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Kristina
The chicken coop is chaotic, as usual. There are feathers and feces everywhere. I’m not fond of this particular chore, but anything beats being around two total strangers. The way Grandma Rose is acting, it’s like she’s someone other than my grandmother and I can’t bear being near her.
I’m uneasy around the newcomer. His presence makes me edgy and tense. I can see there’s some kind of hidden message between Tiger—if that’s even his name—and Grandma. I’m positive I’ve never met him before. But Rose is awfully friendly—comfortable even, with someone she supposedly just met.
I clean the water bowls before refilling them, and take out the freshly laid eggs. At eight in the morning, most of my chores are complete, including the milking of the one cow in the barn. Farm work is arduous, but we don’t have that many animals so it doesn’t take me long to finish up. After washing up in the upstairs bathroom, I change my clothes and head out to the truck, still parked by the front of the house.
I climb into the driver’s seat and shut the door, rolling down the window to let in some air. It’s warm out today, but fall comes with its share of climate changes. It’s been a pleasant summer this year. Not too hot, and plenty wet. It’s rained quite often and that’s probably what kept the temperatures to tolerable degrees.
The keys to my truck are still in the ignition so I turn on the engine. I drive the pickup to the side of the barn and park it at its usual spot, close to the outer wall. After turning the engine off and removing the keys, I glance over to the seat, which had been covered in blood last night, to inspect the damage. The stains on the leather seat are hard to miss. I’m disappointed, but already thinking on how I can replace the seat with another. My truck is old and finding parts for it is difficult nowadays—especially on my budget.
Maybe I should listen to Grandma and get another truck. As attached as I am to the old, rusty 1950 GMC FC101 pickup, its chassis is breaking down, the windshield wipers don’t work half the time, and the engine coughs and shakes when I turn it on. The fact that it still runs is a freaking miracle.
Something to my right catches my eye. I shift on the seat, leaning sideways as far as the confined space will allow, and see three tiny pellets lying there. From a distance, I’m not sure what I’m looking at.
I pick one up and turn it over in between my thumb and index finger. It’s misshapen, metallic, and covered in dried blood—some of it flakes off as I turn the object in my hand. I analyze the item, thinking of what it could be. It takes me a moment, but I finally figure it out. They’re bullets.
The rush of emotions that go through me are so powerful I feel dizzy for a moment. Tiger had been sitting on the same exact spot where I found the bullets. He’d been shot three times. There were three bullets—or what was left of them, on the seat. How on earth did the bullets end up on the seat? Were they...expelled? But how? That’s not possible.
I rush out of the truck without even bothering to shut the door and run inside the house. A million crazed thoughts are going through my head. Panic sets in. I’m not sure how he did—what exactly? He was unconscious most of the drive home. He never moved once. He couldn’t have removed the projectiles himself. I would have seen him.
My feet thump loudly against the hardwood floors as I rush into the kitchen. My heart nearly stops when I realize the room is empty. The kitchen is clean and Grandma and Tiger are gone. I make a beeline for the guest bedroom but find it empty as well. The bed sheets have been changed and the room has been cleaned but neither of them is inside.
I call out to Grandma, and hear a response from upstairs. I take the stairs two at a time and run to the bathroom where I find Grandma tending to Tiger. I hurry in and gawk at the strange individual sitting on the toilet seat, facing the other direction.
“What is it, Kristina?” Grandma looks at me over her left shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
I open my mouth to respond, but one quick glimpse at Tiger’s back and the words die out. All I can do is stand there with my mouth gaping open.
The horrible wounds that took forever to thoroughly clean are almost nonexistent. They’re no longer red, bloody, or swollen. They’re slightly pink, but have mostly closed up.
“That’s not possible.” My voice is barely audible. “He...he...” The bullet wounds are hardly noticeable. “Grandma, what’s going on?”
She turns to face me. “Kristina, some people can—”
“I’m not seven years old, Grandma. You can’t make up some fairy tale so that’ll keep me from asking questions like you did when Mom and Dad passed away. I’m a grown woman of twenty-two. Tell me truth,” I demand. “No human being can possibly heal that fast. No matter how healthy they are.”
“Everything has an explanation,” she argues.
“Really? I’d like to hear this one.”
Grandma’s tosses an exasperated look my way. “Well, what conclusion have you gotten to?”
“Conclusion? What...? All I know is that isn’t normal!” I point to Tiger’s back. “He’s not normal!”
“Kristina! Mind your manners.” Grandma looks embarrassed.
I don’t care if she’s ashamed of my outburst. “And you’ve been acting weird ever since he got here.”
“Now, that’s not fair.” Grandma tosses the gauze in her hand into the trash bin. “I’ve been merely watching out for us. For you. That’s all.”
“By keeping me out of whatever you two are hiding?”
“Precisely,” she snaps at me. “Now go on downstairs until you’ve calmed yourself down. I don’t want you yelling at me in my own house.”
Indignant, I spin around and march out of the room without saying a word. I walk out of the house, turn to my left and storm past the barn. I head straight to the woods. Familiar with the land, I’m not afraid of walking into the wooded area a short distance away from the house. There is no risk of bears or wolves in this area so I continue until I spot the same stump Steven and I used to sit on, back in our younger years.
I sit and watch the squirrels run past me and up the trees beside me. After Mom and Dad died, I spent the majority of my days in this very spot, reminiscing.
Sometimes Steven would follow me here and we’d talk for hours about the good years we had with our parents. We’d remember specific holidays, birthdays, and when the pain became too much, we’d hold each other while we sobbed. Steven and I had always been close but we bonded even more during those first eight months after our parents were gone.
It’s a shame he’s so far away now. I really need him.
A snap of a twig to my right forces my attention to the approaching caramel-eyed stranger. He strolls leisurely toward me with a defensive posture, and guarded expression. My pulse picks up pace. Being alone with him is a worst case scenario, but I’m too afraid of getting up and running.
Something tells me he’s not the kind of guy I’d want to turn my back to.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He approaches without saying a word. His silence puts me on edge.
“What do you want?” With a few short strides he’s where I am. His gaze focuses forward, avoiding contact with mine. Instinct tells me to run, but I can’t find the courage to move. He approaches slowly, sitting on the ground next to me a moment later.
I watch him like a hawk. If he tries something, I’m picking the branch lying near my right foot and breaking it on his head.
“You are uneasy.” It’s not a question, but a statement. “I should help clarify some things.” He glances up at me. “I am not a danger to you or your grandmother. I could never hurt two people who have been so kind to me.”
I’m at a loss here. He sounds so sincere. I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He could be someone dangerous. But it’s the uncertainty I can see in his eyes what unsettles me.
“I don’t trust you,” I blurt out.
“I am aware of this,” he replies nonchalantly. “And I understand.”
I hug myself. “It’s not like I pick an injured stranger standing in the middle of the road every other day and bring him home. But I...” How can I admit to feeling just a tad of empathy for him? Is that something I should confess?
“I put you in a precarious situation.”
“You have no idea.”
“Actually, I think I do. This is obviously something as new to you as it is to me.”
My hands shake, revealing my nervousness. He appears to be the opposite of what I’ve come to expect, but there’s a part of me that can’t deny something is so incredibly unsettling about him. “How do I know you’re not some deranged killer?”
“I am not out to hurt either of you.” His eyes fall down to his sock-clad feet. He’s marched all the way out here in those once perfectly white socks, which are now soiled with dirt and mud.
“And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
“No.” He shakes his head slightly. “But in a few days I will be gone and you will no longer have reason to fear me.” He rests both arms over his knees after he pulls them up to his chest, his back against the pine tree’s trunk beside me.
“Are we going to be alive when you leave?” I can’t help but ask. In my book, it’s a valid question. He says he’s leaving, but are we going to be unhurt when that time comes?
“Of course.” He almost sounds offended.
He doesn’t have the face of a killer. Then again, what does a killer look like?
I study his features. Yes, he could very well be a killer with the face of an angel. He could be Satan in disguise, as far as I’m concerned. His rugged good looks could be hiding something other than a sense of vulnerability
“Tell me something...” I shift on the trunk so that I’m facing him. “What’s really going on?”
His brow dips. “I cannot say. Your grandmother thinks—and I agree—there are things better left unsaid.”
“No.” I slap my right hand over my thigh. “So she does know what the deal with you is?”
“I suspect she understands.”
“Suspect, my ass!” I kick a stone near my right foot and watch as it takes flight, spooking a couple of squirrels bouncing around nearby. “I brought you here out of desperation. You asked for help and I provided that for you, but if we are in danger, you need to come clean about it.”
Good God, I brought him home. What if Grandma ends up hurt because of my reckless decision to help a total stranger? What the hell was I thinking?
“No one knows I am here.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better,” I snap. “These guys searching for you...they’re dangerous?”
He nods. “They will do whatever needs to be done to make sure I do not escape again, which is why I need to leave as soon as possible.”
I look at him expectantly. “When will that be?”
“A day or two at the most.”
He doesn’t sound too sure, but I can only hope he’s being truthful. I’m already regretting my decision and if something bad comes out of all of this I’ll never forgive myself.
“What did you do to piss them off?”
“Escape.”