The wind bit coldly into her as the woman walked down the street, headfirst into the freezing gale. At least, that was what it felt like. She pulled the zipper up as far as it would go on her dark brown jacket, glad she had decided to bring her gloves that day. Her bag jingled with the miscellaneous items inside of it as she jumped over some garbage someone had thrown down onto the sidewalk.

She was walking home from a long day of work, having been at school since seven that morning for an early rehearsal. Teaching at one of the local high schools as an orchestra teacher, she was slowly working on expanding the program and raising the bar for her kids. Of course, this was her first year out, fresh from college, so it wasn't easy without her professorial safety net, but she was having the time of her life. Sure it was early mornings and late nights, but she was helping these kids make better use of their lives – rather than going to drugs, alcohol, substance abuse, teen pregnancy, or heaven forbid dropping out.

Her school was on the east side of the city, near the lake front. On some days, if it was clear enough, you could see the blue wonder from the farthest window in her large classroom. Often enough she found herself walking the beaches either early in the morning or later at night when the sun set, but now after a very long day all she wanted was to get to her nice warm apartment, settle in with some soup, and continue reading her book. She was only a few blocks away from it now, one of the many high rise buildings in the area.

"And they said it was supposed to be Indian summer now," she mumbled crossly to herself, rubbing her hands together. The fast fading light brought on a secondary coldness to the air, taking away the life giving warmth and replacing it with deathly still shadows. The area she was walking in wasn't very crowded at this time of the day, but there were still people here and there making their way to their own homes to be with their families. Her parents lived in one of the outlying counties, a drive of maybe twenty minutes or so, but they were gone on an extended trip out of state at the moment. She had set her career before everything else, so there was no special someone waiting for her when she got home either.

Sighing, she shivered once more, her entire body shaking. However, because she had only closed her eyes for a moment, the woman ended up tripping over a bump in the concrete and falling flat on her face.

"Ah!" she cried, at least extending out her hands in front of her to break her fall. Even so, she hit the cement hard, twisting her wrist a little and banging her right knee square against the flat surface. "Ow," she exclaimed with a wince, slowly sitting up. She looked around quickly, but no one was really paying any attention to her. She quickly inspected herself for any bodily injuries. Her glove had protected her hand from the concrete, but it was still a little sore. Her knee, on the other hand, had a decent size scrape and a wonderfully ragged hole in her stocking just under the hem of her skirt. I just bought these too! she complained to herself. Even so, she was just about to rise to her feet when she noticed an odd spot staining the concrete in front of where she fell.

What's that? She leaned forward as she sat there, looking at the dark spot. It was starting to get dark out, but she made out that it was some kind of thick liquid. Reaching into the side pocket of her bag, she whipped out her cell phone and flicked it on, the bright light shining down onto the mysterious substance.

She jumped backwards, startled, when she realized that the substance was a deep crimson color. Blood. She quickly looked all around her, seeing if someone was possibly hurt. Luckily enough, or maybe not so lucky, she noticed several more spots leading into the alleyway to her immediate right. Standing up she ignored her protesting knee and hobbled down the alleyway, her phoning shining left and right. The large green waste containers that the department stores and restaurants used were lined up smartly on either side of her, like metal soldiers standing at attention.

She froze suddenly, hearing a soft moan. Swallowing nervously, she cautiously took several more steps forward, flashing her makeshift flashlight, until the small beam landed upon a shod foot hidden between two of the dumpsters. She ran up to the person, kneeling down to check them with her phone's light.

It was a young man, and couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was. She could see he was wearing some type of brown uniform under a classy leather bomber jacket, faux fur around the collar and all. He was lying on his side, his hands wrapped around his midsection, with a large puddle of dried vomit not too far from his head. The young woman also identified the source of the blood as well; the front of his uniform and his hands were stained with the substance, leaking onto the ground to form another small puddle as well.

"Sir! Sir, are you alright?" she quickly asked him, placing her phone down next to her. She shook his shoulders gently, but hard enough to wake him, as she had been taught in her first aid class. All he did was moan slightly, but that at least meant that he was still alive. She shook her head, placing a hand on his cheek. Her mouth gaped open; he was running a fever! He probably got mugged, she thought to herself. Forgoing all sense of restraint, she set her bag down next to him and rolled him onto his back, laying his head on the bag. The injured man only moaned more as he was moved, delirious from loss of blood. "Hang on sir, I'll call 911 for you, they'll be here soon. Just…hang on, okay? You'll be fine."

As the woman picked up her phone from where it lay on her left, she rapidly started dialing the numbers. She shrieked and almost wet herself when the supposedly unconscious man suddenly grabbed her arm, his eyes wide open as he tried to speak to her. She was mesmerized by how blue his eyes were…as blue as a cloudless summer sky in early August.

"N-no…no hos…hospital…" he choked out, his fingers clamped around her arm like a vice.

"But you could die!" she cried back to him.

"W…won't…die…" he stammered, before his fingers loosened on her and he started to fall back.

The woman jumped from where she sat and grabbed him around his shoulders, catching him and carefully lowering him to the ground. She grabbed his left hand, quickly checking his pulse. It was slow, but it was there. Shaking her head, she didn't know what to do. Of course people had the right to refuse medical attention, but those people were just idiotic! Like this one here, she mentally grumbled. Still, she couldn't just leave him there, he'd die! So she did the only thing that she could think of.

Carefully, she checked over his clothes. The blood had stained the jacket he wore under his leather coat, as well as his gloves, but not much else. Being wary of the blood she gently took off his gloves and set them next to her, followed by zipping up his leather jacket. Satisfied that most of the blood wasn't showing, she got up and quickly walked around to his other side and bent down. She lifted his head gently with her right arm and supported him while grabbing her bag out from under him. Throwing it over her left shoulder she then proceeded to hook her arm across his back and under his other arm. The woman then threw his left arm over her back and grabbed it with her left hand, using it as leverage as she slowly began pulling him upwards.

"Come on, let's get up. You can do it," she encouraged him in a soft voice, as if he were one of her students.

Alfred blinked once or twice, his mind too foggy to really comprehend what was going on. However, somewhere in his mind he realized this stranger was trying to help him, so he did his best to try and get his unresponsive body to work. He pulled himself – with a lot of help from her – to a sitting position, and then the woman took over and began pulling him upwards to his feet. She was a lot stronger than she looked; although leaning sideways at times or almost toppling the two of him with his dead weight, in a few minutes she managed to drag the feverish and almost unconscious man to his feet with the bulk of his weight leaning into her.

"There you go, atta boy," she murmured in her soft voice to him. "Now let's get to my place. It isn't far from here, I promise."

~:~:~

After receiving many strange glances, and giving several rationales of having drunk too much, Alfred and the strange but kind woman finally reached an inconspicuous ten story building in the heart of the downtown area. "Here we are, almost there," she promised him.

Walking across the small outdoor carpet the automatic doors opened with a soft whoosh and a blast of warm air encircled the couple. The small lobby consisted of the check-in desk, the door to the building manager's office, a door leading off to the first floor apartments, and two shiny stainless steel elevators.

"Evening miss!" piped the man sitting behind the desk as he looked up from his magazine. His smile turned into a questioning frown as he took in the sight of a handsome tall man leaning drunkenly upon the almost six foot woman. "You alright there miss? Need any help?"

"No, no, but thank you Bill. Just had a little too much, if you know what I mean," she answered with a nervous laugh.

"Alright, if you're sure," he said, his frown turning into an understanding smile. "Tomato juice with a big shot of pepper always puts me right in the morning," he added with a wink.

"I'll be sure to let him know," the woman replied as she helped the man towards the elevators. Pressing the button, it only took a few seconds for the doors to spring open, and for the two of them to hobble inside of it. As the doors closed, she sighed, an enormous weight seeming to have lifted from her shoulders. "Alright. Up we go," she sang, as she pressed the button for the eighth floor.

Zooming up, she paused for a moment to study Alfred. He was handsome, with short blonde hair; a wisp of it curled up in the middle, almost comically mocking the rest of his neat hair. She had seen how blue his eyes were before when he had first awoken; such a pure blue that she had never seen, except for a newborn baby's. He wore some type of military uniform – she wasn't sure which branch, but military nonetheless. His leather bomber jacket was soft, the faux fur lining his neck even softer, and was adorned with the number fifty on the back and a yellow star with a circle around it over the left side of his chest.

However, something was slightly off about him. She had sensed something earlier, but she thought it had been due to the garbage in the alley. Still, she smelled it now; he smelled like the city: fresh asphalt, exhaust from cars, garbage residue, greasy hamburgers. He also smelled like a fresh breeze off the lake, flowers after a spring rain, the crispness of new fallen snow, and her grandmother's apple pie. She didn't understand it, unless it was the anxiety that was building up inside of her because of what exactly she was doing: taking an injured man back to her apartment…alone.

The ding of the elevator startled her out of her strange thoughts, and the doors opened to reveal a bright white hallway with navy blue spotted carpeting on the floors. Doors lined the hallway on both sides, shiny brass plates indicating the numbers of the apartments. "Come on," she said with a tug as she started to walk slowly out of the elevator, hoping none of her neighbors would suddenly walk out to greet her.

The man grunted, dragging his feet along the carpeting as he leaned on her even further. Ignoring her discomfort the two of the walked down the hallway passed many doors until they reached one that read 814. "Home sweet home," she whispered to him, letting go of his left hand to dig into her pocket to retrieve her keys. The jingling woke the man slightly, startling him.

"W-what? Where?" he murmured.

"My home; you're safe now. Let's go in and get you cleaned up, okay?" the woman told him as the door swung inwards. "Come on. You can do it. Almost there," she encouraged him as step by step he entered her abode. Once they cleared the door, she used her foot to shut it behind him quickly and with a loud bang.

The woman sighed in relief, glad that she had left a lamp on to come home to. Her small apartment consisted of her front living room and the kitchen just behind that, and a short hallway off to her left where her bedroom and bathroom were. She shrugged off her bag, leaving it in a messy pile next to the front door, and maneuvered the man back towards her bedroom. "I'm going to get you cleaned up, alright? I'm licensed in first aid, so unless you were stabbed or shot or something you'll be fine," she told him jokingly. Note to self: that was NOT funny, she groaned to herself in her mind.

"S'okay," the man murmured to her. "M'fine," he added, slurring his words.

"No, you're not," she told him firmly, rounding the corner behind her leather sofa as their shoes click-clacked across the wood flooring. "You needed help. I wasn't going to just leave you there to die." She saw the nightlight on in her bathroom, helping her to see her way down the short but darkened hallway, but turning the opposite way she had to stop at her doorframe, reach with her right arm from behind the man's back, and switch on the lights to reveal her small but comfortable bedroom.

There was a queen size bed with a chocolate comforter on it with lots of fluffy pillows. On either side of the bed were two nightstands, with lamps on both but an alarm clock and several books on the left one. Her dresser and mirror occupied the wall across from the bed, and her decently sized closet was closed to prying eyes on her immediate left. The only window in the room, which was directly across from the door, had silk curtains on either side of it but drawn mini blinds shutting out most of the city skyline.

"Here, sit down," she instructed him. They walked the last few feet until she turned them around and sat both of them on the bed. "Finally," she told him. That had to have been the longest thirty minutes of her life, dragging an almost unconscious and bleeding man five blocks to her apartment. Immediately she began to clean him up. His gloves she had stuffed in her pockets, which is where they stayed when she took off her coat and threw it over a chair in the corner of the room. She then immediately unzipped the man's leather jacket, and slid it off of his body, with a little maneuvering him on her part. She could see the wide stain of blood across his front, but she had to get most of his clothes off first in order to treat him.

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to take off most of your clothes," she said, dipping her head to hide her blush as she began undoing the buttons on the jacket of his uniform. It came off easily, along with the brown leather straps that went around his waist and across his chest. She tossed those onto the floor as well. "Next comes your shirt," she told him in a gentle voice. The man was still unresponsive. Continuing on, she loosened his tie, tossed it in the growing pile, and began unbuttoning what was once a crisp white dress shirt. Her fingertips were tinged red from the blood that had soaked into his clothes, but she didn't care at that point. Finally slipping the long sleeved shirt off of him, she was horrified to see the mess of blood and cuts across the middle portion of his stomach.

"How horrible," she whispered, but at the same time blushing even more profusely when she saw how sculpted his chest was. No! Stop that! This isn't a time to be admiring his physique! she scolded herself. She tossed the shirt onto the floor, and finally helped the man to lie down on the bed. Pausing in her work, she ran to her bathroom and grabbed her (thankfully) empty laundry bin and tossed the blood stained clothes into it.

"Now to clean you up," she told the unconscious man. He was sleeping soundly, but his breaths were coming out in short pants, as if he was still feeling the pain even in his sleep. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, wanting to know how someone could ever hurt such a kind looking man such as him. Turning around she dashed into her bathroom, throwing open the storage closet. She grabbed several rolls of gauze and ace bandages, antiseptic, hydrogen peroxide, triple antibiotic ointment, and those little packages of wet wipes. Those were all seized and dashed into her bedroom and sat carefully on her nightstand. Her second trip was to her kitchen for a large bowl which she filled with hot water, grabbing several washcloths on the way back.

Rolling up her sleeves, she noticed she still had on her school clothes. "Oh well, I guess it was time to do laundry anyway."

~:~:~

About an hour later, she was finished. The bloody mess on Alfred's stomach was gone, replaced with heavily medicated gauze bandages and kept it place with several ace bandages. The bowl of hot water was now red, and her washcloths were dyed red as well. Those had been tossed in the laundry basket with the rest of the bloody clothes too. She smiled, satisfied, to note that not even one drop of blood had made it onto her clean comforter.

She sighed, and began cleaning up her mess. However, as she did, her mind wandered back to the horrific sight she had witnessed on the man's stomach. If she thought that this senseless mugging had been bad before, she figured now that his attacker may have had a purpose. But the word that had been carved into his stomach…what did it mean…? Who would have carved-

Rrrrriiiiiinnnnnnggggg! The woman groaned. Her hands were filthy with blood and the antibiotic cream; she couldn't answer it, but she should get it off of her hands to call whoever it was back right away. She walked out into her kitchen with the bowl of bloody water and dumped it down her sink. As she turned the warm water on softly, her answering machine picked up.

"Hello, you've reached 536-6437. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll call you back as soon as possible! Thanks and have a great day!"

Beeeeeepppp! "Girl, have you seen the news? Well, probably not since you've been in school all day…but turn on channel 6! There's been a big shooting down in Texas, and a lot of people have been killed! They say some guy went crazy down there at a military base. Listen, call me when you get this message, okay? Be careful out there, alright? Talk to you soon." The energetic female voice sounded very concerned as she hung up.

A shooting? Not another one, she sighed as she finished cleaning out the blood from under her fingernails. It seems like every other day now. She shook her head and let the faucet run down the drain, watching as the reddened water vanished out of sight. And a victim of a mugging half naked in my bedroom to boot. Speaking of which…

She turned around, switching on her kitchen light before heading back into her bedroom where the man lay, still fast asleep. She had moved him a little, in order to wrap the bandages around him, so his head was up on her pillows now. His chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm, his flushed skin moist with sweat. Now that she was thinking about it, he would probably be more comfortable underneath the covers. What was that rhyme? Starve a cold and feed a fever? Or was it feed a cold and starve a fever? Either way she remembered from when she was younger her mom always covering her with an awful amount of blankets when she was sick into order to break her fevers.

Swallowing nervously, she approached the bed carefully. Starting with his shoes, she untied the laces and slipped off the brown dress shoes, followed by his tan socks. She placed the socks with the rest of the laundry, but put his shoes next to the chair where their coats had been tossed earlier. Now…pants…she sweat dropped at this. She was a good Christian girl; you know, marriage before anything else. She had never even see a guy in only his underwear before, but she was about to get her first glimpse and the receiving party was going to be unconscious the entire time…hopefully.

Blushing furiously, she approached his midsection and stared at the offending button and zipper. Reaching down, she grabbed the brass button and squeezed her eyes shut. Going by feel only, she slipped the metal through the hole. Next, she felt the zipper right next to her index finger. She grabbed it with just her right hand, quickly pulling her left away, and heard the telltale zwip! as she pulled it down. When she felt resistance, she knew she had to open her eyes. Looking down, she snorted, trying to hold in her laughter.

Staring up at her were the red and white stripes of the American flag, with a tiny corner of blue with a few stars peeking out from behind the tan fabric. Very patriotic, she commented mentally. As she giggled softly, she reached her fingers into the pockets of his pants and quickly pulled them past his ankles and tossed the last piece of clothing into the basket. Satisfied, she gently began pulling down the comforter from underneath him, slipping it behind his back until she freed it from under his legs. The woman pulled it over him, being careful of the injury on his stomach, until the soft material rested just underneath his chin.

Alfred was still sweating, his fever raging as it fought the possible infection inflicted through the gaping wounds on his stomach. She touched his forehead, noting how hot he was against her hand. A cool compress will probably help to draw the fever out too, she thought to herself. But at least he should be out of danger by now. Looking around the room, she began with grabbing the basket of bloody clothing and walking down the hall to a small closet just passed her bathroom where her washing machine and dryer sat in wait.

She flipped the metal lid upwards and began to take the items out one by one. First the rags she cleaned him up with, followed by his socks, shirt, pants, and jacket. She didn't want to be nosy, but she had no idea who this man was. Digging through the pockets in his pants she found a receipt for a hamburger and medium coffee from a McDonald's at Mitchell International, and the stub of a plane ticket from New York. Try as she might, she couldn't find any other form of identification on him.

Shaking her head, she dumped the articles of clothing into the wash, poured detergent over them, and snapped the lid shut before turning the dial and hearing the telltale rush of water. Alright, so he arrived on a plane here today, and had lunch at the airport commons. But no wallet, no driver's license, no credit cards, no nothing! How could he have flown hundreds of miles without anything? I mean, what if something happe – oh, right. Something did. Now what though?

She stared down at the white washing machine as it continued to fill with water. Never had she encountered a situation like this before, but how was she going to let his family or friends know he was alright? Maybe she could find out about his flight online, and check the passenger list. However…at that moment she yawned, opening her mouth so wide that her jaw cracked. She shook her head. First things first.

Now that the washing machine was chattering happily in the background, she went back to her room where the stranger was sleeping. Ever so quietly she tiptoed over to her dresser and opened up the top drawer, grabbed a pair of sleep pants and a tank top, and shut it again. Tiptoeing back out, she closed the door behind her. Slipping into the bathroom she washed herself up and donned the pajamas, tossing her school clothes into the hamper. They didn't have much blood on them, but she didn't want to mix hers in with the rest of it just in case. She took the medicine and bandages that had been out and bandaged the large scrape on her knee, cleaning out the dirt and asphalt. Checking her wrist, it was slightly bruised but not sprained. In the mirror she noticed that her extremely curly hair had decided to act on its own again; she grabbed a band from the cabinet over her sink and pulled it up into a quick ponytail.

Now that she was clean and felt much better, she went to the kitchen to grab yet another of her clean washcloths. Running it under cold water, her mind began to wander about the strange man. No identification, nothing to tell anyone who he is. And his smell… she shivered at the thought. It was…so familiar, yet so peculiar. Like I've known it my whole life.

A sudden coughing fit from the back room brought her up out of her musings and had her dashing through her apartment and throwing the door open. Alfred was clutching his chest, coughing and wheezing. The woman sprinted next to him, trying to figure out what the problem was. Since she couldn't tell, she ran back to her bathroom, grabbed her glass and filled it with cool water, and brought it back to him. She sat down at the head of the bed and used her right arm to tilt his head forward. "Here, drink this," she told him gently. "It will help."

Dry, parched lips found the smooth rim of glass and the promise of relief just beyond it. Tipping it back, she allowed him to drink in small sips until it was gone, and his chest heaves had subsided. Placing the glass on the nightstand, she laid him lightly back onto her bed. Taking the cold washcloth from where it lay she placed it on his hot forehead, spreading it out flat. He jerked awake in surprise, his eyes opening in fear, seeing nothing but a darkened ceiling. "Who-?!" he started, before a finger was placed on his lips.

"Shh, don't worry, you'll be fine. Just get some rest."

The voice was comforting and gentle, the nicest thing he had heard all day. Alfred barely remembered closing his eyes, enjoying the soft touch of the cloth on his forehead. The smooth hands caressed his hair, like a mother would, and spoke to him in a quiet voice until he felt himself finally drifting off into a deep and peaceful slumber, not realizing that none of his family or friends knew what had happened to him.

He was utterly alone, solely relying on the help of this compassionate stranger.