--- CHAPTER THREE ---
Her arms were crossed. Her legs shuffling. The bottom of her pants soaked. From the puddles. Too big to go around.
Her teeth were chattering. Condensed air smoking from her mouth.
"Are you cold?" He asked. She didn't turn to him.
"No." She lied. Through chattering teeth. And shivering body.
He looked at her. Keeping by her side. Watching her. Shake more and more. By the minute. Growing colder. Through more puddles. Dark. And blue.
"I can carry you." He offered.
And she turned to him.
"Nobody carries me."
She turned away. And kept walking. He beside her.
Soon. He didn't have to strain to hear her teeth. And see her shake.
He swooped over. And picked her up. Bundling her into his arms. Against his chest. Pulling her beneath his jacket.
"You are cold."
"I know." She confessed. Through chattering teeth. And shivering body. Feeling his warmth.
Her cold forehead. Pressed against his warm neck.
They walked on. Through the alley. He stepping in the puddles. Getting cold. Not her.
~
Up a long path. To a large barn house. Rustic. And simple.
"We're home!" She jumped from his arms. And ran up to the door. She tried to open it. But found it locked. She pounded on the door. The man coming to join her on the porch.
Suddenly. They could hear a voice. And the door was unlocked. Then opened.
A woman. Skinny. Tall. Homely dressed. And pretty answered. She hesitated though. Her face falling. Upon sight of the man.
She crossed her arms. Her face folding. Her eyes questioning. "What are you doing with him...?" She looked down. Saw her daughter. Smiling up.
"Hi mom." The little girl said. Squeezing past. Into the house. Leaving him. Alone on the step. Cold.
He just looked at her. Unsure. She examined his face for a while. Her eyes reading him. He shifted uncomfortably. Feet wet.
She looked down. To the ground. Playing with the edge of the door. With her shoe. Arching her foot. Clapping it on and off. Indecisive.
Suddenly. The little girl was back. Munching through a box of cereal. The box singing. "What's wrong?"
Both turned to her. Crunching away. "Aren't you going to let him in? It's cold outside mom."
Clearing her throat. "Nothing baby. Nothing's wrong." The woman stepped back. Letting him step in. "Come in." She forced a smile. Reluctantly.
He stepped in. Reluctantly. Only moving so she could shut the door. Then he stood there.
The woman turned down to her daughter. Noticing her purple hands. Cold. "Where are your gloves?"
The little girl smiled widely. Splitting to her ears. "I gave them to Nikky." Her friend.
"Why?"
"Because it was in her best interest."
"Is that so?" The woman smiled. Coyly. Reaching out her hands to grab up the little girl. Who screamed. And dropped the box. Scattering cereal. Laughing hysterically. As fingers tickled her.
Letting her down. The girl ran off. Disappearing in the kitchen.
"This is going to seem like a silly question." The woman paused. Palming her elbow. "Are you Danny Witwer?"
He looked at her blankly. Then. After searching his mind. Shook his head slowly.
She put a hand to her chest. Her face broke. "You look like him." Smiling embarrassingly. She shifted slightly. "Can I take your coat?"
"Who's Danny Witwer?" He asked. He looked at it. Then unshouldered it. Handing it over to her.
"Someone who worked for the government." She smiled and took it to the closet. Coming back. "He was killed. A while ago--. I guess that's rather silly, isn't it?" She bit her lower lip. Then noticed the blood stain on his shirt.
"Oh my god. Are you alright?" She came forward. Holding her hands toward the crimson bloom. But didn't touch. Her face worried.
"I think so." He answered. Looking towards his chest. There was pain. But not enough to cause him grief.
"He's on drugs." The little girl passed by. Pulling her lips up from a straw. Dark. And blue. Stuck in a carton of chocolate milk.
The woman turned an eye to the girl. "Agatha...." she scorned. But turned back to the man's smile. Soft. And sweet. Finding the humor.
"Why don't you let me take a look at that?" She reached out for his hand. And taking his. Led him into the back room. He followed. Without protest.
She led him through the house. Expansive. And homely. Into a room. Of black and white pictures. Some framed in black. Others in wood. All black. And white. All absolutely stunning.
An old man. A swing set. A beach. A crack in the cement. Gorgeous.
"So where do you come from?"
"I don't know."
Her brow furrowed. "You don't know where you came from?"
"No. My house?" She had him sit down on a chair. And he did. His eyes on the pictures. Admiring them.
She put her hand across his forehead. He looked up at her. Without moving his head.
"You're warm, but you don't have a fever," She smiled. "What's your name?"
"I don't know." He coughed. She flinched.
"You're bleeding." She reached over. And handed him a towel. He wiped at the blood.
"Did you fall?" Guessing a concussion. She felt his head again. But felt no bumps. Nor tenderness.
"I don't remember."
"That's strange..." She spoke. Kneeling in front of him. "You don't mind do you?" Her hands were at the buttons of his shirt. "I use to be a nurse."
He shook his head. Then looked at the pictures. "Did you take all these?" She looked around to the pictures.
"I did."
"I like them." She stopped. And looked up at him. Surprise in her eyes.
"What's wrong?"
She faltered. Before shaking her head. "Nothing. It's just that...that's exactly what Danny said."
He just looked at her.
"Are you sure you're not. At least. Related to him?"
"I don't know."
She tested it. "What do you take in your coffee?"
"I can't remember."
Abandoning the idea. She went back to her work. Finishing unbuttoning. And pulling his shirt back. Letting him take it off.
It revealed bruises. Bleeding wounds. And tattoos. She worked quietly. Him watching. As she cleaned up the blood. And dressed the wounds. Admiring the tattoos.
"These are nice."
He looked at them. Holding the expression that this was the first time he'd seen them. Ever. One on his forearm. One on his shoulder.
She looked at the brace on his wrist. Then paused for another time.
She started to step away. "It doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?" He asked. Watching her. Concerned.
"Danny wore the same thing when he was...shot." She put a hand over her mouth. And stood. Pacing the room. Looking at him then up at the ceiling.
Then. She stopped. And stuck out a hand. "Please," she whispered. "I don't - I don't want this to sound rude but. Could you just - just wait outside until my husband gets home?"
"Sure." He put his shirt back on. Then stood. Following her as she went back out to the door.
She grabbed his coat from the closet. And gave it to him. Opening the door.
He stepped out. Turning to face her.
Her daughter was soon at her leg. "What's wrong?"
But with one last look. She shut the door.
The man stood there for a time. Before the wind got to him. Then he put on his jacket. And sat down. Waiting.
Her arms were crossed. Her legs shuffling. The bottom of her pants soaked. From the puddles. Too big to go around.
Her teeth were chattering. Condensed air smoking from her mouth.
"Are you cold?" He asked. She didn't turn to him.
"No." She lied. Through chattering teeth. And shivering body.
He looked at her. Keeping by her side. Watching her. Shake more and more. By the minute. Growing colder. Through more puddles. Dark. And blue.
"I can carry you." He offered.
And she turned to him.
"Nobody carries me."
She turned away. And kept walking. He beside her.
Soon. He didn't have to strain to hear her teeth. And see her shake.
He swooped over. And picked her up. Bundling her into his arms. Against his chest. Pulling her beneath his jacket.
"You are cold."
"I know." She confessed. Through chattering teeth. And shivering body. Feeling his warmth.
Her cold forehead. Pressed against his warm neck.
They walked on. Through the alley. He stepping in the puddles. Getting cold. Not her.
~
Up a long path. To a large barn house. Rustic. And simple.
"We're home!" She jumped from his arms. And ran up to the door. She tried to open it. But found it locked. She pounded on the door. The man coming to join her on the porch.
Suddenly. They could hear a voice. And the door was unlocked. Then opened.
A woman. Skinny. Tall. Homely dressed. And pretty answered. She hesitated though. Her face falling. Upon sight of the man.
She crossed her arms. Her face folding. Her eyes questioning. "What are you doing with him...?" She looked down. Saw her daughter. Smiling up.
"Hi mom." The little girl said. Squeezing past. Into the house. Leaving him. Alone on the step. Cold.
He just looked at her. Unsure. She examined his face for a while. Her eyes reading him. He shifted uncomfortably. Feet wet.
She looked down. To the ground. Playing with the edge of the door. With her shoe. Arching her foot. Clapping it on and off. Indecisive.
Suddenly. The little girl was back. Munching through a box of cereal. The box singing. "What's wrong?"
Both turned to her. Crunching away. "Aren't you going to let him in? It's cold outside mom."
Clearing her throat. "Nothing baby. Nothing's wrong." The woman stepped back. Letting him step in. "Come in." She forced a smile. Reluctantly.
He stepped in. Reluctantly. Only moving so she could shut the door. Then he stood there.
The woman turned down to her daughter. Noticing her purple hands. Cold. "Where are your gloves?"
The little girl smiled widely. Splitting to her ears. "I gave them to Nikky." Her friend.
"Why?"
"Because it was in her best interest."
"Is that so?" The woman smiled. Coyly. Reaching out her hands to grab up the little girl. Who screamed. And dropped the box. Scattering cereal. Laughing hysterically. As fingers tickled her.
Letting her down. The girl ran off. Disappearing in the kitchen.
"This is going to seem like a silly question." The woman paused. Palming her elbow. "Are you Danny Witwer?"
He looked at her blankly. Then. After searching his mind. Shook his head slowly.
She put a hand to her chest. Her face broke. "You look like him." Smiling embarrassingly. She shifted slightly. "Can I take your coat?"
"Who's Danny Witwer?" He asked. He looked at it. Then unshouldered it. Handing it over to her.
"Someone who worked for the government." She smiled and took it to the closet. Coming back. "He was killed. A while ago--. I guess that's rather silly, isn't it?" She bit her lower lip. Then noticed the blood stain on his shirt.
"Oh my god. Are you alright?" She came forward. Holding her hands toward the crimson bloom. But didn't touch. Her face worried.
"I think so." He answered. Looking towards his chest. There was pain. But not enough to cause him grief.
"He's on drugs." The little girl passed by. Pulling her lips up from a straw. Dark. And blue. Stuck in a carton of chocolate milk.
The woman turned an eye to the girl. "Agatha...." she scorned. But turned back to the man's smile. Soft. And sweet. Finding the humor.
"Why don't you let me take a look at that?" She reached out for his hand. And taking his. Led him into the back room. He followed. Without protest.
She led him through the house. Expansive. And homely. Into a room. Of black and white pictures. Some framed in black. Others in wood. All black. And white. All absolutely stunning.
An old man. A swing set. A beach. A crack in the cement. Gorgeous.
"So where do you come from?"
"I don't know."
Her brow furrowed. "You don't know where you came from?"
"No. My house?" She had him sit down on a chair. And he did. His eyes on the pictures. Admiring them.
She put her hand across his forehead. He looked up at her. Without moving his head.
"You're warm, but you don't have a fever," She smiled. "What's your name?"
"I don't know." He coughed. She flinched.
"You're bleeding." She reached over. And handed him a towel. He wiped at the blood.
"Did you fall?" Guessing a concussion. She felt his head again. But felt no bumps. Nor tenderness.
"I don't remember."
"That's strange..." She spoke. Kneeling in front of him. "You don't mind do you?" Her hands were at the buttons of his shirt. "I use to be a nurse."
He shook his head. Then looked at the pictures. "Did you take all these?" She looked around to the pictures.
"I did."
"I like them." She stopped. And looked up at him. Surprise in her eyes.
"What's wrong?"
She faltered. Before shaking her head. "Nothing. It's just that...that's exactly what Danny said."
He just looked at her.
"Are you sure you're not. At least. Related to him?"
"I don't know."
She tested it. "What do you take in your coffee?"
"I can't remember."
Abandoning the idea. She went back to her work. Finishing unbuttoning. And pulling his shirt back. Letting him take it off.
It revealed bruises. Bleeding wounds. And tattoos. She worked quietly. Him watching. As she cleaned up the blood. And dressed the wounds. Admiring the tattoos.
"These are nice."
He looked at them. Holding the expression that this was the first time he'd seen them. Ever. One on his forearm. One on his shoulder.
She looked at the brace on his wrist. Then paused for another time.
She started to step away. "It doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?" He asked. Watching her. Concerned.
"Danny wore the same thing when he was...shot." She put a hand over her mouth. And stood. Pacing the room. Looking at him then up at the ceiling.
Then. She stopped. And stuck out a hand. "Please," she whispered. "I don't - I don't want this to sound rude but. Could you just - just wait outside until my husband gets home?"
"Sure." He put his shirt back on. Then stood. Following her as she went back out to the door.
She grabbed his coat from the closet. And gave it to him. Opening the door.
He stepped out. Turning to face her.
Her daughter was soon at her leg. "What's wrong?"
But with one last look. She shut the door.
The man stood there for a time. Before the wind got to him. Then he put on his jacket. And sat down. Waiting.