TECHNOCYTE: BEYOND HUMAN
BY: SAINT
THE MAN'S MYSTERY
A door opens towards the inside of an apartment as a figure walks inside trailed by another. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Beatrice said glancing back at her guest. The person in question hesitantly walked in behind her, eyeing the scenery of her home with a nervous, analytical gaze.
It was quite clear this man was a bit wary of being invited into her home like this. And she would be lying if she said she was thrilled about having some strange man with above human physical capabilities in her home. She made a mental note to give Jay an ass-kicking before she continued. Her voice was stern and laced with irritation.
“Relax, I’m not going to kill you. At least so longs as you don’t give me a reason to.” She said that last part as she turned from him moving further in her home whilst waving him to come in further. She moved towards her kitchen, dropping her black bag in one of the bar stools at her island and going to the fridge to grab a drink. The man stood in the center of her living room right across from the island and glanced around, still somewhat uncomfortable with being here. She spoke to him while she pulled out a canned beer from her fridge. “You hungry? I have leftover Chinese,” she asked the man. He spoke somewhat quietly.
“No, thank you,” he responded.
“Suit yourself,” she said as she leaned on her kitchen counter drinking the beer before regarding him with an analytical look. ‘This guy looks like literal garbage, smells like it to.’
Her thoughts then drifted back to the interrogation, the notebook, and Jay suggesting to take this opportunity to figure out more about this man when he threw the responsibility of watching him on her. ‘Just what secrets is this man hiding.’ The man noticed Beatrice staring at him and looked down trying to hide his blush and how uncomfortable he was feeling at her watching him.
“U-Uhm,” he uttered. Before he could say anything she suddenly spoke out. “You look like shit,” she said bluntly before walking out of her kitchen and taking a left down a hall and into one of the first doors on her right. She disappeared into the room for a bit and while she was gone the man took more of a look around.
He walked around the living room. It was quite average. Carpet flooring, a small table in the center with a few photos on it, one of what he assumed to be her and her father and another one with her and the other man she was with interrogating him. He regarded the photos with a look before moving on. There was a black leather couch with white decorative pillows on both ends of the couch right behind the table. A few art pieces on the walls behind her flat-screen TV, two large pots with faux plants next to her TV, and a large window to the left of the television with a nice view of the city outside.
The man stared out the window for a bit taking in the city lights with wonder. Beatrice returned from the room holding a small maroon towel with a larger matching towel under it in her hands. She walked up behind the man, catching him by surprise before shoving the towels into his chest.
“Shower. Now,” she simply said pointing towards the hallway she just came from. “First door on your left.” She then turned and went down the hallway as the man stood there watching her walk away. He moved into the bathroom where he found a plain white shirt that looked like it would be a bit tight on him and some grey sweats on the sink counter. He removed his tattered old clothing, regarding them with a stare before tossing them aside, sliding the glass shower door open, and stepping inside.
Beatrice sat in her room, lying back on her bed. A small dog sleeping soundly next to her as she stared up at the rotating fan on her ceiling lost in thought. Her mind kept going back to the man who now occupies her bathroom and his journal. She hated not having answers to a mystery. She frowned, thinking on something before getting up out of her bed, careful as to not wake the sleeping puppy next to her, and moved into the kitchen. She walked up to the black island and moved one of the stools to grab her bag. She dug through it till she pulled out the journal. It was held shut by a leather clasp that was also held closed by a small lock. She moved to glance back down the hallway to make sure the man was still showering before going back to her kitchen and rummaging through her drawers for something to pick the lock. She managed to find hairpins discarded into a random drawer and begin picking the lock.
‘Haven’t done this in a while so hopefully…,’ she thought. After 5 mins she managed to get it open. “Bingo,” she uttered. “Now, let's see what you are hiding. She removed the clasp and opened the book to find. “Nothing,” she uttered. “The hell?” She flipped through the book somewhat vigorously but most of the pages were either old and worn therefore hard to read or were missing.
She finally stopped on one page with just one simple message written out. Her brows furrowed at the writing scribbled haphazardly in large black ink. ‘FORGIVE ME ANNA!’
She stared at the message for a bit before the sound of a door opening pulled her out of her thoughts and startled her. She quickly hid the journal before looking down the hall. The bathroom door was opened but the lights were off. She moved into the hall and glanced inside before flipping the switch. The bathroom was pretty much empty save for her items that were usually there. She flipped the switch before calling out.
“Hey, the hell did you go!?” There was no response. She started getting a bit suspicious. She walked back into the living room and over to her bag and removed her pistol. She slid it in between her lower back and black leggings and covered the hilt with her hoodie before moving down the hall cautiously. She first checked her room. Her dog remained sleeping on top of the white blanket. The ceiling fan was still going. Nothing seemed out of place. She then moved further down towards the left side of the hall to another white door and opened it.
She peered inside her laundry room. Nothing was there apart from her white-colored washing machines on the left and some of her clothes hanging on a wooden horizontal pole on her right. She continued down to the final room and heard someone rummaging inside.
She slowly opened the door and peered into the room scanning the area. She spotted a figure standing in front of a bookshelf within her study looking down at a book. Its cover was worn leather, and, on the spine, she made out in gold lettering the name SHERLOCK.
The man stared down at the book cover reading the name. SHERLOCK HOLMES. He doesn’t know why but he feels a sense of familiarity with that name. He opened the book and began reading. After a minute he heard the door to the studied creek open and jumped, quickly hiding the book behind his back. Beatrice was leaning against the door frame. Her hands were placed into the front pocket of her white hoodie. The brunette was staring at the man in her study who looked like a toddler who gut-busted stilling cookies out of the cookie jar after mom told him no.
“I, uh,” he began.
“You like Sherlock Holmes,” Beatrice asked the man who after pulling out the book from behind him and staring at it for a bit nodded his head.
“Yes. I mean I’ve never read it before as far as I can remember but.” Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
“It’s something familiar, yes?” The man looked at her nodding.
“Yes,” he responded.
She regarded his appearance for a moment. His lips weren’t dry and flaky, his skin was still somewhat pale, but he didn’t look as sickly as before, his hair looked cleaner, but it was still in a curly mess which bothered her, there was also some slight stubble apparent on his face. ‘Overall an improvement but could be better,’ she thought to herself. “You can have it,” she said waving her hand lazily at him. The man looked at her in surprise, his eyes gaining a slight sparkle she hasn’t seen in them before.
“Really,” he asked her. That child-like wonder returning to him again. She found herself smirking unconsciously at his excitement towards having the book before quickly returning to her cold demeanor.
“Yeah, sure knock yourself out she stated before walking out. She stopped momentarily and glanced back at him.
“There’s some sheets and blankets in the washroom. You’ve got the couch.” She walked out of the room and shouted, “And I hope you that garbage bag you were wearing out!” The man took the book he had and went to the washroom to retrieve both the sheets and blankets as well as his original clothing out of her washing machine and went into the living room. He got the couch set up for himself, although he felt like he wouldn’t be sleeping much, and put his old rags into a trash bag that he sat at his feet end of the couch. He would take it out in the morning he told himself. He laid back. Pulled out the book and began reading. For some reason, he felt happy.
