Chapter Two

Deborah was never so jubilant as when the shape of her buildings came into view through the haze of the duststorm. She was, by now, more used to the balance of riding bareback with a naked man slung across the horse in front of her, and he unwound her hand from the filly's mane. She steered the filly through a gate that was left open and into the area where the house and outbuildings were. She felt the freshly irrigated lawn rend beneath her mount's feet as they galloped through her backyard up toward the house. Just as they were nearing the back porch, the man in front of her started squirming, almost convulsing, and she lost her balance. They both tumbled off the horse together, hitting the ground hard and rolling a couple times in the grassy mud. The filly whinnied and skittered to the right, rearing and then bucking, and then she turned around and headed for the barn.

Deborah took no more than a moment to reorient herself. This wasn't the first time she had fallen from a horse, but it was certainly the messiest. Wiping the mud from her eyes, she looked up to see the man standing over her. His eyes were wide open, grotesquely so, but he was still flailing about wildly, as if trying to see. His legs were shaking violently, and he seemed to be trying to talk.

Deborah wasn't quite sure what to do at this point. He was weak, but he was still slightly bigger than her, and if he were some sort of meth head, he could be very dangerous.

The wind was still blowing just as hard, but the dust had stopped for the most part, and as the sky darkened to a more settled blue-grey, there was a mighty, violent clap of thunder right above them. Like an animal, the man cowered, hunkered down and covered his face. He turned to try to run, but tripped in the mud and fell to his knees. It was one of the most terrible things Deborah had ever seen.

"Hey!" Deborah called, finally. The man stood and spun around with sudden strength, his hands clenched in trembling fists. Upon his face was a sudden look of anger that chilled Deborah.

"Wait, it's alright! I found you in the desert, I want to help you."

The man opened his mouth, but could only breath raggedly and in gasps.

"Please." Deborah ventured toward the man, a hand tentatively outstretched. "I just want to help you. I swear I won't hurt you, I swear."

The man looked right at Deborah then, hard at her face. She hadn't noticed before, but his eyes were horrendous. They were a saturated, blood red in the sclera, clouded over the black iris and pupil. He was clearly blind, but still, it seemed he was staring her right in the face.

"I swear." She whispered, suddenly very frightened herself. Tears started streaming from her eyes as another clap of thunder sounded. The man didn't flinch, but kept staring. "I swear I won't hurt you." She managed out, trying not to sob. Suddenly, the man simply collapsed, falling forward into Deborah's arms. Deborah took a moment, with the man's head clutched against her chest, to let out one wail. Something had scared her, badly, and Deborah wasn't sure what it was. She held him for a moment, the scratched and swollen fingers of her right hand threaded through the man's salt-hardened, greasy black hair. She was so scared, so scared, just like a child again.

When the first drop of ice cold rain, big as a quarter fell on the back of her neck, however, her resolve was reinstated and she reached her left arm under the man's long, thin legs. She scooped him up and cradled him as best she could, running toward the house. She wrenched open the screen door and, at last, collapsed in the safety of her kitchen.

She laid the man on his back on her linoleum. Against the white tile, his condition seemed even more disturbing. His bottom lip was split open, he was covered in mud, there was a gash on his left thigh, and the inside corners of his eyes seemed to be bleeding.

Sobbing, Deborah pulled herself off the floor, losing her balance and falling against the table. Unable to regain her composure, she reached with a muddied, bloodied hand and grabbed the phone. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she tried to dial. She couldn't stop crying, her body racked with sobs.

She had managed the first number when she heard the man try to speak. It was no more than a hoarse croak, but it sounded urgent. She spun around, braced against the table.

"What?" She managed out. The man was again staring wide-eyed, trying to see.

"P...please...no one..." He hissed.

"I was going to call an ambulance." She countered, her voice pleading.

"I'd rather...die." He looked at her again, his blind, bloody eyes staring into her. "I...am remembering less...by the m-moment...but I know...only you...it's n-n-not...safe." He passed out again, and Deborah hung up the phone. Again it was there. When he looked into her, she felt...a fear. She knew somehow he was right. He couldn't be discovered. His fate, if we was, would be worse than death.