Disclaimer: I didn't write the book and I didn't make the movie. That's all I have to say about that. Next time around…I'm just putting down 'Author's Note' because there's only so many times you can disclaim something. 'Nuff said.

Author's Note: Is it just me, or does the 'Ladies' Choice' song from Hairspray remind anyone else of those record-store nymphos…? Sometimes I wonder, now…did that old 'one thing lead to another' come up with an other…? And isn't it a funny little coincidence that the first tropical storm of this year gets named Alex?

(cough)

That might be an interesting path to follow, if any writers out there are interested. By all means, let it percolate in your mind for a while and then become a new story. Consider yourself encouraged.

Anywho…first there was one, then there were two, and now there are three comment-loving folks checking me out as of late. I wonder if I could get a fourth before too much longer…? Hehheh! ;) You guys know who you are, and I appreciate the time you take to leave nice feedback for me on a regular basis. Kudos to Chaos, Panda, and Straha, along with a giant thank you! :) And now…who's ready for more?

Mystery Malchick

"Is he awake yet?"

John and Matthew had started in on the morning coffee when I came downstairs to join them, wanting to sharpen up my senses for the appearance of our newest guest. The morning, as well as the rest of the day, belonged to we three due to no appointments or other scheduled events to worry about. We had all been able to wear something else besides the usual gray uniforms, as Christmas had been named a national holiday and everyone from the youngest student to the oldest worker had been given that day off. However, even though I was glad to escape the office, there would be no vacation from my other, more secretive occupation of tending to whatever stray human arrived at my door.

"Is he awake yet?"

"We heard you the first time, Greg," John laughed, pretending to shake a finger at me. "And to answer you, I think I heard the floor creak a few times about thirty minutes ago. He hasn't come down the stairs yet, but there you are."

"You don't suppose he hurt himself again, do you?" Matthew asked, glancing at the landing behind me.

"On the floorboards?"

I couldn't help but laugh that question off, because I was in no mood to fear the worst that early in the morning. We'd seen our latest mystery man make the right decision by staying with us that night, and not going back into the snow in his injured state. He'd had a cool glass of water with my help; he'd received some much-needed medical attention from Matthew; and, after a good cry for reasons unknown to me, finally settled down to sleep in the guest bedroom. I was looking forward to showing him the rest of my house, and if he was fully alert as well as fully hungry and thirsty, try to give him whatever kind of breakfast he asked me for. How, then, would anything have gone wrong in only half an hour?

"He did look rather worn out, but I doubt he's clumsy. He definitely had no trouble getting to the doorstep, did he?"

"Only after tearing his feet to ribbons by walking, that is."

"Well, maybe he just needed a new pair of shoes."

"Those weren't shoes," John said. "Those were a genuine pair of kicking boots."

For a split second, my mind traveled back to the first time I saw John hiding behind the woodpile in my backyard. He'd been dressed in black instead of white, but his boots were almost exactly the same…and just like our guest, he'd almost succeeded in hurting me.

Talk about your déjà vu, right?

"Right, so…what does that have to do with him?"

"It's not just the clothes, Greg. I used to sweat like that in the cold, too."

"So you think he's also…" I mimed sticking a needle into my arm; then raised my eyebrows.

"Let's just say he wasn't the only one who liked to feel good sometimes. It takes one to know one, right?"

He talked so casually, so openly about it as though everyone in Britain did that sort of thing for fun. That just couldn't be possible, not since I'd only ever seen two such people in my life who could have done it regularly. Everyone else seemed like normal, clean, and sober law-abiding citizens. Whatever drug or other substance John was referring to, they wouldn't have known about it, let alone want to take it…would they?

"Yes, well…"

I had to take a deep breath or two to get rid of the strange images that threatened to take over my mind. No, there were only two such people like who I'd seen and who had ever come to my door. I knew nothing about the rest of society here and I wouldn't want to find out, for I had enough of a society of my own under my own roof. The rest could remain as mere shadows until I was ready to find out otherwise. After I'd regained control of my thoughts, only then could I bring myself to continue the debate.

"…I don't think he'd do any more dangerous things here, would he? I mean to say…whatever he just got done using, I'm sure he didn't bring any more of it along with him."

"And we've known this kid for how long?" Matthew asked, pushing away his half-empty cup. "Thirty minutes? Forty? Did any of us check his pockets before or after he passed out?"

"No…?"

"And we didn't go check after he conked out, did we?"

"No, I'm sure we didn't."

"All right, so what do we do about it?"

All of us looked towards the staircase before I got to my feet, my mind reeling with the thousand or more questions I hoped our patient could answer. I'd wanted to have a peaceful morning with my friends, yet already my mind was working against that little plan. Lovely.

First off, even though he hadn't used it against us, he'd still brought a knife into my house like some common criminal, and if he'd come to us fully healthy instead of lethargic and miserable, he could have caused us all sorts of harm with it. Second, even though none of his bones were broken, he still had the same torn, bloodstained clothing as someone who had just been in a fight. If he had been at his full strength, he could have taken John down before doing the same to Matthew and me. And, most importantly, even though he had most likely slept it off by now, there could still be a chance that our mystery man's addictions hadn't yet faded out of his system. What if he mistook us for his dealers in a fit of delirium and, thinking we no longer wanted to sell him any more stashes, believed he could go on with his bad habits by killing us and taking whatever we'd hidden in our pockets? We three could end up dead on the floorboards before noon, and all because I hadn't been wise enough to fear the worst.

On the other hand, he hadn't been the first to come to my door in a state of miserable injury, wanting nothing more than a safe place to hide, to rest, and to heal from everything the outside world had given him. Two years ago, there had been one other person wandering through the snow to finally meet me, barely able to see through two black eyes and almost unintelligible due to a few of his teeth getting knocked out. Two years ago, I'd also given that one other person temporary refuge in my humble home, and after a series of highs and lows, his path kept bringing him back to my door for the somewhat positive habits of word games and glasses of wine on two nights out of each month. I must have had some good effect on him, for at this moment, he stood between me and Matthew, eager to help out any way he could in this matter before us. That left one success story to my name, but still, there was no way to tell if I could repeat the procedure with another. What worked with John could spell disaster for the mystery man, for all we knew.

It was, therefore, a bit unnerving to rap my knuckles three times upon his door, for there was no telling what we could find if and when we were permitted to enter. We would have to keep our good wits about us, and so steel ourselves up for whatever came our way.

"Er…good morning in there?"

It wasn't the best greeting in the world, but at least it might help us be allowed inside.

"I don't know if you heard us moving around downstairs, but ah…the morning coffee's ready and waiting. D'you want some?"

I received no reply but a whimper from within, meaning that any and all sorts of mishaps could have happened long before we climbed the stairs.

"O-kay, no coffee, then. No harm done. How about the newspaper, then? Would you like that instead?"

This time, there was no reply at all to my question but silence, and with it, my apprehension grew. What could have possibly gone on in there while the rest of us were downstairs? Had he taken a fall from the bed and suffered a major injury? Had he slipped headfirst and bruised his own skull by accident? Barely thinking, I knocked three more times upon the door, not bothering to wait for an answer.

"Look, Mr.…Whomever-You-Are, we three don't know what's going on, but if there's something you need, could you at least open the door, perhaps? We won't get anywhere trying to walk through walls, will we?"

We heard another small whimper from inside; the sounds of ragged breathing and dragging limbs; and finally, the slight creak of him opening the door wide enough to allow us entry. We found him close to the entrance one moment later, swaddled like a cocoon in the blankets he'd borrowed from the guest bed. He'd been sound asleep for at least twelve hours; yet the circles under his eyes registered no change in his sleep schedule. Instead, he looked as pale as the moment we first brought him inside, and he appeared to have bundled himself up to fight off some horrible chill that the rest of us neither felt nor took notice of. He gave us all a lifeless, empty expression when I moved to stand before him, almost as though he'd just awakened from a nightmare and barely believed that the rest of us were real. For all I knew, he could have been trapped in a living nightmare long before he found my house. If so, no wonder he had arrived fully armed and prepared to kill something…or someone.

"That's better, isn't it?"

With John and Matthew behind me, I chanced a slight walk to where our guest sat, forcing myself to stay calm and not give into the stress that came with a venture into unknown territory. He flinched just a little bit as I knelt down beside him for a closer look.

"Well well, still tired, are we? Not quite up to scratch at the moment, are we?"

He didn't talk, but instead glanced halfway back at me as though trying to meet my eyes and avoid them all at once. I didn't know what to make of that, so I tried again:

"Friend, you aren't looking too well this morning. How do you feel?"

He said something in response to my question, only it was too quiet for me to hear properly.

"Sorry, what was that again?"

"Terrible."

His voice was slow and raspy and sounded like he'd tried going without speaking for some time now. Curious.

"Oh, yes, believe me, it's terrible. Wasps in my head and needles in my eyes and knives digging into my feet. It's not pleasant, oh no."

"Ah, I see…"

For safety's sake, I took a quick look at the floor to make sure he hadn't disturbed his bandages, or worse, reinjured himself. Thankfully, unlike the downstairs, this time the floorboards were spotless.

"…Well, is-is there anything you could take for that? Some kind of medicine, maybe?"

"Medicine? Medicine? You think there's a cure for this? You think some little pill can fix me, friend?"

He switched from lethargy to annoyance so fast, I had to move away a few steps.

"I meant for your pain," I said slowly, not wanting to further provoke him. "It's not right to make a person sit in their agony and not try to help, is it?"

"What if I want to be in agony?"

"Then I'll try and convince you to do otherwise."

"And if I refuse you again?"

"I'll ask John and Matthew to help me get you to the hospital."

"And if I bite anyone who comes near me?"

"Look, you're not going to bite anyone," I retorted, feeling a little annoyed myself. "I'm here to help you, remember? We're all here to help you."

"What makes you think I need any help?"

"Look at yourself for a minute. Think. What's going on right now? Why do you have the sweats and the mood swings? Why are you in so much pain?"

"Well, 'friend', that all depends. What is it that interests you about my pain? I'm nothing special. Why bother yourself with me and mine?"

"Ah, well, I couldn't be a second-level doctor, could I?" I snapped, no longer holding back. "No, of course I couldn't. I'm just pretending to be helpful because I'm bored and wanting a laugh out of tricking you, aren't I?"

"Doctor…? You're a doctor?"

"Why the sterile room, idiot? Why the spare bed and all the bandages? Is that any way to talk to someone who let you in out of the cold?"

I glared down at him and waited for an answer, all the while watching his eyes grow big and listening to him breathe without making a sound. If he hadn't looked so ill already, I'd have wanted to send him straight to the nearest head-doctor and have them deal with him instead of me. His mind games were no way to help me give him a proper diagnosis for his condition, that is, if these symptoms could even be labeled as such.

On the other hand, he had a strange look about him after I snapped at him. It was almost as though I'd just slapped him in the face and punched him in the stomach at the same time. I knew that would be no real way to get answers, of course, yet I went ahead and did it anyway. Because all he did was give me questions to answer and not the other way around, I had to admit, I was no longer in the greatest of moods.

"Excuse me? Do you even recognize what's happening to you?"

"I can't breathe."

"Well, small wonder there, isn't it?" I laughed, still feeling horribly frustrated. "What gives, friend? Did you mix up your own mind instead of mine?"

"I can't breathe! I can't swallow!"

He began to rub frantically at his throat as though trying to loosen something that had stuck there. I knew he couldn't be choking because he'd had nothing to eat or drink besides one glass of water, and he had no trouble whispering or snapping at me. He still showed too many symptoms to be considered healthy, however, and to figure out his ailment, I would have to get him to agree to an examination.

That is, if I could somehow persuade him to listen to me first.

"All right, all right now, try to calm down. We can fix this. I just need to know if—"

His entire body suddenly arched towards the ground, and before I could finish my sentence, a pale brown mess had stained the carpet in front of him.