The Staring Man

Vincent Marchant was staring. He tried his best not to. Unsuccessfully. 

Hugo Petrich was staring. There was a man who was just staring at him; not that it was unwanted attention. The man was perched, rather uncomfortably on a park bench. His trousers were slightly small, Hugo observed. They rode up past his ankles and crinkled at the bend of his knee. In comparison his shirt was slightly large, he’d rolled the cuffs up and the sleeves bunched at his elbows. It hung around his chest and shifted rhythmically in the gentle morning breeze. He had a pale scruff of beard and strawberry blond curls atop a finely chisled face. Hugo deduced, the staring wasn’t, necessarily, a bad thing. 

Vincent was trying, he really was. This guy was staring first: ‘maybe they knew each other?’

The short gentleman across the park who was turning to look absentmindedly into the sky every time their eyes met. He wore a long coat of dark red and his copper complexion accented the vibrant autumnal backdrop. Just as Vincent was intending to march over there and confront this occult gentleman, his phone rang. With a disgruntled sigh Vincent answered.

Hugo watched as the man answered his phone and hurriedly picked up his bag. Without a second glance to Hugo, the man with his poorly fitted clothing and head of curls left.

Hugo ran a hand through the loose dark hair that had escaped its constraints and turned his head to the sky a final time. Glancing down at his watch, Hugo readjusted his coat and started back toward the street. He passed a hundred people, all shapes, sizes and breeds; short and stout, tall and slim. Pale, tanned, Asian, European. Tourists huddled like those vast flocks of parrots - all chatter and obscene colour. Business types strode through crowds, phones pressed against their ears like cats prowling their turf, unaware of the pitiful creatures below them. The homeless cowered in corners and under shelters like primates; scruffy, yet human-like. The street lights clicked off and the pattern ran down the road and over the bridges like a waterfall in the urban jungle and the scarlet sun rose over the great plains. 

Upon entering The Met Offices, Hugo observed the buzz of activity. A woman was stood teary eyed, flanked by two officers waiting for the lift and Hugo silently placed himself behind them. The lift came and the doors opened, Hugo shuffled in, gaze downcast. 

“Floor?” The stern looking female officer nodded in Hugo’s general direction. 

“Forensics,” She stared at him blankly, “four.” Hugo clarified. The officer lent forward and pressed the button, the lift rattled into life.

“Thanks.” Hugo muttered, an unnoticed, muted smile spread across his face and he skirted around the trio, leaving the still silence of the lift. 

After changing, Hugo headed to his desk. Blood-work, poison reports, prints. The standard. His gaze drifted upwards out of his window. Hugo was a self proclaimed day-dreamer, he soon came to focus on the pavement below. The streets now were inhabited by school children, laughing, joking and jostling each other on their way to the various colleges and schools across the city. There was one head, above the others, that Hugo recognised. Warm blonde curls and a loose shirt, the staring man picked his way between giggling school-girls and cycling lads, he was glancing down at his phone and looking around, a puzzled expression on his face. 

‘He’s lost’ Hugo guessed internally. The ‘staring man’ stopped a group of older college types and shielded his phone screen, showing the teenagers. They nodded enthusiastically and pointed him down a narrow side street, manned by the regal Cabinet Offices Hugo had spent too many hours, probably illegally, observing. 

“Mr Petrich?” 

“Yes,” Startled, Hugo jumped to his feet and turned to find a colleague, eyeing him lazily with a handful of papers. 

“Your blood-work I presume,” Hugo nodded quietly, taking the papers, “left on the printer again. Were you even at the data protection training?”

“Yes, of course, I was just…” Hugo stammered to a stop, gesturing loosely out of his window. 

“Yeah. Alright then.” Before he could even finish his sentence, the man turned and made his way out of the office door, shutting it strongly.

“Shit.” Hugo huffed, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“Cheese?” 

“Sir? Do you want cheese?” 

“Yes, sorry.” Hugo muttered absent mindedly, his eyes were fixed on the solo diner in the window of the cafe. The cashier mumbled under his breath and set to work behind the counter. Ignoring any social rules Hugo started walking, he approached the solo diner. It was him, ‘the staring man’. Again.

“Excuse me,” Hugo tried quietly, the man looked up from his laptop, resting his coffee on the table. “I’m sorry, but, who are you?” 

“What?” The 'staring man' replied, chuckling slightly.

“It’s just, I’ve seen you before,” Hugo took a step back, “three times today in fact and I…”

“Hugo!” Upon hearing his name, Hugo stopped his rambling and turned, there was the cashier looking at him judgmentally, his coffee and panini outstretched toward him.

“Oh, thank you.” Hugo muttered, tapping his card on the machine. He bagged his food, picked up his coffee and turned back to a recently vacated table. ‘Staring man’ was gone, his chair still out and his only remains: an empty coffee cup. 

Strolling back through the streets, Hugo was on high alert, glancing down every street and turning frequently hoping to catch a glimpse of the ‘staring man’. He slipped into deep thought as he passed back through the main entrance, three officers shoved past him and jogged down the road, speaking abruptly into comm devices. Into the lift and to his desk. 

As he began his work, Hugo observed a team of forensic officers enter the room and sign themselves out, leaving again. He turned off his computer and donned his lab coat. 

“Need any help?” Hugo asked, announcing himself in the room, he wiped his hands with the coarse towels and binned them, ambling over to his boss. 

“Um, there’s some bloods to put in the centrifuge and Allan might need a hand cleaning next door, we’ve got one in ten. RTC, round the corner. Canon Row.”

“Yeah, ok.” 

“What’s the matter with you?” Maria sighed heavily, a smile on her face.

“Nothing ma’am.” Hugo replied curtly.

“You snuck in here like a scared child and you haven't made a nerdy remark, oh and you just asked me for a job!” Laughing lightly, Maria handed the tray of full vials to her young prodigy. 

“Tired.” 

“Nope,” Maria lent against the side trying to make eye contact, “you’re distracted my young Padawan!” Hugo managed a small chuckle and with a deep breath, mentally and physically reset himself. “I am fine, Master.” Hugo teased, and with a mock bow, took the test tubes and began filling the machine before him. “That’s better” Maria ruffled his hair.

“Sanitise!” Hugo ordered, putting on a questionable American accent. “Nerd.” Maria called from the large metal basin, the aggressive drumming of running water filling the small room. 

A click on a handle and the over-enthusiastic opening of the door brought Hugo back to the present. “Mr Hugo, Ms Maria, I present to you, all the way from” Allan glanced down at the paperwork in his hands, “down the road. Mr Vincent Marchant!” Allan announced dramatically, swinging his hands majestically to the door. 

“Thanks Allan.” Maria chuckled, pulling the papers from his outstretched hands. “Come on Hugo.”

His curls were flat, red and matted. Oversized shirt and too tight trousers missing. His cheekbone was black with bruise. Hugo took a hesitant step forward. 

He was still staring, just now. Blank.