The Silence Of Metawin.

Alone Together

He would sooner eat the legs of one of his worst enemies than force them to endure the trials and tribulations of traffic.

He hated traffic that much.

He reached the volume on his radio and cranked the music up. Sweet sounds of Tchaikovsky soothed his ear drums, numbing down any murderous impulses.

The traffic moved along, ever so slowly and steadily, until he could see the cause of such a delay. Ambulances blocked off an entire lane, encircled around what appeared to be a crash. Being nosy came naturally to Bright, but those useless, oversized, life-saving mobiles were blocking the view. From the bits he could see, however, he gathered that one man was being put onto a gurney, while the other figure already laid on one, covered up, presumably dead. Why else would he be covered?

The other man being put onto the gurney was covered in blood and so limp he looked boneless, but he couldn't make out any concrete descriptors to save his life. He could only assume that this man was also dead- there was too much blood for any other option. He had made a lot of kills in his life, and from just a glance he could tell how much blood loss was survivable or not.

There was no coming back from this.

But, oh well. It's not like he knew them anyway or particularly cared. And even if he had seen them in passing prior to this, well, they probably got what was coming to them.

He continued his drive back home, not sparing a second thought to the mayhem he had witnessed.

It was an incredibly rude thing to be late, and Win was well aware of how Bright abhorred rudeness.

Bright had been waiting, with as much patience as he could muster, in the cafe for-

How long had it been?

He checked his watch. Forty-eight minutes. That was almost a full hour. Win showed up early to his regularly scheduled appointments, and he apologized profusely for being five minutes late to their unauthorized 'brunches,' so what was holding him up? He would've called earlier if it hadn't been for the threat of Third picking up his phone instead, as he didn't want to deal with that particular bundle of crazy at present. He also hadn't called because he was too engrossed in the novel he brought with him, but now Win's absence demanded his full attention.

He quickly pressed his name on his list of contacts.

It went straight to voicemail.

Which was odd, because he knew all of Win's ticks, nuances, and mannerisms, and he knew for a fact that charging his phone before he left the house was something he was OCD about.

He tried calling again, only to get the same outcome.

Growing desperate now to see why Win was ignoring him and sending him straight to voicemail (because that had to be the case- Win's phone never died) he clicked Third's name in his contacts, after wondering for a few seconds why he had his number in the first place. It rang a few times before a woman's voice answered.

"Bangkok Hospital, this is Cherry speaking. How may I help you?"

Bright's stomach dropped, but he regained his calm when he realized that it had been Third's number he dialed and not Win's. The theatre nut probably tripped on his ego and stubbed his toe or something.

"I'm looking for a man named Win Metawin, is he visiting Third?"

"One moment please." She had a sing songy voice such as one would use on kindergardeners. Bright liked listening to it. He heard the rummaging of papers for a while before she spoke again.