I've got to stop. I'm breathing so hard, I think I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm hoping a few minutes of breathing space, will let me figure this out. I've never seen anything like what I've just seen, heard, or felt. I feel a small part of me has lived, and died all within the span of a few short hours. I've seen things that no one should see, and felt things only whispered about in the dark dead of the night between children trying to scare each other.
My name is Michelle Warner. I'm an unemployed steel worker living in the outskirts of Pittsburg. I have no husband, no children. My parents divorced and later died when I was a teenager. I stayed with a foster family who did their best to love me for a few short months until I turned eighteen, and then I headed out on my own.
I did some time in the military; I was a Marine for six years. I learned discipline, I learned operations in Panama and South America. I was one of the gang, the one in the back that you can always depend on. I was the anchorman in many ways, and the younger recruits looked up to me in times of need. Now ten years later, my unemployment checks keep me one-step away from destitution. I use a motorcycle to get around on, so gas isn't as much a problem for me as it is for most people, but I still find it weird to spend twenty bucks to fill up a five-gallon tank. What few possessions I have are in my military footlocker, in a rented room. I figure if I can get to the freeway, I can get back to Pittsburg in a day of hitchhiking. My vision is blurry, and my hands are shaking, I'm not even sure if I could drive there or not, even if my bike was in once piece.
I hear the sound of her cool, dark, powerful voice call me.
She's coming.
I scramble to my feet and start running again.
Through bramble, past ancient trees, onto a dirt trail, Panting, sweating hard. I can't go any farther and I think I've lost her anyway, but how can you loose someone who doesn't need to rest? Someone who will haunt me for the rest of my days? I swear, after this is over, I'll never take a drink again, much less drink and get on a bike.
I hear nothing, and feel my heartbeat getting slower. If I can make it back to the main road and hitch back to Pittsburg I think I'll make it. I feel around in my pants and smile, finding my wallet. I guess she didn't have any use for my money. I relax just a little bit, and try to make some sense about what just happened.
I feel bad about wrecking my bike. It was a good, reliable Honda, and serviced me well. The long three-day weekend was too tempting to miss, I got a bottle of Johnnie Walker in a flash, and took a long ride out into the country.
It was getting dark, and I didn't see any sort of a town so I just decided to pull off on one of the side country roads and make a camp under a tree. I didn't see the dark mud patch, I must have been a little too drunk, and I slammed my bike into an old tree. I felt the shuddering of my bones, and then, lost consciousness.
When I came to, there was a dim light to one side, and then I saw him for the first time. I'll admit that I'm not normally attracted to men, most of my relationships have been with other women, but when I saw him there, he took my breath away.
In the dim candle light, he stood before me in a classic smoking jacket and a pair of dark slacks. His strawberry blonde hair brushed to one side, not a single strand out of place, and his warm, brown eyes looked down at me like a sleeping child. He knelt down, beside the couch that I was laying on and took one of my hands.
"Young lady," he asked, "how do you feel?"
"I, um, uh," I said, stammering.
He turned his head, and I saw the outline of a thin female figure toward the back. She was dressed in an old-style maid's uniform, like someone out of the fifties.
"Our guest is stirring, Celeste. Please prepare her some hot tea and prepare a bed for her." He then turned back to me, "I heard your crash from my house. You were thrown clear and landed on a grassy knoll. You're lucky to be alive."
"I, um, yeah. How long have I been out?" I asked.
"Several hours. It's about one o'clock in the morning," He said.
My head was swimming, and as I sat up, I noticed my host had a bundle of cloth bandages, some with blood on them.
"Take it easy, my dear. You're lucky, I'm a doctor. Well, a retired doctor, but I still know how to treat a wound." He smiled at me, with a tender gentleness that I had not seen since my father died.
"How bad?" I asked.
He shrugged, "I'm going to have Celeste prepare a room for you, and we should see you up and about tomorrow. We'll have a nightcap before you go, and you'll sleep like a baby. We can have the car brought around in the morning and we'll get you to a proper clinic."
A drink and a warm bed. It sounded great at the time.
"Thanks, I owe you one," I reached out to shake his hand. He shook it, tight, and strong, and when the grasp broke, I noticed his hand trembled. He softly grazed my cheek with his index finger, and then I heard the door open. Celeste brought the tea, and quickly left. I was still feeling dizzy.
"It's not a problem my dear. I'm just happy to be in service again. My name is Hiram Tennant. I was a doctor during the war, and was injured. Let me get you that drink."
I waited and sat up. I reached up to my head, and my shoulder felt like it was broken, I could barely move it. I touched the side of my face with my other hand, and felt the bandage. He brought over the brandy in a beautiful crystal decanter and laced the tea with it. I could only use my off hand.
He poured his brandy straight into a glass, and I still noticed the shake. I wondered if he was going to stitch me up when Celeste entered in again. She clicked her heels to get Hiram's attention.
He turned and walked over to her. She made some sort of gesturing motion, and he nodded at her, and put a hand on her shoulder. It looked to me as if he was reassuring her and she smiled at him weakly. I figured I must have woke the whole household up or something. I didn't know who this weirdo was, but I figured the booze was good.
We didn't talk long, and after the brandy took hold, he led me to a bedroom.
It was brilliantly lit, with candles all around, and an enormous canopy bed. Several portraitures in oil were on the walls. The windows, unseen, covered with red velour draperies. Detailed wood features in the corners and at the floor made me realize that someone had spent a lot of money in this room.
Lying on the bed was a beautiful nightgown. White, gossamer fabric with frills at the sleeves, neck, and hem. My jaw dropped. I hadn't worn a nightgown like this since I was six.
"I, uh, uh." I stammered.
"I shall send Celeste in to assist you with undressing if you like. I'll be in to visit you in the morning to tend further to your wounds. He turned to look at me. His eyes had the same kindness that was there when he poured the brandy, and I swooned for a moment.
I swallowed and then said, "No, no, I can take care of myself. Look, doc, I appreciate all this. After tomorrow, I'll be out of your hair."
"Don't you worry. It's not often we get visitors out here. I can send you to a proper hospital once you're out of bed. Please, indulge me. It's not often I get to heal anyone, anymore," He said. His eyes were tender, as if he only existed to make me better.
I nodded, by way of reply. He stood, and left.
Wincing in pain, I eased off my leather jacket, and looked at the full-length mirror behind the door. There was a cloth bandage neatly tied to my head. I could only barely slip off my t-shirt, to find that the shoulder was an enormous black and blue bruise. I'd never been wounded in all of my tours of duty, and now, thanks to my stupidity, I owed a perfect stranger my life.
