Static Crush {M/M} ✔

Chapter #46

It's a rush of throwing Rayner's old belongings out of closets in search of anything that fits, but they manage to squeeze him into a pair of jeans, an unremarkable grey shirt, and equally grey puffer jacket. As they do, Hale reprograms his hair to appear an unassuming dirty blonde. All the while, the clock keeps ticking, and perhaps at any point now Melissa or Mark could decide it's worth a call to the police to ensure three felons haven't camped in the house next door.

Hale's heart speeds until he thinks he might swallow it. The plan makes theoretical sense, but now, standing in Rayner's entryway, tugging up the zip on his jacket, Hale feels like he's taking an unerring step onto the tracks in front of an oncoming train.

"Deep breaths," says Theo as she plucks at his hair with a comb.

Rayner lingers next to him, looking sick. When Hale reaches for the door though, Rayner's hand is suddenly on his.

"Just introduce yourself and come straight back, yeah?"

Hale nods. It's less a lie, he tells himself, and more of a hope. "Of course."

Then Theo and Rayner collectively retreat into the house so that no one can see them when Hale opens the door. Rayner is last to duck into the living room, lingering just long enough to give Hale an anxious thumbs up.

Hale returns it then opens the door.

The wind outside bites through Hale's clothes, and he's grateful in a way, because it takes his mind off the nerves jangling in his stomach like loose shrapnel. He heads for Mark's house first because that's where Melissa went, and if he can drive her back to her home under threat of discovery, all the better.

Or so he tells himself as he takes each arduous step up the slippery, snow-covered drive to Mark's home.

His memories of this place come back to him with the sort of vivid recall only an android possesses. They seem at once old as the dusty pages of an ancient tome and fresh as the snow crunching underfoot. He tries to dismiss them, but they linger.

Hale mounts the final step to Mark's porch with his heart in his throat, raises his hand, and knocks on the door.

There's a scramble of movement from inside. Using his thermal vision, Hale can see two figures inside—Mark's distinctive beer gut, and Melissa's harried, knock-kneed gait as she scrambles off the sofa.

For a moment, Hale is overcome with apoplectic revulsion, wondering how Mark could be having secret and emotionally unfulfilling relations with not one but two women from the neighbourhood who are not his wife. That Melissa would betray Briony's (dubious) friendship is equally mystifying. Whether Briony is still sleeping with Mark as well is anyone's guess.

For a split second, while the figures inside seem to debate opening the door at all, Hale is drawn back into their petty, self-absorbed drama. Domestic issues that should be of no consequence to him, yet nearly cost him his life.

Inside, they're looking at a tablet, no doubt checking the security cameras. Hale feels an uptick of nervousness, as though they might recognize him despite his changed appearance. Whatever the case, they seem to conclude it's best if Melissa isn't discovered here, because she darts through the hall towards the kitchen and the back door. No doubt to cross through the garden to her own home.

Now is as good a time as any to log back into her devices and monitor their activity to ensure she doesn't call the police. It isn't difficult. He requests access to her Wi-Fi, and as predicted, she never changed her network passwords. It takes only a half second to access her phone, television, tablets, computers, even her refrigerator's catalogue, which—Hale notes with a flare of disapproval—is practically empty.