Their more vigilant neighbours (like Mrs Pulinsky, whom they’d always envisioned sweating in her attic, gazing down at them through her gaunt blinds like the all knowing eyes of Dr. TJ Eckleberg) might’ve remarked on the way in which Joseph and Juniper Fitzpatrick had shuffled slowly inside, heads focused on the ground. Her shoulders cloaked with his blazer and an overtly polite distance spread out between them.
Juniper, herself felt as though she’d be hard pressed to say that it was the weight of Dev Kharral - childhood friend
and fellow murderer that had inspired such a reaction from her.
Her hands gripped the black iron railing that lined the front porch of their town house. Fingers curling around the dense metal.
And it warmed slowly under the heat of her hands, causing thin beads of condensation to wet her somewhat dry palms.
Her eyes settled on the side of side of his face, submerged in patchy shadows.
“Quite the night, huh?”TAG @JOSEPH FITZPATRICK