Chapter Text
For most of my life I’ve been a pretty light sleeper. My parents never needed to shake me or shout at me to wake me up—no, just their hand on the doorknob to my room was enough for that. Not like my sister. Ugh. She practically needed a live brass band playing next to her head before she woke up. But in recent months you could say that my sleep habits didn’t so much as resemble a ‘light sleeper’ as an insomniac. As soon as I’d manage to doze off a tree outside my window would shake in the wind and I’d wake up. Or maybe I’d hear a siren five miles away. Or a stupid bird who was far too happy to wake up that morning. It didn’t much matter what it was: I was awake and would likely be so for the rest of the night.
So when I woke up to a small scraping noise I wasn’t all that surprised. Everything had been waking me up lately and this could have been anything. But then I heard my fridge open and that’s a distinctive enough sound even down one flight of stairs and through several doors. No one had cause to be opening my fridge at 3 in the morning. Not anymore.
I listened closely to see if I could hear anything else: nothing. Whoever it was was really quiet. Or else not all that interested in anything but the contents of my refrigerator. Ha. That’s a likely reason to break into someone’s house.
I tried to remember where I put my cell phone last and nearly had a panic attack when I realized I’d left it in my purse downstairs. In the kitchen. I’d disconnected the landline two months ago so there was no other way to call for help. My neighbors weren’t exactly close by so no help there either. I had an old rifle at the top of my closet but that’s not a good weapon for close quarters. There was a brief moment I screamed at the universe in my head for leaving me here alone in this house with no one to help me (three months ago everything would have been all right, why can’t it be three months ago?) but I stomped on that pretty quickly. Screaming—even internally—wasn’t going to help me.
I debated just locking myself in my room and hiding under the bed until whoever it was went away but as a devotee at the altar of Insomnia I knew how time could stretch almost infinitely when you were waiting for something to ‘not’ happen and I was tired of waiting and would rather have a harrowing life experience than just sit there panicking in my bathrobe.
What can I say? I was exhausted and making bad decisions.
So I grabbed one of my knives for insurance and did my best to walk quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Now, I know you know the man I’m talking about. Strong, fast, clever, ruthless, and above all aware of his surroundings. So I have no idea how I managed to sneak up on him. But I did.
I peeked around the edge of the kitchen door, the only light coming from inside the fridge just enough to illuminate a scary looking man gulping down my milk. It’s odd what thoughts go through your head sometimes and at that moment I thought, ‘Hey, I was going to use that milk for lunch tomorrow.’ Which made me slightly annoyed. I’d been looking forward to my homemade mac and cheese and now no matter what happened with this guy I’d have to go shopping. Which meant wearing real clothes and leaving the house to interact with people. Shudder.
Did I mention I was sleep deprived and not thinking clearly? Because this was not the moment for being annoyed that someone drank the last of the milk.
‘Excuse me—‘ was all I got out before he whirled, tossing the milk carton at me while I shrieked and tried to duck only to find myself pushed against the doorframe with a knife against my throat. I still couldn’t see him clearly in the dim light but his dark-smudged eyes were clearly calculating ways to kill me. I also ran a few calculations of my own involving my knife which I had miraculously not dropped but even as I shifted involuntarily his knife pricked a little harder at my throat and I decided that my knife was worse than useless.
Seconds ticked by on the kitchen clock and I became aware that he was, well, not shaking but perhaps vibrating with more intensity than I wanted from a man with a knife at my throat. His eyes still held mine and I could see him trying to back down from whatever precipice he was standing on. He inhaled slowly and pulled his knife away from my throat even as he tightened his other hand on my shoulder where he’d been gripping me since he shoved me into the wall.
‘Drop the knife.’ His voice was gravelly with exhaustion but I wasn’t going to push my luck. I dropped my knife. It wasn’t doing me any good anyway. He breathed deeply again, clearly trying to control himself. ‘Did you call anyone?’
‘No.’ I said, before realizing that maybe lying would have been a better choice. Stupid honesty. If he thought someone was coming he might have left. Or just killed you, whispered a small sensible and very scared voice.
He nodded and his jaw clenched as he drew himself back a bit, while still keeping a firm grip on me. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and I could see he had longish unkempt hair around a face that could definitely be described as ‘brooding.’ He had several layers of clothing on and I could see underneath his jacket something that looked like a leather vest. Surprisingly his left hand was cold against my skin but he was clearly exhausted and starving and that’s enough to give anyone cold hands.
‘What do you want?’ Maybe it was a stupid question under the circumstances but I always like to be sure of things.
Surprisingly he seemed to have difficulty answering it. He had a strange expression on his face that shifted from one emotion to another rapidly like he was experiencing them all at once and wasn’t sure which one to believe.
And again, maybe this was just me acting stupidly, but his confusion immediately made me feel better. Not a lot better, but a bit. Because if he didn’t know what to do then at least he hadn’t broken into my house to rape and kill me. Both of which would be easy things for him to accomplish at this moment.
‘Hey, do you want to sit down?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know about you but I’d feel a lot better sitting down.’ He nodded and I tipped my head toward the kitchen table. He let me go but still followed close enough behind me to keep me from causing any trouble. Not that I was thinking about causing him trouble. Geesh, the man was solid steel and had a grip like iron. My shoulder was going to be bruised for a week at least.
We sat. At this angle the fridge light silhouetted him and I couldn’t see his face at all. That made me nervous. I like being able to see what people are thinking. I swallowed and then motioned to a wall switch nearby. ‘Can I turn a little light on?’ I could just see him nod. The light had a dimmer switch so I turned it up slowly and stopped when he seemed to wince from the light a little. It was okay, there was enough light now.
Now that I could see him clearly the marks of exhaustion were more noticeable. He was holding it together but I could tell he was only a short step away from tired-crazy. I’d been close to that a couple times. It hadn’t been any fun for me and I wasn’t someone possibly on the run or who knows what this guy was. And as I’d been staring at him he hadn’t stopped staring at me and I started to feel uncomfortable in the way you do as an introvert who’s been caught looking too long at someone.
I looked toward the fridge and saw the detritus of several of my leftover dishes—now empty of course—and the one apple that I had bought out of a sense of guilt and obligation. Man, I really was going to have to go shopping. He looked at the fridge for a moment too and when he looked back at me I could see a flicker of what on a more expressive person might have been called shame. Or maybe discomfort. Whatever it was it gave me something to talk about and I was feeling it was high time we talked about something.
‘Are you still hungry? I know I didn’t have much in the fridge but I could make you something else. If you’re still hungry.’ Great. That was just great. Don’t ask him to leave, ask if you can make him a sandwich. You’re awesome at this ‘getting your house broken into’ thing. Just awesome.
He looked uncomfortable and his head shook back and forth a little, but it wasn’t a negative shake, more like a ‘I’m trying to understand what is going on in my head’ shake. One of his hands clenched and I could almost hear his bones creak. God save me what have I gotten myself into? Who would have thought that asking a man if he wanted to eat something would be fraught with so much indecision and unhappiness?
‘Yes.’ Hearing him speak after the tension filled silence made me jump. Which made him jump, only in a more purposeful way that bespoke of trying to kill me if I moved wrong. I put up my hands in a hopefully non-threatening gesture and tried to smile. It wasn’t too hard. I was starting to get the feeling that this guy had a lot of troubles hanging on his back and if I stayed calm and moved slowly we’d both get out of this without doing something we’d regret.
‘Okay then. I still have some eggs. Do you like scrambled eggs?’
‘I—‘ His face twisted into an odd pained expression. ‘I eat eggs.’ It was almost like he was asking for reassurance, like what he was really saying was, ‘Do I eat eggs?’
I don’t know, guy, do you? And if you don’t know that, goodness only knows what happened to you.
I stand, slowly. I walk to the fridge, slowly. I even make the eggs slowly, trying to make sure he can see what my hands are doing at all times. It seems to relax him slightly and that’s a good thing in my book. So what if I don’t know what’s going on or what I’m really doing? I’ve always prided myself on my observational skills and my intuition—let’s see if I can make good on that.
I pour the eggs on a plate and get a fork out of the drawer. Halfway back to the table I notice him staring at the fork in my hand. He looks ready to fight. I put the fork on the plate, handle facing towards him as I put it down on the table. My hostess instincts kick in (thanks so much mom) and I turn away automatically to get him something to drink. Fast as a snake he reaches up and grabs my arm. I again make that small calming movement with my hands.
‘Do you want a glass of water? I was going to get a cup.’ He nods and lets me go.
I get two cups and grab the cooling pitcher of water out of the now pretty much empty fridge. I sit down and pour for both of us and slowly pass him his. I give him a puzzled look because he hasn’t started eating. ‘It’s okay, you can eat,’ I tell him. Apparently that’s all he needs because half of that plate of eggs disappears in less than ten seconds. I blink. ‘When was the last time you ate?’
‘Three days ago.’ Another quarter of the plate disappears.
‘No wonder you’re hungry.’ The award for inane conversation goes to….me! I guess I sounded a little surprised because he looked up at me then down at his plate and I could see a gear turning in his head that maybe he should be eating slower. He slows down and I start feeling better.
Good thing number one: I’m still alive.
Good thing number two: I just fed someone (hospitality is practically genetic in my family. Or at least it was)
Good thing number three: I probably just saved someone from starving to death. Having him break into my house can’t be called a good thing, but I’d rather he eat my food than have him die.
Good thing number four: He won’t die from choking on my eggs because he was eating too fast.
In fact, he’d slowed right down, just one or two spoonfuls left. The back of my neck started to crawl. Huh? His fork scraped slowly across the plate and I realized what was wrong. It wasn’t just that he was moving ‘slower,’ it was how he was moving. How he was breathing. A couple seconds ago the man eating my eggs was what I would call dangerous. He was tired, hungry, off kilter, scared, and definitely ready to kill me if I made a wrong move.
The man who finished my eggs was a killer. The way he moved the way he breathed—it was all different. There was an inexorable quality to his movements and his silence and I saw it in his eyes when he sat stiffly back in his chair and looked up at me. And it wasn’t like he was planning on killing me. But I could tell that this man—this man wouldn’t need a reason to kill. This man followed orders or his own natural law and thought no more of killing someone than of scraping the last eggs off his plate. It was like seeing Death in human form right there in my kitchen.
I started to breathe really fast. I mean really fast. I could hear my breath and I know he could hear it too because of the way he looked at me and before I said that I knew very well how time could stretch to infinity but I knew nothing. The kitchen clock ticked the seconds and those seconds were the longest of my entire life.
Then something changed. I don’t know what. It wasn’t a noise or something I said or did—I was frozen like February icicle—but something changed and the man who ate my eggs was back. And more—I could tell it took effort for him to come back; he had fought to come back.
I tried to slow my breathing down. ‘Did…did you like the eggs?’
He looked confused then glanced down at the empty plate. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his forehead as he rubbed the front of it. ‘I—‘ He abruptly blanched and grabbed at his mouth while he ran for the sink. He was heaving for a long time.
I grabbed his glass and dampened a napkin in the water as I walked over to him. He dry-heaved into the sink as I stood off to the side and waited for him to come up for air. When he did I handed him his glass. He stared at it blank-faced.
‘You should drink some of that.’ Now he was looking at me but there was no comprehension behind his eyes. ‘The water—you’ll feel a little better. Well, you will if you rinse your mouth out first.’ My mystery man looked back at his glance then took a sip mechanically, swished it around, then spit it out. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now drink some of it.’ He did. Again, like he’d reached some place beyond thinking where directions were necessary. I tried to hand him the damp napkin but he didn’t seem to understand. So I lifted it to his face. Now that he understood. My wrist was abruptly shackled in his grip but I got the feeling it was an automatic gesture, and not one with any spirit.
‘It’s okay,’ I tried to sooth him. ‘It’s okay, look, it’s just a napkin…’ It was suddenly not okay when I realized that the left hand he was holding me with was encased in metal. His jacket sleeve had slid up and I could see the metal went partially up his forearm too. I couldn’t see where it ended. Right. A metal gauntlet. That’s not weird or creepy at all.
But he let go of my hand and I couldn’t let myself be a coward enough not to do what I’d been intending to do, which was wipe his forehead. So I did. His eyes held mine the entire time as he held himself braced against my sink and I could see he didn’t have much strength left. He was about five minutes away from passing out and it was then I realized that I wasn’t going to ask him to leave. No, I was going to make up the guest bed for him and tell him he could stay the night. What’s more, I was going to get up early and go shopping so we had some more food in the house. Utter insanity. This guy was bad news. He was obviously unbalanced and deadly and the last sort of person I should offer to help.
‘Do you want to stay the night?’ I heard myself ask. ‘I’ll make up the guest bed. You’ll be safe here.’ He just swayed silently above my sink. So I smiled tiredly at how ridiculous this was and motioned with my head for him to follow me. He did. We went down into the basement which is actually quite a nice place. Bed, bath, and its very own direct exit to the outdoors. I had the feeling he’d want that.
Now, maybe this was a very bad idea. Maybe the killer I saw was the person who’d wake up the next morning. I probably shouldn’t be trying to help him.
But I know a little something about people. Not much, but a little. And the man who had sat there and ate my eggs was a good man. I know, I know, I’m delusional and over tired. But that’s the truth. He was clearly fighting an internal battle and it mattered to me that he be given a chance. Even if he wasn’t as good as I wanted to believe, I’m always on the side of people who are trying to be a better person than who they were born to be, or who the world made them be.
Maybe it all comes down to the fact that he was a man who needed to hide and I understood that. Because hiding is exactly what I was doing.
I left him sitting on the bed after showing him where the light switches were and I went back to the kitchen to clean up some spilt milk.