Birdeater

Chapter 5

Blair never let anyone into his house. Florence standing in his living room only reminded him of how filthy everything was.

He tried to clean up while his neighbor was distracted. Florence was sitting on the edge of the couch. Any further back and he would have fallen into the broken seat. He was hunched over the low coffee table. He peeled back the pages of Blair's notebook one by one.

There were other materials scattered around. There were some photographs and news articles that Blair had printed off at the library. At some point it had been clipped together.

Blair picked up his cups and bowls. He put them in the sink and ran some water to start soaking the crusted bits. He picked up his clothes and threw them into the bedroom. Florence wouldn't be going in there.

Not if you don't invite him.

His own thoughts mortified him. His bed had not been made since he bought it. His floor was a wasteland. He slept with the window open and everything smelled like dirt. He would never. Could never. Not with Florence...

He could only imagine the look on Florence's face. Just imagining was enough to crush him.

"What do you do for money?" Florence asked. He looked up. Blair stared at him.

"What?"

"Money. How do you pay your rent?"

Blair rubbed at his neck. "Um. Why?"

"It's just that you clearly spend so much time on this. I was curious."

"My dad." Blair cobbled that explanation together. "He helps. And I do some freelance writing."

Florence nodded and went back to the profile.

"What about you?" Blair just blurted the words out.

Florence sucked on his cheek but didn't look up. "I inherited money when my grandfather passed."

"Oh." Blair had run out of small things to pick up and now he didn't know what to do. Just standing there felt creepy. Sitting next to Florence felt wrong. "So, what do you think of the profile?"

"There is a lot to it." Florence finally set the notebook down and leaned back. The couch swallowed him up. He didn't quite let his shoulders touch the back. "Do you really want to know what I think?"

"Yes." Blair said quickly.

"I don't think you actually want to finish it. I don't think you want him to get caught."

Blair blinked. "Excuse me?"

Florence tilted his head back to look at him. "Well, he is your purpose right now, isn't he? And if he's gone, then what gets your attention?"

Rage burned in Blair's chest. He swallowed it down.

"You need him to live." Florence continued. "You need him to keep killing. If he goes away, and the FBI continues to not a give a shit like always, what happens to you?" There was something hard in his eyes. "What happens to me?"

The front door blew open. A breeze banged the screen against the frame.

Blair sat up. Somehow he had ended up face-down in the couch. All his blood was in his head now. It throbbed.

He didn't remember leaving his door open. He couldn't remember if Florence had been there or not. Everything was hazy.

He didn't remember falling asleep.

He was still wearing Florence's turtleneck. He peeled it off on his way to the kitchen for some water. The tap didn't run cold enough. There wasn't any ice in the freezer.