The Night Shift

23rd Dec

Multiple officials—police and the investigative likes—make their way inside, with a chatty Jed doing all of Frank's talking. His friend really does have a way with words. Officers go in and out of sight, placing little yellow cards to mark evidence every now and then. The two exchange glances periodically, and the acknowledgment of Jed's presence grounds what's left fragmented in his mind. Maybe he mourns a father he could've had; he can't place the feeling; it's unpalatable and multifaceted.

Protocol feels like a blank to him—utterances and recounts of a man now dead in his home. Where were you? Had he been acting strange? There's a lot of questions and not one incriminating answer or evidence to imbue a hunt for the perpetrator. The accusatory air of it all brings forth his worst nature: an angry, hurt creature that swats away all help. A creature of instinct and spontaneity, that being the mental state of the Frank that ravaged that Janitor on the command of a distant whim so long ago. The awaiting gaze of whoever's casually interviewing him terrifies him. Going to jail seemed inconceivable, until now. Frank, albeit with frustration, manages to provide his alibi accurately.

Giving thought to his legion aches his mind; he can't go asking for their help like a kicked puppy after how he's been avoiding them these days... many days. It's been so long, and Frank's ego refuses to crawl back now, even when left with nothing but a corpse. It's eerily similar to that of the janitor in that he takes the brunt of it, but different in actuality.

That guy felt like a one-man job, the legion his audience (despite their reluctant turns taken at slashing), but this was oh-so personal and specific to him. In some sick way, Clive's case is akin to your cat bringing you a dead bird in lieu of love. There've definitely been times he's wished death upon his foster father, so maybe a seed of relief will blossom with time. A sick appreciation for the perpetrator.

The night moves on, snow piles upon snow, growing in stature outside, and tall mounds are now icily endowed with their share of cold weather. Officers bounce around the place, chatting, murmuring, and gossiping like a voice in your head you just can't shake. He glares back at the red and blue lights echoing from the street with a tight grip on the windowsill and listens to officers badmouthing him from the kitchen.

One unimpressed officer huffs, "He'll grow up one of these days," recalling how many times he's had to chauffeur Frank's legion home in his patrol car. The officer shucks off his jacket and looks pitifully at Jed for having to deal with him. Jed only sighs and glances at the delinquent in question, and the officer starts again. "Do you know of any other family members we could contact? To help Frank get back on his feet, that is." Frank scoffs quietly at that, as if they'd offer any help to someone like him in good faith.

"Oh, no." Jed thinks for a minute. "He's never mentioned anyone other than Clive." The two aren't even very well-versed, save for conversations between customer and employee and their one-off starry escapade. Yet Jed masks their inexperience so well, posing as somewhat of a positive and familiar influence in Frank's life, at least to the officers anyway.

"He can stay with me. If he likes."

"You're sure?" Another officer gives him an odd look, nudging his colleague. "I mean, he's old enough to get his own place by now."

"I'm all that's left, really." Jed contests a little fiercely, sure of his decision.

The two cops nod and exchange looks before heading back to what little evidence had been gathered to discuss with the others outside in the snow. Frank watches as they filter out of the building, maybe a little careless in leaving him and Jed alone.

He steps towards Frank slowly and stops only a few inches from his back. He smooths and pats his sunken shoulders, taking advantage of the fact he's facing away. Jed lets his hands linger before leaning in closer to his ear to break the silence.

"How 'bout it?"

Frank has some money, a broken van, and friends (if you could call them that anymore). This enigma is the last bastion of hope he'd turn to. An icky feeling falls in place of appreciation for the offer.

"I don't need your charity." Frank scoffs, his shoulders now tense and stiff. Here he is, left homeless and orphaned once more, two days shy of a cruel Christmas.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jed drones while dragging his fingers along the expanse of Frank's rigid shoulders.

"Jed, you've done more than enough tonight. Leave me alone." He replies abrasively, ducking out of his grip to walk away. No footsteps follow, and Frank's heartbeat pounds in his ears, thinking and screaming to himself.

As he's approaching the front door, Frank's wrist is bound by a feverish grip. "You're not going anywhere. It's too dangerous. Haven't you looked outside?!" Jed nags like a mom, all grabby and impatient. He's right; it's dark and ever-so-chilly outside, save for the warm buzz of Christmas lights and street lamps.

"I can take care of myself." Frank insists quietly before pulling his hood up, bracing for the cold outdoors. He curses under his angry and shallow breaths, kicks rocks, and picks his nail beds in unrest.

In what can only be described as a surprise, Jed accepts the door slamming right in front of him. The way a bird leaves its nest, Frank shall also return to the nest as birds do. Admittedly, Jed hadn't expected such defiance after they'd been doing so well before whatever you could call this. He burns to chase after him, but he doesn't.

The empty house is too quiet now. Jed still lingers in the doorway, but he's propped up against the door and flicking through today's wins. At some point, he picks up his camera, flicking through his impromptu photoshoot. Clive was not a favourable-looking subject. He managed some inconspicuous shots of Frank's blind angles, though. He pauses and zooms every now and then on ones of Frank, sighing and awe-ing to himself (like a teenage girl, but this is definitely a less innocuous crush).

He soon retires the camera, eventually heading out and back into his stuffy black sedan. The radio is blurting obnoxiously normal romantic Christmas songs as he drives home, tapping the wheel absently to the tunes. Ooh, maybe he'll decide to be a little festive this year. Funny. Snowflakes regroup atop his windscreen, trying to settle as Jed parks across from his place.
Sleeping seems like the sane option for tonight. He spares thoughts for Frank; where would he be sleeping? In the snow? An alleyway? Upon a rock?

All because he wants to play hard to get... Well, that's fine; he likes to hunt.