Randall spent the day watching one of the five channels Emerson got on her ancient television. The local news proved none too interesting, but provided him with the information that he was in Lebanon, Kentucky. It was supposed to be 81 degrees today, and still be balmy into the night. There has been a hold up at a small mom and pop store, whatever that was, earlier in the week. Strange tracks had been found in the woods. On next was something called Judge Judy, which he spent a few moments taking in before deciding that humans were utterly nuts. He shut off the television and debated in sleeping for a short while, but he didn't want to be discovered when the man due to install the new window showed up.
He opted to drag himself and the blanket into Emerson's bedroom, figuring that they wouldn't go snooping around in there. On his way down the hall he noticed a series of photographs framed on the wall. The first was four boys, Emerson, and what he assumed were her parents. Her father was a large, intimidating man, someone who had probably been in the military, with dark hair and the same characteristic eyes that Emerson possessed – left one blue, right one brown. All the children in the picture seemed to have some variation of heterochromia.
The next picture was of what he assumed was the while family as there were even more boys. Her expression in this one was different though. A faked smile, eyes like a dead fish. The parents had the same look. Raising so many of her brothers must have been taxing, and he was certain he was looking at the portrait of a family that was hanging onto each other by threads.
The final picture in the hall was of a young Emerson standing opposite a dark haired boy who was offering a daisy. Was this Dalton then? Or had there been a time in Emerson's life when she'd had free time to make friends outside the family? Even in her childhood she was tanned and had wiry strength in her thin form. She must have been a hardy child. He wondered what she had been afraid of and who her monster had been.
How old is she? he wondered, reaching out to touch the photograph and flicking his gaze back to the faux happy family picture. But something about the third photo made his mind tickle, except, why would it? He couldn't have been her monster; this Emerson seemed like the kind to go traipsing through the mud, picking up all manners of bugs and frogs and scaly things. Besides, he doubted that he had been through college at the time she was a child. He shrugged it off and continued onward to the bedroom.
Had he spent any longer clutching at straws about the picture, he would have been discovered. The front door came open and he heard heavy footsteps falling in the linoleum kitchen. He sat on her bed, clutching at the blanket as a bubble of panic formed in his chest. Whoever was installing that window – at least, he hoped it was the man due to come and not a burglar – must be a beast of a human.
Randall found himself repeatedly burying his nose into the oil smudge of the blanket and trying to convince himself that Emerson wouldn't sell him out. The metallic, dirty smell to the fabric filled his olfactories and brought him some comfort, almost grounding him to reality. She'd given him this blanket, given him food, given him a place to sleep on the couch. Not beaten him with a shovel.
But wasn't she going to get tired of looking after him the same way she had with her younger brothers? No, he was being ridiculous. The sound of the front door swinging shut halted his frenzied thoughts. He sat holding his breath, listening for the pounding footsteps that had been there previously. A minute ticked past, and then another, before he finally relaxed.
Randall scuttled into the kitchen to make sure the window had been fixed and that he hadn't just let a robbery proceed. To his relief there was fresh glass in the panes. How long had he been thinking for? Window installations were no breeze, not to mention the fact that Emerson's window had no hint of modernity to it.
Whatever. He shook his head, made sure the curtains were drawn over the front window, and curled back up on the couch under the blanket in spite of the heat.
Because it smells like Emerson! Oh shut up, he told his thoughts, but still kicked the blanket onto the floor in a huff. He didn't really naturally blend in with the ratty upholstery without the blanket, but no one else was supposed to come. Supposed to.
The Southern heat had succeeded in making him drowsy and he soon felt himself falling asleep. He dreamt of the door again. This time when he was tossed mercilessly through it he landed in Emerson's entryway in a crumpled heap. He looked up and around to find her sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, mismatched eyes boring into his, some sort of smug smirk on her face. He followed her hand down as it grabbed a shotgun, that shotgun, and trailed his gaze back up to her face. She cocked it, stood, aimed it at him. Click, click, click. The thing wasn't firing, but her grin was unwavering. She turned, pulled the trigger, and bang! There went the kitchen window. She approached him now, leaned down, and opened her mouth to say something.
"No trans fats!" Randall jerked awake to find that he had his head Emerson's lap. She'd chosen to wake him by reading the nutrition facts on a snack package of cookies. "Not a significant source of...well, everything! Damn, what if I wanted to live off these?"
"I'm awake," he groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The setting sun cast an orange glow to the room. He had probably successfully messed up his sleeping schedule. "I thought you said you'd be back late."
"It's Sunday. People aren't usually stupid on Sunday," she replied through a mouthful of raspberry shortbread. He was pretty sure people were stupid all the time. "Are you ready to go?"
"Go where?" he asked, his mind still foggy with sleep.
"Grocery store, remember?" She offered him a cookie, and at the growling glee of his stomach he accepted it. "Obviously I live by myself, and now that you're here, I need to buy more food. I needed more food in the first place, but now I need more more food."
"Alright, I get it." He chuckled faintly at her antics, earning a grin back. Had it been anyone else, he probably would have been annoyed. She finished her cookies, hitched up her pants, and beckoned for him to follow her outside.
