Inseparable Strangers (5 page)

He
winced as he straightened his legs out. “Thank you,” he whispered. I nodded
once just as he’d done to me so many times. From all the time we’d spent
together in the last twenty four hours, I’d learned he wasn’t a man of many
words.

I
opened the pill bottle for him and took off the cap to his water, handing them
both to him. The fur around his mouth moved a smidge and I wondered if he might
have smiled at me.

“You’re
going to have to try and scoot back so you can rest against the headboard if
you want to eat,” I suggested.

Turning
my back to him, I made myself busy doing nothing so I wouldn’t have to watch
him suffer while he inched back little by little. When I no longer heard the
heavy panting and the sound of cotton sliding along my ruined, white comforter,
I turned back around to assist him.

After
he swallowed his pills and the entire bottle of water, I took the empty bottle
from him, and then handed him the tray of soup. “Are you going to be able to
manage this by yourself?” His hands shook uncontrollably and I was worried the
hot soup would spill.

He
cocked his head up toward me, looking at me from an angle. “I might need a
little help if you don’t mind.”

Stepping
closer, I took the tray from him then sat down on the edge of the bed. “Um… I’m
not sure what you need me to do. Do you want me to hold the tray for you? Do
you have the strength to feed yourself?” Not only was I one hundred percent out
of my comfort zone, I was also freaking the fuck out inside because I couldn’t
understand where the nurturing side of me was coming from. Caring and loving
people weren’t on my list of character qualities. I preferred the harsher side
of life. You couldn’t allow people to believe you were timid. They’d break down
the door to your chest and still your heart before you knew it was no longer
beating. That was why I kept mine hard, and if this crazy loon thought he was
softening me up, he would be painfully mistaken.

“Look,
the soup’s not going to make the decision for you. Do you need my help or not?
I’ve got things to do today and babysitting you wasn’t exactly in my plans.”
While waiting for him to decide, I scooped up a spoonful of the creamy soup and
held it up to what I assumed was his mouth. The thought of shaving his face
while he was asleep crossed my mind.

He
slowly opened his mouth and I was surprised to see a full set of straight,
white teeth. And they all looked clean and real. Nothing like the disgusting
stained ones I’d seen in my dream. I’d never fed anyone a day in my life other
than myself. I’d often watched mothers feed their babies and would think to
myself how miserable of a life they must have, but as I sat there feeding the
man from my nightmare, I realized it wasn’t as horrifying as I’d always assumed
it to be.

Harry
(that was the name I decided to give him because he reminded me of a Sasquatch)
ended up eating about a quarter of his soup before he started dozing in
mid-bite. I’d watched many of those funniest home videos of kids falling asleep
right in the middle of eating, but I’d never heard of a grown man doing it.

He
needed to eat to gain some of his strength back so he could hurry and leave,
but I knew he needed rest more. His body had sustained so much already, it was
a wonder he was even coherent. I think if he’d been alone much longer, he
would’ve been a goner for sure. I wish I could understand why he was so
persistent on not going to the hospital. Could it be because he didn’t have
insurance? That wouldn’t matter though; uninsured people go all the time. Was
he afraid he would have to report the guys that had jumped him? Was he already
in trouble with the law? Oh God, maybe it was a drug deal gone bad. My mind was
zooming through all the endless possibilities of the mysterious man lying in
front of me.

There
was one thing for sure, when he did heal well enough to leave, he had a lot of
explaining to do.

While
he slept, I found a pair of rubber gloves that Zoila used to clean the house
with, and I picked up the raggedy pieces of material he called clothes. Using a
tong to inspect them with, I dug through the pockets of his pants and coat only
to come up empty handed. How does someone not have any proof of identity on
them? Again, another question to ask once he woke up.

Hoping
that he wouldn’t mind, I took his rags to the trashcan by the curb and tossed
them in there. If he needed clothes, I would buy some for him. There was no way
I could stomach those clothes in my house any longer. It was tough enough having
him in my house, much less on my bed. A bath was also in order once he woke.
The filthy funk on him gave me the heebie jeebies, and the more I thought about
it, the more I wanted to douse myself with scalding hot water mixed with
bleach.

Since
I missed my morning workout, I resorted to one of my old Turbo Fire DVDs for
the next hour. I set it up in the entertainment room so I could keep an eye on
the hallway. If Harry was to wake up and try to leave, I would see him before
he could escape. My gut told me as soon as he was well, he’d be gone once the
opportunity arose. He may have saved me in the rain but I saved his fucking
life, and I wasn’t letting him go until I had answers.

The
day dragged on and I was becoming antsy as I waited for him to wake up. I
wasn’t anticipating him sleeping all damn day. There were so many times I
wanted to leave but I couldn’t. And if Zoila found him, she would freak out and
call the cops claiming he was an intruder.

The
rooms throughout the house darkened as the night hour approached, and the
outside lights filtered brightly through the skylight in the kitchen. You could
tell the fall of the year was right around the corner by the shortened
daylight. So many people who lived in the mountains loved this time of year. I
wasn’t one of them. When the fall of the year rolled around, people from all
the surrounding states of Virginia flocked to our town like a bunch of kids
lined up at the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. You’d think they’d never seen a
fucking tree in their life. What was the big fucking deal with watching a leaf
die a slow death before it descended to the ground and rot into the earth? I
hated tourists. I hated how they flooded our roads, driving as if they’d just
received their license the day before. I hated how they’d swarm into the local
merchant shops, feeding them their dollars as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over
fall foliage merchandise. It only encouraged the locals to continue holding
their annual Autumn Leaves Festival. I hated people. People sucked.

Cold
weather depressed me. Nobody knew this, but then again, I didn’t talk to people
either for them to find out. The less people you made friends with, the less
drama you had, which resulted in less stress you brought into your life. And
besides, Pam associated with most of the elites in town, so I avoided them to
keep her out of my personal business.

Time
kept ticking by and I kept waiting around for Harry to show some sort of sign
he was still alive. The idea of checking on him entered my mind, but I was too
chicken shit to do it. What if he’d died in his sleep? What would I do with a
dead body of a man whose name I didn’t even know? If he wasn’t awake by
tomorrow morning, I was going to call the cops and have them come check on him
themselves. I had earned my good citizenship badge after today.

While
waiting around, I decided to start up my laptop and educate myself on his
possible injuries. Of course WebMD was already bookmarked on my computer. This
was a requirement for all hypochondriacs.
Don’t judge. I blame it on my OCD
.
The first thing I looked up was broken ribs. I was ninety-nine percent sure
he’d broken at least one, if not more. I just hoped they weren’t broken severe
enough to puncture a lung or damage any blood vessels.

As
I got caught up reading WebMD, I could feel the weight in my eyelids as they
continuously tried to close.

Panic
shot from every nerve ending as I sat ramrod straight in my chair. My weary
eyes focused on the time on my phone and I nearly shit a brick when I saw it
was after three in the morning. I jumped up and raced down the hall to the
spare bedroom where Harry was sleeping… or at least I hoped he still was.

Very
quietly, I opened the door an inch and I was greeted with instant relief when I
heard heavy breathing coming from the bed. I tiptoed over to him and listened
for any type of gurgling sounds coming from his lungs. If a rib had punctured
his lung, fluid would start settling in, or worse, collapse. After listening
for a couple of minutes, everything sounded clear, and there were no more signs
of wheezing.

No
longer stricken by fear of him dying in my house, I closed the door and walked
into the kitchen to grab a few glasses from the cabinet. Carefully, I sat them
in front of the door in case he did try to leave without my knowledge. If he
didn’t break them, he would at least knock them over and create a ruckus of
some sort.

I
grabbed a quilt from the linen closet and settled myself on my white suede
sectional. Tonight I didn’t dream about Harry killing me. I dreamed I killed
him.

~~~

The
chilling thoughts of my nightmare from last night danced around in my mind as I
awoke. It all felt as real as the night I dreamed of my near death experience.
When I finally fell back asleep, luckily, the horrendous visions didn’t come
back to haunt me. The fragments of his murder were still fresh in my mind… on
my hands. I held them out in front of me examining them as if I’d actually
committed such a senseless act. It was all so real. I was there. I was amongst
the men I’d seen beating the life out of him. I had a bat in my hand. I was
swinging it, but it was too heavy. In my dream I was weak, but it didn’t stop
me from eventually beating his body until it was no longer recognizable. It was
the most graphic dream I’d ever had.

The
clinking of glasses falling against each other shook me out of my trance.
Wasting no time, I hopped off the couch and ran to the spare bedroom.

Harry
stood frozen with one hand on the door knob and white knuckling the doorframe.
One of the glasses rolled toward me, and stopped when it bumped into my foot.
Bending down ever so slowly to pick it up, I kept a watchful eye on Harry as
his mysterious green eyes regarded me. His brow furrowed as his gaze left me
and wandered down both ends of the hall.

“Where
am I?” His voice was deep and raspy. I wondered if he’d strained his vocal
chords from all the coughing, or if something worse had happened during his
attack. They could’ve tried to choke him before I had shown up. It was
difficult to tell with his long beard.

“You’re
at my house,” I said, trying to control the apprehension he triggered in me. “I
tried taking you to the hospital, but you were pretty persistent in not going.”
I rolled the glass around in attempt to keep my hands busy. The nervousness he
created was foreign to me and I was struggling with keeping it under wraps.

 His
eyes widened when I mentioned the hospital. The slight jerk of his head told me
something didn’t settle well with him. There was so much secrecy surrounding
him, I didn’t know who felt in the dark more; me or him. “How did I get here?”

“I
brought you here.” This situation was becoming more and more strange. It had me
wondering if he was suffering from amnesia. “Do you remember what happened to
you yesterday?” I asked.

He
studied the wall above my head, creating a deep crease between his eyes. Harry
was thinking. He was trying to dig up a piece of memory. After a few seconds,
he lowered his head then shook it in disbelief.

“Listen,
you probably don’t need to be up walking around. I’m pretty sure you’ve broken
a rib if not more.” He nodded in agreement. “Rest is the best medicine at this
point, so go back to bed and I’ll bring whatever you were out here looking
for.”

He
started to speak but his words came out hoarse. He cleared his throat before
giving it another try. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

My
lips formed an O and I was pretty sure I’d blushed for the first time in my
life. “Umm, it’s the next door to your right,” I said using a stern voice. I
couldn’t allow him to think he had embarrassed me. Asking him if he needed my
help was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit back. No need to stick my foot into
my mouth at this point.

The
whiskers on his face shifted leaving me in the dark with what kind of facial
expressions he was making. He shuffled down the hall then disappeared into the
bathroom. Not wanting to look like a creeper while he did his business, I
walked into the kitchen for some ice. Last night while I educated myself on
broken ribs, one of the things suggested to help with healing was icing the
fracture. Grabbing a gallon sized Ziploc baggie, I scooped up some ice and
filled the bag until it was full.

Hopefully
while I was in the kitchen busying myself, he was back in the bed. I didn’t
want to be standing around waiting on him in the bedroom. Something about that
didn’t set well with me.

As
I turned the corner, I heard his bare feet shuffle along the hardwood floor. At
least I now knew he was out of the bathroom. I stood outside of the door until
I no longer heard him moving and grunting as he settled back in bed.

“I
brought you some ice. Since we both agree on your fractured ribs, ice and rest
are the two best ways to heal faster,” I said, handing him the bag-filled ice.
“You also need to at least cough or take a deep breath once every hour. That
way you won’t be as prone to pneumonia or causing a lung to collapse,” I
instructed as I handed him a hand towel to wrap around the cold bag.

He
sucked in a breath through his teeth when the shock of the cold bag rested upon
his right side. Once he seemed to adjust to the iciness, he asked me, “Are you
a nurse?”

I
felt a smile start to touch the corner of my mouth, but I suppressed it before
it completed. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. We weren’t
friends. In my dreams we were enemies. “No, but I researched the web enough to
be.” And, yes, at this moment, I was proud of my hypochondriac self-diagnosis
skills.

My
answer seemed to satisfy him enough as he did his usual and nodded once. This
was becoming his signature move.

There
was an awkward silence in the room. He seemed content on the bed, and I sort of
felt like I was intruding on his privacy. But this was my house, so I could
come and go however and whenever I wanted. If he didn’t like me hovering then
he could go to a damn hospital.

The
silence continued.

I
looked up at him and saw his eyes were closed.
Is he sleeping again?
I
hoped not because I needed answers. I needed a name. I needed to know why those
guys attacked him.

 “So
how are you feeling today?” I asked, pretending he wasn’t just trying to sleep.
Or maybe he was faking it so I would leave.

“Umm,
to be honest, I don’t know.” He turned his head to face me, and his eyes opened
showing he was a little more alert. “What happened to me, and who are you?” he
asked, his eyebrows knitted together tightly.