Chapter Text
Claire sat in the passenger seat, her head resting against the headrest as she watched the streets slide past outside the window. Houses, trees, lights, cars. Everything looked familiar. And yet Claire had the feeling that she was observing it all from behind a thick pane of glass. She was still terribly weak.
The doctors had told her that it was normal. The head injury had been serious, and her body needed time. She was supposed to rest. Sleep a lot. Avoid exertion. Not drive. Not return to work right away. Not try to prove to everyone that she felt better than she actually did.
Chris was personally making sure she followed that last instruction.
Claire glanced at him. Chris was driving with the expression of a man who had just been given the most stressful task of his life and intended to take it deadly seriously.
Both hands were on the steering wheel. His eyes were fixed on the road. Every few seconds, however, he glanced at her. Every time he did, Claire pretended not to notice. The fifth time, she sighed.
“Chris.”
“What?”
“If you look at me one more time, we’re going to crash because you’re not watching the road.”
“I’m watching the road.”
“You’re watching me.”
“I’m doing that too.”
Claire rolled her eyes.
“I’m alive.”
“I know that.”
“So stop checking every thirty seconds to see if I’m still breathing.”
Chris clenched his jaw.
“Not every thirty seconds.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Every twenty?”
“Claire.”
“Fifteen?”
“Stop.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
“You started it.”
Chris shook his head, but for a moment a hint of a smile appeared on his face. Only for a moment. Then he became serious again.
“You should have stayed in the hospital.”
Claire turned her gaze toward the window.
“They said I could go home.”
“They said you could go home if you rested.”
“I will.”
“And if someone stayed with you.”
Claire looked at him.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“The whole time.”
“Yes.”
“Chris.”
“Claire.”
“You don’t have to watch over me.”
“I do.”
He said it so calmly that for a moment she had no answer. She turned her head and looked through the window again. She didn’t want to argue with him. Not today. The accident was still too fresh. She remembered some things clearly. Others remained blurred, like fragments of a film someone had cut into pieces and mixed up.
She remembered the street. She remembered the light. She remembered the sound of a horn. She remembered turning her head. She remembered the car. Then she remembered someone’s hand. Strong. Forceful. For one brief second, another sensation surfaced. A voice. Male. Close.
“Move!”
Claire’s breath caught. She could almost feel the force of the hand against her shoulder again, the sudden pull, the violent shift of her body as someone threw her out of the car’s path. She tried to see his face. Nothing. Only a blurred outline.
Light hair. A pale flash of skin. And eyes she couldn’t quite remember. Then the memory shattered, disappearing as quickly as it had come.
Claire blinked and stared out the window. Her fingers curled slowly against her palm. She had no idea why, but for the first time since waking up in the hospital, she found herself wondering what the man who had saved her had looked like.
Someone had shoved her away. No. Not just shoved her. Thrown her aside.
Claire remembered the sudden jerk, the loss of balance, and the asphalt that suddenly found itself far too close to her face. She remembered the impact. And then nothing. Almost nothing. The doctors had told her afterward that she had been incredibly lucky. The car had hit the man who had pushed her out of the way. She had been thrown aside and hit her head on the asphalt. He had taken the brunt of the impact. He was the one who had saved her life. The only problem was that no one knew who he was. He had no identification on him. No wallet. No phone. No card. Nothing.
Claire didn’t even know his name. The police were trying to establish his identity. The doctors were conducting their own search. Someone had mentioned that he might soon appear in the system once they managed to match his details.
Claire had asked about him before leaving the hospital. Twice. The second time, the doctor told her not to worry about someone else until she had fully recovered herself. That irritated her more than it should have. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe because that man had saved her life. Maybe because she couldn’t stand the thought of him lying somewhere alone while she was already going home. Or maybe because she had the unpleasant feeling that something about the whole story was wrong.
The car. His body. Her fall. She remembered all of it, but the longer she tried to reconstruct the events in her head, the more certain fragments began to slip away.
Chris slowed down at the intersection.
“We’re here.”
Claire blinked.
Only then did she notice that the car had stopped in front of their house.
“That fast?”
Chris looked at her in disbelief.
“We’ve been driving for twenty minutes.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Claire sighed and closed her eyes. The exhaustion hit her suddenly. Just a moment ago she had only felt weak. Now every muscle seemed heavy.
Chris turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Claire knew what would happen next. Get out. Slowly. Be careful. Don’t bend down. Don’t walk too fast. Sit down. Rest. And, of course, she was right.
Chris got out first. He walked around the car and opened the door on her side. Claire looked at him.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I can get out of a car.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“Your face is saying something completely different.”
Chris held out his hand.
“Come on.”
Claire looked at his hand, then at him.
“You’re impossible.”
“It runs in the family.”
She shook her head, but took his hand. When she got to her feet, the world tilted slightly beneath her. She blinked.
Chris immediately moved closer.
“Easy.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“Your face…”
“My face isn’t saying anything.”
“Your face always says something.”
Chris sighed.
“Just lean on me.”
Claire wanted to protest. She really did. But she took one step and felt her legs give slightly beneath her. She gave up.
“Just for a moment.”
“Sure.”
Chris carefully wrapped an arm around her waist and let her lean her weight against his shoulder. They took a few steps toward the door. To Claire, that short distance seemed absurdly long. When they stepped inside, she immediately caught the familiar smell of home. Wood. Coffee. Cleaning products.
Something she couldn’t quite name. Normality. That ordinary, boring normality was probably the strangest thing of all.
Claire stopped in the entryway.
The door behind them slowly swung shut. Or at least, that was what she thought. For a moment, she had the strange feeling that someone was standing on the other side. She turned her head. No one. Just the frosted glass in the upper part of the door and the blurred light from outside.
Claire frowned.
“What?” Chris looked at her.
“Nothing.”
She continued forward, but after two steps, she glanced back again. The door was closed. She couldn’t explain why, but for a brief moment, she could have sworn that before she turned away, she had seen someone’s silhouette behind the glass. Tall. Motionless. Waiting. She shook her head slightly. It had only been a shadow.
It had to be.
Chris looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She continued forward. The living room looked exactly as it had before. The couch. The coffee table. The television. A few books. A mug someone had left on the shelf. Nothing had changed. And yet Claire had the feeling she had returned to a place she didn’t know.
Chris helped her to the couch.
“Sit down.”
“Chris…”
“Sit.”
“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m five.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Just sit down.”
Claire sat. The couch cushion sank beneath her weight, and she exhaled. Only now did she realize how exhausted she was.
Chris crouched in front of her.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired.”
“Does it hurt?”
Claire thought for a moment.
“A little.”
“Your head?”
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“Chris.”
“How bad?”
“Three.”
“Out of ten?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Not five?”
“No.”
“Not six?”
“Chris.”
“Okay.”
He raised his hands in surrender.
“Three.”
Claire gave him a weak smile.
“Three.”
Chris stood.
“I’ll make you some tea.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m making it.”
“And maybe I’ll eat something.”
“A sandwich?”
“Maybe.”
“One?”
“Two.”
Chris nodded as if he had just been given an important assignment.
“Two.”
Claire watched him walk into the kitchen. She heard cabinets opening. Water running. Dishes clinking. Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. She closed her eyes. The memory came back suddenly. The car. The horn. The hand.
Claire opened her eyes. Her heart beat faster. For a second, she was back on the street. And then everything disappeared. All that remained was the couch. The living room.
Claire slowly exhaled.
“Easy.” she said to herself.
She didn’t know whether she was trying harder to calm her body or her own thoughts. She looked at the wall. At the photograph. At the lamp. At the doorway leading to the hall. Everything was in its place. Everything was normal. Until she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
Claire went rigid. She turned her head. Nothing. The hallway was empty. She frowned. For a moment, she sat completely still. Maybe something had fallen. Maybe the headlights of a car driving down the street had cast a shadow across the wall. Maybe…
Claire closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. She regretted it immediately. Pain shot through her skull.
“Damn it…”
She pressed her fingers to her temple. It wasn’t severe. But it was sudden. And unpleasant.
“Claire?”
Chris’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She heard his footsteps. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He held a mug in one hand and a plate with sandwiches in the other. He looked at her. Then at the hand pressed against her temple.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire.”
“It just hurts a little.”
Chris set the plate down on the table.
“You should lie down for a while.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“I’m not saying you have to sleep.”
“You sound like you want me to.”
“I want you to sit more comfortably.”
Claire looked at him.
“I’m already sitting.”
“Not like that.”
Chris stepped closer.
“Move over.”
“Chris…”
“Please.”
This time his voice was gentler.
Claire sighed. She moved farther back on the couch. Chris adjusted the pillow behind her back, then placed another beneath her arm.
“Better?”
Claire leaned back.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Chris picked up the mug.
“Tea.”
Claire looked at him. For a brief moment, everything seemed normal again. A warm mug. A familiar living room. Her brother standing beside her. A safe home. Claire reached out her hand. And then, before her fingers touched the mug, she saw him again out of the corner of her eye.
This time more clearly. A figure stood at the far end of the hallway. A man. Tall. Motionless.
Claire flinched. She turned her head. Empty. The hallway was empty again. And the pain in her head returned.
Chris watched her with concern.
“Claire?”
Claire swallowed.
“Nothing.”
Chris handed her the mug.
“Sit still.”
Claire wrapped both hands around the warm tea. But her gaze remained fixed on the empty hallway. For several seconds, Claire couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hallway. Empty. Ordinary. Exactly as it always was. And yet someone had been standing there a moment ago. She was certain of it.
She couldn’t say exactly what she had seen. In fact, she shouldn’t even have been able to say that she had seen a person. It had only been a fraction of a second. A silhouette that had appeared at the edge of her vision. Tall. Slender. Masculine. For a moment, she thought she had seen dark hair and the outline of shoulders.
Then he was gone. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t hidden. He had simply stopped being there.