simple twist of fate

by red-starshine

part six: i saw the light

Chas took the six empty beer bottles into the small kitchenette, leaving them near the sink. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't had anything to eat since last night – no, five days ago. No wonder he felt so hungry.

In the main room of the House, John's head was resting on the table, and Chas couldn't tell if he had passed out or not. John wasn't exactly tiny, but he'd seemed determined to work his way through that twelve-pack while complaining how watery American beer tasted.

John was still somewhat of an enigma to him - impossible to figure out, although he had the nagging feeling John had let him in more than he usually did with other people.

The small clock above the stove read that it was few minutes past 6 AM, and Chas decided that an early breakfast couldn't hurt. John's fridge seemed to be decently stocked with the essentials, although some of the fresh produce appeared to be a little on the older side. Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of microwaveable dinners-for-one in the freezer and bags of junk food strewn over the counters.

But the eggs, milk and butter all appeared to still be good, so Chas looked around the cupboards until he found a small skillet and a bowl.

He broke three eggs into the bowl, giving them a quick wisk to break the yolks before he added a few splashes of milk. He melted a small amount of butter in the skillet, trying to coat as much of the skillet as possible to keep the eggs from sticking. The egg-and-milk mixture sizzled slightly as it met the hot skillet, and Chas let it sit for a moment before scraping at the bottom of the skillet with a spatula to scramble the eggs. He sprinkled some of the dried chives and pepper from the spice rack on the eggs to keep it from being too bland – fresh would've been better but John didn't have any. Chas usually made the eggs at home with shredded cheese and a side of buttered toast, but the block of cheddar in John's fridge was rock-hard and the loaf of bread looked like a science fair experiment with all the white and green mold growing on it.

He hadn't realized John had gotten up from the table until he asked, "That breakfast?" sounding like he was about three inches away from Chas's ear.

It took everything Chas had to not jump. Instead, he nodded, taking the skillet off the burner when the eggs were not too runny, not too dry. "Can you get me two plates?"

John went to one of the cupboards and brought him the plates, watching in silence as Chas divided the mass of steaming scrambled eggs into two with the spatula and slid it onto the plates.

"Grab some forks and napkins too?" Chas called back as he carried the plates to the table, placing one where John had been sitting. Grumbling, John brought the forks and napkins to the table, dropping them in the middle of the table.

Chas had gone back into the kitchenette to grab the carton of orange juice from the fridge and two glasses. When he came back to the table with the orange juice, John was poking at the eggs with his fork with a peculiar look on his face. Almost pensive.

"Don't like it?" asked Chas. "I can make something else..."

John shook his head. "Not that. Just..." He paused, and shook his head again. "Don't matter. They look great, Chas." He took a bite, and his eyes nearly rolled back in pleasure. "Jesus. I'd forgotten what it was like to eat something that hadn't been cooked in a toaster or microwave," he said. "These are excellent, mate."

"They're just eggs," said Chas, taking a bite of his own eggs. To his relief, they tasted fine - not the best he'd ever made, but not the worst either.

John smirked. "You cook a lot?"

Chas shrugged. "Yeah. It's a bit of a hobby." When he and Renee had still been together, he'd usually cooked dinner for the three of them, or just for himself and Geraldine on the nights that Renee was working late. Cooking was something he'd enjoyed, while Renee looked at it as more of a chore. There was a satisfaction he got at looking at the food he'd prepared and knowing he'd made it himself, it had turned out well, and that whoever he'd prepared it for would enjoy it too.

He felt a small thrum of that satisfaction as John finished his eggs and downed the last of the orange juice in his glass.

"All right," said John, standing up. "Hate to eat and run, but we've got places to be."

"We do?" said Chas.

"Brooklyn Hospital," said John, his good mood evaporating before Chas's eyes. "Tess wasn't the only person from the fire who'll be needing me services today, unfortunately. " He grabbed his trenchcoat from the back of his chair, shrugging it on.

Chas thought back to what John had said to him in the morgue: 'Three more've been hanging on but won't make it through the night.' With Tess gone, that left two others from the bar fire who'd die today. He sighed.

John pulled out the keys from the pocket of his trenchcoat, selecting one. He stuck it into the keyhole of the door leading outside and twisted. When John pulled the door open, a sterile hospital corridor was on the other side.

"That will never not be weird," said Chas, taking the step from the House of Mystery in Atlanta into the hallway of the ICU in Brooklyn.

John good-naturedly patted him on the back. "You're doing good, mate." He closed the door behind him, and slid the ring of keys back into his pocket.

Chas glanced down the long corridor of rooms, almost all of them occupied by patients who were in danger of dying at any moment. "How do you tell which room's the right one?"

"Someone who's about to die gives off a very distinctive feeling," said John, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It's not hard to pick up on them if you know what you're doing. In fact..." he stopped in the middle of the hallway, a sly grin spreading across his face. "...I bet you could find them."

Chas shook his head. "Me? No."

"Here," said John, grabbing his sleeve. "Humor me for a moment and shut your eyes."

Feeling like he was probably making a mistake, Chas did as John asked.

"All right," said John, lightly placing his hands on Chas's arms. "There are eight patients in the ICU at the moment. Picture eight little golden whorls of life spinnin' round - those are their souls. All of them are very sick and weak, obviously, otherwise they wouldn't be in the ICU. But right now there's one that's sicker and weaker than the others."

"John, this isn't-"

"Don't talk, just listen to me. Can you feel that, Chas? The one soul here that's so much closer to death, frail and wavering, than it is to life, and edging closer with every moment? It's in pain, lonely and frightened, and it doesn't know what will happen, and that fear is growing stronger and stronger as its body starts to fail, organs shutting down." John let out a breath, and Chas hadn't quite realized before how close he was. "You can feel that, can't you Chas?

Chas gave a hesitant nod. As John described it, he almost could feel the life of the other souls in the ICU around him, and the one soul that was quickly unraveling, dying.

"Good," said John. "Then where's our little lost soul?"

Chas thought a moment, and then pointed to a room four doors down.

John turned his head to see which room Chas was pointing at, then grinned. "Very nice, Mr. Chandler. A perfect score on your first try."