Eyes of Purple

Chapter Three

Les malheurent- the bad hours. The Fourth is not yet here... but we shall give them a taste. Get ready to face the music, my friends...

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Sunday, 11:39

Someone was sitting in Jeremy's seat, a book in their lap. He had no idea whom, and if they'd had met before, he didn't recognize them. The room was well-lit for so late at night, contrasting dramatically from the dim lighting several hours prior. The stranger had a man's build, square shoulders, and a tall profile. They were wearing a security uniform, minus the hat. Brown hair curled just above his neck.

Jeremy took a cautious step forward, and the stranger stiffened. Taking a careful moment to note the page number, the book was calmly shut- and then thrown across the room. An angered screech echoed through the office.

"If you want to spy on me," a quiet voice mused, "you shouldn't do it before he gets here. Not taking all members of the party in affect- that's just rude."

"Um..."

"Hello, Jeremy," he greeted, not turning around. "You're early- that's good. Never be late, alright? That's dangerous." By now, Jeremy knew this man was probably Fritz. He was the only person Jeremy had met who said such strange and matter-of-fact things.

"D-dangerous? What do you mean by 'dangerous'?"

Fritz slowly turned around in his seat, and Jeremy's breath hitched. He'd been expecting Fritz to be a thirty year-old guy, scars around his eyes, an ever-constant smirk toying his lips.

No.

He couldn't have been more than two years older than Jeremy, at most. Fritz's complexion was paler than snow, smoother than glass, and the dark uniform made his skin look purple. His face was a perfect mask of neutrality, showing no emotion. But those eyes...

His shattered blue eyes told a story of such loss and pain that Jeremy almost couldn't bear to look at him.

"Jeremy Fitzgerald," he murmured evenly, "you have just made a horrible career choice."

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Sunday, 11:53

The poor kid looked just about ready to faint.

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Sunday, 11:54

Fritz had offered Jeremy the chair seven minutes ago, giving the calmest of run-throughs possible.

It was nuts.

"This- this place... Haunted?" Fritz nodded. "How? Why?" The older man looked away for a fraction of a second, expression unreadable.

"Never you mind, my friend. It's my job to worry. All you have to do is survive."

"I don't understand..."

"It'll be alright," Fritz reassured softly. "That's why I'm here." Jeremy looked at him, eyes wide.

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Sunday, 11:57

"You'll help me?" Jeremy's voice was so pathetic. So hopeful. Just... scared, and childish.

He so reminded Fritz of someone he'd once known, he could not bear to turn this child away. Jeremy already had too much in store for him. The least he could do was share some knowledge.

This poor kid. He was going to be scarred as it was. This was why he'd promised himself not to form any more attachments. Being friends with Scott was dangerous enough as it was- but there was something about this boy...

Fritz forced himself to give Jeremy a reassuring smile. "What type of mechanic would I be, otherwise?" The boy rewarded him with the sweetest smile Fritz had seen in four years. 

He was in for it now. Just a heaping spoonful of trouble with their sweet desert of Misery.

This was going to be a long, memorable work week.

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Ready... or not...

There's no say otherwise, sadly.