Cutter wandered out to the front of his store at the sound of the dinging bell. The man standing in the parlor was tall and very thin, pale as the moon with long hair and strange red eyes. He wore a dingey white tank top under an open button-down flannel with a baseball cap. His jeans were torn and worn, and his boots were dusty. Cutter could tell he was a local.

"Help you?" He leaned over the counter.

The man came a bit closer to him, limping slightly. "Ah...Listen, I been wanderin' around an-"

"Got your nose where it don't belong, boy. I'll bet you anything."

A sidelong glance, Otis bit his tongue at the reply he wanted to give. "Well...y'see, ah...I'm looking for work here, and ah..."

"Boy, I told you-"

"I'll do anything you need to. I can fix just about anything needs fixin'." He looked around the shop. "You 'specially attached to these? I can make 'em better."

"You some kinda wanderin' artist or somethin'?"

"Mm. You could say that."

Spaulding was intrigued. "Alright. I'll give you odd jobs here n' there. You stick around the shop during the day and do anything needs done, you hear?"

He man nodded. "Yeah. You goin' to pay me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, boy. I'll give you what I can, alright?"

The man nodded. "Jus' tryin' to make a livin'."

Spaulding scoffed. "Yeah, I hear that." He sighed. "What's your name, boy?"

"Otis. Otis Driftwood."

Spaulding laughed. "Like the goddamn Marx character?!" He hesitated as the boy's eyes narrowed. "Ah, not like much surprises me anymore, anyway. You start now?"

Otis nodded. "Yeah. I can."

Days went by, Spaulding began to enjoy Otis's presence. He was a quiet man, but intelligent. He didn't say much until he was spoken to, and even then it was like pulling teeth. Otis's limp got worse as the days went on, and Cutter noticed that he always had a long-sleeved shirt on, even on the hotter days. He also noticed a sour stench coming from the man, like an infected wound.

Otis developed a cough, hacking his way around the parlor and doubling over every once in a while. He seemed extremely lethargic and run-down. His face was even more gaunt, having a grey cast to it. "Boy, you alright?" Otis stared blankly at the front of the store, unmoving.

"Mm? Yeah. M'fine." He went about his work, coughing and hacking.

The next day, Otis didn't show up to work. Cutter had made him write down his address for him in case he had needed anything, specifically for this reason. He had known the boy wasn't doing well, but he was stubborn and wouldn't ask for any help.

He parked in front of the small flat building Otis had told him he was living in. It looked like an abandoned building, and knowing the boy, it probably was. "Apartment 6..." He climbed the stairs in the building, searching. When he finally reached the door, he knocked. "Driftey, you in there?" He listened for a moment, then kicked the door in. Otis was lying in the middle of the floor in the living room, sprawled out. Cutter guessed he had tried to make it to work and his body had given up on him. "Otis. Otis, you hear me?" He kneeled beside him. "Jesus christ boy, don't tell me you're fuckin' dead..." He lightly slapped Otis's face a few times, eventually making him open his eyes. Otis looked at him, a low, raspy groan escaping him. "Come on, boy. You're comin' with me." Cutter picked Otis up off of the floor, making sure his head was supported with one large hand before he slid the other under his legs and picked him up.

Otis screamed internally. He was terrified. where was Cutter taking him? What would he do to him? Please, please don't hurt me...I've had enough of that in my life already...please... I don't want to be hurt anymore...He slipped into darkness as Cutter placed him in his truck.

He heard Cutter cursing at him as he came to once again. "Don't you fuckin' die on me mother fucker don't you do it. Eve'll keelhaul my ass for not takin' you in sooner. Don't you fuckin die, you skinny little white fucker."

The truck came to an abrupt stop, and Cutter got out and ran into the house. Within minutes, Otis felt hands on him again. He tried to struggle, desperately. His body wouldn't move. He couldn't even open his eyes anymore. "Easy, buddy. Easy. It's all alright now. Don't you fret none." Otis couldn't help the whimper that passed his lips. "I know you're hurtin'. Don't you worry none, we'll take good care of ya."

Otis felt himself being laid on a bed. He tried with all his strength to struggle. Being laid on a bed was never a positive thing in his experience. He still couldn't make his body move. He smelled something sweet suddenly, and felt the bed move with someone's weight on it. He felt them pulling him into their lap. Terror rose in his gut. He was defenseless. What if she would start beating him? There was nothing he could do.

"Oh, Sweetie...You're okay baby...Just relax. You're gonna be okay." A sweet, feminine voice. He felt her stroke his face, so gentle and kind. He couldn't even flinch away.

"I don't know what made him so sick...He's been bad a few days but not this bad." Cutter's voice.

"The poor thing...He looks so scared...He's absolutely petrified...What's makin' him so scared, John?" She continued to stroke his face, mothering, sweet.

He sighed. "Probably is scared beyond his wits. You come into a strange house all sick and hurt like he is...I've only known him a little bit, but...the kid's pretty fucked up."

"John!" She scolded. It made Otis's heart leap in his chest.

"I got it out of him one day he got all fuckin' weird when I raised my hand to him. Wasn't actually gonna hit him, just jokin' around. He got scared to shit, about pissed himself. His parents abused him pretty bad, I guess."

"Ohh, you poor baby..." She pulled him higher on her body and kissed his forehead and cheek, stroking his hair. "Jesus christ, you're burning up baby boy...Hand me the cloth John. We'll try and get him a little more stable till Daddy gets up here to take care of him."

Otis's mind whirled. Any time he heard the word 'daddy' it was horrible. A chill ran up his spine. He was soon distracted by the cool sensation of the cloth on his face. He wasn't sure what it was, but it felt good to him. He felt a blanket be laid on top of him. He couldn't stop a moan from crossing his lips.

"Shhhh, sweetie. You're okay." Otis felt his body relax slightly, as he drifted into darkness once more.

Hugo finally made it up the stairs, medicine bag in tow. "Good lord, Eve. This kid is a mess...I can smell the infection from here."

"I know...He looks like he's dead..." Otis's head was cradled in the crook of her arm. His breaths were shallow and weak, raspy.

"I'll try my best, but I don't know if we can save him, Eve..." He shook his head. Tears welled up in Eve's eyes. Hugo cut Otis's clothes off, exposing the shoddy, yellowing bandages on his left bicep and right thigh. "Sweet mother in heaven...He's got sepsis, Eve. I don't now how he made it this long. It's bad..." He cleaned out the wounds, re-wrapping them. "This poor sonofabitch...He's so dehydrated I don't know if I can get an IV in..."

Otis awoke again, feeling a cool sensation in the crook of his arm. He moaned softly, only reaching Eve's ears. He drew in a sharp breath when the IV needle slipped into his arm.

"Ahhh, shit. You might have to hold him down. He's not movin' much, but it's enough to make it hard right now." Otis felt the needle stab him three more times. "Okay. I'm in. Thank good god. Let's get some fluids and antibiotics into this boy."

"OOhh, the poor baby didn't like you stickin' him like that..." He felt her kissing his head again. "Just relax now, baby. We'll get you all fixed up, no problem. You're gonna be okay."

Otis felt a sense of weightlessness as warmth washed over him. He let himself fall into the clutches of sleep once more.