The Mesmerizing Man

Chapter 2

"Sorry," Jack Thompson blurted out, immediately bending down to gather the scattered instant noodles.

Michael Carter watched him, his face hidden beneath the hoodie, his brow furrowed.

*That strange guy from the diner?* he thought, his suspicions growing.

Jack's avoidance of contact and overall timid demeanor screamed "fugitive with something to hide."

Michael picked up the last package of noodles at his feet, examining it before keeping it in his hand.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Jack counted the packages in his arms. One short.

He frantically searched the ground, his head down, when suddenly a hand appeared before him, offering the missing package.

The hand was large, the thumb long and slender, the nail a soft pink, neatly trimmed.

Jack had never seen such a beautiful hand. He stared at it, momentarily forgetting to take the noodles.

"Oh..." Michael paused, placing the package on top of the stack in Jack's arms.

He assumed Jack couldn't take it because his hands were full.

Jack snapped out of his daze, averting his eyes from the hand and looking down. He mumbled a quick "thank you" and scurried away.

His heart pounded as he walked back. Staying home was the right choice. People like him shouldn't be out and about.

True to his word, he didn't leave his apartment for the next two days, subsisting solely on instant noodles.

But on the third day, after finishing his last package at noon, panic set in.

He had no money on Venmo, couldn't order takeout, couldn't even hire a delivery service.

The thought of going out filled him with dread.

Finally, hunger won out. As evening approached, he opened his door, intending to take out the trash as well.

Even though the weather wasn't warm yet, leaving instant noodle containers out for too long attracted bugs. He knew this from experience.

Once, when his father was away on a business trip, Jack had lived on instant noodles for three days straight. When his father returned, he found a cockroach the size of his thumb in the pile of discarded containers.

The memory still sent shivers down Jack's spine. He hated bugs.

From then on, no matter how lazy he felt, he never let food waste sit in his apartment for more than two days.

This time, he put on a hat, hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction, even eye contact, with anyone.

The old apartment building had four units per floor. Before leaving, Jack peeked out to see if any of his neighbors' doors were open. He didn't want to run into anyone.

Thankfully, the hallway was empty.

He clutched the trash bag and hurried downstairs, not encountering a single soul.

But he didn't let his guard down. It was impossible for the entire complex to be deserted.

He pulled his hat lower and navigated the dimly lit paths, heading straight for the convenience store.

The moment Jack entered, the owner snapped to attention. Recognizing him, she relaxed slightly but continued to observe his every move with curiosity through the security cameras.

Jack grabbed a few packages of instant noodles, then hesitated, doubling back to grab two bundles of dried noodles and a carton of eggs.

"No vegetables?" the owner asked as she scanned the items.

Jack kept his head down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "C-couldn't find any," he mumbled.

"They're in the back, in the vegetable section. Go grab some. We have bok choy, napa cabbage, whatever you like."

Jack obeyed, scurrying off to the vegetable aisle.

"You need your veggies," the owner called after him. "Can't live on instant noodles."

She continued her chatter as Jack returned with a bunch of Chinese hollow green beans. "Oh my, why'd you pick those? You need to stir-fry them."

"I-I like them," Jack mumbled.

He did like Chinese hollow green beans. When his father was alive, he often stir-fried them for him, the stems chopped and cooked with minced meat, the leaves quickly sautéed with garlic and dried chilies. Delicious.

"61.50," the owner sighed, finishing the transaction and bagging the groceries. "You young people, never taking care of yourselves. Don't mind me, just looking out for a neighbor. You live in this complex, right? Eat less instant noodles. Cook yourself a proper meal, or grab something from outside if you're busy..."

She rambled on, not expecting a response from Jack, who simply handed her the money. "Thank you," he murmured.

As she counted out his change, she grabbed a bottle of Pocari Sweat from behind the counter and tucked it into the bag. "Don't have fifty cents. Take this. It's about to expire anyway."

Jack took the bag with both hands, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the counter.

The owner watched him leave, sighing again. Then, she turned to Michael, who had also been observing Jack's every move. "Are you going to buy something or what?"

Yes, Michael had been staking out Jack for two days.

He had followed him into the store and had been trailing him ever since, keeping a safe distance.

Jack, however, remained oblivious.

He only looked up when the owner addressed him, offering her the pack of Want Want milk he was holding.

"Don't you think there's something off about that guy?" he asked.

The owner raised an eyebrow. "There's something off about you. That'll be ten dollars."

Michael was taken aback by her bluntness. He genuinely found Jack's behavior odd.

He paid for the milk, slightly miffed. "What do you mean, Liu Nyang? What's wrong with me?"

The owner gave him a once-over. "Grown man, drinking Want Want milk, hiding your long hair under a hat. You tell me what's wrong with you."

Michael pursed his lips, silencing her with a gesture. He cracked open a carton of milk and headed out, the owner's muttering following him.

"Looks perfectly normal, but hangs out with those street punks..."

Night had fallen. Michael crumpled the empty milk carton and tossed it into a nearby bin, heading towards the complex entrance.

He reached the security booth and poked his head through the window, flashing a smile at the old guard who was eating his dinner.

"Hey, Uncle, having dinner?"

The guard glanced at him, then continued eating without a word.

Michael placed a carton of Want Want milk on the table. "Here, Uncle, have some milk."

The guard looked up again, annoyance flickering in his eyes.

"Heh heh." Michael quickly retracted the milk and pulled out a worn, local-brand flask from his pocket, dangling it before the guard. "Get your cup. It's Wuliangye this time."

The guard's eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face. He swiftly opened a drawer and retrieved a small white cup, placing it on the table.

"Should've come earlier. I'm almost done with dinner."

Michael filled the cup to the brim. The guard took a sip, savoring the taste. "Ah, Wuliangye indeed." He set down the cup and looked at Michael expectantly. "So, what is it?"

Michael put away the flask and pointed at the computer monitor beside the guard. "Looking for someone."

On the screen, Jack Thompson, head down, hurried into the complex with a bag of groceries, disappearing from view.

Michael switched through different camera angles, his frustration growing. "Where'd he go?"

The guard took another sip of his drink, enjoying the aftertaste. "A few cameras are broken," he said nonchalantly.

"..." Michael's lips twitched. He refrained from cursing but his thoughts were far from polite. He pushed away from the computer and retrieved his flask. "Forget it. I'll just drink this myself. This place is a mess. Broken cameras everywhere. What if something happens? No evidence whatsoever."

The guard's eyes never left the flask. "Property management," he mumbled. "It's their responsibility."

His gaze followed the flask as Michael moved it.

"Fine, fine. That kid... I remember him. He lives in 603, Building 14." The old man snatched the flask, a triumphant grin on his face. "Oh, and 602 next door is for rent. Number's on the door."

Michael bolted, calling over his shoulder as he left, "Save me some of that! I'll be back for the flask."

The guard happily poured himself another drink, muttering under his breath, "Street punk, poking his nose into everything..."

A week passed. Jack counted his remaining money, his worry growing with each passing day.

211 dollars. How long could he make it last?

He was already stretching every penny, but unexpected expenses kept popping up.

The property manager had just stopped by to collect the sanitation fee and water bill – a total of 156 dollars.

It dawned on him that the electricity and gas bills would be due soon too.

It was already dark, and he only dared to turn on a small lamp.

*Bang! Bang! Bang! Thud! Clang! Thud!* Jack jumped again. The noise from next door had been relentless since morning, like constant renovation work.

He was curious but not enough to investigate. Let them make noise. It wasn't like he had long to live anyway.

211 dollars. A month and a half, tops, and that was if nothing else went wrong.

He lay on the sofa, hugging a pillow, a terrifying thought taking root in his mind.

Maybe he should just end it all.

What was the point of living like this?

He drifted off to sleep, his mother's image appearing before him, beckoning him closer.

"Xiaoyi... come here. Mama will take you to a happy place."

Her eyes, as gentle and loving as ever, gazed at him.

"Mama..."

He reached out, his hand inches from hers, when suddenly – *Clang!* – another loud noise from next door jolted him awake.

He rubbed his eyes, realizing he had fallen asleep on the sofa.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. 5:40 a.m. What in the world were they doing next door at this hour?

Ugh, maybe ending it all wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Michael had moved into apartment 602. He had been observing Jack for days. Besides taking out the trash every other day, Jack never left his apartment.

Michael's curiosity grew. What kind of person lived like this – unemployed, housebound, surviving on instant noodles?

There had to be something more to the story.

So, he decided to force Jack's hand. He started making noise.

*Knock, knock, knock.* Finally, a response.

Michael threw open the door.

A middle-aged woman in her pajamas stood outside, a comb still in her hair.

"Can I help you?" Michael began, but the woman exploded like a startled cat, hands on her hips.

"Can you keep it down? Are you crazy? Banging and clanging since yesterday morning! You think you're the only one living here? Have some decency! Some people need to sleep!"

After unleashing a torrent of complaints, she finally retreated, leaving Michael bowing at a ninety-degree angle, apologizing profusely.

He straightened up, letting out a breath, his eyes fixed on the door to apartment 603.

Fine, time for plan B.

He untied his hair, running his fingers through it. Maybe he should wash it first. All this early morning activity was making him sweat.

Jack had just finished relieving himself and was about to head back to bed when he heard a knock on the door.

Who could it be at this hour?

Another bill collector?

He patted his pocket, checking his remaining cash, and cautiously approached the door.

*Knock, knock, knock.* The knocking continued.

He slowly turned the handle, opening the door a c***k, and peeked outside.

Long, silky black hair cascaded over slender shoulders. The skin was flawless, the features delicate and beautiful.

Jack had never seen such a beautiful woman. He stared, mesmerized.

"Hey, buddy, got a light?" a deep voice boomed, startling him.

Only then did he notice the person standing at his door. Tall, muscular, wearing a black tank top that showcased his physique.

Wait, a man?

Jack stared, speechless, forgetting what he had been asked.

Michael's brow twitched. He held up the cigarette between his fingers. "Got a light?" he repeated.

"Uh..." Jack finally snapped out of it, his face flushing red. He quickly looked down. "Y-yes, I do."

And with that, Michael Carter stepped into Jack Thompson's apartment for the first time.

He took in the surroundings. The living room was sparsely furnished, devoid of any personal touches.

The coffee table was bare.

Not what he had expected. He had imagined a messy, chaotic space.

Jack walked into the kitchen, glancing at Michael before quickly averting his eyes. "This way..." he mumbled.

Michael followed, curious.

He watched as Jack turned on the gas stove...

Silence.

Then, Michael burst out laughing, reaching out to ruffle Jack's hair. "You're adorable," he chuckled.

He hadn't expected this at all. He had simply wanted to get a closer look, but instead, he had stumbled upon this endearingly clueless soul.

Jack's blush deepened, his head bowing even lower.

Michael turned the knob, lowering the flame, then lit his cigarette, taking a long drag.

As the ember glowed, he straightened up, exhaling a plume of smoke towards Jack. "What's your name?" he asked.

Jack's hands, clasped tightly behind his back, fidgeted nervously. "J-Jack Thompson," he whispered.

He didn't know why this man was asking for his name, but he answered anyway.

"Well, Jack," Michael began, "I live next door in 602..."

He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

He pulled it out, frowning slightly. A call this early?

He took a couple more drags of his cigarette, then answered the call, stepping out of the kitchen.

"Yeah, I got it. I'm on my way."