by Mia Ford
Jake sniffed around the perimeter quietly, checking carefully for any sign of anything being out of place but came up empty. I listened carefully, trying to figure out if anything out of the ordinary was going on but I didn’t hear anything.
When Jake was finished with his rounds, I could tell he was slightly confused as well, but he had also come up empty.
I took one last look around, peering with intimidation, gun at the ready, but found nothing.
The night was still. Not even the branches of the trees, or the leaves moved without provocation.
Everything seemed to be normal.
I had lived here a long time, so I was familiar with what my little patch of land was supposed to look like at every second of the day. For this time, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary going on.
While I was relieved, I couldn’t help but think that something was going on, which presently alluded us, but between the dog and myself, I didn’t think that was likely.
So, after sweeping my eyes all around the area one more time, I eventually allowed Jake and myself to return inside.
Since the dog seemed satisfied too, I tried to let my guard down, but I still placed the gun well-within reach and locked the cabin door.
The lock was admittedly a piece of shit, but I figured if someone did try to break in, every second counted. Even if I could only use that time to aim and fire, at least I would be able to do something.
When I turned back around, I made sure the woman had remained undisturbed.
I noticed that she was still in the bed, but I also decided that I hadn’t seen her move, at all, in a while.
Oh fuck. I thought as I inched to her side, nor really wanting to check on her, fearing the worst, but preying that she was still alive.
While I walked closer to her, I tried to gauge her breathing, but couldn’t see her move, since she was on her stomach.
I crouched down to her level, but I didn’t dare touch her. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want to touch her, considering if she was dead, she was in my house and therefore, I was as good as convicted anyway.
However, instead of trying to shake her awake, or employ an easier method of checking her vitality, I put my hand under her nose.
At first, I still couldn’t tell if the shallow breaths I thought I felt were a figment of my imagination, or proof of life, but eventually, I heard another familiar moan. At the same time, she rolled back over on her back and continued to breathe normally.
Jesus, Christ… I heaved a sigh of relief before I returned to my chair and tried to fall asleep again myself.
I was certain that Jake would alert me again if he heard anything out of the ordinary and I was a light sleeper, so I knew there wasn’t much that could happen that wouldn’t allow me to have a little time to react.
Plus, in this small, cramped cabin, sleep seemed to be the only way I could escape the thoughts and visions that continued to plague my mind.
The wild goose chase had helped momentarily but so long as I was trapped in the same cabin as her, I would continue to wonder what it would be like to be with her and thus, I would only become more depressed.
If for whatever reason, that or another threat did make itself known, I would have to be sharp, which mean that I had to keep as much space as I could between my new houseguest and myself.
My sanity and possibly our lives depended on it.
Chapter 5: Carrie
When I woke up again, after falling asleep after realizing the dream was merely a wild hair of my own imagination, it was, again the first thing I thought about. I was still slightly embarrassed, even though I knew it was normal. It wasn’t the first time I had a dream like that, though it was never so intense.
It’s not like he knows about it… I thought, trying to assure myself, but was only faced with the realization that I could’ve talked in my sleep. A mortified shiver quaked down my back but ultimately, I realized there wasn’t much I could do.
It had happened, and I wouldn’t for a second believe he didn’t have something similar, or even more physical plague him at an inconvenient moment.
So, instead of dwelling in how self-conscious I was about the dream, I focused on what it could’ve meant.
Dream interpretation was more Kasandra’s thing, but right now she wasn’t here, and I was hoping there was an actual reason for the way I was feeling.
Maybe it means that I’m supposed to get to know this man? I thought, not thinking so much sexually, though I had to admit, I still wouldn’t mind it, but get to know him as a person.
After all, he had saved me, and I hadn’t even found out his name.
When I sat up and looked around the cabin, I watched him chuck firewood into the fireplace for a moment before I cleared my throat.
He stopped short, his shoulders bristled, and it took a moment for him to turn around.
When he did, it appeared that he was trying his best not to sound strained, though it was obvious that he was uncomfortable.
“Hi, how are you feeling?”
The question caught me off guard, since strangely, the dream was a more pressing distraction than my physical afflictions but when he reminded me, I felt my ankle pulse with a light amount of pain. Otherwise, I was okay.
“Actually, believe it or not, I feel pretty good,” I answered, giving him a grin that he didn’t return.
Nervous, I felt the friendly expression crinkle back into something far less welcoming, matching his reaction.
“That’s good,” he replied, shaking his head once before returning to his firewood duty.
“I…I’m sorry for how I treated you before. I was a little…harsh when I should’ve been thanking you profusely for saving my ass,” I insisted, trying again to garner some information from him.
“Don’t worry about it,” the man insisted, seeming to be purposefully reserved. He didn’t look back at me as he spoke and even moved closer to the other side of the cabin when I spoke to him, as though he was trying to keep his distance. “You’ve been through Hell. I can’t imagine the shit that must be going through your mind. And, to wake up here…” He shook his head again, seeming genuine in what he was saying but kept by how he spoke and what his reactions looked like.
I was confused at this and I wondered if I had said or done anything that had caused him to feel particularly uncomfortable.
However, I didn’t want to bring it up, because I was sure that wouldn’t help anything. So, instead, I tried to garner information in a more blatant fashion.
“Well, thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there.”
“Don’t mention it,” he huffed, chancing a look in my direction, and speaking with an unnecessary amount of seriousness, “Seriously. Don’t. It’s no big deal.”
Afterward, he looked away again, giving me the impression that he didn’t want to speak anymore.
Even though I wanted to know more about him and I was determined to get something useful out of this conversation, I didn’t push him for further information for a while.
He finished with the firewood and went into the closet, bringing out a First Aid bag.
When he came into my field of vision, I was finally able to focus on him.
The man before me was tall and striking, though his massive amount of hair dulled that appearance slightly. His beard was so long, it covered his chest and his hair was shoulder length. The brown hair was curly and straggly, but it didn’t look dirty. In fact, the hair seemed to suit him, making him look older than the early thirties, I estimated his actual age to be. His skin was tan, thoroughly baked by the intense sun and the mountain elements, but the weathered look only added to his allure. His eyes, however, were a piercing emerald, which stood out starkly from the rest of his face. While morose and serious, his eyes were the only part of him that looked his age. Despite their expression, dimmed by whatever issues had made him live out here in the first place, the youthful light refused to be doused.
This
realization made me feel slightly more comfortable with him.
His clothes were torn, but not completely dirty. His jeans were worn, and his shirt looked like it was meant to fit a man without such a defining muscular build, which made me wonder exactly how long he had been here.
Still, despite the disheveled appearance, the roughness of his appearance intrigued me.
I found that I was instantly attracted to him, though I tried to blame it on the dream. Surely, my mind was playing tricks on me.
“I need to check your head, is that okay?” He asked, nearing me with caution, almost as though he feared I was going to bite him. His voice was gruff and hardened, as though he wasn’t used to speaking so much, but he didn’t sound nearly as angry as he had before.
“Yes…I mean, you don’t have to, but thank you,” I replied, trying to figure out exactly what this guy’s angle was. Obviously, he was out here alone, but since he seemed to be doing his best to take care of me, I wasn’t afraid of him. I couldn’t justify why he would be putting all this effort into helping me heal if he was another psycho with ill intentions.
Since you aren’t a psycho, you wouldn’t know that. I thought to myself but was drawn away from my thoughts by the sound of him snickering.
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw it,” he answered snidely.
I felt my stomach topple over, thinking of all the terrible things that could’ve happened.
Was I horribly mangled? Did the man who attack me hack my brains out with a rock? Do I still have a skull?
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I’m too ugly to look at…
While I was still out of it enough to have all of these strange thoughts, I thankfully, was not crazy enough to actually say anything I was thinking.
Instead, I mumbled, “Is it really that bad?”
The man stopped to study my face, which I could tell was drained of all its color, but he seemed slightly amused at this.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. You still have a head…”
The man sat the First Aid kit on the table next to the bed and opened the box. He pulled out a small mirror and handed it to me.
“See? It’s just deep,” his voice seemed moderately more understanding, for only a minute before he observed me looking at myself and rolled his eyes. “Women…” he muttered.
I didn’t take offense to it though, because I was too busy looking at the changes in my face.
He was right. All and all, it wasn’t that bad, but I did have some bruising, a busted lip, and a lot of dried blood in my hair.
The crimson stains were stark against my blond hair and made me feel slightly ill.
“Thanks,” I answered, when I didn’t feel like studying myself anymore.
The man took the mirror back and replaced it in the case, before carefully starting to remove the gauze that was around my head.
“When you feel better, you can take a shower,” he offered, this time in a kinder tone. “There’s a bathroom over there, but I wouldn’t recommend it right now, considering I don’t want you to start bleeding again…or hurting your ankle any worse than it is.”
I nodded but felt slightly lightheaded as the pressure of the bandage released.
Again, I felt slightly sick. I swayed slightly, and I felt the man’s hand settle sternly on my shoulder, pausing until I was able to stabilize myself.
I swallowed hard, realizing how raw my throat felt. I winced.
“I’m going to keep going now, okay? You might feel weird, especially if it starts to bleed again, but don’t worry, I’ll pack that fucker good.”
I chuckled nervously, “Thanks.”
When he didn’t respond, but I felt him meddling with the back of my head again, I closed my eyes and focused on being anywhere but here. I thought that would help me, if I started to feel sick, but unfortunately, when I closed my eyes, I saw the crazy guide’s face, glowering at me with those eyes.
I still didn’t remember much about the man or exactly what had happened, but I remembered those eyes. They were like glaciers, piercing into my soul. They were dead, cold, and cruel.
I hoped I never encountered eyes like that again.
“Are you cold?” The man’s voice broke through the memory, as my eyes popped opened and I looked at him. “Whoa!” He called, backing away, “You realize that your head is open, right? If I fuck this up, your brains could fall out or something! Just speak. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” I answered, returning my head to the position which he had put it in so that he could patch up my gash. “How does it look?”
“It looks…like you got your head bashed in with a rock,” he answered in a deadpan, slightly aggravated tone.
“Is it still bleeding?”
“No,” he replied in a gruff tone, “But honestly, it would look better if it was. I think I see your skull.”
“Ewww…” I answered, instantly feeling the color that had managed to return to my face drain out of it again.
“Nope, just gauze…” He replied, and I felt him pick something out of the back of my head, weaving it through my hair.
It didn’t matter. The damage was already done. I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Please don’t throw up,” he answered, “I wish I had some anesthetic…”
“It’s okay,” I answered, “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“It wouldn’t be for you,” he retorted in a gruff manner that made me wonder if he was attempting dry humor, or if he was simply being an ass.
“Oh…” I answered, not quite sure how else to respond.
“So, when you shook, why was that?” He asked, more pointedly this time. “Are you cold?”
“No. I just…” for an extremely brief moment, I contemplated explaining how I felt and that I continued to see the man’s eyes, but before I spoke, I thought better of it. “It was nothing. Just a chill.”
“Okay. Don’t zone out on me and if you feel anything, please tell me. I am not a doctor. I can’t tell you if what I’m doing will make your head fall off. I don’t think it will, but you never know.”
“Yeah, heads are funny like that,” I replied, trying to match his dry…whatever it was, but he didn’t respond, which I found kind of strange.
Maybe he isn’t joking… I thought, which made me feel slightly uncomfortable, though I resisted the urge to shiver.
For the next few minutes, he worked on cleaning and rebandaging my head in silence.
I endured it for as long as I possibly could but eventually, I decided that it would be a good time to start a conversation, if only to get me out of my own mind.
“So, what’s your name? My name is Carrie,” I offered, trying to sound as friendly.
“My name is Johnathan,” he retorted, almost angrily.
“Oh, well, do you like to be called Johnathan, or John? Or Johnny?” I grinned, trying to show that I was attempting to playfully tease him, but he leaned his head around to my face, specifically to glare at me.
“Do I look like a Johnny to you?” He insisted and, in that moment, unless it was a rendition of The Shining, no. He didn’t.
Holy shit…I jumped out of the pan and into the flames! This guy’s just as crazy as the guide. I thought but tried to remain calm. If this guy was teetering on the edge of his own sanity, I wanted to keep him from figuring out that’s what I thought about him.
“Um…Johnathan it is, I guess,” I answered, trying to keep a sense of positivity and lightheartedness to my conversation.
Although, he didn’t reciprocate, he apparently finished with my wound and cleaned up the First Aid kit.
Afterward, he went to the sink, washed his hands, and turned, grabbing something off the top of the fire. Carefully, he brought it over to the small, makeshift kitchen. He poured something into a bowl and delivered it over to me.
As he neared me, I could smell a roast, with broth, like a soup. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the prospect of food, even before he said a
nything to me, made my mouth water and my stomach growl.
At this point, I didn’t care much about what it was; it smelled delicious!
“Here, it’s soup. It’s got vegetables and meat, to help you heal. You’ve been here a day and haven’t had anything more than one cup of tea. The last thing you need is to be fighting dehydration, hunger, and trying to heal.”
I took the bowl from him readily and grinned, “Thank you.”
Taking food from him right now wasn’t any kind of concern, especially since I knew he was right. I was never going to get anywhere if I didn’t regain my strength.
Instead of sitting on the bed like I vaguely remembered him doing when we first met, he grabbed a stray chair, which was propped up against the wall and straddled it backwards as he sat, at a distance, away from me.
Again, I thought this was odd, but I tried to convince myself he was trying to give me room to eat; not treating me like I had The Plague.
I ate the soup, barely even tasting it. The parts that I did pause to enjoy were good, but I was far too hungry to care about taste.
He didn’t say anything while I ate, but he stared at me curiously. It was almost as though he was trying to gather information from me but didn’t want to ask.
