Chapter 2
Quinnly
The smell of chicken and veggies frying on the stove makes my mouth water. I’ve cooked in this kitchen many times before… I’ve dismembered a few bodies in this kitchen too, come to think of it.
I’ve also cleaned the black cabinets more times than I’d like to admit, back when Paps got upset with me for bringing my quarry home.
I’ve never been suspected, questioned, or arrested for anything, so I don’t see the harm in bringing my fun home.
Besides, he lied to me for a long time–the room hidden behind the fridge is a testament to that little fact.
Craft supplies litter the old wooden kitchen table, the sight makes me giddy with anticipation. Naomi sent me a text that she was leaving the hospital a few minutes ago, so I immediately set about making dinner.
Leaving the plastic bags scattered on the table with paint, brushes, paper, a printer, and glitter, I head around the island and pull out the veggie peels from the sink. I can’t help glancing over at the supplies with hearts in my eyes.
I can’t wait to make my scratch-off kill board.
Turns out, Naomi’s brain is one of the things I love most about her. I realize her idea for the scratch-off board was a flippant passing comment… now. Something meant to poke fun at my idea to lure out my shadow, but I don’t care. It’s a fantastic idea.
I can track everything, and make it fun.
The diced chicken browns in the pan, juicy meat coated in spices and tender to the touch. The veggies are smeared in the same spices, with squash, zucchini, and peppers all frying in a little vegetable oil to bring out their flavors.
“Smells good, Q!” Naomi hollers as she enters the two story house my parents left me after they passed. It’s brick, washed in white, with black accents. It needed a lot of tender love and care when I inherited it.
Paps, my mother’s father, lived in my parents room on the main floor after my parents died, and if it weren’t for him, Naomi and I would’ve been entirely alone at seventeen.
Paps lasted until about a month ago, his death brought actual tears to my eyes.
I can never remember crying anytime before that, or after.
Now, armed with a ridiculous amount of money in my bank account, I’ve decided to spend it and visit the places he did. Like I’m following in his footsteps, but blazing my own path while doing it, in hopes that my shadow will follow and eventually come play with me.
Naomi’s footfalls are light against the hardwood stairs, she’s smaller than me, probably because she practically runs everywhere she goes. The shower upstairs turns on, the water sloshing through the pipes, drip, drip, dripping out of the faucet.
The house speaks to me, or at least, that’s what I like to think. Naomi always showers when she gets home from a shift, then changes into sweatpants, and whatever t-shirt she finds most comfortable.
Singing over the marble counter, I mix the cooked chicken and vegetables in a bowl.
My version of stir fry. Sticking a fork into a piece of chicken and through at least one of each veggie, I pop the bite into my mouth, and moan in delight.
Cooked perfectly, the chicken makes my mouth water for more, the squash melts against my tongue, and the peppers give it a crisp zing.
“Save any for me?” Mi jokes as she walks into the kitchen and opens one of the black cabinets to grab plates.
Her wet hair is thrown up in a towel, and I tug it down at her audacity.
She whirls, scrunching her brows and giving me dagger eyes.
Sticking my tongue out at her, I pull the plates from her hands and dish us each up a heaping serving.
I’m fully aware that neither of us will finish the plates, but I don’t want to have to get back up so we can start this project like now.
“Stir fry, again?” She eyes me. Sure, tonight will make day seven of eating stir fry, but I thought she loved it.
“Isn’t it delicious?” I nod with a wide smile on my face.
Scarfing down my dinner, Naomi laughs and tells me to slow down. I don’t, I have a hard time with patience. It’s my fatal flaw, but it seems to me like everything works out either way, so who’s the real loser here?
She eats slowly, eyeing me every chance she gets. She knows I have to wait until I can remove our plates from the area before we can start.
I need a clean work space.
“Eat faster!” I grumble, laying my elbows on the table all while keeping my eyes glued to her fork.
When she leans back rubbing her tummy, she laughs as I rip the plate from the table.
I want to throw the plates into the sink in my rush to get back, but then I remember the first time I did that and shattered three “perfectly usable” plates.
Paps was not happy, and Naomi nearly had a heart attack at the mess.
As gently as I’m capable, I set the plates down in the sink and return to the table, gripping my chair and scooting myself under.
“I hope you’re full, because I watched a million tutorials on this, so I’m now an expert,” I declare, and she rolls her eyes but allows me the illusion of Chief of Craft Operations.
Laying out all of the map options I printed earlier, I survey the materials.
Special scratch off paint that I plan on adding sparkle to–several tubes, just in case.
Brushes in all different sizes, because I couldn’t make up my mind.
Palettes to make it look like I’m a professional artist, and a few cups for water.
“Napkins,” snapping my fingers, I launch out of my seat to grab a roll of paper towels out from under the sink. Mi shakes her head, and refills her wine glass with the remaining white wine we had with dinner.
“So, what are you going to do on this adventure, Q?” Her eyes are soft, allowing me the space to process her question as she waits.
I shrug, looking around at all the art supplies with my hands landing on my hips. I don’t have a plan, and that’s going to drive Naomi nuts. She’s going to try to help me make a plan, and even though I love her for it. I don’t need it.
Like I said, the world just kind of works out for me.
“I’m leaving on a plane…” I start, because that’s what I have so far at least.
She lets out a huge breath and I can feel my muscles clench, waiting for her to mother-hen me. She surprises me by not saying a word, instead her eyes find mine and she lifts a brow.
“And uhm, I’m gonna start in Washington.”
“Okay, and how are you getting to the airport?”
My lungs expel and I refill them with a watery smile, “I’m just gonna Uber.”
“Do you want me to drive you?”
“Nah,” I wave her offer off. I don’t need a babysitter and I know that’s what she’s trying to do.
“Okay, Q. But if you change your mind, let me know, okay?”
“Fine, fine,” I nod, and turn my attention back to the craft at hand. I love making things, and this? Well, I have a feeling this is going to be my most important project yet.
“I’m gonna miss you, Q.” Oh here we go, she’s going to get all weepy.
“Alright, enough of that,” I tell her, vibrating in my seat.
Picking a paint brush for both hands, I pull the version of the map I think best fits my needs. I allow Naomi to put paint on a palette–we’re professionals here–and water into a cup before swiping my paintbrush into the paint, mixing in the scratchy stuff so it works.
Once it’s mixed, I go to town on the map, covering every state until they’re a sparkling pink color. Glancing at Naomi, I wonder how it would dry on her skin. Her eyes slide my way, all dubious like, and I smile.
She’s like me but not…
Her and me, we’re like two peas in a pod, except she got all the “normal” parts of the human brain and I got zilch. Our mannerisms are different–down to our very cells–but we work in sync with one another. It's a strange sort of bond that requires no blood.
Slapping down my brushes, I manage to spray paint into the air, and when the drops fall they splatter Naomi’s half done painting.
“Well, if you were half as invested in your painting, that wine bottle would be full,” I smirk. Naomi laughs, downing the last of the wine in her cup and waving off my words.
After we’ve spilled three cups of water, managed to mangle over half the brushes, and used way more paint than necessary, my masterpiece is complete.
We retire to the couch, where we bundle up in blankets and watch our favorite movie. We recite the whole thing, word for word and when the credits roll, I lift my head from her shoulder and whisper, “Thank you.”
She smiles and lays her forehead against mine, the connection I feel with her is a bond nothing could change.
Getting up to grab another soda from the fridge, I feel my phone vibrate and pull it out to check.
Shadow: Traveling so soon, Menace?