Page 18 of Play Dirty

By the time I got back it was well after dark. The house was too quiet. I knew it the second I stepped inside. And this wasn’t the peaceful kind of quiet you longed for at the end of a hard day, either.

No, this was a strange, wrong quiet. The kind that creeped you out more than just a little.

“Hello?”

There was no answer as I slipped off my coat. For once there were no footsteps overhead. No low hum of constant movement, or distant voices. Looking back through the window, I saw that every car was gone. It was something I should’ve noticed when I pulled up, but somehow didn’t.

And I usually noticed everything.

Carrying my groceries, I moved into the kitchen. I searched for signs of life, for anything at all. I figured there should something, at least. Maybe even a note.

But there was no note. No message.

Nothing.

And somehow, that bothered me even more.

Arms folded, I leaned back against the counter and allowed myself to pout a little. Then I opened the fridge and cabinets, and set to work putting my groceries away.

It was slow going, but I somehow managed. The packed fridge was full of small opportunities where I could combine things to create new space. I made my own space, somehow. I organized a little corner I could call my own.

When I finally stepped back to admire my handiwork, I felt somewhat better. I had a foothold in the kitchen now. It was small, and narrow, and tucked into one questionably clean corner. But still, it was a place all my own.

Satisfied, I went about cooking the one thing I knew better than anything else: instant ramen. I boiled some water, ripped open a flavor packet, and went about working my magic. I added more spices, a sprinkle of chili oil, and a few leaves of baby spinach that curled instantly. By the time I’d chopped some green onions and cracked a pair of eggs into it, the house was filled with the delicious aroma of cheap, but wonderful comfort food.

I sat down with a bowl, just as Sir-Cleans-a-Lot fired up his motor with a ferocious electronic whir. He swept back and forth across the kitchen a few times, before bumping into the leg of my chair.

He paused there, pressed lightly against the wood like he was studying it, or maybe daring it to move. Eventually he rotated into the chair directly across from me, bumped into that, and stopped again.

Extending my leg, I pushed the chair back an inch. The little robot rolled happily forward, slipping neatly through the gap I’d just created.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.

The front door opened, and I heard a single set of footsteps moving through the house. I turned in that direction, still paused with the next forkful of ramen halfway to my mouth.

Sebastian stepped into the kitchen, his cheeks still red with the cold. His eyes darted first to the Roomba, then to me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

He nodded once, then moved to the fridge, rubbing his hands together the whole time.

“You didn’t go out with the others?” I asked.

He opened the door, pulled out a water bottle, and twisted the cap off.

“Got asked,” he said, tilting it back. “Late.”

Soo… afterthought.

I nodded, slowly.

“Where’d they go?”

“McCarthy’s,” he said. “Bar in town.”

“I saw it earlier this afternoon,” I nodded. “It was packed then.”