The Life and Times of Oscar Heath

Guy Lleyton. 24. Born Australian. 5 foot 8 inches. Tan. Covered in freckles. Rusty hair. Compact build. Serial killer, taxidermist. Assimilates personalities of his victims.

Christian Marrath. 20. American. 5 foot eleven inches. Pale, white blonde. Needs glasses. Chews nails. Forensic consultant.

~G~

Oscar Heath is an alkie. That's what he'd say. Alcoholic, but Oscar would say alkie. He's the sort of...fella, person, man, boy, jock...hunk of flesh (too alive, too alive, flesh should be still and soft and smell of my cupboards) who uses annoying abbreviations for things, like alkie instead of alcoholic. He's not a severe alcoholic, not the sort who'd go to an AA meeting, like Steven from Ohio, the struggling middle-aged businessman with a Japanese Hentai fetish. Just your average fratboy, really. Somewhat above average when it comes to the mind (minds, brains especially, really really should be still- they look better grey than pink). I, that is, Steve, spend a sarcastic night with him at a quiet downtown gaybar. Oscar is staying over at a motel before attending his first day at college, and considering his former high school baseball (thwarted) career, his good grades in science and his startlingly well groomed eyebrows, he's struggling with his sexuality. He has a good torso, and I, that is, Steve, like that. Oscar wears a baseball cap backwards and a British style cardigan. He clearly has an identity crisis.

And isn't that just convenient for me.

~C~


"You said you'll pick me up straight after, "

"Yup, "

"No being late!"

"I know, 4.30 on the dot. "

"Bring the cam-"

"Go already! You're going to be late!" As am I if she doesn't hurry it up. Sarah's been walking to school on her own now for almost a year. It doesn't mean I don't worry about her from the moment her pink, lightup trainers leave the mat to the point they're inside the double red doors of the primary. At least now she's finished visiting me, I can get on. I aim for toast, but halfway between sorting blue folders, forgetting the toaster pops it out too high and attempting not to smear its butter down the side of my findings it gets lost in the fray. I'm going to have to reprint the samples, and I don't have the money for new printer paper. Guess begging Kristin it is. I stumble out of the front door, drop my keys, manage to get them, and lose half my folders (Again. I need to get a briefcase. Or a bag. At least one that's not splitting from the weight of everything). Then bang my head on the way back up. Typical that I'm carrying my cyclehelmet as it happens; just a walking, talking cliche.

My phone goes off shrilly as soon as I've pressed the elevator button. "Marrath. " The doors ping open, and I get in. It stops on the next floor. "Me? Consulting? Why. " Uhhuh. Low budget. Why do I get all the crappy jobs? Is it too much to ask for one new pipette every couple of months? A box of NITRILE gloves instead of latex so I don't end up in hives? "I see. ETA twenty probab-- HEY! I'm not going to take myself out on a bike-- Oh go fuck yourself, Kristin. I mean-- Doctor Abniele. " The guy from the fourth floor I haven't seen around before. Did he just move in? "Fine. Half an hour. Bye. "

~G~

I fumble in Oscar's pocket, find half a tub of mints, polos, the packet says, and pop one in my mouth. I vaguely remember that Oscar is a cruncher, not a sucker, and so cradle the hoop of the mint between my back teeth, before snapping it neatly in half, watching the boy from downstairs carefully. It was the crunching, the strong teeth and the smell of mint that first drew me to him. I try not to get too horny over this guy's straight, shining set, peering cautiously out from a pair of thin, if healthy, pale lips. Now, now. I've already switched once, that'll do for the next few months. Besides. I needed to appropriate somebody from that institution. Especially after they discovered the fifth man before Oscar. They're catching up, out of sheer dumbass luck, but they are catching up. I need more information. Sorry, Oscar. Except, not really, of course. I push the plastic back of the cap up, and then down, pushing some of my hair up into a tuft as Oscar did, and grin his lopsided grin, stick out a slightly awkward hand "Hey, neighbour." Marrath (name) and his grubby glasses, blink "Just moved in at 3AM, downstairs. You the guy who plays that jazz through my floor? Nice tunes, man." crunch...crunch...crunch. Swallow "Ya dunno the way to the CFA by any chance, do ya?"

~C~

... Well that was unexpected. So unexpected that I can feel my glasses riding up on my eyebrows. I get a better look at him after he started to speak - tanned, toned, short hair and an intense pair of eyes. He's sucking on a mint - I can smell it from here. "Sorry, that's my sister. Practising. " I'm not sorry at all, we've got sound proofing, which means either he was on our floor when she started, or he doesn't live in 3A. Doesn't particularly matter to me either way. "Welcome to the neighbourhood. " It's not usually in my character to greet people, but Sarah put me in a good mood. He asks where the CFA is, and although my natural suspicion whirs up like an age old computer, I shrug it off. Plenty of employees live around here. It's convenient. I'm the idiot who has to cycle halfway across town to get to the right primary school after work. "Should do, I've worked there long enough. " MY eyes are burning from the glasses, I almost never wear them. "Are you looking for a consultation Mr...?"

~G~

I don't let my eyes linger on those teeth, although I'm already getting the itch to see them framed by different lips. Smiles and grimaces...ovals of surprise and wrinkles of pain, I would draw them if I had any artistic talent whatsoever. I lug Oscar's gym bag higher on my shoulder, a few of his stray identification papers that I doctored last night rattling around "Sister, huh? She's good! What does she play, sax...?" Oscar mentioned an orchestra, and by the look of his scuppered fingers, violin...no, wait, cello "I used to play cello in high school. Wasn't much good, though, ta be honest with ya." there's a dent in the ridge of his nose where his glasses dug in, and I surprise a wrinkled nose- ugh. Capillaries giving way so easy, life, living, gross "You work for the CFA? Sweet. I'm, uh...well I'm gonna be an intern, on trial though, first day. DNA." I tilt my head, broaden my grin, when some dust and shit from the grimey lift gets up my nose, and I sneeze, wheeze, bite it down, wipe my hand "I'm Oscar. Oscar Heath." for now, anyway.

~C~

DNA? Oh Joy. I am going to kill her. This young/old man is going to be my new punching bag. It must be intern season. "Saxophone, Clarinet, cello, you name it, she plays it. Although not always to the extent my eardrums appreciate. " I mutter dryly. He has a strange accent. Like he is forming his words too precisely. It looks almost like he's forcing himself to form abbreviated words. "Christian Marrath. " I shake his hand, and note his name. "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Heath, you have the pleasure of working under my care if you are the new sequencing intern. " We get out of the elevator. "Follow me. " I lead him through the carpark out of the building -- he is a couple of paces behind me. It makes me wonder why. "I hope you brought your inhaler. No contaminating samples.  " We walk down the suburban road - two blocks away is the inner city but for now, its green. I lead him to the plain white building, swipe my card to get in. " Welcome to the CFA. "

~G~


I don't worry too much about where I am going next. Why should I? I'm good. And people mysteriously disappear all the time, everyday. I should know, I've been part of the disappeared since before I have memory. Time imme...what is it? Time memorial...? Or time IMMORAL perhaps? Maybe a little bit of Steven from Ohio's sarcasm is seeping through, I must keep a cap on that. I suddenly remember that Oscar is the youngest of four "M'the baby of my family, me, never quite as good as the rest of the golden crew. Still, did alright for myself getting into this place, huh?" I crane my neck right back, damn shortie, even wearing big boots, and stare around "Wooooah. Like living in an Apple store!" he quirks an eyebrow and I smile Oscar's sheepish smile "Sorry. Bit nervous." no I'm not. Inhaler...? Inhaler. INHALER. Fuck, my inhaler. Not Oscar's, my inhaler, gotta doctor that med file, too "...aw, fuck." I scratch the back of my head and chew on my lip like Oscar did when he tried to flirt, flick my eyes up, fast "I dunno where I packed it...sorry. The med lady said it wouldn't be a problem...?" we get to the inner place on his card, where a security guard stands by, fatass, looking bored. I walk through, blip, grin "Sorry, boss." tug my gum back, reveal the fake fixed metal retainer in the roof of my mouth "Growing pains." he grunts, and me and all my sharp things pass through easy.

I jog to catch up with Marrath's long legs "So...you're...m'new boss?" I ask, faux nervous.

~~~