3

My brooding passenger seemed to loathe South Dutton traffic ten times more than I did. He glared menacingly at whoever was at eye level, but he would not acknowledge anything below that. When the honking got too loud, he roared in anger.
"Can't you get these fools to end their racket?"
I looked at him, wild-eyed, then back at the road. The signal was green. Snaking my way through traffic, I broke out onto the freeway and were bound for the edge of the game-park. It wasn't a very long ride, but the ten minutes I spent in horrified silence were agony. My mind was furiously at work, like a child with a pail and shovel at the seashore, building up every possible sort of insult to sling his way. But sandcastles tend to crumble when the waves come in.

The man slammed the door hard as he got out. I forced my way out through my door and hung back by the truck as he strode on out to the road. At first, he searched the ground, walking up and down the whole length of the road, just before it curved up ahead and sloped down to Riverside's farms. I watched him curiously. He talked kinda funny, he dressed kinda funny, hell he even smelled kinda funny – like wildflowers. He kicked a stone out of his way, visibly distressed, his forehead creased in anger. A moment later he turned his wan face to the sky, his eyes searching, but for what?

His lips pulled back in a snarl, "ODIN!"

I looked upwards half expecting something to happen. We were both disappointed.
"ODIN, HEAR ME!" He continued.
Odin? The God?

He was a tourist, maybe. That would explain a lot.

"The Bifrost," he mumbled, rubbing his temples, then came to the loud conclusion: "he can't hear me."
"No shit, Sherlock." I rolled my eyes.
The man threw me a look and turned away. A shadow crossed his face. For a brief second he looked worried and lost and broken.
I most probably had broken him with my car, but if he was damaged physically he had not shown it. There was a burden in this man's eyes. I could tell. I had seen that look before, in a mirror, not too many months ago. The sincerity of his pain, though it lasted a fraction of a second, stirred a deep sympathy in me.

But the asshole had bloody choked me in an alley like a date-rapist and I wasn't about to forget. I slammed my palm against the horn, startling him. He stood dusting his clothes, and for a long moment was lost in deep thought before striding over to the truck and throwing himself into the passenger side.
"Drive," he ordered again.
"Now where?" I whined.
He fixed me with a searching look, as if to ask where I lived.
"Oh no," I folded my arms and leaned away from the wheel. "No, no! No way, Jose, or whatever your name is."
"That was not a request, now drive."
"You drive," I shot back stubbornly.

I did not notice the look on his face when he kicked open his door and came over to mine, wrenching it open from the outside. He grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out, kicking and shouting.
"We don't want a repeat of the alley, now, do we?" He breathed.
"Gerroffme!" I shook free of his grip. "Stop doing that!"
"Which direction is it?"
"If you think I'm about to let some strange bloke from Sweden crash at my house you're sorely mist-"
"You will find I am not a patient person to deal with," he said, facing me with not more than a few inches between us, "currently I have the upper hand, I could break you in two if I pleased. It would do you well to concede with my demands, do you understand?"
He drove his point home and I stopped squirming.
"Where is your home?"
"It's near here," I sighed. "About five minutes away."
"Now you can drive or you can walk, your choice."

The drive was tenser, but I was glad it was over quickly. I pulled up next to the ramshackle single-story cottage built on a hill that overlooked River Harbour. I realized I had driven down with my door swinging open. What's the point worrying about car-safety? This lunatic's going to stab you in your sleep anyway.

I fumbled for the key under the doormat and my hand shook with the tension that was building up inside me. I kept a straight face, but what I wanted more than anything was to curl up and have a good cry. As if my life didn't suck hard enough, my new houseguest was a psychopathic Swedish tourist intent on making me his slave. I held the door open for him and we entered through the kitchen. It was all I could do to keep myself from bursting into tears (that or hurling the kitchen knives into his beautifully chiselled face).

"Welcome to Chez Paton!" I said with mock hospitality, gesturing weakly at the dishevelled sitting room, littered with food cans, papers and clothes. "Allons-y."
He glanced at me, his mouth a perfect line. Then he muttered, "Why could I have been run over by a more prosperous human?"
"Would've saved me the trouble."
"It will have to do."
I was hoping he wouldn't say that. He picked his way through the messy floor, and as I walked behind him I noticed, at close range, that he was limping and his hand would often reach for his chest, a look of discomfort on his face. I felt guilty again. Apparently I had banged him up pretty bad.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay at the hospital instead?" I asked gingerly.
He shook his head. "I have no Midgard currency, it would be useless. You will nurse me."
"I will?' I gawked at him.
"Is it customary for you to cross-question my orders every single time?"
"Look, man, I can't be babysitting you, nothing I take care of makes it past the first week, not even the plants-" I pointed to the window sill, where a row of pots cradled blackened and withered stems. "I killed this cactus."
He raised his eyebrows at me.
"A cactus," I emphasised. "Cacti don't even need water. Things die here."
"How awful," he shook his head. "Regardless. This is my temporary settlement."
"Why?"
"To recuperate, of course," he snapped.
"From what?"
"Your brain is like a sieve – from crash landing on a moving vehicle in the middle of nowhere and being cast-" He stopped himself.
"In a really bad movie?" I asked, gesturing at his clothes.
"If you must know, I was cast away from my-" he hesitated, "from my home."
A lunatic in exile, say your prayers Paton.
"Who are you?" I asked bluntly.
"I am Loki of Asgard. I am a prince. Beyond this, I do not know."