Imperfect Chemistry// Calum Hood

Chapter Six

Ask an impertinent question, and you are on your way to the pertinent answer.
–Jacob Bronowski

It takes almost a week of observation, watching out my peephole and listening for his car coming and going, along with carefully posed questions at various locales throughout campus that Calum frequents. The time and effort is well spent on learning a few important things about Calum Hood.

For one, there isn't a horde of females coming and going as I was led to believe.

There is one female, a tall blonde, that goes to his house occasionally, stays a few hours and leaves. I suppose she could be a girlfriend of some type, but he never leaves with her so the odds are likely they are not exclusive. The observation makes me feel better. The thought of being one amongst many isn't enticing. Perhaps Jazmine's rumors are wrong—which I find likely—or perhaps he went through a phase of s.exual independence but has now moved on. That theory is much more appealing.

He also leaves the duplex to go to class, and I am able to obtain his class listing from the school registrar, but other than that, he's generally at home and he's generally alone. It's interesting. He moved into the duplex last semester and I seem to remember him having people over—not enough to disturb me excessively—but he was socially active. During the summer months, he was gone, but since this semester began, I don't recall seeing anyone over there except last week's visitor.

I know he has friends. In fact, when I trail him around campus, he's acknowledged or spoken to by approximately one out of every three people he passes. Despite this, his social calendar seems to be as sparse as my own.

The most important thing I discover during the week of observation is that every Sunday morning, he goes to get coffee from the stand that opens outside the library at seven o'clock. Even more important: he leaves his door unlocked. I'm not sure why he does this. It seems illogical to put your possessions at risk, even for a short time. If I were criminally inclined, this would be the perfect opportunity to sneak in and steal something of value.

The only variable I am unable to anticipate is whether he brings his phone with him. Looking out my window and through the peephole in my door isn't enough to ascertain whether he puts his cell phone in one of his pockets when he leaves. If so, he may be able to use that to call for assistance when he gets locked out.

But there's only one way to know for sure.

On Sunday morning, I set my alarm to wake me up at six thirty. Like the week before, he leaves his place at six forty-five on the dot. As soon as he rounds the corner at the end of our little alley, I bolt out of my house to his door, open it, reach inside and turn the lock then shut it again. I double check to make sure it can't be opened, before running back inside my house.

Then I wait.

Per my calculations, which I obtain by walking the distance myself, it takes six minutes and seventeen seconds to walk to the library from the duplex. On average, it takes two minutes thirty-four seconds for the employees at the coffee stand to make the drink and obtain cash for the purchase. That means I have at least fourteen minutes and fifty-one seconds of pacing. Longer if he walks slower or there are other's in line before him.

It takes fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds for him to return and I watch through the peephole as he attempts to open his front door and fails.

"What the—?" He tries a few more times. Finally, he puts his coffee on the railing that runs against the porch and pats down his pockets.