Something had been off all day. Jess just didn’t seem like herself. At least, that was what Keith thought. She was quieter, seemed to be staring at him or off into space a lot. She hadn’t even remembered to feed the cat she lovingly called her fur-baby. Actually, come to think of it, Keith didn’t even know where the damn cat had gotten to. He looked around the apartment for any sign of normalcy or anything to tell him what might be going on. Jess was in the kitchen now, supposedly making herself a snack. She’d eaten a lot today, way more than usual. He’d wondered at that, but now it was really nagging at him. Her keys weren’t hanging by the door. Why weren’t her keys hanging by the door if she was at home? And where was that damn cat?
He walked into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, watching for a moment as she made a sandwich. She sliced it in half and then turned to screw the lid back onto the peanut butter jar.
“Who the hell are you and where’s Jess?”
Jess, or the woman who looked like Jess, turned and looked surprised.
Keith pointed one shaking hand towards the jar on the counter.
“Jess is allergic to peanuts. That’s mine. Who the hell are you?”