You shiver as you ball up the wrapper and shove it into the paper bag. You take out a napkin and wipe your mouth and fingers. You sense him lean in and peek over at him.

He gestures, rubbing his arms and shimmying.

“Bit cold,” you agree.

He points at himself then wags his finger. Then he motions at you and the van. You nod, thinking you understand.

“It’s my home. What I can afford.” You explain.

He rubs his fingertips together.

“Yes, the money… will help. But… can’t spend it all at once.”

His eyes wander, examining the string lights, the back of the seats, and all those little things that make the van a home. He squints. He reaches to his belt and pulls something free. You lean away at the sight of the gun.

He spins it on his finger and holds the butt out to you. You frown. “I don’t know… no, I don’t want that.”

He shakes his head and reaches for you. Artemis growls. You hush her and pat her head.

“I don’t want that,” you repeat.

He sighs and leans away to tuck it back in its holster. He turns and rests his forearms on his bent knees. He flutters his fingers, his metal digits exposed by the fingerless glove on his left hand. His other is completely encased in leather.

You watch his fingers. He balls his fist then opens it. Your eyes meet his as he catches you. He turns and offers his flat hand.

“It’s… cool. Pretty good prosthetic.” You muses awkwardly.

He pushes his lower lip out and shrugs. His brows furrow. He shakes his head. He grabs the middle digit and yanks it back. It cracks loudly and dangles loosely. He lets it hang and you watch as it slowly recoils and reconnects. Wow.

“I guess you can’t say why you’re here.” You say.

He frowns. He stands suddenly.

“I didn’t mean… you have to go. I just… don’t understand,” you say.

Artemis crawls over your lap. You stand, the man hunched across from you. He rubs his eyes then waves at his mouth. He points to the mattress.

“You’re tired. You need sleep.”

He nods and turns away from you. He pulls the gun out again, and another. Then he removes his belt, several knives and unknown items hooked on it. He lays it all out. 

He unzips his jacket and peels off the left sleeve. He puts it over his things and undoes the harness underneath, with another gun. He keeps his black tank top on and his dark pants. He sits to untie his boots.

“Okay, you can sleep but I gotta start driving around. I got deliveries to make.”

He doesn’t react. He puts his boots aside and rolls over. He crawls up into the bed and collapses face down. You stare for a moment then look down at Artemis. She looks up.

“Just…” you scratch her chin. “Be nice.”

You put her in the passenger seat and climb up into the driver’s. You set up your phone. You’ll grab some coffee. You have a free one on the punch card.

❄️

As you return from the pizza and wings place with the order, you find the van door open. You rush over and check inside. The man is gone. Artemis sniffs the bed where the imprint of his body remains.

You shut the door and get in the front. He could at least not leave your home open to an unwanted boost. You sigh and shift into gear.

“Very odd,” you say to Artemis as she chews her paw.

You finish your last few orders, content to call it a day as your head pulses. The coffee only made that worse and did nothing for your fatigue. You hear an odd noise and look over at Artemis as she bats around a square of paper.

You take it and unfold it. It’s a map. There’s a red X on it. You recognise the area. The spot marked is the same industrial park where the man first invaded your existence. You’re not stupid and he isn’t that complicated. You got it.

If you don’t go, he’ll find you anyway. You’re not as scared as you were but you know you’re better off not to antagonise someone with that much firepower. He doesn’t even need those guns to hurt you.

You set off the point on the map. You pull in by the wire fence and park. You boil water for tea. Peppermint will help your head. You feed Artemis and listen to her eat.

He doesn’t come. Not that night. After some hours of restless tossing, you drift off. You wake alone and cold. You turn on the heat to help yourself wake up and go through the usual. Brush your teeth, wash your face, change your clothes. You’re still human after all.

That day, you only last until lunch time. Your head is pounding, your stomach is acidic, and you’re just so damn tired. You return to the industrial site and park. You don’t have enough energy to crawl into the back. You recline the seat and nap there.

When you wake, it’s dark. You make more tea. Your throat feels full of glass. Ugh, you hate colds. Hopefully it passes quickly. You fill Artemis’ dish and get her fresh water.

You doze off at the foot of the mattress. You don’t remember when but you wake up in a ball, shivering, coughing. Artemis purrs against your stomach.

You close your eyes and they stick. You rouse again, bleary and brittle. Your body rattles with more coughing. You hack as Artemis’ cold nose brushes your cheek.

You move on your knees to get her food. You spill it over the side of the dish, leaving a mess as you shove the bag aside. You turn back to the bed and sprawl across it. You cradle your throbbing skull under your arms.

It’s dark when you come to again. Freezing. You drag yourself up, teeth chattering. The kettle is frozen. Shit. You can see your breath.

You need to start the van. You get behind the front seats and push between them. You collapse over the cupholder and heave. Your head slumps dizzily. You stare at the floor, wading through the ripples in your vision.

A gust blows over you, another chill rolling under your skin. The whistling wind rushes in behind you as heavy steps jostle the axle. You’re grabbed from behind and hauled up.

Your eyes roll back and you feel yourself falling back. You flutter your lashes as a shadow stands above you. Artemis crawls up your torso and growls at it.

He turns away and jumps through the open back door. He shuts it. The front door opens and you feel him climb in. The engine sputters and kicks as he turns the ignition. It takes several tries to get it going.

Your head lolls as you bring your hand up over Artemis’ soft fur. She nestles into you.

You think it’s the man with the metal arm. Almost hope it is. If it’s anyone else, you’re in a whole lot of trouble.

❄️

A coolness spreads over your forehead. Your eyes flick open as the cold cloth makes your hot skin boil. You drone at the figure over you as he curls his fingers and feels your cheek with his knuckles. Not the metal ones, the real flesh and bone.

As his gaze catches yours, he bends to see your irises. He uses his fingers to keep your eye open. He searches them and lets you go. He turns and stalks away.

You let your eyelids droop back down. You listen to him moving around. There’s some clinking, shuffling, scuffing of his soles. A heater blows on high and dries the air as light glows around you. You know you’re not in the fan; the space is too wide open.

You look again, fighting to stay awake. Artemis is there at the edge of the mattress. Your head lolls as you take it all in. The metal panels of the walls suggest you’re in one of the abandoned industrial buildings, that and the defunct machinery at the far end.

A single light hangs in the space; a caged bulb hooked onto a chain. It limns his silhouette as he works with his back to you. He turns with a metal mug in his hand. You blink.

The bed is from your van, the kettle too. Even the heater. The light isn’t and there’s a large bin on the floor with bottles and packets all atop it. The red lid is familiar; Tylenol, and another is cough syrup. The smell of lemon stains the air.

He nears and sets down the mug on a small table to your right. He adjusts you against the pillows, sitting you up high. He bends over you and puts his ear to your chest. He listens.

He stands and grabs the cup. He gives it to you, guiding your weak hand to the handle. He squeezes until he’s certain you have it.

He steps back and puts his fists in front of his chest, near his ribcage. He then opens his fingers and spreads them wide. Something with your lungs? Overflowing? Full?

He makes another fist and thumps his chest, mimicking a cough and cupping a hand under his mouth. He swipes up the tissue from the table and places it close. Artemis moves closer to you.

“If… I cough…” you rasp out painfully. “Spit it out?”

He nods.

Shoot. Sounds like pneumonia. You had a bout in high school. You don’t think it was as bad as this.

He points to the mug. You look down and blow over it. You sip. Honey and lemon. It’s soothing. The steam helps clear your nose.

He turns and stalks back to the table. He takes a can and peels off the top. The noise has Artemis leaping off the bed. He turns and offers her the wet food, setting it down for her greedy tongue.

Your phone rattles around in the cupholder. The old Volkswagon van doesn’t accommodate a mount despite various attempts. It makes your deliveries harder than they need to be. With the white curtain growing heavier, you won’t be making any more today.

You sigh and search the roads ahead. There’s a lot close to here. The industrial park is mostly abandoned, ideal for overnight squatting. Your tires cut through the fresh carpet as you turn in and circle behind the building with shattered windows and graffitied brick.

You shut off the engine and the van goes dark. There’s a meow in the dark. You use the glow of your phone to guide you between the seats as Artemis raises her head out of a dulcet sleep. She curls up on the nest of blankets bunched on the mattress that sprawls the width of the van. The brown tabby squeaks out a yawn and lays her chin on her folded paws.

You switch on the car battery that powers the string lights to illuminate the space. You keep your feet above the mattress and take off your boots, replacing them with a pair of thermal slippers. You shiver and blow into your hands. You turn the kettle on and wait for the boil. 

You slide the back door open and quickly dump the cold water from the hot water bottle. The knitted cover keeps it warm for hours, long enough to see you through the night. Tucked under the blankets, it keeps you and Artemis nice and cozy.

You open a can of food and she rouses to her feet. She crawls over your lap as you pour the morsels and gravy into her dish. She eats noisily as you search out your own supper for the night.

You break the block of ramen in half and force it into the insulated bowl. You sprinkle over the seasoning packet and wait. You’ll snag some water from the kettle, then put the lid on to let the noodles soften.

You plug in your phone once the kettle pops. You can’t have too much going at once. It’s a fine and careful balance. You fill the rubber bottle then add some water to the bowl. You set the kettle down and sit back.

You cross your arms on top of your knees and lean against the door, lined with a thrift store duvet. You’ve insulated the whleo van with pillows and blankets, enough to keep out most of the cold. The only drafts come when you stop to deliver the takeout that makes your mouth water.

You hang your head. No one dreams of this life, still, you’re thankful for what you do have. You could be out in the cold. Alone. As long as you can take care of Artemis and yourself, you can be content.

You take the lid off the thermal bowl and stir the noodles. It smells good. It’s spicier than you expect. The discount packets were a steal but now you see why. You can barely taste the flavour through the sear of capsaicin. You’re so hungry, you don’t care.

A small life but not entirely unhappy. You fill the kettle with snow and turn it on again. You don’t let the water steam, only heating enough to warm to rinse out your dish. You dry it off as Artemis comes to snuggle in your lap.

You check that the doors are locked then spread out the blankets. You move the tabby next to your pillows and settle in under the layers. You leave the string lights on as you close your eyes. The nights are always so much longer than the days.

❄️

The loud bang shakes the van. You wake with a start as Artemis jumps over you. She growls as she circles the mattress, stopping to look up at the roof of the van. She stands near the door as she yawls, then hisses.

You hold your breath as you blink up at the top of the van. You can see the dip through the blankets stapled across the expanse. Holy heck.

There’s some scuffing, a few softer thumps, then something lands in the snow beside the van. You reach for Artemis to calm her, petting her head. She stays tense as you get to your knees.

You peel the blanket away from the edge of the window and peek out. You can’t see anything but the fall of snow. You listen. You don’t hear anything else.

You back up and grab the tire iron on the other side of the mattress. You grip it tightly and wait. You hold your breath as Artemis paces. You shush her as you try to make her stop. She’s only feeding your anxiety.

Something drags up the outside of the door. The handle jiggles and snaps back. Your lip trembles as you raise the tire iron.

Whoever it is, tries again. Artemis lets out a bellow as her fur rises on her spine. The handle is pulled back again, this time without stop. The metal pops and grinds. You cry out and brace yourself for your defense. 

The door rolls open and you swing the tire iron. It stops in midair. The bar is wrenched from your hand and flung aside to bounce off the front seat. You cry out and Artemis launches herself toward the intruder.

The shadow falls back and shields himself from the feline’s fury. He grabs onto her and throws her into the snow. You exclaim and hop out without a thought. You push through the snow, blind in the static white of the snowstorm, feeling the air, crying out her name.

You hear her squall and dig through the snow. You latch onto her wet, shivering form and pick her up. You turn back, a dark shape huddled in the snow. The man crawls up to the van and drags himself in.

You stare for a moment then look down at Artemis. You have no choice. If you get locked out, you’re doomed. You’ll freeze to death. You and your only family.

You lift your knees high, staggering through the mounting heaps, and toss Artemis into the van ahead of you. You launch yourself in after her. The man groans as he lays on his side, his back to you as he shudders.

Artemis drones angrily in her chest. You hush her and grab the tire iron. One arm of it is bent. You look at the van door. The mechanism is busted too. How can a human do that?

You poke the man’s leg with iron.

“Y-you… better go!” You holler.

You raise the bar and he raises an arm. His head is still turned down as he points at the iron. You blink, stunned at the sight of his hand. Metal plates glisten with melted snow. You can tell that’s not a glove.

You shake as you struggle to keep the iron up. His hand flicks toward the door then his arm falls. A gale blows a dusting of snow in and your teeth chatter. You have to close it before any more gets in. You shake your head and drop the tire iron. Goddamn it!

You pull the door shut but it won’t stick. You search around. You snag a bungee cord from your emergency chest and secure the door by hooking the other end of the cord on the front seat headrest.

Artemis closes in on the man and you snatch her up before she can get in another tussle. You hunch under the ceiling and stare. He’s all in black, leather boots, a leather jacket with one sleeve, exposing his metal arm; a fingerless glove on the artificial hand. His other hand is completely gloved.

His dark hair is streaked with thick grey strips. You can’t see his face from where you are. You can smell blood and sweat roiling off of him. You see a stain forming on your blankets. He’s hurt.

You pet Artemis and hug her. He doesn’t move. You kiss her head.

“Art, what do I do?” You whisper.

She nestles into you. She’s wet from the snow still. You grab your towel and dry her off. You set her down on the corner of the mattress and get to your knees. You near the man as he lays dormant.

You touch his arm. He doesn’t react. You don’t know if the metal would feel anything. You hold your breath as you push his hair back from his face. He is human after all.

You touch his cheek then feel the breath from his nose. He’s alive but not conscious. Your lip quivers as you push on his shoulder. He falls onto his back, his metal arm hitting the side of the van.

The blood pools from the zipper of his jacket. You pinch his cheek. He’s not waking. You shudder and tug on the tab. You undo the jacket to reveal a compression shirt beneath. It’s torn, weeping with crimson. The gash across his ribs is thick but not as deep as you feared.

You move across the bed as Artemis trails you. You feel her unease; you share it.

You grab the first aid kit and your phone. It’s not your first time dealing with blood. It was only ever your own. Sometimes your mother’s… That’s long gone.

You open the dented lid and check your supplies. It’s always good to be prepared. You open a cognito window and quickly type in a search. It won’t necessarily hide inquiry but you don’t want it popping it up under your account history.

You use the checklist to evaluate the wound. Stitches should do. You know how to do those. You put your phone down and sanitize your hands with the bottle of alcohol. It’s not perfect but you work with what you have.

You cut the hole in his shirt bigger. You thread the needle and hunch over. Artemis watches you work. Your hands are steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. You tie off the wound and cut the medical thread.

You wipe your hands with a pre-packaged wipe and sanitize again. You need to boil more water. You flick the kettle on and go back to the man. He has cuts on his face. His jaw is chiseled and his skin is raw from the cold. Lines etched around his forehead, eyes, and lips. From one angle, he looks young, the next, old.

You clean up the small cuts and put strips across them. You do the ones you can see and leave him be. His chest rises and falls evenly. You grab Artemis and keep her in your lap. You watch the man as a sleepless night bears down on you.

Your eyelids begin to droop and she bristles, her claws poking through your sweater. You give a start and blink. The man sits up stiffly, like an android. Judging by an arm, you suppose that's not too far off.

He doesn't look at you or his surroundings. He gets to his feet swiftly, weight felt in the axle, as he turns to grip the door handle. You croak as you go to stop him but before you know it, the cord snaps and the hook thrashes you under the eye in its recoil.

You hiss and fall back, Artemis jumping off you as she hisses. The man exits the fan without so much as a glance back. He marches through the pillowy snow with straight shoulders and high knees.

You cradle your cheek as you chitter at Artemis, girding her back from the open door. Powder blows in as the sky tinges a shade between azure and violet. It will be morning soon.

You grab the shorn cord and haul the door shut. You knot the remnants of the bungee to keep the door in place and drop down onto the end of the mattress. You peer over your shoulder at the blood droplets dried into the plaid comforter. You'll need to hit the laundromat.

You sigh and stare at the broken handle, hanging limply from the door. That will cost a lot to fix but you might be able to replace it yourself. You've bought a few used parts before and managed to refit them into the ancient beast.

You wince and bring your hand up to touch the sore spot under your eye. It's bleeding but not very deep. As you groan, Artemis stands on her hind legs, paws on your arm, and nuzzles your shoulder. You drop your hand and bring her into your lap.

“Yeah, Art, I don't know either," you mutter.

❄️

The handle latches but the door rattles when you drive. You keep the music going as the noise tweaks at your mind, a reminder of that strange night. You're only thankful you weren't seriously hurt.

You're still uneasy at the memory. Artemis wakes up growling in the nights since. Over a week but still so close.

You steer around the corner as the voice of the maps app competes with the radio. You know the streets better than most, the robotic voice is more a comfort than a guide. You pull up to the curb and check the back before you get out. Artemis is jack-ripping her favourite salamander toy.

You kick the door and head inside to pick up the order. The number comes up and you verify with the employee at the counter. You applied for a job like his; dozens, if not hundreds. You only ever got piecemeal hours or a lowball offer you could make easily by driving around with your kitty.

You go back out to the van. Once more, you look at Artemis. She's cleaning herself. You put the thermal delivery bag on the floor in front of the passenger's seat.

You put your seatbelt on and shift into gear. You wait to merge into the laneway. You pull off and circle around into the opposite direction.

It's not too far. A few streets west of the restaurant. You idle outside the house and lock the van as you keep the spare key in hand. You drop off the order, waving at the doorbell cam before you retreat.

You circle the fan and shove the key into the slot. You climb in and out the key back in the chest pocket of your fleece lined flannel. In this job, living like you do, it's best to dress practical. Indefinable on the spectrum of genders.

Your phone chimes with other orders up for grabs. You drag your thumb down to choose the closest. The passenger door handle creaks. You give a start and look over.

A dark figure shakes the door. What the hell? You drop your phone and it slides between your thighs. Artemis hisses and hops into the front seat. You yank down the shifter and grip the wheel. You veer away from the attempted intruder.

The gleam of metal fingers stain your vision. No, it can't be. Why would he come back? How would he find you?

You blow a stop sign and get a honk in return. You can't think. You just need to keep going.

You don’t stop until you’re on the other side of town. You’re shaking. The mew as Artemis climbs into your lap makes you flinch. You steady yourself and pet her.

You sit for a moment then centre on the present. You might be scared but there’s no way he can follow you on foot. You pick up your phone. You need money and you need at least four more orders to be able to call it a good day.

You tap on the first one. You put Artemis in the back and drop your phone in the cupholder. You focus on the task at hand. Surviving.

The order is simple, but you wonder why anyone would pay the fees for a single milkshake. The customer is nice enough, one of a few to answer the door. The next order takes a bit. Your tip isn’t great. Slowly, the night rolls back into normalcy… as much as it can.

Five orders. You take more than you need if just to keep your mind from drifting back to the man with the metal prosthetic. You wonder where someone gets something like that. Judging by the state he was in when he crawled into your van, you assume it’s not a luxury made for the common person.

You haven’t been back to the industrial park. Your nights are spent waking up every two hours on the hour to relocate. It’s a hassle and the alarm is starting to drive you up the wall, but it’s safer, and you can’t afford the ticket.

You pull into a lot with limited parking time and clock out of the delivery app. You go through your usual. Kettle, hot water bottle, cold canned soup; a meagre existence in the glow of the stringlights. You and your cat eat together in silence.

You scroll through your phone as it charges then set it down. You need to move. The next spot, you’ll try to sleep. Your heart is still thrumming from the close encounter.

You park by the curb and lay down with Artemis. She’s on your chest, purring, as if trying to drown out your fears. If he found you again…

Your eyes hurt, you’re so tired. You just can’t make yourself sleep. You slide Artemis onto the pillow and nestle a blanket around her. You silence the alarm and climb into the front seat.

You flip your blinker on and check your blindspot. The streets are mostly empty. As you pull out, your bumper hits something hard and you gasp as the dark figure that has your foot slamming on the brakes. The man doesn’t budge, not an inch.

He stares at you from between the curtain of his long strands. You blink as your lip quivers. You brace the wheel and shift into reverse. As you do, he grabs onto your hood. Your tires spin but don’t catch.

You stomp on the gas as the tires squeal. How is he doing this? Artemis yowls and growls as the van bounces. The man slams it back down and holds it in place. You lift your foot and raise your hands. You surrender.

He tilts his head as he stares up at you. Despite the mask over the lower half of the face, you know it's him. The metal arm gives it away but more, the eyes.

He lets go and strands straight. He marches around the side of the van and grabs the passenger handle. He yanks on it. It’s locked. Before he can pop it out of the door, you wave him off. You lean over to unlock it.

You sit back and he gets in. Before you can react, Artemis launches onto his shoulder and screeches, clawing at him as she latches on. You cry out in surprise as he slams the door and reaches for the feisty feline. You block him and he grips your hand instead. You whine.

“Stop, she’s scared.” You say as you hook your other hand under Artemis’s belly. “Art, stop, stop!”

The man lets you go. You shakily grab onto Artemis with your other hand and pull her to you. She squirms as you hush her, fighting to calm her.

The man stares at the dashboard. You wait. He doesn’t say anything. You cradle Artemis and shiver. He reaches over and you shy away. He taps on the steering wheel.

You gulp and set Artemis on your legs. You keep one hand on her, the one throbbing from his death grip, and with the other, pull down the shifter. You grab the wheel and steer away from the curb carefully.

He points ahead then swerves his finger to the right. You get to the corner and turn. He guides you wordlessly.

Artemis’ droning growls fill the van and feed into your own fear. You keep your arm firmly around her. He can hurt her so easily. He points and you obey.

He flattens his palm as he signals you to stop. You’re in the place he found you on that snowy night. He reaches over to pull the shifter down to park. You peel your hand off the wheel and lean back.

He lowers his head. You wait. Artemis continues to growl. You hush her and slowly lean between the seats to put her in the back. You tell her to stop. Her fur stays standing but she quiets.

You sit back in the seat. The man pulls down his zipper, the noise cutting the silence. He leans back, pushing his head into the cushioned rest, then rolls up his shirt. There’s a thin line where you stitched him up. How could he heal so fast?

He pulls the fabric higher and reveals a fold rag stuck to his chest. He peels it off and shows you another gash, full across his pectoral. It’s crusty with dry blood. Maybe a few hours old.

“You need help?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks but he says nothing. He drops his hands, leaving his torso exposed. You nod and raise yourself slowly from the seat. He looks over at you, his metal fingers forming a fist.

“I’m going to grab my first aid,” you say. “Alright?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares. You squeeze between the seats and crawl over the mattress. You grab the chest and turn back. He’s followed you but you didn’t hear or feel him move. He gets down on his knees as you sit on the end of the mattress.

He slips his arms from his sleeves and lets the shirt hang down his back. His torso is thick and muscular. There’s some padding lower down, the stuff that comes with age. Not pillowy, just meaty. There’s dark hair along the center of his chest that thin as it fans out over his pecks and trails down his belly.

You shift closer and hover your hands by his chest. You touch him gently and carefully wipe away the blood from his chest. Your eyes flit back and forth, taking in dozens of scars all over; some so faded you can barely make them out, others as fresh as the one you stitched yourself.

Along his shoulder, flesh meets metal in a mottled and ridge webbing. A burn perhaps? Something very bad.

He grabs your hand, surprising you. He pushes your fingers down into the cloth, firmly into his wound. You gasp.

“Please, I don’t want to hurt you–”

He tilts his head. He lets you go. It would take a lot more for you to hurt someone like him.

You pull away the blood wipe and turn to snatch up the dish cloth you keep near the kettle. You wipe your hands then sanitize with the spray in the kit. You check his cut again. You pull out some gauze and dab away the fresh beading of crimson.

You work quietly, trying not to let the tremble reach your hands. You thread the needle. You wonder as you let your hands move my rote why he would come back. Why he needs you to do this? With that arm and all those scars, someone else must’ve been taking care of him some way.

You finish and wipe away the stray blood. You ball up the excess and shove it all in the paper bag you keep for trash. You sterilise the needle and put it away. You wipe your hands and use a knuckle to push down the button on the kettle. You’ll need to properly wash them.

He looks down and brings his fingertips to the stitches. His real fingers. He feels them then drags his hand away. He grabs the shirt around his neck and swoops it over his head. His grey and brown hair hangs in tangled shanks. He smells like blood and sweat.

He staggers on his knees toward you. You back away in surprise. Artemis squalls and launches herself. She misses the man as he falls forward onto his stomach and buries his face in your pillow. You frown as you scramble to wrangle in the furious cat.

You turn to stare at him as he lays on his stomach, unmoving. His back is just as tortured as his front. His breath rises and falls evenly. He’s already asleep.

You pet Artemis as you watch him. She wriggles, trying to get away.

“No, Art. Please,” you coax her. “He didn’t hurt us. He’s just… tired.”

❄️

You sleep in the front seat. You recline it and keep Artemis on your lap. You doze in and out but you’re tired as the sky lightens. You don’t want to open your eyes but the shift in the axle forces you to face the new day. And the man in the back.

You peek back between the seats. He sits up. He gets up and crosses the mattress. He takes his shirt and pulls it back on. Then his jacket. You watch him silently.

He pauses and glances around. His blue eyes meet yours. Bold and dilated. He heaves himself up, staying slightly bent under the ceiling, and turns. He twists the handle, this time without dislodging it, and slides open the door.

“Wait–” You call after him. You really hoped he’d tell you what the heck is going on.

The door shuts before you can say anything else. You look through the window as he stalks away. You sigh and shake your head. Artemis hops out of your arms and into the back. She climbs onto the mattress and sniffs it intently.

“Yeah, I’ll get it washed,” you tut. “Just for you, Arty.”

You get up and go into the back. You have to try to just be normal. What else can you do?

Call the police. Oh yeah, they’d love to know you’re living in your car… That’s not heat you need. The kettle boils. You cool the water with the stuff you keep in a bottle. You wash your hands first, then your face, then brush your teeth. You need to drive out to the truck stop for a shower.

A few extra orders a day and you’ll be able to check into a motel for the holiday. It’s easy enough to sneak Artemis in with you. She loves the radiators.

You change into fresh clothes but you don’t feel any better.  It doesn’t really matter. You never really feel great, do you? Your life is tolerable. It’s better than what it could be, not as good as others’. You can accept that. Just get by. But this new… pattern… visitor… can you survive that?

You get back in the driver’s seat and open up the app. It’s breakfast time and you’ll grab a few overpriced lattes and sandwiches to start. There’s one right by the laundromat. Perfect.

The day unwinds dully, in contrast to the upheaval of the night. You get your laundry done between orders and manage to add on a few more than usual at the lunch hour. A few extra treats for Artemis, perhaps.

As you wait outside a restaurant for an order, you nearly yelp. A man with dark hair emerges and you almost duck behind the steering wheel. It’s not him. It’s just some punk guy in a leather jacket. Younger than the visitor.

You sigh and sit up. Artemis stops cleaning herself loudly and comes to brush up on the back of the seat. You reach around and lift her into the front.

“I’m going crazy, Art. That’s it.” You scratch her chin until she purrs. It helps you calm down.

You get through the day. It’s harder than usual. The night sees you driving around listlessly. You can’t decide on a place. You look at the gas meter. You should really hunker down somewhere.

You steer out to the country roads. Not the best idea but you could make it to the truck stop, get a shower while it’s not too busy…

The lack of light poles puts you into shadows, only the beam of your headlights cutting through the eerie void. As your eyelids droop lower and lower, a sudden low rumble thrums through the night. You sit up and check your mirror. What the heck is that?

You look back to the road. You can’t risk veering off, not out here with the ditches. The noise gets louder and louder. You look in the mirror again. There’s a light closing in.

The motorcycle zooms up until the cacophony is thunderous. The rider comes up in the lane next to you and slows to meet your pace. You peek over quickly but can’t make out much.

He gets close and you try to steer away, fearing a collision but riding the edge of the gravel apron. The motorcyclist gets near enough to knock on the side of the van. You yipe. What’s happening?

You slam on your break and lurch as they lock. Artemis mewls and you twist around to check on her. She’s on the bed, near the bottom, on her back. She’s okay.

You turn forward again and stare at the rider as they steer around into the glare of your headlights. You could turn around but the van is too bulky to make a u-turn and a three-pointer is nearly impossible in this dark. Or you could drive through him.

You squint as the rider plants his feet and halts his bike. It’s him. The light shimmers in his silver strands. His eyes cling to you as he mechanically kicks down the stand and gets off the bike. You gulp at the long barrel poking up over his shoulder. Shittttt.

You grip the steering wheel and flip down the shifter. Before you can reverse, he lunges and lands on your hood. You cry out and slam on the gas. He hangs on as you race backward, trying to hold the wheel steady. If you don’t stop, you will end up stuck.

Why is he doing this?!

You hit the brakes and whine. You look around at the snow heaps, like desolate mountains in the absence of the moon. You shake your head. You know you’re trapped. And it’s not just you.

Artemis lands on the dashboard and hiss through the windshield. She claws at the glass as the man lifts his head to look at you. He tilts his head. You shrug.

“What do you want?” You holler.

He stares. You shiver. He lets go of the hood and points at you. You don’t understand. Can’t he just say it?

He pushes off the hood and tugs the strap over his shoulder, adjusting the rifle but not moving it off his back. You gulp. Artemis’ snarling turns ravenous. He comes around the passenger side. He stand there expectantly.

The tabby jumps onto the seat and meets him on the other side. She paws at the window, ready to break through and tear him up. He leans in and taps the window, taunting her. You grab her from behind and force her against your stomach. You can’t stand the idea of her getting hurt.

He opens the door and gets in. You watch him warily. He unzips his jacket and reaches underneath. He pulls out an envelope and places it on the dash. You don’t move.

He gets back out and shuts the door. He stomps up the road to his bike and mounts it again. He turns it and kicks the engine on. He steers toward you and zooms around you, the motor roaring off into the night.

You sleep. Not well. Artemis is just as restless. Neither of you gets more than an hour here or there before the morning forces you to face the anxiety head on.

You feed her and fill her water dish. You sit on the end of the mattress and hold your head. You are confused. Truly, you’re scared.

This man has a metal arm. That thing isn’t made simply for opening jars. And he had a rifle last night. Not to mention the wounds he shows up with. This man is dangerous. Dangerous enough to bring you thousands in cash.

You should be grateful, right? That money could get you more than a hotel room for the holidays. That could be a security deposit on an apartment. The only problem there is the upkeep. That envelope isn’t bottomless and rent only gets higher. Most places want a credit score and pay stubs. Maybe even a genealogy test.

You sigh. Artemis rubs on your legs. You straighten them and she crawls up into your lap. You pet her and kiss her head. She smells like cat food as she tries to nuzzle your nose.

“What do I do, Art?” You ask. She can’t tell you. “I can’t keep that money, can I? What if he hurt someone to get it? What if they need it back?”

She licks her lips and brushes her wet nose on your chin. You scratch her head and gently ease her off your lap. You get up on your knees and stretch your arms.

“We gotta work. I’m not going to touch it.” You insist. “First, I need a shower. I bet I smell, huh?”

The truck stop will be busy soon. You parked there overnight after your encounter. You grab your towel and your pouch of toiletries, along with your shower shoes. You have a system.

You leave the heater on for Artemis and lock the door behind you. A man sits in the cabin of his truck and sips from a thermos. You barely even register his presence as you’re set on the day ahead. Shower, work, survive.

You pay for a key to a shower room and lock yourself in. The tile is slightly dingy but beggars can’t be choosers. You hang your towel and the day’s outfit, then rest the plastic pouch on the narrow shelf under the showerhead. You undress and hang your clothes on another hook.

You twist on the faucet and stand out of its range until it heats up. You step under the spray and moan. It’s so nice to get clean. The heat soothes you to the bone, eating away at the tension in your muscles.

You go through an exhaustive cleanse. Sometimes, you’re a bit stubborn and make do with handbaths too often. You should care more. You should try more.

You feel lighter as you shut off the flow. You shiver and dry yourself. You dress in the fresh clothes and sop up the excess moisture around your hairline and behind your ears. You hang the towel around your shoulders and brace yourself for the cold.

You hug your dirty clothes and the pouch and rush out. You nearly fall onto your ass as a figure waits outside. You shuffle back on your heels as the wide man in his flannel bears down on you.

“There you are, honey,” he drawls. “Was lookin’ for ya.”

You frown. You shake your head and glance around.

“Yeah, you. I got a twenty. Is that enough for little warm up?” He asks.

You furrow your nose. “What?”

“We can go back in my truck–”

You cough and shake your head again. “No, I’m not… I don’t–”

“It’s okay, honey, just your hand, how about it?”

“Really. I don’t do that.”

He snorts. “I don’t know many proper ladies that hang around the lot. My money’s perfectly good as the next guys–”

He reaches for you and you back up. “I’m telling you, I’m not a lot lizard.”

“Never too late to start. Seem like you need the money,” he retorts.

“Just leave me alone,” you snip and try to step around him.

He grabs you and throws you back. You cry out as your back hits the wooden pillow that supports the rusted awning. You slip in the shower shoes and slide down to your ass. 

You groan and fumble for your keys. You grip the canister and flick back the little red switch. The man charges at you but before you can untangle your hand from the clothes, a dark blur sends him flying into the stained wooden siding.

The man in flannel hits the building so hard it cracks the wood. He lands on the ground even harder and a thick boot crunches down on his head, his head snapping against the concrete as he goes limp. You lift your hand and aim the mace. The metal fingers closer around yours.

You don’t push the button. The man in black leather kneels as he gently slips your keys out of your grasp. The softness of his touch startles you as much as his sudden appearance.

He slips the keyring down his finger and gathers up the jeans strewn on the ground. You hug your pouch and the rest of your clothes. He puts the denim on top. He grips your arms and helps you to your feet. You stare at him.

He backs up and kicks the unconscious man as he marches by. He stops and grabs a paper bag resting on the window ledge. He faces you and holds it up, pointing to it. You shrug and slowly follow, wary of the body on the pavement.

As you near the man, he cradles the bag and opens the crinkled top. He reaches inside. He pulls out a hashbrown in a paper sleeve. He holds it out.

You look him in the eye. You shakily take the potato patty and thank him. He watches you. You bring the hashbrown to your lips and sink your teeth in. He nods slightly.

You chew and swallow. “It’s good.”

His eyes search you. He spins suddenly and strides away. You follow him as your keys jiggle from his finger. He leads you back to your van.

You hold your things and the hashbrown. He jams the keys into the slot and slides the door with one hand, his other arm is around the paper bag. Neither of you have a moment to react as Artemis launches herself at him in a spitting assault.

He staggers as she latches onto his head. He keeps hold of the bag as he grabs her scruff. You toss your things into the van blindly and drop the hashbrown.

“Please, don’t hurt her!” You squeal and reach for Artemis as her fur stands on end and the man yanks at her. “Stop!”

You wrap your hands around her belly and coo her name. “Come on, I’m okay, Art, shhh. Please.”

You wrestle her off of the man and she growls and writhes in your grasp. You hush her and rock her, trying to soothe her. She’s angrier than you’ve ever seen.

The man wipes his cheek. There’s four red lines beading with crimson. There’s another scratch on his opposite brow. He mechanically puts down the bag just inside the van door.

He unzips the top of his jacket. He reaches inside and you go rigid. You squeeze Artemis.

He takes something out. A brown shape dangling on a string. Nope. That’s a dead mouse on its tail. He offers it to the cat.

She sniffs but recoils in disinterest. You curl your lip. His brows draw together and he examines the dead rodent. His shoulders drop and he throws the mouse into the snow.

He turns and reaches for the bag. You stop him.

“Ew, no!” You say. “You need to wash your hands. Those carry disease.”

He stops and looks at you. He shows his palms. You cluck and shake your head.

“I’ll boil some water,” you tut.

You pass him and step into the van. Your stomach is churning. It’s obvious. He’ll find you anywhere and there’s not much you can do to keep him from invading.

You drop your things on the bed as you keep Artemis in one arm. You grab the paper bag out of his way and move it to the side. The savoury smell of its contents tug at your appetite. You flip the kettle switch on as his weight shifts the axle.

Artemis wriggles as a low drone rattles from her. You soothe her and rock her. The man keeps his hands up, wiggling his fingers as he examines his hands, the fingerless gloves creaking slightly. You sidle around him to shut the door and block out the cold.

“Thank you for the food. It’s a nice gesture.” You say. No response. “I’ll give you that money back. I can’t accept that much… especially not knowing where it came from.”

He points at you sharply then wags his finger. Pointing three more times at you. You purse your lips.

“It’s too much. Where did you even find it–”

He points to himself then you. You get it. It’s a gift from him.

“You don’t talk?” You ask.

His lashes flick. He tilts his head. He angles around and sits, keeping his hands up.

You grab the plastic basin and some soap. You fill the basin with the water before it’s too hot. You put a dollop in his palm. He scrubs his hands and gloves furiously.

You hand him a towel as he finishes. He takes it. He dries off then points again. At the bag.

You grab it and put it next to him. Artemis growls as you get close to him. He watches her with his bold blue irises. You back up quickly.

He takes the bag in his lap. He opens it up and looks inside. He takes out a wrap and holds it out.

“Does it have egg?” You ask.

He stares then dips his chin.

“Good, she likes egg,” you say. “Open it up. Give her some. It’ll calm her down.” His eyes dart between you and Artemis. You nod. “Go on. Or she’ll get you deeper the next time.”

He peels back the paper wrapper. He tears into the tortilla and pinches some fluffy egg between his fingers. He holds it out. You turn to angle Artemis toward the food.

She sniffs it cautiously then takes it from him. She eats noisily, chewing and licking until it’s gone. She’s no longer growling.