Uhhhhhhhhhhhh

Cedar Creek 
#1
He had made it to outside Cris's door.

He had no idea why or really how he had made it here, but it seemed the end of a road he could not trace backward.

He also had no idea what to do now he had arrived. There was a medium-sized temptation to just lie down outside and pass out for a couple hours. He knocked dully on her door instead, though.
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#2
An unexpected knock on her door after dark was a big giant fucking nope. It woke her, a work-forced early riser nowadays.

Her eyes shifted to blue in the dark, trying to determine if this was a supernatural issue or just a regular drunk asshole.

Either way, she rose reluctantly from bed to head toward the main area of the house, but she wasn't going near the door.

"Fuck off, you're at the wrong place!" she called probably loud enough to wake the neighbors.

For good measure, she was digging through her backpack to find a gun that shot literal fire, crouched and staring at the door like some kind of wary monster.
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#3
At least she was home.

Too slowly, he formulated a response to the muffled shout inside. It's me, he almost yelled. "It's Devin." He knocked again.
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#4
What the fuck.

She paused from her rummaging, staring as the door so intensely she should have been able to see his tall, stupid outline through it.

Why was he here, at her house, in the middle of the night. (Maybe not the middle, but she hadn't exactly checked the time.)

There were dangers here. This was unexpected, not even announced via text. She was alone, and he knew that. This was a shitty part of town, and he knew that.

She didn't really have very many people in her life, and he knew that.

Cris decided against the ridiculous fire gun in favor of a pocket knife, something to hold folded in her hand to soothe her paranoia.

Eventually, she approached the door, unlocking and opening it just enough to make to clear it was openable at all.

Then, she backstepped, determined to keep some space between them until she figured this out.

"Are you fucking drunk or something?"
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#5
He loomed in the doorway, looking grubby and spooky and sort of like he was on the tail end of a bender that included more than alcohol. She stepped back from the door like he was going to come in and take a swing at her, which unreasonably made him a little angry.

He didn't move, just stood there looming and glowering. "I don't know."

There was a small part of his brain left intact somewhere that thought it probably wasn't a good idea to start a fight instead of asking for help, but it didn't have its shit together enough to do any good here.
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#6
Maybe something worse than alcohol, then.

Cris felt very small in her own apartment as he just stood there, and she gripped the closed knife in her fist.

"You need to start explaining right now. Multiple sentences. Go."

Some part of her felt a compulsion to avoid his eyes, as if he might somehow have become a vampire and also an impossible to sense vampire.

That was real fucking stupid, but she kind of looked through his face anyway.
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#7
More glowering. He was angry, at her, for being sort of mean to him, but more than that he was scared of the answer to her imperative. Also, multiple sentences was going to be a stretch.

It was impossible to put together while looking at her, so he closed his eyes. "I was supposed to get off work at seven today."

Okay. Good start...please continue. "I don't remember getting off work. Or going anywhere. I don't know where my car is." (He really needed to find his car.)
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#8
He did as he was told, and she appreciated that.

But the answers weren't what she wanted to hear. In his defense, Cris wasn't sure anything would soothe her.

That in particular, though, was unsettling.

"Lock the door behind you," she said, the kindest way she had to invite him in. She approached the light switches on the wall, flicking them on to offer more than the sketchy glow of the light she always left on above the oven.

"What's the last thing you remember before leaving work, and the first thing you remember after?"
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#9
Relief burst in his chest alongside more worry as he was allowed inside, and his head bent down as he went through the locks. He had made it somewhere safe, which was a feat that felt monumental.

He took his time turning back around to face her. It was hard not to feel she was going to know things if she looked at him under good lighting.

He did turn though, wiping at his eyes and looking over at the couch. His arms crossed. "Can I just."

Can you just what.

"Can I just take a shower first. Or get some sleep."
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#10
Shower and sleep. Like he was living here now.

She was quiet for a long time, frowning at him. Thinking. Trying to pull answers from his face and hair and clothing.

Something about this wasn't adding up, and she couldn't tell which of several gut urges was the correct one.

Cris could lock the door to her own room. She could sleep with a gun near the bed.

More staring. More thinking. Eventually.

"You're going to answer every question I have tomorrow when I get back from work."

Or fucking else.

"There's towels and soap and shit in your bathroom. I'm going to bed."

Though she didn't move just yet.
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#11
She just stared at him, and in return he stared at her couch, then at the floor. Then she gave him another imperative that solicited another glare, as if she was insulting him and not agreeing to the thing that he had asked.

He was not sure what was there inside him under this superficial anger; he only knew that whatever it was, he didn't want Cris to see it.

He broke the eye contact and moved past her, down the hall.
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#12
So this was happening.

She kind of wanted to yell at him about rent, but some small part of her knew better.

Something was wrong with him. With whatever had happened to him. In her gut, maybe, she definitely had a sense of what might have happened.

Whatever. She wouldn't learn about it until tomorrow. That meant it didn't matter. Or something.

Cris let him go, grabbing her bag of violent bullshit and heading into her own bedroom a few seconds later.

She locked the door behind her, leaving the bag beside her on the bed as she threw herself into the mattress.
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