The floorboards creaked and popped beneath Honey's feet as she bounced down the stairs and stuck the landing.
If flannel were the ocean, she'd be drowning.
The Trapper's shirt hung loosely off her shoulders, the sleeves long like a lumberjack-wizard's , and the collar wide about her neck even with all the buttons buttoned.
"Smells good," she said as she swung about the banister and into the kitchen, wet curls slapping her in the face.
It was a sad yellowed square of wallpaper, tie-dyed with weather and years. A pan holder hung like a dangerous butcher's rack above a sink full of dirty dishes. He had made an effort at some point to clean a few, leaving them to dry in neat little rows beside the sink.
Marbled counters circled the perimeter with very few accessories cluttering their tops, the absolute bare minimum to maintain a functional kitchen: toaster, microwave, and the same tall cup filled with wooden spoons and spatulas that every household had and never cleaned out.
At the kitchen's heart stood a round wooden table with room for four knights, set only for two.
"Oh! Sloppy Joes! I haven't had one of those in years!" Honey said.
Evan had waited for her to come down before sitting in an unexpected show of politeness. He gestured out to the chair opposite his own with the indifference of an Easter Island head. Honey hadn't waited for the invitation and plopped down into her seat. She kicked her feet as she leaned over the table and grabbed at the pitcher of water he'd planted right at its center.
She inspected it briefly and confirmed it was only water and asked without shame, "Do you have anything else?"
Evan pointed to the fridge.
The chair made a god awful noise as it scraped back from the table and Honey hopped up out of her seat.
The fridge was well stocked with meats the Trapper had hunted himself, stewed up into leftover soups and covered trays of venison. Silver beer cans of indistinct labeling filled the door shelves alongside some jars of condiments, each label a faded suggestion of a brand that wasn't quite remembered enough to copy.
The Entity could mimic only so much of their world, getting the taste right was enough, a brand name didn't matter.
"Ohooo, what's this?" she asked pulling out a slender green glass bottle.
Evan waited for her to turn around, examining the bottle briefly over his meal. "Sparkling cider," he said.
"Sparkling cider?" She asked as she pronounced every disgusting syllable of 'sparkling.'
"Are you a psychopath?"
Evan chuckled.
Honey twisted the cap off anyway, "It's one thing to kill people," she said as she moved back to the table, "this though? This is just unacceptably evil. You are a real monster, Evan MacMillan." She poured herself a glass. Her eyes flashed to his, black like a honeybee, and silently inquired if he'd like some too.
He pushed his cup forward and she filled it a little more than halfway before setting the bottle down and sitting back in her seat.
"Didn't think you had it in you," he said.
"Hmm?"
"King."
"Oh," said Honey, "yeah well, like I told you, natural born killer right here," she laughed and picked up her slushburger. The toasted bun crinkled under her fingertips, meat dripping down it's edges in thick steaming chunks.
"Guess I underestimated you," he said.
Honey smiled at him as she took a bite and made a mess out of her cherry blossom scented nose, chin, and cheeks.
"Yeah you did," she said through a mouthful. She took a few more bites, chewing and swallowing before asking, "Do you like doing them- the trials?"
Evan paused before a bite, "It's what I do," then buried his own teeth into the golden crisped roll.
"Doesn't mean you like it," she said, "what DO you like?"
Evan was quiet for a long moment as he ate. She could see it was hard for him to answer, doing so meant letting her in to a part of him reserved ONLY for him. That meant Honey was no longer a not-friend.
"Art," he said.
"Oh?" She leaned in with interest, red meat stains smeared over her face, "Do you draw?"
"Yes."
"Can I see?"
"No."
"What if I draw you something?"
Evan paused.
"I used to paint a lot when I was younger," she admitted, "once I started working it kind of got hard to keep up with it, but it looks like I'm going to have a lot more of it now between these trials," she tittered. "It'll be fun."
"What did you paint?"
"I watched a lot of Bob Ross growing up, so I'm partial to landscapes. I'm not real good with portraits, I can never get the eyes or hands right, but a cabin on a lake? I got you covered."
Evan listened quietly.
"What do you like to draw?"
"People," said Evan, "monsters..." and thought a moment longer, "bears."
"Who taught you how to draw?"
"I taught myself," said Evan.
"You probably see a lot of bears out here, huh?" said Honey, "I remember a few years back there was one they saw roaming around Paris Street. Probably smart thing to have - the bear traps," she said with a nod towards the foyer just beyond the walls.
"Haven't seen any," he said, "but they're around. You should be careful if you're out late on the Estate."
"Serial killers, psychopaths, and bears - oh my!" Honey threw her hands up in mock fright.
"Have you ever gone outside your estate?" She asked after a moment.
"There is nothing outside my estate," said Evan.
"What about the campers?"
Evan offered her a warning look, not one Honey felt was particularly dangerous, but suggested that she had been right not to take up Claudette's offer.
"I know you're not a people person, but you guys don't ever talk? Not even a little?"
"No," said Evan, "and you shouldn't either. You won't make any friends at that campfire. So don't go looking for it."
"Hmm."
"There's plenty of people here for you to ... get along with." It was a struggle for him to say, but Honey appreciated the effort.
"Like Susie and Jed?"
"Mm," Evan grunted.
"And you."
Evan didn't reject the addition, "You had a lot of friends back home?"
"I wouldn't say a lot," Honey said, "We texted more than we saw each other. People are just too busy, myself included. Guess I don't have to worry about that so much anymore," she said, sinking a bit in her seat.
For once, in all the time she'd been a pain in his neck, Evan saw that cheerfully obnoxious demeanor drop.
"Jed used to work in print," there was a kindness in the way he steered the conversation, introducing people she had yet to meet in an effort to give her some comfort of mind among new peers. "He's got some good stories if you've got the time. Real competitive though, usually has a game of some sort going at those get togethers. Him and Amanda. She's another good one, quiet, not like Susie. If she doesn't talk to you, it's not because she doesn't like you."
"Amanda?"
"Mm. Used to work with a guy, John Kramer."
"I know that guy," Honey said, "they called him Jigsaw. I read about it online. My parents wouldn't let me go anywhere alone for months. Jeez," she grimaced, "I'm super out of my league, huh? It doesn't make sense."
"Easier to not worry," Evan said, "you won't get any answers anyway."
"Yeah," she blew a raspberry and sipped at her cider. "Do YOU have any games?"
"Cards and dominoes."
"You're like a grandpa," she laughed as she stood up, taking her empty plate with her. She politely collected Evan's own and brought them to the sink.
He made an effort to get up and stop her, but she waved him off, "Thanks for making dinner," she said, "least I can do is clean up." She dumped it all in the basin and started the water.
"I still wouldn't want to go alone," she said over the sound of clattering dishes and running water, "you should come with me."
It was strange having dinner with a killer, sharing small talk, and even a few chuckles. None of the skeletons in his closet seemed to matter or take away from the person he had been. Beneath it all, he was still Evan and in these moments she caught those glimpses.
She felt his shadow move beside her, looming at her shoulder with a towel in his hands. She looked up at him, far up at him, and passed him a wet dish.
"You'll have one more shadow-trial tomorrow," Evan said as he dried the platters, pots, and bowls, "after that you'll be alone for them."
Honey's shoulders slouched.
"Come on. It's not that bad," he said.
"For you," Honey pointed, "if I get stuck with Myers again I am s-c-r-e-w-e-d." Then grumbled into the sudsy water, "I'm gonna get strangled to death by a guy twice my age. That. SUCKS."
Evan breathed his usual pause, then dug something out of his pocket and held it out to her.
She examined the offering, a scrap of ledger paper, and wiped her hands on her borrowed shirt before she accepted it between pruning fingers.
"What is it?"
"Burn it before you sleep," he said, "it'll assure your last trial is with me."
Honey gaped up at him.
He didn't return her gaze, focused intently on the job at hand, running the blade of a rather sharp kitchen knife between the folds of a striped dish towel.
"I'm going to hug you."
"Please don't."
"It's going to happen."
She threw her arms around his waist, wet hands leaving imprints at his hip while he groaned in annoyance.
