Spirit Of The End

Stranger once more #2

I'm welcomed home by the savory smell of chili. I crudely get rid of my shoes and melt into the sofa. I still can't get used to that Arnold Schwarzenegger built man in an apron.

"What did you do today?" I hear a voice behind me.

"Work, then I went to Wells with a friend," I say. I make my way openning the TV drawer to browse through my DVD collection.

"Did you take the SD card at Mac's?" I interrupt my search, remembering what Leon told me.

"There's a file I needed," he says nonchalantly.

"When did you take that? I didn't notice it when you forced me out of work two days ago, also that's a crime! You really shouldn't go around invading people's homes and stealing SD cards, laptops or credit cards, you know." I shake my head in disapproval.

"I picked you up, then I went back to the store to get the SD card."

I nod. "But why? What did the file contain? You seriously have to give it back. I think my coworker was pretty frustrated about it..." I've rarely seen him show any negative emotion but still, I of all people could tell. He's been my closest friend since I moved here.

"Money, a wild card of sorts." I frown. My stomach gurgles, so I head for the kitchen. He serves me a plate of chili, rich with beans, ground beef, and a hint of smoky paprika.

I sigh way too loudly. "Just, give it back when you're done." To that he nods, with no care in the world.

I take a tortilla chip and dip it into the chili.

Again, the food is very good. "What kind of movies do you watch?" I'm now tired of playing detective; I might try again later tonight. For now, I'm pretty sure he is not a threat to me, so I might as well create a false sense of normalcy.

"Mmh, a little bit of everything. I like martial arts movies that also contain comedy."

"Mmh, that's very you. I like fantasy, you know, getting lost in the lores." He lifts his head to look at me for a second and keeps eating. His expression softens.

"Would have thought you'd like grimy action, like thrillers and lots of gore."  I add.

"I don't mind them but maybe not on a random tuesday, Halloween's a good time though for that. My sister and I watch Friday the 13th every Halloween." He responds..

There's something else on his mind. "Want to watch something?"

He must have noticed I was looking at my bluray's. The ideas seem fun. "Sure, but we need popcorn and a drink."

"Fair enough, the guava—I soaked them in water with baking soda, you can eat that too, they're in he fridge."

I choked on my water after registering what he said. "Okay, thank you." I end up responding.

I didn't expect that at all even with all the dosmestic chores he's been doing.

::

I'm sat back on the sofa because he won't let me do anything in the kitchen. He might just be human, feeling a sense of guilt from roaming at my place. Still, I feel like I should do something, or it won't feel like my turf anymore.

Examining my surroundings, I see the floors shine; they've been swept, washed, and waxed until they gleam like polished marble. The windows are free of any stains, letting in the soft, amber glow of the evening light. The room smells incredible, a blend of cleanliness and something comforting. He definitely disinfected everything, but all I smell is the Oated Vanilla candle my father gave me. Its familiar scent wraps around me like a warm hug. And, of course, the ready-to-eat guavas that are now displayed on the small center table. They are fresh, softly aged, just like I like them, their sweet fragrance mingling with the vanilla in a way that feels both homey and indulgent.

::

We're watching Revenge of the Sith. More precisely, I'm watching Revenge of the Sith while the stranger works on both our laptops. It's odd; he's never sat on the sofa or even next to me before. When we eat, I sit at the kitchen table, and he stays up, leaning against the counter, gazing off into some distant thought. He never faces me. Most of the time, he looks at the ceiling with that expression people wear when trying to recall details from a long-forgotten story. He is always preoccupied.

When we're not eating, he sits with his back against the wall on the futon, far enough that I can pretend he's not there if I really want to, but close enough that we don't need to raise our voices to hear each other.

He speaks in short, clipped sentences, and even when he's typing, his padded Lenovo keyboard makes barely a sound.

He doesn't leave any belongings here. In the bathroom, I've never seen his toothbrush, his clothes, or his towel. No soap of his, nothing. Yet, he grooms himself meticulously; he's always clean-shaven and doesn't emit any kind of smell.

He reminds me of a maid—one that's slightly scary and might steal your belongings now and then—or perhaps some sort of homely ghost.

The microwave beeps; the popcorn is done.

::

I've been coming in and out of the movie, I love the cinematography but the situation in which I am in doesn't give me the luxury to relax completely. My bowl's half  empty, and the corner of my lips stings.

"The popcorn made my mouth dry." The stranger turns to me, and I can somehow tell he's said something to me silently, in his head. But all he lets out is, "I kinda feel like lemonade." We only have apple juice; it's late, and we ended up drinking cold water. He looks up. "Want to make lemonade?" I'm surprised; it feels like a sleepover, and it's been ages since I've been to one.

I'm happy with the idea, and he seems to understand. He gets up quickly, as if he hasn't been sitting down for more than half an hour.

As he leaves, he asks me to wait for him. I wave goodbye.

The door closes. I stare for a moment. He's never let me stay inside with his gear laying around like that. I guess it's time to investigate.

I lift the screen, greeted by a black void. Of course, it's password-locked. Ugh, what could I even try? Hmm, maybe... I hope this isn't it, but I try my luck.

<Ben>

<Bennie>

<Ben Bennani>

Not it. I mean thank goodness.

Bzz Bzz. A notification on my phone.

<S.T.E corp's Spirit of the End>

<Destroy the guest's laptop>

<Deadline> <today 20:00>

<Accept><?>

<900$>

-><?>

<Are you sure?>

<Yes> <No>

-><Yes>

<Understood>

<S.T.E corp's Spirit of the End. Thanks you for your prompt response>

<Goodbye>

I inaudibly scream in frustration but come back to my senses.

I focus back on the screen. The phone's buzzing again, a persistent vibration that gnaws at my concentration. I glance at it, expecting another message, but nothing new appears. Instinctively, I place it closer to the laptop. Suddenly, the screen flickers, closing momentarily before flashing black and white. The laptop does the same, a synchronized dance of shadows and light.

I'm in! This occurrence only happened once before, a fleeting memory that I had almost dismissed as a glitch. My heart races, a drumbeat of excitement and fear. The screen before me unlocks, revealing a desktop cluttered with icons and folders. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. One thing at a time, Ben.

I begin with the folders, each one a potential treasure trove of secrets. My fingers hover over the trackpad.