Leroy Adkins is an underperformer. He barely graduated. He barely got a job, and he hardly socializes in his day-to-day life.
Zachary Turner has been sick for as long as he can remember, and as he grows older the crushing realization that he never...
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Leroy wasn't sure why he had agreed to go into the man's house. He barely even remembered his name. He was sure it was Zack, or something to that extent. The man looked just as shocked, himself. Those deep hazel eyes opened wide as a small, "Oh, okay, then" left the man's lips.
"The house is a bit of a mess, so don't mind that," he said, turning his chair before opening the door. Leroy realized that it was open for him and hurried up the porch stairs before walking past the man who rolled on his chair right behind him.
The first thing he noticed was how 'hollow' the place seemed—empty and only littered with the bare necessities. There wasn't a dining table in the living room, only two bar stools by the kitchen island. The living room had one sofa and a television that was fixed on the wall. Leroy wasn't sure what he'd expected the inside of the bungalow to look like, but certainly, it was not like this. The state of the lawn has given him the impression that the man would be messy, or a hoarder of some sort. Well, he guessed one couldn't move a wheelchair around properly if the place was cluttered to hell and back.
"They're in the basement," Zachary said, making Leroy look over at him. He raised a brow in confusion as he saw the man stand up and push his wheelchair to the side.
I thought you were disabled. The words lingered on Leroy's tongue, but he kept that to himself. It seemed the man noticed that he was staring intently at him because he fidgeted and held on to the edge of the kitchen island.
"I can walk. I just have a lot of pain with it," the man said, giving Leroy an awkward smile.
"Arthritis?"
"No, fibromyalgia." Well, that was one of his diagnoses, but Zachary almost felt ashamed to start listing off a series of illnesses that bounced off each other to put him in the amount of pain he was in because when he started, he often saw the doubt build up in people's eyes, and when that happened, he felt pressure to over share and over-explain. He didn't want to do that today—or any day for that matter.
"Ah, I see," Leroy said, feeling slightly uncomfortable that he'd stared so much to prompt the explanation.
"You can follow me, it's down the hallway," the man said, walking past Leroy. The younger man spotted a limp in the man's walk, and he felt bad for being suspicious again.
Regardless, he couldn't help feeling like he had maybe walked into a trap. If Zachary was a serial killer pulling at his empathy strings—Leroy wasn't saying he was, but if he was this would be the perfect setup. He could see it now, with true crime hosting his story: a man killed in a basement on the promise of cat cuddles. He smiled a little at his own invention and followed the man—Zachary? —he should probably ask before it got awkward or ask his name again.
When they got to the stairs Zachary walked down and Leroy followed, and at the end of the stairs Zachary turned on the light, and there they were, three cats lodged between different locations. One at the fat end under a mattress, one on top of a cupboard, and another hiding under a washing machine.
