Meagan walked out of the bathroom, rubbing her hair, glancing occasionally at the black-stained towel, black from the colour of her now short cropped hair. The man, he hadn't given her a name, was still dressed in his faded green jacket and worn jeans, having slept that way all night. He was watching T.V. with the sound turned off.

"What's on the tube?" Meagan asked.

He didn't even acknowledge her. He was watching cartoons, Yogi the Bear. Meagan thought of Jimmy. He liked cartoons. She wondered if he was watching any right at that moment, before going to school. She imagined him watching the same cartoon, the shared images forming some sort of bond. Did he miss her, she wondered.

"What's your name, hon?" she asked him, pulling her new clothes out of the bag and getting dressed just inside the bathroom. Energy, action, both good remedies for memories, she hoped.

The stranger didn't say anything. He'd paid for the room and for her new clothes, so he wasn't broke. But he wasn't much of a talker either. Maybe he was just the strong, silent type. Or more likely, he wasn't interested in her. She wasn't the hot thing she'd once been, which sort of made her feel at ease a bit since she didn't get that predatory vibe from men the way she used to. Still, given what she'd gone through of late, about everyone made her feel scared.

"You have a scar on your chest."

"Well, the zombie finally speaks." She came out wearing a grey sweatshirt and jeans. "In case you didn't notice, it's more than a scar. I had cancer. They had to take it off."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You've had a lot of pain in your life."

She laughed, but then caught herself. He seemed so sincere when he said it.

"Yeah," she nodded. She ran another towel over her hair, getting it dry.

She continued to watch him. She was most drawn to the way he smelled, and to his face. His smell was peculiar, but not at all unpleasant. It reminded her most of the way Jimmy smelled when he was a baby. The stranger seemed to have something of that same innocent quality, or so he seemed until she remembered the strange hand grenade and how the stranger had charged into battle.

"Did you fight in the war?"

"Yes."

She kept staring at his face. It wasn't unpleasant, but it bothered her that he didn't blink. She stared at him some time, not taking her eyes off his face. Her own eyes started to water. She couldn't stand it.

"So, was that Desert Storm?"

"No, I fought in the First War."

Meagan thought a bit. "Um, you're not old enough." She said this gently in case he started getting all crazy on her. "My great-grandfather fought in that war."

"Yes, Michael Patrick O'Neill. He was maimed at Belleau Wood. Not much use to your great-grandmother after that. He came home neither man, nor dead, just somewhere in between. He had lost the battle of the bottle before we found him. We only just managed to save him. He served us well."

Meagan scowled. She hadn't known her great-grandfather, but her Da had called him Grandpa Pat. Meagan felt something at the edge of her mind. It was sort of like when she was a kid, seeing imaginary things, making up stories. Or were they stories?

"You remind me of him," the man said. "You can call me, Vargas."

"You can call me a cab," Meagan told him. "Look, I'm sorry I got you into my mess. And I appreciate your saving my life from those goons. But I'm tired of this voodoo show. You are freaking me out and are in need of help. I hope you get it but for both our sakes, maybe just let us forget we ever met, OK?"

"I need you to drive me to Santa Cruz. They're expecting me."

"Meagan took out the Gremlin's car keys and tossed them to the stranger. "Take it."

"The stranger didn't bother to catch the keys. They rested on his chest. "I need you to take me there. We can leave after breakfast. You should get something to eat."

"I'm not taking you to Santa Cruz," she told him.

Vargas got up. "Let's go. Take your things. We can leave after you eat."

He picked up her purse and offered it to her. She shook her head.

He pulled her hand to him and put her purse on her arm. He arm was like steel, the way it grabbed her. Not like flesh, but hard and unyielding, and cold, cold like stone.

"You have nowhere else to go."

Smug bastard. But it was the truth.

He turned off the T.V. and walked out the door. She could see him waiting for her. She thought a bit. Santa Cruz? She'd looked it up on the roadmap she'd found in the car. It was someplace to start. But damn him, Vargas or whatever his real name was, he was so damn smug, and weird. Still, without money, or contacts, she didn't many other, or any other options that wouldn't end her back in Alberto Pestanado's lap.

She joined him outside, donning a cheap pair of butterfly sunglasses. "You like pancakes?" she asked him.

story by Solanio