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What a fucking weird guy. I sit on the edge of the bed and just, take a second with my panic. I can’t really compute what just happened. In the last twenty minutes, or the last few hours. It’s… a lot.

Six

Sawyer

I trudge up the stairs, lighter fluid still burning the insides of my nostrils and fatigue starting to make every step harder than it should be. My knees strain under the climb and I’m so ready for my bed. I’m so tired I feel sick. That could be the emotional comedown for all of whatever this is.

I can’t even start to process any of this evening, there’s just too much. I can barely remember the instructions, even though I read them back. But I’ve remembered to burn the clothes, and I remember Dan making me recite “fire fucks forensics.” I think the rest of it was basically just keep my mouth shut.

I get to my doorframe to check on him and well he’s still there. Lying somewhat peacefully, with his good-side arm behind his head. Damage-side down by his side. He’s on my fucking sheets. I said he could use my en suite, not steal my bedroom. Not spread-eagled naked on my bed. My stomach sinks once at the thought of mine and Dan’s bed being inhabited by another naked man. And twice at the thought that he might have just died. He’s so still.

Slowly I creep closer, a step at a time. It takes about four steps into the bedroom before I see his chest subtly rising and falling. Okay, not dead. That’s one hell of a relief. My nerves are shot. Then I see her, between the pillows and partially squashed by Mr Killer’s head. Reddy Bear. I don’t know where the courage came from, but something in my head decides in that exact moment absolutely not so I creep closer, round the other side of the bed. I am not having Reddy Bear desecrated by this foul man.

And then without warning, eyes. Glaring at me. I feel like I’m being choked, and I just freeze.

“I… my… bear” is all I manage. The newfound courage disappears as quickly as it came.

One single nose-breath, a tilt of his head and Reddy Bear is free, and I scatter. Like a spider that’s been disturbed, out of the room and round the doorframe. I pin my back to the wall. And catch my breath, breathing in Reddy’s scent. The scent is now tainted, it’s no longer all-Reddy, there’s a hint of murder man in there. But it doesn’t stop me.

I eventually make my weary way to the spare bedroom and flop onto the bed. Face first, bear in hand. I’d love to say I had a lovely night’s sleep, but I didn’t. It was a series of interconnected light naps, interrupted by flashbacks of the night, of Dan, and interludes featuring what my imagination thinks is happening to Dan right now.

In one of these not-sleep interludes, the room illuminates when my phone receives a notification. Closing one eye and dimming the brightness because my eyes just can’t take it, I focus on the notification. It’s a news bulletin from a national newspaper.

NATIONAL MANHUNT UNDERWAY AFTER DOUBLE MURDER

I skim the article, it’s pretty light on details beyond “active and urgent investigation” and the usual plea for information they give out when they’ve got not much to go on. It does, however, mention that the shootings were in Bedford, about thirty minutes from where I live.

That’s… probably unrelated, right? Loads of people live near here. It could be anyone, what I find weird is they say they’re treating it as an “isolated incident” which is usually code for “organised crime” or, as they would call it, “shit on shit”. They also describe looking for a couple of people who should be considered “armed and very dangerous” and urge the public not to approach. I try to push down the churning in my stomach, I’m probably just hungry. And let’s be honest, if I get picked up here there’s really nothing I can do, so there’s no sense in stressing.

Harry’s been playing this game for years and never ended up in cuffs, so he obviously knows what he’s doing to some extent. Plenty of his accomplices have done hard time though. So maybe he’s exceptionally good at throwing other people under the bus and keeping himself kosher.

A few more uneasy naps later, the scent of bacon wafts up the stairs and a pang of hunger reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. I make my way downstairs and am immediately greeted by the mountain man. Sitting at the table doing, exactly nothing. Forearms on the table with his fingers interlocked. His hair swept back effortlessly, a single lock falling forward. And still, completely naked. There’s no evidence that he’s had bacon. The smell is there, but there’s nothing. Everything is spotless. Maybe even cleaner than I left it.

I must be hallucinating, I can definitely smell bacon. I for sure want bacon, so I head to the fridge and offer an overly friendly “Good morning” and get absolutely no response, but undeterred I try again “how did you sleep?” he doesn’t even look up. At this point it’s just rude.

After searching the fridge no less than three times, I’m confused, and that confusion turns to rage as my conversation with the naked man unfolds.

“Did you have bacon?” I ask, as politely as possible

“Yes”

“Where is it?” I enquire, staying as calm as possible

“Gone” still monotone

“Gone where?” it was a fresh pack, why be so cryptic? Just give me something

“Eaten”

“It was a brand new pack”

“Correct”

“So where is my bacon?” the frustration starting to drip through now

After a pause, and another deep breath through his nose he simply adds “Are you familiar with the process of eating?” and that’s it. Steam billows from my ears, and the hanger bites

“Are you familiar with civilisation?!” I fire at him, immediately remembering how dangerous he is as soon as the words escape me.