She walked across the room and stood in front of him. Up close, he was even taller. Even more solid. She held out her hand. “I’m Ellie.”
She didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps he would disappear, fade from her world never to return, exorcised by her acceptance. Or perhaps his hand would pass through hers, as insubstantial as mist.
She didn’t expect his fingers to close over hers, big enough to engulf hers completely. His hand was strong and firm, but icy cold. She couldn’t help her gasp, or the way her hand twitched in his, wanting to hold him tight. Wanting to pull him closer and wrap him in her arms and breathe heat back into his body. But he let her go immediately.
“You’re so warm,” he said, forehead creasing. “I didn’t realize how cold I was until now.” He swayed fractionally closer, as if he might take her hand once more. Or bring her in against his body. But then he retreated again, as if suddenly realizing how close he was to touching her.
Her hand still tingled, and she almost swayed with him. Almost. But she made herself stand still, looking up at him. “What shall I call you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Ellie stepped back, breaking the unspoken dance. Freeing them both. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, suddenly colder than she was before. “We should give you a name.”
He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “What name?”
Hell. She racked her brain for inspiration. “Ah… Jonathan? Billy? Or how about Jim or Steve?”
He let out a gruff chuckle as his expression lightened for the first time. “Are we in a supernatural horror?”
Ellie snorted. He’d caught her. But then she realized what he’d just said. “You rememberStranger Things?” Her smile spread. “That’s good, right?”
He started to nod, but it turned into a slow shake of denial. “I remember some things. I remember pizza. I remember swimming in the sea. I know that I like red wine better than white. It’s the other stuff—the important stuff—that I don’t know.” His expression grew grim once more. “Who am I? Where do I come from? All of that is gone.” His voice lowered to a rumble. “And sometimes I’m not even here. Sometimes, all I know is darkness.”
Her hand itched to reach out. To press against his face and take away the pain she saw flickering there before he could hide it. But there was so little she could offer him. This stranger. She couldn’t give him answers. She didn’t even know where to start. But maybe she could help him feel that she had heard him. “I probably have some frozen pizza if you like. Definitely some red wine.”
His lips twitched, and he almost smiled. Almost, but not quite. “Thank you but… it’s hard to explain. I don’t feel hungry. I haven’t wanted anything to eat since I woke up here the first time.”
She bit her lip, thinking. She couldn’t call emergency services when there really wasn’t an emergency and he might disappear any moment. “We could look online. Maybe someone will have posted something? Or perhaps there’s a forum for missing people?”
He seemed to hesitate for a second before replying. “Yeah.” He looked away for a second, and then back to her. When hespoke again, he was more certain. “Yes, we should do that. But could we… I’d rather face it in the morning.”
The rational part of her thought they should be trying to work out who he was. They should do the work. And the work should come first. But another part of her—the part that had spent hours looking for him when he’d gone—wanted to spend just a little longer with him before they found where he should be. Or worse, discovered that he didn’t really exist.
She’d already decided it was time to live more. Listen to her heart more. “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s look in the morning.”
He glanced over her shoulder into her room. “Shall we sit for a bit? Downstairs maybe?”
Was that what she wanted? There wasn’t much furniture in her bedroom. The super king bed with its forest-green and cream covers dominated the room. Beside it, side tables held small ceramic lamps, while the far wall was covered almost entirely by a heavy, ceiling-to-floor mirror, positioned to give her a view through the window no matter which way she lay. She liked her sleeping space uncluttered, but now it didn’t offer a lot of seating options unless he sat on the bed with her. Would that be a mistake?
She hesitated for a second and then let her worries go. She didn’t want to have to go downstairs. She didn’t want to break this strange truce, or put more space between them. He was in her room already; he might as well stay.
She waved him awkwardly to the end of the bed and then climbed in herself. The covers warmed her chilled skin. Gave her a shield against the constant awareness of being with him. Although, now that she had it, it felt more like a barrier than a shield. A barrier she didn’t want.
He sank down. Not onto the foot of the bed as she’d expected, but onto the floor. He leaned his back against the mattress, bent one knee, and rested his arm on it. He looked tired, like she felt,and she almost invited him into the bed. Almost threw caution away entirely. But then she would want to hold him. She would want to smooth the lines on his face with her fingers. To curl her body into his. She would want more. So she kept silent.
Neither of them spoke. They just sat quietly, two people surrounded by the night, keeping company.
She left the light on. But it was warm and hushed, and she’d been so exhausted, her body had been so battered. Her eyes grew heavy, even as she tried to fight it. Having him there, sitting with her, gave her a sense of calm. As if he would watch over her.
It didn’t make any sense. But they were connected. He was?—
“Jon, I think,” he said quietly, and she opened her eyes again.
She blinked slowly, half asleep. “The misunderstood loner who becomes a hero.”
“No. I’m not a hero.” His voice was rough. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be a hero.”
She waited quietly until he finished. “It’s the sound of it. It seems familiar.”
