Jailbird Tango

Part 1 - Whispers in the Rain

I cut through a side street, not quite dingy enough to be classified as an alley. The housing units down this way were a little unnerving in the twilight.

There was one, an old and run-down grey brick house, that had boarded up windows. I don't think I had ever seen the door open. Often if the sky was cloudy, the brick walls almost blended with it. Even the greying tin roof had a small amount of moss and rust covering it.

My sister once claimed that she heard a man mumbling, almost as if he was reading a story to someone. Yet, I had never heard anything. My best friend has said that she has seen a man in a trench coat who always had his head down. It meant nothing through. Trench coats were common enough, hell – I was wearing one.

I had left my headphones at home, so I was forced to listen to the sound of my shoes slapping against the pavement and the distant sounds of one of the families in one of the units arguing with each other.

Rain began trickling down and I hugged my jacket closer to me. My backpack was getting heavier with each step. Why did Laura have to be working late? Why did I have to walk an hour from the station? Because the universe and I were obviously not in agreement.

Each step got louder as I walked down the rapidly darkening street. The sounds of cars were almost distant, shrouded beneath rain. My feet slapped against rapidly forming puddles. It was like there was something off, not quite right.

Even the neighbours that I walked past stopped arguing. It was too silent.

Suddenly I could hear mumbling. I wanted to speed along, get out of this street and continue on my way. There was something, almost a compelling force. I stopped.

'The Host watches as Evan stops walking through the dark street. He is covered in rain, standing still with a trench-coat similar to the one worn by the Host.'

Did that voice say my name? Was he reading to someone? With a deep breath and a shrug I pushed on, closer to the end of the street...

'The Host watches from his open doorway as he walks closer. He wonders if Evan is scared, his shoulders are hunched.'

I bit my lip nervously as the mumbling grew louder. The house at the end of the street, as grey as it was, looked slightly different. The windows were still cracked and boarded up...the garden was still dead... the door! The door was open.

Inside the doorway, there was a man sitting hunched over on a stool, so that only his trench coat and a mysterious puddle were clearly visible. It was like he was looking right at me, but I couldn't see his eyes. He was the source of the voice!

'He takes an unconscious step closer, to get a look at the Host. The Host hopes that his face cannot be seen, even though he can see Evan. He leans closer to the small fence, asking –'

'Who are you!?' I yelled over the trickling rain, hearing him say in his endlessly calm voice, the exact same thing.