Hunk Garrett was standing on his balcony, dressing gown tied tightly around him as he watched the gradually growing darkness around him. He watched the stars appear above him, noting the constellations he knew and could see, and seeing if he could invent his own images from the clusters of stars.
Then he looked down and saw something he wished he could forget. There was a figure, covered in masses of black fabric that left it's frame unrecognizable, something scarlet and suspiciously blood-like soaking said clothing.
He considered going to the police as he quickly ducked inside and hoped he hadn't been spotted by the hurriedly dashing figure. But he then began to reconsider. He had a few friends, Pidge and Keith, who had been witnesses to a crime before and had gone to the police only to be treated as suspects until the culprit was actually caught.
He knew he couldn't deal with that, that the anxiety would come rushing in and he would breakdown and make himself seem suspicious even though he wasn't. He began to panic more and more, quickly convincing himself heading to the police station was an awful idea and he shouldn't go through with it.
He just hoped no one had been murdered.
He woke up the following morning and went about his day as normally as he could with the nagging fear and anxiety stirred by the previous night refusing to leave him be. He sat down at his small dinner table in the dimly lit kitchen with a bowl of cereal before him, large spoon in hand and slippers on his feet.
Just like usual, he drowsily punched the power button on his TV remote and watched the old box slowly sputter to life. Static noisily flashed across the screen before, bit by bit, the news flickered on. That's when Hunk felt his heart stop and drop to his feet as though it were a rock. His prayers had not been answered.
"Gruesome murders of husband and wife on the outskirts of Garrison City. The MO matches that of a serial killer recently active in the Caribbean though it is yet to be determined whether the killer is the same. More on the story as it develops."
Hunk then decided it might be a good idea to consult a friend on which course of action he should take because turning a blind eye didn't seem so okay any longer. He dressed quickly, leaving the house after almost forgetting his keys and feeling like he probably looked as though he had gotten dressed in the dark (which he admittedly had) to stop at the coffee shop Keith worked at so he could ask his friend for his opinion.
Keith was strange in the way that, when it came to his own life, he was rash, impulsive and made bad decisions, but, when it came to friends, he was helpful, thoughtful and considerate. Though Hunk did have to wonder if he'd have any advice for that particular, very strange situation; it might be pushing even Keith's boundaries for weird and best left alone. As far as Hunk knew no one had ever so much as approached that boundary before. He wasn't all too eager to be the first to try.
He fumbled his keys as he locked the front door that always squeaked like an aggravated cat before dropping them all together. They clattered across the floor and, as he went to pick them up, the door to the apartment next to his opened.
From behind it, his new neighbour stepped out, empty boxes piled high in the tall strangers arms. He placed them down, moved a strand of brown hair from his dark blue eyes and picked up Hunk's keys before Hunk himself got a chance.
He suddenly let out a warm, good natured chuckle as he saw the keychain of that picture Hunk and all of his friends had taken at graduation where they had pulled the most ridiculous poses they could fabricate on the spot. It wasn't quite the miracle he needed, but it did calm Hunk down considerably. So, when the keys were handed back to him, he responded to the lopsided smile with an open grin.
"Hi,' the stranger smiled wider as he took Hunk's hand into a firm handshake "I'm Lance. I guess I'm your new neighbour!"
Hunk returned the favour and introduced himself.
It was only a moment later he found himself being ushered into Lance's apartment. It was clear he really hadn't been there for very long: he was mostly unpacked but there was the odd box here and there still taped shut and labelled in Spanish, not to mention that Lance himself smelled clean and fresh and beachy but the apartment didn't smell of anything at all.
They walked past the entrance hall and the pictures hung on its walls - the family photos that let Hunk see a fairly large family without a father and a smiling kid who was presumably Lance who wore shorts and a t-shirt in every one that left the bright plasters on his legs and arms visible, as well as an embroidered welcome sign also written in Spanish - into the small living room.
Hunk was seated on the small sofa and handed a cup of tea and store bought cookie, both of which he graciously accepted, while Lance seated himself, cross legged like a child, on the armchair across from him, nursing his own tea. He placed his cup on an upturned box that seemed to be functioning as a coffee table and clasped a cushion against his body. As he moved the sleeve of his jacket rode up and hunk could spot a bright plaster on his wrist. He supposed some people didn't change.
They sat and talked for a while over the gentle rumble of the washing machine in the other room.
"So, where are you from?" Hunk asked when a lull cropped up in their conversation.
"Cuba," Lance responded with a nostalgic sort of haze passing over his face "as you can see, there is a lot of Spanish around here,"
"There is," Hunk agreed "but I'm surprised, you don't have an accent,"
"I grew up in Varadero - it's a tourist hotspot. I was always an extroverted kid so I'd try to speak to them a lot, and I was always getting hurt so they helped me out a few times, I guess I picked English up pretty young,"
"I guess you did,"
Hunk sipped his tea and looked about the room, eyes catching piles of books that had yet to be given a place to sit, so just stood, stacked in the corners. He noted there were a few reoccurring themes in the titles of those that were in English - crime, flight and space travel.
Sitting in this stranger's apartment, Hunk had completely forgotten the reason he had left the house and it was probably best he had because it was almost as though he had been relieved of a great weight.
After an hour that seemed more like ten minutes, there was a firm knock at the door. Hunk turned to look in its direction but Lance just ignored it, everything about the action very much deliberate. He turned his head as though looking out of the small window that acted as a gateway between the building and the expansive city below.
Then there was another knock. The words "This is the police," accompanied it. Still, Lance made no move to answer.
It was then that Hunk suddenly caught a glimpse of Lance's mildly distorted reflection on that window. And he was sure that wasn't Lance.
It wasn't his face. His eyes were smiling not cold and cruel. His smile was goofy and lopsided not wide and chilling. He conveyed an attitude of welcoming friendliness not an off putting one that made Hunk very eager to escape his vicinity.
Mere moments later the police broke down the door to an empty apartment.
No one knows what happened in that abode nor what ever did become of Hunk Garrett after that day…
A/NI don't know quite why this got kind of dark (it's not that bad, especially by my standards but I still don't know where it came from) but it did. I also don't 100% know why I made the decisions I did but I did so…All the best,~We'reAllABitOdd