Getting Home

Getting Home Part 2

I couldn't see whatever was behind us; I only glanced up once, into a rearview mirror that revealed nothing but darkness. Whatever it was, it wasn't fast. Or visible, anyways. The streetlights above had been blown out for a good, long stretch—it was a while before we reached a street where the street lights were intact.

The guy upside down in the passenger seat groaned, in obvious pain.

It actually made me relax a little. Whoever—and whatever—was going on, it was becoming apparent that whoever this was didn't pose much of a threat... at the moment. Even though my wrist still burned.

I could already hear my dad's voice in my mind as I sped along: police station. Sean's department was on the other side of town, so that would be a no go. But that's okay—anywhere public would work.

The street lights whizzed by above, until a welcoming sight finally came into view:

A super-bright neon McDonald's sign.

I came into the parking lot too fast, the Civic bouncing over the curb and eliciting another groan from the passenger as his head whacked under the dashboard again. I pulled quickly into a spot, my hand already on the door handle—it was late enough that the lobby was closed, but I saw workers inside the brightly lit interior, continuing to serve the drive-thru. The lights on the building burned brightly, and I looked down into the passenger footwell again, finally able to see the stranger... which made me stop, door mid-open.

He was just a boy.

Well, not really a boy—but my age. I was expecting some drug-addled homeless person, or a scary robber with a mask or something. Instead, he had sandy brown hair that hung over his face, his eyes squinched shut, his square jaw set and full lips pursed as he dealt with whatever pain he was in.

"Please..." he whispered.

I went to push the door open further—I really did. But there was something about his face that wouldn't let me go. It had nothing to with how attractive he was; it was more that he looked so helpless. Innocent and helpless, mind you. I decided to ignore my dad's voice in my head, even though that was usually a bad idea...

But he had also always told me something else—to listen to my intuition.

To my heart.

"Are... are you alright?" I asked.

He groaned in response, one arm still cradling his stomach, the other now blindly reaching out, trying to find purchase to pull himself up. Now I finally did get out of the Civic.

And went around to the passenger side.

I opened the door and he collapsed out, falling to the ground in a jumbled heap. He groaned again, and I saw it for the first time—

Blood.

It was bright, glinting in the dark from the neon brightness of the McDonald's sign. But it was far shinier than normal. I didn't pay attention at the time, but it was almost...

Too shiny.

"Oh my god," I said, my stomach immediately turning. I'm not normally squeamish about blood, but I've definitely never seen that much in one place. It was a weird feeling; it was more... disturbing than gross. I was surprised I didn't panic — I think I was too shocked by the entire thing, and my brain hadn't caught up yet.

"We have to call 911," I managed, reaching over him back into the car, my shaky hand going for my phone in the console.

He grabbed my wrist again – and that same sharp, electric tingly bolt shot through my body.

"No," he grunted. "Please... just need... rest."

"Are you insane?" I said, not knowing why I even bothered asking—this whole thing was insane. "You're bleeding all over the place, you need help!"

He pulled his hand off my wrist again, and I felt that... I don't know how to describe it... electrical charge, leave my body... which left me feeling...

Empty.

He reached down, pulling his shirt up mid-way. I barely noticed his flat, toned stomach—I could see in the dim light what looked like a scar underneath some matted blood. He brushed away at the blood with a shaky hand, revealing more of the scar—

And revealing the bleeding had completely stopped.

I stood back up straight, slowly backing away, my jaw dropping open. "Who are you?"

"I don't know," he whispered.