Two: Strangers

We have been waiting patiently in the attic for almost an hour now. An antique clock on the wall tells me so. I can hear voices below us, some loud and disruptive, others muffled and discreet. The boy cringes every time a woman yells, and her voice is so tinny and whiny that I do as well. It's assaulting my super sensitive ears, so I try to muffle it by lifting the blanket up over my head, creating a hood of sorts.

The boy watches me, standing across the room by the stairs while I am sitting comfortably in an overstuffed chair. The only light is coming from the cracked door, and he's standing with his back to it. I can't tell if he's a lookout or a prison guard, but being here saves me from the weather and him from the wrath of whoever that is downstairs. I'm surprised when he actually speaks.

"How come you can't remember anything?" he asks, taking one step toward me.

I shake my head. "I don't know. I think it has something to do with this." I gesture at a particularly nasty gash on my temple. I haven't seen it, but I've been subconsciously poking it for the last half hour. It's split wide, and crusty with blood. I also have a large bump on the base of my skull that's been slowly driving me insane. Both of them throb with every heartbeat. The pain has been hitting me in waves ever since the encounter in the barn. The one positive of being stuck in the snow for hours (maybe days?) was being so cold I was unaware of my injuries. My ribs ache terribly, and it's keeping me from sitting up straight so I'm hunched over. I'm trying so hard to think of how I got so beaten up, but my mind is one gigantic blank slate. I'm getting progressively more and more frustrated.

We linger in silence a while longer, and then he says, "I wish I could turn into a dog."

I smile, which must look quite awful because he shrinks back, and tell him, "No, you really wouldn't like it." I reflect on the intense agonizing sensation of my body taking an entirely different form, and being unable to stop it. It's really not that fun.

Without warning, the door opens and the girl appears, dark brown hair wild around her sweet heart-shaped face. Her cheeks are flushed and her jaw is clenched which is pretty cute on her. She points at me, and out of nowhere I have a sudden fear for my life.

"They're trying to blame this on me." Oh shit.

I try to look as innocent as possible, and say, "I'm sorry?" I get a sense of déjà-vu, like I'm practiced in apologizing.

"You aren't now, but you will be. You owe me big time," she practically hisses. Not so cute anymore. She runs a hand through her hair and her expression changes from menacing to thoughtful. After giving me one last hard look, her defenses crumble. "Really, I should be thanking you. I hated that damn animal." Her smile is tired and half-hearted.

I try to keep this good mood going. "Well, it couldn't have been that bright. After all, what kind of living being just stares at an obviously hungry wolf?"

Her smile fades, and I begin to think I've said something I shouldn't have. Then she shakes her head, and says something so quietly even I have to strain to hear her. "What the hell are you?"

"I don't really have an answer for that," I tell her. If there was a term, it's been wiped from my memory along with everything else.

"Well, I'm eight, and I know," the boy boldly states.

The girl shoots him a silencing look, and he awkwardly looks down at his feet. Shutting the door, she flips a light switch and suddenly the attic is illuminated. It's large and spacious; just one massive room. I'm sitting near a little niche where there are two beds that look as if they haven't been touched in fifty years. There is a table in one corner, surround by miscellaneous chairs and covered with a hundred different board games. A million books fill the empty places, piled haphazardly. Just to my left, I spy a full bath, with an enclosed standing shower, pedestal sink, porcelain toilet, and a claw foot bath tub.

"Everyone has finally shut up and gone to bed, so you can take a bath." She doesn't really suggest this as much as she implores it. "I can smell you from here." I can't argue with her. I do stink and a shower really doesn't sound like such a bad idea.

I stand up, but I pause. Instead, I look at my two saviors and ask their names.

She hesitates, but the boy doesn't. "I'm Collin! That's my sister, Corey." In the light I can finally make out his features. He has a round face with large green eyes and shaggy dark hair. In essence, he is the tiny male version of his sister.

She smiles her same tired smile, and takes him by the hand. "I'll bring you up some clothes after I put Collin to bed."

"Awww, Corey. I want to stay up!" he declares.

"You're supposed to be asleep by now, buddy," she firmly tells him, opening the door and pulling her brother back down the stairs. She stops half way, and runs back up. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to lock the door. We don't really know you so…"

"I understand."

She nods quickly, and shuts the door. A few little clicks inform that the lock is in place. I walk into the bathroom and close the door. I get angry at myself after a few minutes because I can't recall how to turn on a shower, so I just start twisting knobs. Thankfully, water spurts out of the massive showerhead and I manage to figure out the temperature adjustments. I step into the stall, groaning as the water hits some really sore spots on my battered body. Dark streams of dirt and blood move down my skin and onto the light gray tile, swirling and mixing until disappearing down the drain.

For a long while, I just stand there, trying to remember. Little things slip through: running through a meadow, standing in a crowded room with a stage, bright blond hair. The images are cloudy, dreamlike, and I'm not even sure if they're really memories. I feel so pathetic, so dependent on people who don't even know me. Although, I suppose I should be grateful they don't because someone who does know me is probably responsible for my current state.

I pick up a bottle of soap and start scrubbing myself clean. Careful of the sensitive spots on my head, I wash my hair. I rinse myself off, finally cleansed of the evidence of my violent first night here. Across from me are towels stacked neatly on a rack and I take one, thoroughly drying myself. There's a mirror hanging over the sink, foggy from the heat of the water. Using my towel, I wipe it off. In the glass is a face I don't recognize: pale eyes, scruffy unshaven jaw, crooked nose, a sparse spread of freckles on tanned skin. He's young, but there are lines on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His hair is very black, and hits at his shoulders. I know that it's me; there's no one else in the bathroom, after all. It's a surreal feeling, and I stare at him for a long time. I am him, and he is me, but it's like studying a complete stranger.

Someone knocks on the door. "Are you still alive in there?" a woman's voice, the girl. What was her name again?

I walk over and open it. She's standing there holding a pile of clothes. "You're really not a shy one, huh?" she says, smiling.

I realize I'm wearing just a towel. I take the clothes from her. "Thank you," I say, and close the door to get dressed. When I come back out, I'm dressed in a plain blue t-shirt that's a little too big and loose-fitting black pants. I take notice of the clean sheets on one of the beds.

"Thank you," I tell her again. "I've been so much trouble for you. How can I return the favor?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something." Her wild hair is now in an uncontrolled bun, with long curly strands falling in her face. "Well, you're probably tired, so I'll let you get some sleep."

"Wait, does anyone else know I'm up here?" I ask, paranoid.

"If they did, you would have been shot by now," she simply states. I am wide-eyed, and she laughs. "Don't worry about them. I'll protect you."

"Why?" She raises her eyebrows, so I elaborate. "You don't know me yet you've given me clothing and roof over my head. I don't understand why?" I ask.

She mulls it over for a moment, and then says, "Would you rather be back out there?" Her head inclines toward the large window between the two beds. Beyond the translucent barrier is a still-raging blizzard.

"No, but-"

"There ya go. Have a goodnight," she says, and she starts to leave.

"You too…" I've been trying to recall her name this whole time. I might as well crown myself the World's Biggest Ass.

"It's Corey. Corey Elaine Ellis." Another second and she's down the stairs, locking the door again. I switch off the lights before making my way into the bed. The sheets are cool and soft, but the mattress beneath is so thin I can feel every spring. This doesn't deter me too much, and as soon as I'm in a decently bearable position, I am asleep.