Phantom of the Apartment

At Odds

Jason pressed his hands to his temples and sighed. The situation was getting to be far too strange for his liking. "I could honestly do without all these complications."

Thomas frowned, looking as though he was picking apart a difficult puzzle. "Alright. Alright, there's no reason for concern."

"Besides the omnipotent stalker barista," Rebecca remarked.

Thomas frowned. "I think you're exaggerating the situation. In all likelihood, he's not omnipotent. Just observant. Look, think this through. What do we know about Ronan?"

"That he's creepy?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of objective fact," Thomas said, "but thank you for your input, Jason. No, what we know is that he knows a lot about ghosts, how to spot them, how to disappear, and that he managed to slip paper into all of our coffee. See what I'm getting at?"

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "So you think he's a ghost."

"I think it's a possibility we can't ignore." Thomas said. Jason smiled slightly, in spite of the news. Something most people didn't know about Thomas was that before he has wanted to be a zoologist, he had desperately wanted to be a detective. He had devoted a majority of his youth to solving any puzzle or mystery he could get his hands on. Every now and again, bits of the more analytical Thomas seemed to poke through the joking, carefree exterior. And when it did, events that made for good stories often followed.

"What are the odds of that, though? I mean, really. Me, Oswald, and Ronan?" Rebecca asked, jerking Jason from his thoughts.

Thomas shrugged. "There are a lot of dead people in the world."

"He does have a point," Jason remarked.

Rebecca sighed. "I can't believe this. Is anyone else secretly dead? Jason?" Jason shook his head. "Thomas?" Thomas raised two fingers to his neck and paused. His eyes widened, concern flickering on his face. Jason rolled his eyes and moved Thomas's hand higher up. Thomas relaxed instantly as he located his pulse.

"Nice going, science guy," Jason muttered.

"Hey, I might have died in my sleep. How would we know?"

"Look," Jason said, ignoring Thomas. "I think we're thinking about Ronan too much. He doesn't seem to be a threat." Rebecca raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Fine, he doesn't seem to want us dead. How about that?"

"Better."

"Either way, we should focus on Oswald. Isn't that why we came here in the first place? Regardless of how we got it, we have new information on him. Let's use it."

Thomas put up a hand. "Slow down there, pal. This is a scouting mission. We're not doing anything serious until we've looked through the area. That was the deal."

"Look, I just want to get this over with."

"Then let's go," Rebecca said, standing up to gather their things. Thomas made eye contact with Jason and shrugged, joining her. Jason sighed and reassembled the coffee cups and placed them in their tray.

I doubt these hedges were made for this, Jason thought as he slid awkwardly around the bush to get to the space behind. Rebecca had gone to scout the building quickly before they took their placed. No use waiting for Oswald if he was already there, and she had been the best one to send, for obvious reasons. Jason continued his valiant struggle against the bush for a moment more before finally reaching the cleared space behind. He flopped to the ground, surprisingly tired. Beside him, Thomas tripped slightly and stumbled the rest of the way through the hedge, taking a few unfortunate branches with him. He sat down smoothly, trying to recover some dignity. The effort was rendered useless, however, as Jason began to laugh. There, poking out of Thomas's hair, was a twig with a single leaf. The way it's green was awkwardly juxtaposed against the red hair struck Jason as humorous somehow. Thomas rubbed his hands aggressively through his hair, trying to clear it. Unfortunately, this only made Jason laugh harder. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the stress. Whatever it was, he found himself laughing until he couldn't breathe over the little leaf. Eventually, Thomas joined in as well. Moments later, Rebecca drifted easily through the hedge and fixed them with a look laced with judgement.

"Honestly," she said, "I stopped for a half a second to look at the building and both of you go mental." Her comment did not deter them. No, it was a several minutes before the laughing fit finally subsided, because each time one of them stopped, they'd make eye contact with the other and start again. Once they finally calmed down, they tried to organize their inventory of junk food and caffeine. Then they waited.

And waited.

The sun fell below the horizon, but every time Jason felt even the slightest edge of exhaustion, he took another swig of his energy drink. His hands shook and his limbs felt jittery, but he stayed awake. Stayed awake and waited.

And waited.

And then it happened.

Rebecca was the first to notice. She jerked upright, slapping Thomas on the knee to get his attention. He snapped out of a energy drink-induced daze and looked around. "What? What happened?"

     Rebecca shushed him violently and pointed at a silhouette moving on the sidewalk across the street. Jason sighed. Probably a false alarm. It was a city. The chances that this was the guy they were looking for were slim. Then the silhouette walked into the pool of light under a street lamp.

     You've got to be kidding me. The man standing there matched exactly to the pictures of Oswald Smith that Jason had seen. He would know, of course. All three of them had spent hours memorizing the photos, making sure they'd know him when they saw him. Tall and muscular. Balding blonde hair and a permanent scowl that was visible even across a street. Crooked nose, wide shoulders, big ears. A simple list of features that seemed so common place, but somehow twisted when applied to him. Like a monster masquerading as a man. He was the type of person who you would see walking down the street at night and instinctively know to run away from. This was probably why it stuck Jason as so ironic that they were planning to do the exact opposite.

     He looked toward the others. Yes, they had seen the same thing. Rebecca sat still, strangely stoic. Thomas looked pale. For all their preparation, Jason knew that Thomas had never expected them to actually see Oswald. After all, what were the odds that they'd just so happen to see the murderer on their second stake out? One in a million?

     However, it was becoming quite apparent to Jason that, when dealing in the matters of ghosts and monsters, words like 'odds' and 'probability' lost a lot of their meaning.