Hanna

“How sure are you that he’ll come?” Lyn asks and sips on her coffee. The white road stretches in front of us, lined with tall pines.

I stand by the open car door, observing it. It’s right next to the tracks the freight train arrived from, the only road Michael would take if he were to follow me. Somehow…

I munch on my lip. It cools in the winter air and I munch on it again. We’ve been parked here by the freight train yard for at least three hours now. Mostly we just sat in silence.

I sit back into the car.

Lyn sighs over her steaming coffee. “Ah, what am I doing? How could I get myself into this?”

She has these moments where she just breaks out into a self-hating talk. It’s sad to see it, mostly because I feel like I’m looking at myself, but it works to my favor.

She groans. “This is not how I imagined spending my free time.”

“How did you imagine it?” I stare out the windshield.

“I don’t know, a book or something. Not finding a wounded fugitive in my house.” She blows on her coffee and takes another, hectic sip.

I’m surprised this amount of psychological problems has manifest in such a passive and open character. She could be a cutter, and a stoner, and still could’ve beat me up with a bat and tied me up in a basement. Or maybe this is just what I came to expect after the adventures I had. She seems like a kind soul. And there’s got to be more to her past too. She’s young, mid-twenties something, and lives alone in a big-ass house she didn’t yet loose in a crisis. Assuming that’s how it works. I haven’t looked into it much. I imagine she could move out into a city if she wanted. Yet she’s here. In a tiny, secluded town. She must have some shit of her own. A family tragedy or something. Either way, she agreed to help me out, so I keep my mouth shut and take what I get.

“How does he look like? Your brother?” She says.

“Thirty-two, around 6 feet, brown wavy hair, gray eyes, probably lots of blood.”

She nods, looking out the window, then whispers. “Well, at least I feel something.”

That sentence catches my attention. “What?”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Hesitant, she sighs, “I often feel like I’m stuck in a rut, like…um, I barely exist.”

She gives me a brief look before she turns her head straight. She just got vulnerable with me. It’s a good sign and it makes me feel safer about her not taking any actions against me.

We sit for another twenty minutes or so, until I grow restless.

“I’ll walk forward, okay?” I say. “Stretch my legs.”

“Sure. I don’t wanna be stuck here all day though.”

I nod, climbing out, my heart giving a stronger beat. I hope she isn’t gonna drive off, but as I walk down the road her white SUV doesn’t move an inch.

Deep down I know this is stupid. I could wait forever for Michael to come. He might be dead for all I know, but I refuse to listen to reason. Somehow, something tells me to wait. Be patient and wait.

My feet halt. Behind my back Lyn waits, her straight black hair enveloping her face and gloved hands squeezing her coffee.

I set my eyes back on the road and squint when the morning sun hits my face.

A freight train thunders past me, shaking the ground. I shuffle on my feet and start a resolute walk, leaving Lyn alone. A car drives past, pushing dirty snow from its way. A woman sits behind the wheel, all quick and eager to get somewhere.

When pines block out the sun I stop again and muffle my face into the coat Lyn provided for me. “It’s stupid.” Son of a bitch is dead. I have to move on. “Move on.” Despite my words I begin walking again, all but stomping with anger, anger at him for not being here, at myself for inability to let go.

I walk rigidly for at least fifteen minutes and fumble to a stop when I notice yet another car; a little gray dot rolling sluggishly along the side of the white road.

My breath hitches in my throat. No way!

When the car’s emergency lights flash I break into a run, forgetting Lyn’s hard work on my cuts and my shoulder. The car rolls to a stop and the distance shrinks as I dash forward, my black hair bouncing against my forehead. Yet it’s further than I thought. “Hey!” I throw my arm into the air, waving. “Hey!”

I almost hit the car hood as I brake and throw myself to the driver door, flinging it open. “Mikey, oh my God!” I grab his face into my hands. He lets out a breath, a corner of his lips tilting and smile appearing behind his eyes. I never saw it before. “I thought you had left me!” I kiss him on the lips and grab his healthy arm. I pull him out of the car and hug him, rattling his whole body. “You scared me so much! Jesus!”

“Sorry.” His weight in my embrace gets heavier until I can’t support it. “Michael?” We slump to our knees and with a cold breath next to my ear he slackens in my arms. “Hold on, okay?” I strengthen my hold around him, scared to let go. Only now do I notice he’s soaked, wet and bloody clothing sticking to his body. Cold radiates through my coat, chilling my chest. In a gray reflection of a car I catch my face, smeared with blood, and I realize that he still might die. And I’ll be alone all over again. “Fuck!” Holding his arm I lower him to the ground and leap up, twisting my head around. “Help!” I raise my arms and wave. It’s too far for anyone to notice. “Help! Lyn!” Or hear.

A distant engine noise hums from the other side of the road and I run out in front of some car. A man jumps out. “Kid, what’s happening?”

“I need help!” I pant, waving him to follow me to Mike’s car.

As we hurry another vehicle appears in the distance, headed from town. And this time, it’s Lyn’s.