Fancy Cat
Devlin Thomas has had a hard time recently. His internet business failed and he has had to move back in with his unwelcoming mother. Now he works as a mail carrier and on his route he finds a peculiar and wonderful place . . .
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Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Beloved Stalker
Chapter 1
Luke Mason started to notice something odd at the convenience store he worked at. Every day that he was on-shift, the same guy would come in to buy a few things. This guy would spend lots of time loitering at the back of the store, as though he were greatly interested in the workings of the slushee machine. Only after about half an hour would he come up to the counter with a bottle of soda or tea or juice, and some candy or a bag of chips. Sometimes he bought a comic book off the rack, too, when they’d gotten new ones in. He’d set them on the counter and stand there with his head bent, staring at the counter intently as though he were reading the cigarette ads under the clear plastic. His fall of greasy bangs effectively hid his eyes, although he didn’t really need this cover since his eyes were already hidden behind the thickest lenses of the ugliest pair of black-plastic rimmed glasses that Luke had ever seen.
This guy always mumbled whenever he actually did talk, and his shoulders were always hunched under the ugly plaid shirts that he invariably wore over various grungy t-shirts, combined with worn and sometimes dirty jeans, and the same pair of grubby sneakers every time. What Luke could see of his face (mostly his chin) had a thin sheen of acne riddling the skin. He was just a sad mess, and Luke mostly pitied him.
He’d begun to suspect that this guy was some kind of stalker when he’d asked the other clerks whether they’d seen this particular customer come in to the convenience store. They said that they’d never seen him, although one of them had spotted him in the store one day when Luke was on-shift, and he’d come in to pick up his check. “Creepy-looking guy,” his fellow clerk had remarked scornfully.
He was, but despite the fact that he seemed rather creepy and only came in when Luke was there, he found that he pitied the guy more than he was afraid of him. He didn’t seem to be violent or aggressive in any way; if anything, he seemed shy and scared most of the time, too scared to actually even talk to Luke properly when he bought stuff. Luke suspected that he lurked at the back of the store just to be able to look at Luke without having to hide his eyes, which is what he did every time that Luke tried to meet them head on. This customer seemed to have a crush on him, which was a little weird but also kind of cute. It might not have been so cute if the guy were following him home or something, but he never did anything like that. He just came in every day that Luke worked, and bought his few things after lurking a bit at the back of the store. His routine never varied, and the one time that Luke tried to touch his hand he’d scurried out of the store like his ass had been set on fire.
Luke became intensely curious about his ‘stalker’ after awhile. He wanted to get the guy to talk to him, maybe find out a little bit about him. So he tried all kinds of ploys, including telling the guy that he’d given him the wrong change to get him to stay at the counter for a bit longer, and trying to make chatty small talk to see if he could get the guy to speak. But he never did; or if he did, it was in a toneless mumble that Luke couldn’t even understand. Then he’d grab his stuff and run away, his head bent. It was kind of frustrating, really.
Luke finally decided to become more aggressive himself, since he was getting nowhere at all. So, one day when his ‘stalker’ came in, he waited patiently through the whole back of the store lurking time, and when the guy came up to the counter with his purchases Luke waited until he started to hand over the money and reached out to grab the guy’s hand. He froze like a deer in headlights, as Luke said: “Listen. You’ve been coming in here for awhile now, and only when I’m on-shift. Why? Do you want to talk to me or something? Or do I have to worry that you’re some kind of crazy stalker, and that you’re going to try to do something to me?”
The customer’s mouth worked frantically. He looked so scared that Luke started to regret this confrontation, but he couldn’t back down now. “Answer me,” he said sharply, feeling terrible but not knowing quite what to do. If he let go of his hand, he suspected the stalker would run away and never come back again.
“I…I…” the guy stuttered, trying to pull away from Luke’s grip and failing miserably.
“Look, I’m not angry at you or anything,” Luke said as soothingly as he could. “I’m just kind of worried. You can understand that, right? Wouldn’t you be worried if some stranger always came into where you worked every day and stared at you? Wouldn’t you wonder?”
The customer stopped trying to pull away from him then, and his shoulders slumped further. “Yes,” he said softly as he bowed his head so far that Luke could only see the top of it. “I’m sorry.”
Okay, now he really felt awful, like he’d kicked a small dog. Luke had to do something to fix this situation. He walked around the counter, and tugged gently at the guy’s hand. “Come with me,” he said, leading him over to one of the small tables near the big front windows, where customers came and sat to eat donuts and drink coffee in the mornings before going to work. He urged his ‘stalker’ down into a chair, and the guy sank into it as though his legs were giving out on him. He sat down across from the guy, glad that there were no other customers in the place right now.
He looked down at the hand he was still holding, seeing how fine-boned and pale it was. There were a smattering of light freckles across the back, which he thought were kind of cute. The nails were ragged, and looked like they were chewed often. He let his thumb stroke over the skin, and heard a sharp intake of breath from the man sitting across from him.
“It’s okay, really,” Luke began. “I’m not scared of you or anything. I’m mostly curious, is all. What’s your name, anyway?”
Silence. Then the guy mumbled something he couldn’t quite understand. “What? Could you speak up?” Luke urged him.
“Ronan,” the guy repeated, this time more loudly.
“Ronan? That’s an odd name. But kind of pretty,” Luke noted. “What is it? French?”
“Welsh,” the guy named Ronan replied softly. “I was named after my maternal grandfather.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Well, my name’s Luke, Luke Mason. I’d think that you already know my first name, but you never lift your eyes from the counter to read my name tag. It’s nice to meet you, Ronan.”
A quick lift of the head, and a flash of the glasses as Ronan took a peek at his face. Luke smiled as reassuringly as he possibly could. “You come in here a lot, and always on foot. Do you live near here?” he asked.
Ronan nodded. His eyes fell to where Luke was still holding his hand, and color swarmed up into his cheeks. “If I let go of you, will you promise to stay and talk with me?” Luke said. “Please. Don’t run away.”
Ronan hesitated. Then he nodded again. “I promise,” he whispered, staring at the tabletop.
Luke reluctantly let go of his hand. But to his surprise and pleasure, Ronan didn’t dash away the second he released him, which he’d been pretty sure would happen despite his promise to stay and talk. He grinned. “So do you live by yourself? Or are you still at home?” he asked.
“I…live by myself. I’m too old to live at home, especially since I have a good job.”
Luke wasn’t sure what about this statement surprised him the most. “You do? What kind of job?” he asked with interest.
“I’m a computer programmer at a health care company.” Ronan replied softly.
“Wow, that does sound like a good job. I hope I can get one too, when I graduate. I’m a college student,” Luke added. “So how old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” Ronan said.
Luke blinked. “I thought you were a high school kid,” he remarked ruefully. “You don’t look that old. I’m only twenty-three myself.”
Ronan bit at his lower lip, nibbling at it a little. Luke found himself staring at that soft pink expanse, and thinking to himself that Ronan really had a nice-looking mouth. He wondered what it would taste like if he kissed it.
“So, anyway,” he said aloud, his voice going a little husky, “Do you come in here just to see me? Is it because you want to get to know me, but you’re scared to try to? Is that it?”
Ronan’s face flushed red again. He let his bangs hide his eyes. His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “You don’t have to be scared,” Luke said gently. “I won’t yell at you or hit you, not for wanting to get to know me. In fact, I’d like to be friends with you, Ronan. What do you think?”
A flash of those thick glasses. “You would?!” Ronan blurted in astonishment.
Luke smiled. “Sure. Why not?”
Ronan’s whole body slumped in his seat. “People don’t…like me…” he whispered, his voice despairing.
Pity lanced through Luke. “Well, I like you,” he told Ronan.
“You do? Why?” Ronan asked, his fine-boned hands twisting together in front of him.
“Why not?” Luke replied. He leaned forward a little. “Listen, Ronan. I’m going to be honest with you. Lots of people probably don’t like you because of the way you look. By that I mean how scruffy you always are, and your hair, and the fact that you won’t meet anybody’s eyes. They think that you’re creepy or something, when it’s probably just that you’re really shy or have problems talking to people. Would you take my advice?”
Silence again, then Ronan said: “Please. I…I…can’t help being this way, I really can’t…”
Luke had the sudden urge to hug the poor, pitiful thing. But he doubted that Ronan would accept that from him. So he said: “Yes, you can. Maybe you can’t help some of it, but there are things you could change about yourself. You appearance, for example. You could really clean yourself up, and maybe people wouldn’t think that you were creepy. You said you have a good job, so you’ve got money. Right?”
“Yes,” Ronan replied.
“Well, then, you could buy yourself better clothes, and a good hair cut, and do something about your skin problems, and get nicer-looking glasses. Why not? If it’ll make people act better around you, wouldn’t it be worth it?”
Ronan worried at his lip again. “I don’t know anything about clothes or anything,” he half-mumbled.
Luke nodded. “I can see that. But you see, Ronan, I DO know about those things. I’m studying law,” he added, “And I have to know how to look nice while I’m in court, and how to clean up my clients so that they’ll be more sympathetic to the jury. I could go shopping with you. Would you like that? We could go tomorrow - it’s one of my days off.”
“I know,” Ronan blurted, then turned dark red. Luke hid a grin.
“Okay. Will you go with me? We could meet up here at two tomorrow afternoon and go shopping.”
Ronan hesitated, but then he nodded a little. “Are you really sure…that you want to do this?” he said, one of his hands plucking at the collar of his ugly plaid shirt.
“Sure. I don’t mind doing it for a friend,” Luke replied easily.
“Friend?” Ronan sounded astonished and disbelieving.
“Sure, why not? I think we could be friends,” Luke told him. “It’s always nice to make a new friend.”
Ronan looked dazed. Poor thing had probably never had a friend before. Pity washed through Luke again, and he reached out to pat the top of the hand lying on the tabletop. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll go shopping and get you a whole new look. And then you’ll see - you’ll have so many friends you won’t know what to do with them all.”
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