Chapter 11: Playing Happy Families
…
…
It was like something out of a nightmare for both parties involved. For different reasons of course. The situation didn't exactly play out as either of them had expected.
Jeremy felt pretty smug, sitting contentedly on Park's cheap furniture. One leg leisurely crossed over the other as he had a front row seat to Waylon's reaction to his presence in his house.
The expression of genuine horror and shock playing on Park's face was enough to get an amused chuckle out of Blaire. His mood only boosted with every second of terrified silence, a familiar sense of satisfaction pooling in his chest and fueling the return of his ego. Yes, this was something that came naturally, he wasn't rusty at all.
"I'm sure even you must understand I wouldn't make a house call for nothing, Mr. Park." Confidence came easily through words designed to belittle and unnerve. The room was eerily quiet, as Park seemed at a loss for words. The stillness of the room only made the whole scenario all the more uncanny – it felt similar to the few occasions Blaire would meet with someone in the dead of the night to discuss less savory plans.
A familiar, welcoming sort of memory that prompted Blaire to keep talking. Unhurried and calm with his smooth words. Frankly this meeting could not have felt better.
"So for the time being how about yo-"
That was until Park busted Jeremy's lip.
The punch came so unexpectedly that even if Jeremy had noticed Park moving forward he wouldn't have had the time to react. A sudden, sharp crack across his jaw and Jeremy found himself on the floor rather than the chair. He tasted the blood before the pain set in, for the first few stunned seconds Jeremy felt nothing but the impact and trickle of warm blood beginning to ooze out of his lower lip.
For his part, Waylon was clutching the offending hand tightly with his face screwed up in pain while he seemed to be desperately fighting back the urge to start spitting swears. He'd probably broken something in his hand when punching Jeremy, but the former executive had no time to find entertainment in that as his own pain gradually set in.
A throbbing heat began to spread across his cheek and jaw growing increasingly more painful with every passing second as the numbness dwindled away. Growling furiously Jeremy slapped a hand to his face, cupping his no doubt swollen jaw. The two grown men must have looked ridicules, both staring at one another while holding their respective injury.
It took about two seconds for anger to properly register in Jeremy's mind and then when it finally did – he exploded.
"What the fuck did you just hit me for, Park!?" He would have shouted the words had his jaw not been aching so bad and the threat of brining Lisa's wrath down on them ever present. But that didn't stop Jeremy from packing every single syllable with as much venom and fury as he physically could.
"What are you doing in my house?" Waylon's voice wasn't even close to matching Jeremy's furious snarl and instead it went up an octave or two in fright alone.
"You halfwit." Jeremy snarled back, not offering up an answer just yet as he focused more on his no doubt bruising face.
As a string of steady curses – most directed at Waylon – slipped out of Jeremy Blaire, the poor home owner could only sit back and stare. It was like something out of a horror movie, or alternatively, a tragic comedy – having the man he held mostly responsible for a majority of his hardships show up in his house in the dead of night.
A phantom pain in Waylon's stomach reminded him of a time he'd been bleeding out on the entrance hall to the asylum. Jeremy's knife had cut deep – far deeper than Waylon's shock had. Some part of him should have known that Blaire was going to stab him – but he'd stupidly approached all the same.
Maybe it had been the pleading, or perhaps Waylon had simply approached because there was no other way but forward. Even if he'd only intended to walk over Blaire's bleeding body – he had to keep moving forward. His single-minded determination had gotten him out of Gluskin's domain and eventually from the asylum all together – but he'd lost parts of himself along the way.
His artificial foot felt clunky and uncomfortable under him.
With Jeremy absentmindedly spitting expletives in his direction, Waylon finally had enough time to wrap his brain around this bizarre situation. In the dimly lit room Waylon actually needed a few solid seconds of just staring at Blaire to realize something else was very wrong with this picture. Besides all the obviously horrible things.
"What happened to you?" Waylon asked, mouth agape when he really took stock of Blaire's condition. There were marks on him that, while faded, were still prominent enough to startle Waylon. His arm looked terribly, there were large red scars littered along its length and in places it was obvious that a big enough chunk had been hacked off of Blaire to leave a dip in his flesh.
Jeremy's hair and clothing did not fair much better. He obviously had not cut his hair in a long time and the usually slicked back black locks were free and messy, left undone for some time by the look of it. The clothes, while fresh and clean, were just not right on Jeremy Blaire. Suits and nothing else were fit for the corporate man, but now he wore loose casual clothing that looked entirely too cheap for a man such as himself.
There was a heavy tiredness surrounding the once proud man. His eyes that Waylon was so accustomed to seeing staring down at him with distaste or ridicule, were now alert and anxious. Waylon wasn't sure Blaire could see it himself, the way he looked to every inch of the room in rapid succession, as if there was danger around ever corner. It was amazing how Blaire could look so familiar and so unlike himself in the same moment.
Honestly, the man would have to be missing limbs or bleeding out all over the floor to have looked worse. Waylon only had to glance at the bandages peeking out from under Blaire's sleeves to know that he wasn't far off that 'worse' mark.
At the end of it all, Waylon just couldn't have imagined seeing Blaire like this. Not so much the injuries or the unkempt appearance – more just the air of vulnerability. The fact that Jeremy Blaire felt inexcusably human, something about that made Waylon's skin crawl. In all of his time blaming and loathing the man sitting in front of him, he'd never quite seen him as human. To Waylon, Jeremy Blaire had always fit into the same category as people like Gluskin or mad Frank – once human but not quite there anymore.
Looking at him now, he was nothing but human. It was like an illusion had been shattered and Waylon didn't have the foggiest what to do with the remaining shards.
"Is that really any of your fucking business, Park?" His voice still had not lost his venous bite however. Good to know some things never changed. Or terrible, actually yes – that was terrible to know.
Jeremy's eyes narrowed furiously on Waylon finally picking up on the man's horrified expression. Perhaps he was not as impressive as Waylon remembered, but he was certainly still worth more than the little shit stain. It was Sinclair's fault he looked this way, the rotten prick.
Watching with cold eyes, Jeremy was surprised when Waylon shook off the stupid petrified look he'd been wearing for minutes now and tried to straighten himself up. Jeremy couldn't remember a time when Waylon had tried to actively look strong or intimidating – it didn't quite come across but the intention was there.
"If you're going to be coming into my house and wanting my help in the middle of the night, then yes, it is my business."
Again Jeremy was surprised. Waylon's voice almost sounded firm, if he could just lose that slight anxious edge to the words it would almost be impressive. But as it was – Jeremy had to begrudgingly admit that it wasn't half bad for the tech monkey.
"I never asked for your help." Jeremy spat back at him, refusing to admit that he might have been going to ask. The mere idea an insult. "I don't ask for anything. I demand."
"Then you can demand me not to call the police." Jeremy's blood ran cold. "And I'll just go ahead and do it anyway."
There was that choice again. The same choice he'd been fighting with since this whole thing started. It was very simple really – the police, Murkoff or Sinclair. Up until now he'd been leaning towards Sinclair but the memory of the man's empty expression as his bones snapped under a hammer put that far from his mind. No longer an option. That bridge was thoroughly burned.
Murkoff was no better, they'd have him dead in a ditch and his body wouldn't be found for years. The police meant a cell and most likely a sneaky death. Maybe an illness from poison in his food or a riot turned particularly nasty with only one casualty – Murkoff had their claws in deep and Jeremy had no doubt that even a jail cell would inevitably be a death sentence.
Everywhere he looked there was nothing but death. His options were all becoming the same.
That was until he found Waylon. Maybe there was a fourth option presenting itself. Jeremy simply needed to find it and see just how far he was willing to go to get it.
He must have been silent for too long because Waylon began to shift uncomfortably. The man must have been waiting for some kind of answer – what did he expect Blaire to do? Beg? If it took Sinclair hammers and ropes to get it, Waylon didn't have a hope in the world. But…
"Don't." Jeremy muttered coldly. The word came out in a growl but it was a little too similar to a request. He said he made demands only but Jeremy knew that the situation was rapidly falling out of his hands. "Park, don't you even think about it."
To his credit, Park didn't even take a step away from Blaire's icy voice. There was a time a glance was enough to have the man cower just a bit – Blaire missed that. There was another small shift, weight being passed from one leg to another as Park held onto the frail image of authority he'd built up. Jeremy didn't' think too much of the action until it brought his attention down to Waylon's leg, the one that he'd moved weight off of.
"What is that?" Perhaps he asked a little too harshly, too curiously, because Waylon immediately dove for the bottom of his pant's leg to try and pull it down a bit more to conceal what Blaire had seen. Too little far too late. "Lose something at the asylum, Park?" The snide tone would not help his case in the long run but Jeremy couldn't help himself. It felt smooth falling from his lips, an old vice he could still occasionally indulge in.
"Shut up." Park seethed back, his retort would have been more effective had his face not flushed red. It seemed the missing limb was something of a sore spot for him.
With his hand still pressed idly over his bloody lip, just applying a little pressure as he waited it out, Jeremy leant back against the wall and studied Park. "I distinctly remember you being in once piece the last time I saw you in the asylum, Park."
"Yeah? I remember you being all over the damn place."
"Ooh, harsh." Apparently Jeremy's obvious amusement was not when Park had been going for with that remark and the man visibly deflated. Good to know that even like this Park couldn't get the verbal upper hand.
"How are you alive…?" Park asked eventually, shoulders slumped in defeat. If Jeremy had to guess he'd say that the younger man didn't want to talk with him. He probably knew it was stupid to waste his time and breath when he should be calling the police, but curiosity killed the cat and for Park it was no different.
Jeremy didn't immediately answer. He thought about snapping at Park again, saying it was none of his concern how he was still breathing. But he thought better of it and instead fell silent. Jeremy knew that every way he could possibly answer that question ended with the name 'Sinclair' on his lips and he was not quite willing to let that slide just yet.
Of course he could tell Park all about it, unload every frustrating moment or terrifying second onto the other man. But he didn't. When Jeremy looked at Park's face, that stupidly open face that looked at him waiting for something, he remembered the times Sinclair had spoken with him. The fondness that he had formed for the techie, even after he'd been sent to the lower levels, Riley had become closer with Park.
The thought still made Jeremy smirk viciously. He had never quite forgotten the final day of control he'd had over the asylum. Waylon's expression when he'd been caught trying to tell the world about them, still one of his fonder memories. But he also remembered the last order he'd been able to give Riley.
"Did it sting?" Jeremy asked casually, diverting the conversation, avoiding Park's question. He wasn't ready to give that information up just yet, Park might just be sympathetic towards Sinclair and he simple did not need that right now.
"Did what sting?" How Park could be so childishly baffled and easily pulled into a trap was still beyond Jeremy.
His smile twisted cruelly, becoming something more familiar to his own face as he clarified. "When Riley busted your lip."
Park recoiled, just as Jeremy had expected him to. The wretched expression on his face was priceless; Blaire still applauded himself on his final use of the oldest Sinclair boy. It was almost a repeated of what had happened with David. Riley was a fool, getting close to anyone in the asylum when Jeremy had him wrapped so tightly around his finger.
He hadn't protested, hardly even raised his eyes to meet Jeremy's gaze when he was told the situation. It was simple really; he could turn on Waylon or risk losing his brother forever. Of course by then he'd been missing for some time and Riley was at his wits end. All Blaire had to do was dangle the idea of saving his brother in front of Riley and he would have turned on anyone without question.
Waylon was no exception to this rule.
Still Jeremy had enjoyed the mortified expression on Park's face when he recognized Riley's face. He must have seen the blank, impassive expression the guard had been wearing as he hauled the techie to his feet and personally helped drag him down into hell. Perhaps when Riley had hit Waylon it had actually hurt less then the initial betrayal.
Riley had an impressive track record when it came to destroying people's trust. The list got longer with every day in the asylum, his little brother must have just been so proud.
"I'm calling the police." This time it was Blaire who flinched, remembering exactly why he was meant to be on good behavior. Not antagonizing Park.
The man straightened and went for the phone on the bedside table. Jeremy only had a vague thought in the back of his head about Park still having a landline, who used those anymore? But the rest of him was grappling for a way to convince Park not to touch the damn thing. After so many years of twisting people to his will this should not be hard – he was not rusty, he just was not.
But in that exact moment, where he found himself lacking control over Park, Jeremy panicked. He didn't have something in mind to say, no clever threat or promise at his disposal. No collateral or higher power to back him, all Jeremy had right now was himself and his fear.
He did not want to die.
Jeremy didn't want to die yet.
"Park-" The name came out hoarse and frantic. In his desperation to keep Park from inadvertently sentencing him to death, Jeremy released his bloody mouth and reached out to snag the hem of Waylon's shirt. "-please!"
The word he'd spoken on instinct hung in the air uncomfortably. Park had stopped moving, seemingly frozen more by the single plea than Jeremy's bloody hand. Even as humiliation washed over Jeremy, his hand only tightened on Park's shirt. His arm was trembling, up over his shoulders and down his spine – his entire body shook. He was terrified.
Jeremy had been many things, done many more – but terrified he'd only felt a handful of times. Most all of those times came after the asylum went to shit. He was afraid of Walrider, of Sinclair and now – in the most inexplicably stupid turn of events – he also feared Park. They all had the ability to end his life, but he hoped only two of them held the desire. Perhaps Waylon was different, remained unchanged from his time in the asylum – still knew how to be merciful.
Perhaps death would have been easier, less horribly embarrassing than asking Waylon-fucking-Park to be merciful.
Then Park was looking at him, those big eyes of his looking like he'd just seen Jeremy grow a second head. If he had Park might have actually been less surprised. He didn't say it out loud but Jeremy could see the question swimming in his eyes. 'What happened to you?'
Jeremy had a long list of things that had happened to him, but he wasn't willing to give that knowledge away just yet, so instead of addressing the silent question hanging in the air, he simply tightened his grip on Waylon and repeated himself.
"Please don't call anyone."
As if he thought he must have imagined the first time the word 'please' slipped by Blaire, Waylon only looked more alarmed the second time it came out. Jeremy could count the number of times he'd honestly used the word please on his hands, probably on one hand if he was truthful. For a few more seconds they stayed like that, Waylon staring at Blaire like he was some otherworldly creature and Jeremy wishing very much that he could vanish up into the floor.
It didn't seem like Waylon currently had control of his own tongue, so Jeremy began to talk. He refused to register the babbling as what it really – a nervous spiel he had no control of.
"If you call the cops Murkoff is going to have my god damn head on a platter. I don't know about you Park, but I don't fancy dying in a cell because Murkoff had their dirty fucking hands in everything. I didn't make it this far just to get murdered in some convenient accident!" It hadn't started out too bad, familiar spiteful words coming to his mind but the longer Park remained silent, the less Blaire had control over those thoughts and words.
"Park, for god's sake I've gone through enough shit already. Give me a fucking break already. Please just-!"
"What do you expect me to do?" Park barked back in frustration, finally finding his tongue. "After all the shit you've gone and done…"
Swearing on Park was a surprisingly endearing quality. Jeremy glanced up at him, ignoring how the blood on his hand and face had started to become sticky and reek of that familiar metallic tang. He wished it had not become so very familiar to him.
"You…you stabbed me for Pete's sake!" Waylon continued, gesturing blindly at Blaire as if he still couldn't quite believe it and somehow the frantic hand motions would make it sink in more. "Got me locked into the Engine program, the whole asylum was your fault!"
That wasn't true. Jeremy knew that Park needed to have someone to place blame on and maybe he really knew that the corporation more than the man, but to Waylon they might as well have been one in the same. For him Jeremy was the face of the great evil that had wronged him. But Jeremy didn't build that place, he didn't set it up, didn't make the rules or pick the prisoners – he was just doing his job.
Admittedly he took to his job with more glee than what was professional and perhaps he had abused his power once or twice – but he wasn't Murkoff. That didn't clean his hands of blood or shift the blame, but it had to mean something.
"It wasn't." Blaire answered flatly. His shift in tone must have jarred Park further off balance because he fell silent and was once again gaping at Jeremy. "I wasn't in control."
That admission stung more bitterly and deeply than Blaire could have ever expected. Control was a must, it was his one great joys in life and he'd worked so hard to cultivate the control he'd once held over the asylum – but ultimately it was about as paper thin as Murkoff's charitable nature was. How could he be in control of anything when Murkoff was looming over his shoulder, demanding results, demanding efficiency and should he fail – death.
"You think I would have ended up any better off than you?" Jeremy continued bitterly. "You think I was somehow immune to ending up in the exact same fucking position as you? Like it would have turned out any different for me – I would have been dealt with exactly the same as Rick was. So yes! I did those things to you – yes I fucking did, because I didn't want to die. I still don't want to die."
Park was silent. But that expression of shock was fading, slowly shifting into something weary. It seemed he believed what Blaire was saying but now he was doing something that Jeremy hadn't banked on. Park was plotting.
The look was so bizarre and foreign on the idiot techie's face that Jeremy found himself just staring at it. Apparently he had changed in the asylum, maybe not like some others had, but there was a sharper edge to his calculating stare that even Jeremy had to appreciate. Briefly he thought back to the changes he'd seen in Sinclair, the ones that belonged to him – looked like Park had a few of his own. Blaire might have felt some twisted sense of pride had these new emotions and actions not directly harmed his chances of survival. Survival did seem to be a key theme and thought among those exposed to Murkoff's horrors – Blaire and Park were not exempt from this trend.
"You want me to help you?" Jeremy was surprised with the tone Waylon adopted. It was not quite a comfort but there was something there. A lingering offer he couldn't ignore. Park was willing to barter – that Blaire could work with.
"And you want something." The tired executive retorted with a small huff of amusement, leaning back to look at Waylon properly again. No longer clinging to his shirt like a goddamn toddler.
"What is it? Money?" Sinclair's motives again ran through Blaire's head and a small icy stone dropped in his stomach. The hospital bills that Riley needed paid… Blaire was no longer there to give that funding. It probably wouldn't mean the man would die, maybe, probably. Jeremy shivered.
Sebastian would kill him if he ever saw him again. Even if Riley didn't die.
Better not to follow that train of thought for the time being. If he put Sinclair far from his mind, maybe he would stop feeling so on edge. Half of him was still expecting the man to barge into his life at any moment and drag away him kicking and screaming. Yes, definitely best to avoid thinking about it.
"I want you to end Murkoff."
Blaire laughed, because honestly what else could he be expected to do when Park said something so incredibly, outrageously, undoable? Except Park didn't flush or stutter, instead he just kept looking at Jeremy, and the longer he stared the quicker the laughter died in Blaire's throat.
A beat of silence. Oh. Oh. He was serious.
Now it was his turn to gape at Park. The words he'd said were so simple yet somehow impossible to process properly. This was the same company that had gotten away with the things going down in the asylum for the better half of this decade. They'd essentially imprisoned people, tortured them and even forced completely sane individuals into cells on the premise that working there made them insane. Even if that had been the case the company should have been sunk for having work conditions that could lead to insanity so frequently – instead Murkoff worked its way around with nothing more than words, ready funds and more than a few corrupt individuals ready to bend the rules and their morals for a pretty penny.
And here he was, a broken man sitting on the floor of someone he'd tried to kill more than once, being told he should somehow cripple that unstoppable monster of a corporation. Excuse him for feeling a little cynical.
Then, as was typical of the Park he knew, the man started to ramble. It was a nervous habit it seemed Waylon hadn't quite grown out of.
"Look," He began, shifting weight off his artificial leg. "After all that…that shit that went down in the asylum – Murkoff got thrown into the spotlight."
"I mean, I tried to help. Showed them everything I'd recorded – got my family put into protection just at a chance to take down the bastard." Ah, so all of Blaire's efforts to kill Park and silence him with his stupid camcorder were for nothing – good to know. Trying very dearly not to let old habits violently surge to the surface, Blaire kept his mouth firmly shut and continued to allow Park to babble.
"But they're just so big, and before I knew it there were all these people claiming the legitimacy of the video was shoddy. Saying it had to be a hoax, there was no way something like that happened – ghosts and such. Pretty soon everything I'd given them was useless and they burnt everything down to try and cover it up."
Park looked about ready to crack, the stress of what he was saying had obviously been taking its toll on the former computer technician. Perhaps Jeremy understood that feeling, it could be rather overwhelming the first time you realised how truly and utterly insignificant you were when placed up against Murkoff's authority. Perhaps if Park had presented his evidence before the age of photoshop and glorified ghost hunting teenagers – it might have held more sway. But as it was, anyone could pick apart the footage, find faults in the 'plot' so to say. Something that was fake could be made real with enough effort and similarly, though less often, something real could be made to be seen as fake with the same skilled hands.
Unfortunately for Waylon, his hands were skilled with neither falsifying the truth nor debunking a farce. He was not that sly, poor, pitiful, Park – too good a person to get his way.
Jeremy could help him with that.
"What do you expect me to do Park?" The offer was clear in his tone, Jeremy was willing to be swayed if the next thing out of Park's mouth was not utter rubbish. God forbid.
The moment that Park really saw his chance was obvious, his eyes seemed to light up in the dimly lit room and a look of hopeful disbelief played out on his face. Jeremy couldn't help but think he looked like a child wearing that expression.
"You worked there longer than I did. Your name is all over Murkoff, you are important to them-" Jeremy snorted. "-were important to them. If you came out and testified against them it would give more credibility to my claims. It'd be a real blow, even if you never mentioned the more…unusual stuff. Just their embezzlement would be enough to get them looked into again. You'd be the last nail in the coffin!"
"Didn't I show up on that god damn recording of yours Park? I'm hardly a sound voice of reason judging by that alone." Especially if he was going to get locked up for attempted murder. He wondered if the footage of him lunging at Park would be as satisfying as it had been in the moment. Probably not.
"Well…not all of it made it out in one piece. I don't know how durable you can expect a camcorder to be, I think it captured just enough everything considered." How one person could sound so hopeful about all this was still rather beyond Blaire's comprehension.
It would be a lie to say this was a well thought out idea and Jeremy had a number of different complaints and belittling comments to make – but for the time being this was another one of those situations that left him without a real alternative. It was this or have Park throw his ass to the police. In a sense it was impressive that Park was even offering this deal, disregarding everything that had gone down between them personally, Jeremy was still a criminal at this point. The thought of Waylon Park housing a known criminal was, in itself, a beautiful concept to him.
"You want me to blow the whistle?" Jeremy mused, unable to help but find this bitterly amusing. "Alright, Park. Looks like you got yourself a deal."
…
…
Park had been considerably easy to win over in hindsight.
Or perhaps it was dealing with Lisa that gave Waylon such a favorable temperament. Jeremy had been lucky not to have his nose broken the second Lisa laid eyes on him. There was hardly even a breath between the woman spotting him and raising her fist. No surprise, no questions, no fright – just instantaneous action. If he had not been so piss scared she was going to dig his grave with her bare hands, Jeremy might have found that quick reaction to be admirable.
Lisa also was not as easily consoled by Waylon and Jeremy kept himself glued to the back of the kitchen while the couple, talked slashed argued it out. Waylon insisted that this was the best they could do, while Lisa seemed more focused on just how much pain he ought to be in. The argument lasted roughly fifteen minutes but Jeremy felt they'd already reached a verdict within the first five and the rest was just old grievances coming out.
Ultimately Lisa Park did not dig his grave and his nose remained thankfully unbroken.
However it did lead to a very long amount of time spent standing uncomfortably in the kitchen, listening to two people he'd firmly placed beneath himself in the past, talk about his future. Jeremy was willing to bet good money that he'd experienced every ironic, humiliating thing the world could throw at him by this point.
When it appeared no one would be going to bed any time soon, Waylon announced they all needed a hot drink and immediately went about making said hot beverage without even asking what anyone wanted. It was possible it didn't actually matter when nerves were strung this tightly, but Jeremy wouldn't put it past the Parks to automatically know what their significant other would want. As for himself, he was hardly in a position to complain.
It was odd. Jeremy sat decidedly silent at the family dinging table, staring down at the protective sheet they'd put over it just to occupy himself with looking at the odd little groves in it for a while. He had thought it strange that Park would know exactly what Lisa would like or want in this situation but rationalized the some of the best assistance in the world had that same skill. But it was just that, a skill. He refused to think Park had that under his belt, so Jeremy could only assume it was the sort of knowledge that came about when you cared about and focused very closely on one person's desires and needs for long enough.
As he thought about it, Jeremy was all geared up to completely bastardise Park for being so sickly sweet, only to realize this was hardly the first time he'd seen someone do this. Jeremy's hands clenched into fists under the table out of Lisa Park's sight when he remembered the number of times Sinclair had brought him exactly what he needed without being told. However subtle he tried to keep his change in posture, Lisa was a sharp eyed woman and it wasn't long before she picked up on his tense demeanor.
"What happened to you?" Lisa asked abruptly, just when Jeremy had felt confident that silence would be his saving grace.
"Pardon?" A polite word thrown out with such a sardonic tone was no longer a polite word. Under the table his fists remained clenched.
"You look like shit." Eloquent as always. Then she went on to clarify. "Different shit."
"I was unaware there were different brands." Perhaps it was not Blaire's best choice to be so dry with the woman that would more likely skin him alive than turn him over to the authorities. Hopefully her hatred for Murkoff outweighed her distaste for him.
Lisa stared at him for a while. A sharp, pointed gaze that made him increasingly uncomfortable and irritated. She was looking over him, trying to find something that was out of place in his face.
For a maddening second Jeremy became concerned that by just looking at him she'd unravel all his secrets. Like she could see past every chosen silence and see exactly what it was he was running from. His sins had never bothered him, but weakness most certainly did and being transparent to this woman was a weakness he could not afford.
Whatever she found was enough to spur her into speaking again. Jeremy did not know what it was she saw, but when she spoke next there was less venom and more weariness in the words.
"When Waylon came home." She began guardedly, casing a glance to the kitchen where Park was boiling the kettle. "He looked a bit like that."
The comment about Waylon always looking like shit was on the tip of his tongue but Blaire thought better of it and swallowed it back down before he could enrage Lisa again. Instead he settled for a simple prompting, "Like what exactly?"
"Like he was terrified of everything." Lisa replied evenly, staring hard at him again. "Last time I saw you, you looked like everything ought to be scared of you. That isn't what you look like now."
"Yeah, well." Jeremy shifted uncomfortably, not bothering to keep the spite from his words. "That shit hole changed everyone."
She was still staring at him. Lisa didn't say anything for a while but the look on her face suggested that Jeremy had said something she found to be damning. The word 'what' was just about to come out of his mouth when Lisa smiled dryly.
"Everyone, huh?"
His throat seemed to grow tight at the simple hum. Lisa Park had always been slyer than he gave her credit for. Beautiful, clever and terrifying – how exactly Waylon had managed to marry her was a mystery to the world. The way she mouthed the simple word back at him, it felt like he'd somehow spilled his guts to her. Like she knew, somehow she'd really been able to pick through his brain and see just what he kept to himself. Like she might somehow find Sinclair in his head.
And god forbid if he wasn't relieved for the first time in his life when Park broke into a conversation.
Both he and Lisa looked up to see Park struggling over with three cups of what smelt like hot chocolate. Had he not been so relieved to simply have a reprieve from Lisa's prying; he would have berated Waylon's choice of drink. Mrs. Park seemed to take this as a prompt to ease off, at least in regards of that particular conversation.
"So you want to stay here." She drawled, holding the no doubt scalding cup between her hands as if she didn't feel any of it. There was a curse and mocking comment somewhere in there but Jeremy did not dare touch it. He also remained pointedly silent, Lisa had words she most definitely wanted to say and his input was likely unrequired and just as unwanted.
If the vicious grin that crawled onto the woman's face at his silence was anything to go by, that had been either a brilliant choice or a damning one. Park might have struck a deal but Jeremy knew the look of a real danger, he'd seem similar expressions on the faces of other power players and he'd even worn it himself frequently.
"Means you're going to work."
What exactly did this woman expect him to do? He was hardly a man built for manual labor, especially anything that fell into the domestic area of work. A quick glance around the house and Jeremy found himself mostly looking at angles that were far too soft and rounded, everything looked gentle as opposed to the straight, clean cut, hard edges he was accustomed to. But something that surprised him was how clean it all was. He'd expected more mess, kids toys and unidentifiable stains on the ceiling, but the family's home looked prime and proper.
Jeremy only needed to glance down towards Waylon's leg; the one he knew was no longer flesh and bone. He could imagine Park being cooped up for hours in this place with little else to do besides clean and care for his two boys. Even without work, somehow he remained ever busy. Without work Jeremy had been reduced to simply existing these last few weeks. Perhaps work was not such a terrible idea, keep his hands busy and his mind blank, that was something he may be able to accomplish for a while.
"Until I can get into contact with the same people that helped us out the first time." Waylon cut in, offering the words almost like some sort of comfort. With Lisa in the room it was difficult for Park not to play good cop it seemed. "Once they understand the details, we'll get that statement from you and from there…well we'll go from there."
It did tend to get a little hazy after the initial plan but Jeremy knew he'd have to work himself a deal. Play the victim card a bit if he had to, just to avoid jail time for his own crimes under the Murkoff name. He could do that, he'd just have to swallow a bit more pride a little more fear – and maybe there was actually an outcome to this where he lived and stayed out of jail. It was a slim chance but it was a far cry better than anything else he had.
Even with all of the logical explanation as to how exactly he had come to be here, Jeremy's brain still struggled to process the simple scene of he sitting in the Park family home, with a cup of hot chocolate wedged firmly between his hands. There was something very surreal to this and he felt very much like a man out of place.
He wasn't sure how long the three of them sat there, but Waylon eventually moved again. The soft sound of his chair shuffling back briefly caught Blaire's attention and he realised that he hadn't touched the drink placed in front of him. Even the outside ceramic mug between his hands had started to cool he'd been simply staring at it so long.
When Waylon returned, he did not immediately go to his seat to continue the heavy silence, but instead he approached Jeremy's seat. The young man held something out to Jeremy and it took him a few seconds to even realise something was being offered and a few more to recognize what it was.
"For your face." Waylon clarified, holding the damp cloth he'd gotten up a little more. Jeremy could still feel the remains of his bloody lip caked on his face. Most of it had flaked off but there was still enough to be a bother. When Jeremy did not immediately take it Waylon frowned a bit. "Come on, take it." He encouraged and Jeremy laughed.
It was a dry, disbelieving chuckle that escaped Jeremy. This was going beyond surreal and entering territory that was more like ridiculous or cruel. Jeremy wanted to be angry, wanted to snarl at Park for treating him like he was pitiable. But the house was warm, the drink between his hands sweet and the cloth he was being offered, a relief. It all felt too soft and smooth, this type of lifestyle was so different to what he knew. It came close to the way he'd been living the past few weeks, that strange feeling of someone trying to help, but this felt far more gentle than Sinclair's agenda had been.
If the Parks thought his reaction was unusual, they kept it to themselves. And Waylon waited patiently for him to take the cloth and begin to wash away the patches of dried blood that remained. The coolness of the fabric was a relief on his still sore jaw, and Jeremy thought that if he wasn't so blindingly furious at Park for having hit him in the first place, he might have commended the man's left hook. When Waylon took his seat again, the silence continued but Jeremy didn't feel time slipping by anymore. Things moved slowly but he didn't dare try to rush it.
Then, there was a second movement. Lisa stood from her seat, glided across to her husband's side and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Waylon glanced up to her and Jeremy couldn't help but notice the look in his eyes, it was something odd. It looked almost like the expression he'd seen people direct at their life's work. Something strong and infatuated, but there was no hard edge or malice to it, just like everything else in this home – it was soft and tender. Jeremy had no idea what to call it.
Lisa murmured something to Waylon. Jeremy didn't strain to hear but he knew he caught something along the lines of her giving them time or space, something to that effect. Then with a small squeeze on his shoulder, Lisa left. Briefly Jeremy saw her glance his way and he couldn't determine if that look was a warning for him to behave or something concerned. Whatever it was, it was fleeting and Lisa vanished upstairs. It only really hit Jeremy that he'd been left alone with Park again after that.
"Blaire." Waylon murmured his name quietly, as if speaking too loudly would be rude. "If we're going to do whatever…this is, we are going to have to talk about it."
Much like how Waylon seemed to intuitively know what Lisa would like to drink, it seemed that she knew what he needed in a different sense. Jeremy hadn't considered it, but Waylon must have needed to talk about the asylum. To find some sort of common ground with the man he blamed for all his hardships. To humanize Jeremy in a sense.
He'd started to regard Jeremy a little less fearfully after he had admitted aloud that he had no control. There was no way to be in control when Murkoff loomed over you. Waylon needed more however. It would never be enough to trust Jeremy, but if they had a common enemy that would be the first common ground they'd ever found. So for now that would have to be enough.
Knowing this, Jeremy finally raised the lukewarm cup of hot chocolate and let out a little sigh. "Fine, where do you want to start?"
So they began to swap horror stories, and Jeremy couldn't help but notice that Waylon seemed accustomed to this set up.
…
…
"No! That's not how you hold it."
A month. A whole damn month had passed, and Jeremy was still alive. Even more surprising was the fact he was still living with Park. They'd made up the guest room for him, which in itself had seemed strangely kind of them; a couch would have been sufficient all things considered. Lisa hadn't been lying when she said she wanted to put him to work. She went to work during the day and Waylon looked after the boys. Getting them primed for school in the morning and then he became scarce during most days. Always off doing some sort of errands or small jobs he could get away with.
There was some sort of weekly meeting he had to go to and had Jeremy been more interested in Waylon's nonsense, he might have wondered why Waylon was so damn tight lipped about what he was doing on those days. But as it was, Jeremy didn't care about Waylon's bullshit in the slightest. Provided it did not affect him in any way and a coffee meeting was hardly important to him.
That left Jeremy to the house and usually Lisa, the sharp woman she was, left him a list of things to do. Some were outrageous or bordering on impossible. Of course this system of living had only come about gradually. At first Waylon hovered around him all but constantly. It was like having a shadow again and there were moments where Jeremy almost mistook Waylon's looming for the more familiar shadow he had gotten used to. Almost – Waylon was never quite as stifling.
Jeremy wasn't completely sure of what they thought he was going to do if they took their eyes off of him. He had literally followed them home like a lame pup and snuck his way into the house – he was hardly about to bail on them. Stealing anything was pointless in this home there was nothing of great enough value and Jeremy was in no position to leave the home or do anything malicious. He needed that spare room and so he was on his best behavior. They eventually seemed to pick up on this, ignoring how much he glowered at them when they lingered, and Jeremy was left to go about his chores list in peace.
Except for on the weekend.
The first time the children had stayed home for the two days, Jeremy had been placed in the awkward position of dealing with the entire Park family. The boy that had inadvertently lead him here, had been positively thrilled to see Blaire, recognizing him as the stranger from the market place. Jeremy had to make a deal with the boy to keep that little tidbit of information between them – he'd stolen four chocolate squares just to secure to the boy's silence. The kid knew how to bargain and worked up from the originally offered two – Jeremy thought it amusing that a child showed more promise than his father did.
It was currently the fourth weekend he'd had at the Park household and Jeremy had allowed himself out in the open for a while. Usually he kept close to the house, still weary of Murkoff somehow getting wind of him, but the boys were home for the day and there was simply no way to keep them locked up indoors when the sun was shinning. Lisa still had work until midday on Saturday and Waylon was working on the computer. As such the role of baby sitter ended up being passed onto Jeremy – with Waylon keeping an eye on him from his workstation at the window of course.
Jeremy had never been well versed in children's games, and finding things to keep young Jackie and Noel entertained was increasingly frustrating and difficult. Noel was the easier of the two, younger and easily entertained with looking at creepy crawlies in the grass. Jackie – despite his sharpness, which earned Jeremy's approval – was more difficult to handle. Thankfully he did have one saving grace – the boy could not turn down a challenge. So Jeremy had demanded that Park fish out a gold club or something that looked similar enough, and declared that there was simply no possible way that the boy would ever be able to hold it, swing it or play correctly.
His pride was more than enough to get Jackie interested in proving Jeremy wrong, and so here they were on the front lawn – practicing how to swing a golf club.
"Well how do you hold it?" Jackie demanded furiously, looking like he was just about ready to try and snap the rusty old golf club over his knee. Jeremy mused that it might just break in that poor condition, that or he'd have to explain to Park how his son's knee cap had broken on his watch.
"Less like a bat, more like a golf club." Jeremy retorted, every word dripping with condescension. Somewhere at a safe distance from his fiery brother, Noel watched with idle interest. Eventually he'd want a turn as well and Jeremy highly doubted he could hold the club at all – why Park only had a driver of all things was baffling.
"I'm good at base ball." That argument was hardly sound and Jeremy felt that Jackie was sulking.
"Good, because you're obviously not at golf." That comment got Jackie's face all screwed up in anger and before Jeremy could advise against it, the kid had swung the golf club violently. The head of the club hit the ground and Jeremy watched with faint amusement as the boy tore up a chunk of earth with the ferocity of his swing. The slab actually went flying an impressive distance before smashing into the fence and sliding dejectedly back to the earth it'd been uprooted from.
"Ha!" Jackie declared, turning to look at Jeremy with a victorious grin on his face. "Told you I was good."
"Really not how golf is played." Sighing, Jeremy took one look at the boy's stance and rolled his eyes. The boy looked like he'd make a better footballer than he would a golfer.
"Golf requires some restraint." Jeremy began to instruct while taking the club from Jackie's hands and giving a single practice swing. It was terribly old and the build was not to his taste but Jeremy's form was not rusty in the slightest. "You have to get the ball to do what you want it to, go where you want it to go. Sometimes that means being gentle, rather than using brute force." He handed the club back to Jackie and began to reprimand him on his terrible grasp. It took some tweaking but eventually Jackie was holding the club less like an axe and more like the golf club it was meant to be handled as.
"Your father should have taught you this." He added with a lamenting groan when Jackie very nearly took up another bit of the lawn. It was an improvement that he missed, so Jeremy would take it as a victory. He still told Jackie to put less force behind it, aim above the grass as if he were hitting the invisible ball.
"He taught me how to swing a bat." Jackie grunted before swinging again, this time a little less roughly. "He also showed how to swim." He continued, taking another swing that was a touch higher, more like he might actually make contact with the ball had it been there. "And dad taught me how to ride a bike! You know, dad stuff."
"Right, dad stuff." Jeremy echoed dryly. His droll tone must have been of more interest to Jackie than the practice was and the boy took a moment to look at him curiously.
"Didn't your dad teach you?"
The mere thought got Jeremy looking at the kid like he was a complete fool – the same look he gave Jackie's father. His father had not in fact showed him how to do any of those things. Base ball was not on his skills list, swimming was a very low on that same list and riding a bike was hardly an important skill. He could, but only because he'd had a bike and what was the point of owning something if you couldn't use it. He'd taught himself, no need for the old man to get involved. Come to think of it, he may had experienced quiet a few more scuffs and bruises during that learning period – but no more than what was normal he was sure.
"Lets just focus on making you a not a terrible golf player." Jeremy finally decided not to give a real answer to Jackie's queries and the whole procedure started over again.
As smart as the boy was compared to his father, Jackie still suffered from those strange, sentimental questions that people seemed so fond of. He didn't need his old man to teach him anything, he was more than capable of doing that for himself. His father brought him into the world and kept him alive until Jeremy was ready to survive himself and then sent him away to school – the man's role was fulfilled.
Despite this Jeremy did find himself observing the Park family a little too frequently. The boys were prone to rattling off pointless facts about their day and asking Waylon the strangest things, and stranger still was the idea that Waylon seemed to indulge them. A lot of the time it almost seemed that Waylon enjoyed the boy's distracting him from his coding work to chatter happily about the days they'd had and the ones to come.
Jeremy thought this was all rather bizarre, but he remembered very clearly the day that Jackie had come home from school in a wretched state. He'd been trying not to cry, putting on a brave face as he told his father that some little shit had picked on Noel. He'd very firmly asserted that Noel was his little brother – only he could do the bullying! Jeremy had been in the kitchen at the time so when Waylon ushered the scraped up boy in to wash his grazes and gets some bandaids, Jeremy found him in the strange position of sharing the same living space as a child on the brink of tears. He could not remember being here before.
Curious and at a loss for what else to do, Jeremy had asked Jackie about the situation. With Waylon out of the room he felt comfortable asking out right. It was amusing to see Jackie check to make sure that his father was really out of earshot before turning to look up at Jeremy with the cheekiest smile he'd ever seen on a child's face. Then with a bold smugness that Jeremy thought was reserved for adults, Jackie told him that he'd made the other boy cry.
The words were whispered like a nasty secret and Jeremy couldn't help but indulge Jackie. He played along, asking just how Jackie had managed that. The cheeky brat had replied that it was easy, he knew that the other kid was prone to bed wetting and threatened to scream it out loud to all the other children if he made fun of his brother. He then added with a beaming expression, that he did just what Jeremy suggested – exploit a weakness he knew of.
That had been a new feeling – pride in someone else.
When Waylon returned with bandaids and gentle comments, Jeremy had watched with silent amusement as Jackie put on a good show for his father. With the scrapes taken care of and Jackie now smug with his accomplishments, the night had progressed normally enough. Jeremy did make a small note to himself however, should that little shit's name pop up again he'd have to give Jackie something a little more substantial to deal with a bully. It was simply in his best interest to keep the kids happy, happy kids, happy Parks – continued room to sleep in.
He most certainly didn't care if Jackie got bullied or not. That would be absurd.
That thought was firmly pushed into the area of his brain that harbored all 'absurd' thoughts. There right along side with anything that had to do with Sinclair.
It took them about half an hour before Jackie really started to show fatigue and Jeremy was mildly satisfied with his progress.
"We'll get that daft father of yours to pick up some golf balls next weekend. Then you can show me if you can actually hit the ball." There wasn't a scrap of praise in those words but Jackie still positively glowed. Jeremy never thought that maybe the kid had enjoyed their practice and was looking forward to the next weekend. He simply took the boy's good mood as pride in his achievement on moving from having no real ball to try and hit to actually being given a shot.
"Jackie, Noel!" All three glanced up upon hearing Waylon calling for his boys. "Come on, your mother's bringing lunch." If a challenge was the second best thing to motivate Jackie, then food was the first. In an instant he was dashing up towards the front door, abandoning the club where it fell in his haste. Jeremy followed after, picking up the discarded club as he trailed behind.
"Noel." He added more firmly when the younger boy seemed too distracted by the ants he'd found to come in and eat. "Hurry up." Noel somehow always looked tired to Jeremy but he got himself up and wandered over to join him.
Thinking that was the end of it Jeremy turned to continue back towards the house, only to come to a jarring halt when he felt a tiny hand slip into his. Alarmed he glanced down at Noel who only blinked back up at him in that silent content way of his. His first thought was to pull his hand away, but then the brat might start bawling, so begrudgingly Jeremy let Noel hold his hand as they walked to the house.
"Noel, I-" Waylon had reappeared to call for his slower child a second time, only to see Jeremy leading the boy by the hand. Park just stared at Jeremy in a way that had become very familiar to him. Sometimes Waylon would look at him like he'd just done seen impossible, and for whatever reason this time that embarrassed Jeremy.
As he passed Waylon by the door, Jeremy fixed him with a very pointed glower. "Say nothing." He snarled under his breath and continued inside, taking Noel to the family dinning area. He'd been content to dump the kid there and go somewhere else, to be anywhere but with the Park family.
Lisa caught sight of them the second they entered and for a terrifying second Jeremy thought he was about to lose the hand that Noel was holding. Thankfully Lisa did not physically lash out at him but she did call Noel away, over to the table. Letting out a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been hanging onto, Jeremy turned away to find a place to put the club.
"Where are you going?" Lisa demanded in that sharp way of hers, causing Jeremy to tense up in alarm.
"What do you mean, where am I going?" It was difficult not to add a rude comment onto the end of that. He valued his tongue and Lisa might just cut it out.
"Lunch is here, Dummy." She sounded very much like she wanted to use a more offensive word but there were children present. "Sit. Eat." Lisa demanded, laying out a fifth plate for him and Jeremy was too shocked to really refuse. Shocked and hungry.
This would be the first time he actually sat down and ate with the Park family. Jeremy figured he ought to take this as some sort of peace offering and so he sat down to eat lunch with them.
…
…
While doing one of his more favored chores, washing up, Jeremy was interrupted by an anxious looking Waylon. Honestly he tried to ignore Park, wait it out until the man was ready to speak while he fidgeted in the doorway. It lasted about five minutes, where Jeremy simply continued with the washing and Waylon struggled to muster up the courage to speak.
Jeremy was deep in his thoughts about how pathetic the Parks were to not have a working washing machine. Everyone in the house had taken to trying to fix the damn thing but after they'd inadvertently made it spite black suds, it was decided they'd just get a new one. For the time being Jeremy was washing plates. At night Jackie would help him and Noel would sit on a stool, wiping the plates and cups dry. Those little sessions were particularly amusing, because Jackie seemed to hate the chore almost as much as he loved gushing about his day to a less than interested Jeremy. It was the only chance he got to do it, so he begrudgingly did the dishes. Slowly of course, which annoyed Jeremy, but it was a small price to pay for having a second set of hands. Jeremy liked to think that Jackie would have made a good employee one day.
But not for Murkoff. Never for Murkoff.
Trying to ignore how furious and uncomfortable the thought of Jackie working for Murkoff made him, Jeremy focused intently on a small sticky bit of something on a plate. So much so that he forgot about Park standing there and hearing him clear his throat damn near startled Jeremy. Realizing that he'd forgotten Park was still standing there like a fretting school girl, Jeremy sighed a quiet curse and turned slightly to acknowledge him with the soapy plate still in his hands.
"What?" He demanded shortly, and Waylon most definitely flinched.
"W-Well…" He began uneasily. "We're having friends over tonight and I just thought you might like to know. I mean I don't know if you want to be around and it might be uncomfortable."
Jeremy lofted a single brow at Park. "Are you going to lock me under the stairs like Harry Potter?"
"You know what Harry Potter is?"
"I'm a bastard, Park. Not a god damn alien." He must never know that Jeremy had never watched Harry Potter in all his life. But the boys liked it and so he caught bits and pieces.
Shaking off whatever insult or amusement he might have gained from that comment, Waylon gave Jeremy a look that was equal parts pleading and stern.
"Look, I'm only giving you a heads up because I can't see any part of this going down easily with you." Jeremy would have contentedly hid up in his room if he'd been told guests were coming by anyone else, but Park danced around it and worded everything in such a way that made Jeremy want to step on his toes. So he figured he'd meet Waylon's friends and see just how uncomfortable it would make him.
"I'm asking you to be nice." Waylon finished with a frustrated sigh. "That's all. It's almost six, so they're-"
"You decided to tell me this just before your guests arrived?" Jeremy asked derisively. "That's ill thought out even for you, Park."
"I didn't think of it, I just thought!" For some reason Waylon seemed rather distressed about this. Did he think Jeremy would just be flat out rude to strangers? Jeremy may not be the sweetest flower in the garden but he was a far cry from uncivilized. He could get through meeting strangers and small talk easily enough – it was easy to fake sincerity.
"I just thought I should give you some warning." He continued miserably and something in the back of Jeremy's head began to swing red flags furiously. Something about this was just a little off. "So that you don't say something." Definitely red flags.
Jeremy quietly and quickly ran over all the possible people that Waylon might have brought over. A small ridiculous part of him suggested that maybe it would be Murkoff or some sort of official – but even Waylon was not that suicidal so the thought was quickly discarded.
"Park, exactly who did you invite over?" This was not his home, Jeremy had no say in who Waylon invited inside – but sometimes Waylon reacted in ways that suggested otherwise. Like the guilty act he was currently preforming.
"Well I…" Too little too late, Jeremy sighed when he heard a knock at the door. Waylon straightened and called a quick answer back to the door. He then looked imploringly back at Jeremy and it looked like he was tossing up between a number of different pleas in his head. Finally the poor techie settled on. "Be nice."
Then Park vanished out the kitchen door and into the hallway, to answer the door. Lisa must have been upstairs, most likely getting ready for their guests and Jeremy wondered if Park had been this untimely in telling her about their guests.
Figuring he was practically done with the dishes, Jeremy pulled the plug and began cleaning himself and the sink up while keeping an ear out for Waylon's voice. It was easy to hear him stumbling over his apologies about the delay.
"Sorry, sorry." Waylon laughed in that meek way of his. "Thanks for coming over, did you pick up the order okay?"
Take out food then. That was fine, Jeremy had come to have a new appreciation for fast food which he had never indulged in when he was still with Murkoff. It seemed beneath him at the time but now it was easy, quick and surprisingly good in just how bad it must have been for him to eat.
"It's fine Waylon." That answering voice was annoying, Jeremy thought idly while lifting plates up into the cupboard they belonged in. "We got it, are you sure they don't know your order off heart by now?" The more he heard that light voice filtering in through the ajar door, the more Jeremy felt his teeth grind. It was so annoying, infuriatingly so. That voice was so agitating and he couldn't pinpoint why it annoyed him on such a base level, it was like- Hold on a second.
"Well…maybe." Waylon was admitting sheepishly and Jeremy heard the door pushing forward a bit more and sets of feet moving inside.
"I'm just teasing. Relax, its nice of you to invite us over." The world must have hated him. Jeremy damn near dropped the plate he was putting away because it just couldn't be. He had to be hearing that wrong.
In an effort to reassure himself that he'd become delusional, Jeremy left the sink, ignoring the suds still on his arms and hands as he dashed out into the hallway. The conversation died away in his ears but the buzz of two annoying voices were still talking as Jeremy all but slid into the hallway and into view. The very second that he made an appearance, it seemed that all three of the people at the door became aware of him.
Waylon looked at him with both alarm and grief, like he wished he could hide Jeremy away before everything went to hell. Jeremy was beginning to feel that as well as he saw who their guests were. Standing in the doorway, looking right at him with the same surprise that was on Waylon's face – were the Sinclair boys.
Jeremy saw the exact moment when it sank in for Sebastian that he was looking at Jeremy-god-damn-Blaire, the man's surprised withered away and his eyes narrowed on Jeremy.
"Oh."
