It’s a quandary I live with day in and day out, but I’m happy this way. I feel that it helps me hone my skills and become better at what I do when I don’t have to worry about getting home “on time” or having a good enough excuse as to why I didn’t come home at all.
Still, the thoughts of Knox finding out where I live from a mere glance at my license sends a thrill through me that I haven’t felt in a very long time. The last person to grace my life as a partner was met with the same fate as any victim tends to do once the nagging reaches a level I can no longer stand.
Unfortunately, it’s just how I’ve been built and I’ve learned to accept it.
The longer the days seem to be, the more at ease I am with myself and my intentions, and when work doesn’t satiate the demon inside of me, hunting does.
Knox needs to stay off my fucking back to stay off my radar, because while I would sooner filet him than fuck him, I keep wondering if maybe he can be something more. Maybe he can be the one that, when the demon does surface, he can caress it, hold it close, and become intertwined with it.
A fool’s wish, I dismiss almost immediately as I enter the hospital and make my way toward the elevator banks.
I’m sitting at my desk, spinning in the chair
. Some nights there are bodies to work with, while other nights are spent waiting for the coroner’s office to drop something off for me. On the nights I’m really lucky, nothing happens, and I get paid to sit in my chair and tidy up the place.
While it’s very far and few in between that it happens, it suits me just fine. It means I don’t have to worry about going to grab something to eat smelling of death and sweat. I spin the chair again and glance up at the clock on the far wall and sigh.
“Time for the ol’ midnight snack,” I mumble to no one in particular as I get to my feet and retrieve my jacket from the back of my chair. I shrug it on, grab my badge, then reach into the top drawer for my wallet.
Using my hands to slick back my hair, I walk out of my workspace and back to the elevator at the end of the dimly lit hallway. It’s almost as if the place itself is Death disguised as an inanimate object.
When the elevator bell dings after ten minutes of waiting, I step in, press the button for the lobby, then lean against the back wall with a smile creeping across my face.
Oh, how true it is.
Against my better judgement, I decided to go back to the diner I happen to be the fondest of. When I walk in, I scan the place through narrowed eyes and bite back a sigh of relief when I don’t see Knox inside.
After his little game of find the predator, I was so damn sure he’d be in here waiting for me.
“Hey, Bodhi!”
I startle ever so slightly and glance to my left, smiling genuinely when I see my favorite waitress walking toward me.
“Hey, Baby Jane,” I reply and she blushes. She takes it as a compliment, even though it’s really kind of a back-handed thing. She reminds me of the title character in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, which just so happens to be one of my favorite older movies.
Regardless, she’s a sweet gal and likes having me around, which is something I’m not used to.
It’s nice sometimes to have someone that genuinely appreciates your just being around.
I also decided after the first couple of times she sat and chatted with me on the nights the diner was empty of everyone except for me, that I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s a good person that looks like she’s almost at the end of her life anyway, so there’s no reason to rush her along.
“Same thing as always, darlin’?” she asks as I follow her to my favorite seat in the joint. I nod as I sit down and she chuckles as she walks away. I know she’s not laughing at me, rather the fact that I’m not very adventurous when it comes to my meals, but I quite like the meatloaf here and I’ve missed being able to have it for the past few nights.
Baby Jane comes back and places a glass of water by my hand and I smile up at her. She shakes her head again as she disappears back into the kitchen and I let out a sigh before I begin to unfold my napkin, then drape it across my lap. I drop my chin into the palm of my hand as I glance toward the front door when I hear it open.
I sit up almost immediately and narrow my eyes.
A young couple, early to mid-twenties, walks in, holding hands, and obviously drunker than they can handle. I watch them as I reach for my straw and peel the paper back, then drop one end into the water, my eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in front of me.
Baby Jane reappears and takes them to a corner table far away from me, and I nod at her in thanks when she glances over at me before she disappears into the kitchen again.
The girl is loud, raucous, and obnoxious. The male is equally obnoxious with his loud requests for “some fucking head” when they get back in the car. I think that maybe tonight, I’ll have to leave work ahead of schedule.
I’ll tell them I’m feeling sick, and it won’t be a lie.
Sometimes, the only thing that can cure this ailment I have is the feeling of blood rushing over my hands.
And tonight, I plan to feel better than I ever have before.