He was not the same after the death of the 27th. That was the first time I heard him laugh since he started his job. It sounded like a very painful laugh.
He started smiling as well. The corner of his lips would twist upwards, but the smile would never reach his eyes.
Most of all, he talked more. A lot more.
He rambled about inane things, chatting about the weather one moment, then commenting on the appearance of a random passerby the next.
Sometimes he would stop briefly and look off into the distance, lost in thought. Then he would sigh, smile forcedly, and begin again with another mindless speech.
Right now, he was staring blankly, perhaps seeing something in the rain that bounced off the window. The pattering sound of raindrops seemed to make him more relaxed.
"Hey," he called out to me the same way he often did.
- Yes?
I reply as usual.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Let's visit them tomorrow. I want to see them all. To see the lives they lived and the lives they could have lived."
I looked torward the nightstand and saw the photograph that appeared this morning. He must have sensed something, for he answered my unspoken question.
"Don't worry, I didn't forget. 30 days. Well, 29 not including today. There are 27 of them. I can visit one a day and still have 2 days to spare."
I wanted to ask him if he was certain. He used to spend at least a week of observation before finishing his job. He used to always start as soon as possible. But it was not my place to question his decisions, so I swallowed my words.
- Alright.
His face formed the same pained smile, then he returned to staring at the rain.
...
He ate furiously, attacking the plate of curry as if he had been starving for days.
"Curry is delicious," he mumbled with a mouthful of rice covered in the sauce.
- It is impolite to speak while eating.
He swallowed. "My bad," he apologized, and began eating a bit more quietly.
I examined his plate. Just what could possibly be so delicious about this pile of sauce? It was an ugly brown color, and there were some lumps of food mixed in as well. It all looked very unappetizing.
Coriander. Cumin. Chilli peppers. Turmeric. Ginger. Mustard seed. Cardamom. Garlic. Cinnamon. Black pepper. Apple. Honey. Butter. Flour. Salt. Vinegar. Monosodium glutamate.
The chunks seemed to be beef, potato, onions, carrots.
Additionally, there seemed to be small amounts of anchovies, molasses, sugar, cloves, and tamarind, among other things.
Most of these ingredients meant absolutely nothing to me. But watching him consume such a mixture with so much gusto made me a bit curious.
Although, I am not able to eat anyways.
He finished his meal, leaned back in his seat, and heaved a large sigh. He left behind enough cash to cover his bill, and I reactivated his invisibility spell as he walked out. The people in the restaurant were initially already unlikely to remember him, but the spell of neglect which always surrounds him would completely eliminate that possibility.
...
He walked into a grocery store on the way back to his flat, chatting all the while. I responded with a bare minimum to maintain the flow of conversation. It wasn't difficult. He could probably talk to himself all day even if I wasn't around to listen.
He grabbed a few random snacks. Some boxes of crackers and snack bars. A wedge of cheese. A bottle of orange juice. A tub of ice cream. He stared at the boxes of Japanese curry roux for a few minutes before finally grabbing it. He got some potatoes, onions, carrots, and beef as well.
Perhaps he forgot the rest. That or he didn't know in the first place. It would more troublesome if he didn't know and planned to go back to the restaurant often. But it would only be a minor inconvenience at most.
Besides, it would be better if I initiate fewer conversations with him.
...
"Umm, excuse me? Sir?" the cashier asked.
She looked quite young. Early 20s at most, though she might even still be in high school. Though she tried to hide her tiredness, I could see the bags under her eyes.
He didn't respond. He was staring again, but not blankly. He appeared to be looking straight at the cashier's face, causing the young woman to feel quite anxious from prolonged eye contract.
Looking more closely, his gaze appeared to be focused on a space directly in front of the cashier's face. A vein began to pulse on the side his neck.
"Hello?"
It can't be helped.
- Pay attention.
He jerked slightly at my words, then was brought back to the present.
"Oh yeah, sorry. What was that?"
The cashier gave a nervous chuckle. "I just asked if you wanted a bag."
"No need." He muttered something under his breath.
He pulled out a fat wad of money to pay. Several gazes began to focus on the bundle of cash in his hand, but he pretended that he didn't notice.
"Thanks."
He started walking back home, but then took a detour and turned into a dark alleyway. He stopped halfway in, then dropped his bag on the ground.
"Whew. Finally, I can let off some steam," he said, turning around to face the people who followed him.
Minutes later, he was brushing off his hands while I cast a spell of forgetfulness on the three people lying on the ground. They wouldn't remember anything that happened when they woke up with those injuries.
...
"It tastes different," he grumbled after sampling his pot of curry.
Of course it does. It's missing some things.
"Hey. You wouldn't happen to know why my curry tastes different do you?"
- I do.
"Seriously? You should have told me earlier. What is it?"
- Apples. Honey. Worcestershire sauce.
"... Seriously?"
I didn't respond. He could choose to believe it or not, my job was only to give him the information.
"Ahhh." He scratched his head in frustration. "I don't have Worcestershire sauce."
I suppose he believed me.
"What do I do with the apple?"
- I believe you grate it and cook it in.
"... I don't have a grater."
He didn't let that stop him, and chopped the apple finely. He probably did a better job than a grater would have done.
"It's sweeter."
- It's honey and apple.
"That's true."
...
He went to the store again, picking up some Worcestershire sauce and buying more snacks. He added a little bit of sauce to his pot of curry, adjusting the flavor to suit his tastes.
"This might be even better than the one at the restaurant."
That was fortunate for him, because he might be eating curry for a while.
He packed up the pot and the pot of rice he also cooked.
"I'm heading out." The corner of his lip trembled as if he was trying to smirk.
I wasn't very interested but I had a hunch he wanted me to ask, so I played along.
- What for?
"A date."
- Oh?