Ten Below Zero(11)

“Did the police question you?” I asked as she whipped out of the makeshift parking spot and flipped on her headlights.

She shook her head and glanced at me as she looked at the side mirrors. “I don’t talk to cops.”

“Why?”

“Because they want to know my business.” She exited the hospital parking lot and shifted the vehicle, increasing the speed on the main road. “I have to deal enough with them in my line of work, so I heartily avoid them when I’m not working.” The keys hanging from her keychain jingled, the various items hanging from it glittered from the car’s interior lights.

“What’s your name?”

“Parker.”

“Do you want to die tonight, Parker?” she asked, shifting into a higher gear.

I didn’t know what to say, but fear seized my muscles, and I stared at her, terrified.

She looked over at me and muttered, “Jesus. Your seatbelt.” She inclined her head towards the buckle that lay empty. “Buckle up.”

As quickly as it had come up on me, fear left me just as fast, though a little bit sat stubbornly there, not trusting this woman. I buckled my belt in haste just as she whipped around a corner, not bothering to stop for the light. Granted, it was just a couple hours before dawn and there was little actual traffic, so I didn’t feel terror like I would have if it had been rush hour.

A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of a twenty-four hour department store. I looked out the window, confused.

She was already out of the car, walking towards the entrance, so I had nothing else to do but clumsily follow after, in through the automatic doors and into the air conditioning. Summer was unbearably hot in California, even in the early hours of the morning.

I followed her into the women’s clothing section while she rifled through a pile of jeans. “What size are you, Parker?”

“Eight,” I instinctively said. “Why? Wait, I have clothes at my apartment.”

She looked at me beneath brows that were dark like her eye makeup, impatience simmering just beneath the surface. “Yeah, and you live forty miles from here. I’m hungry. And your hospital attire is going to kill my appetite.” She tossed a pair of jeans over her shoulder before walking purposefully towards the tank tops.

“I don’t even know your name,” I protested, though that seemed like something I should have asked before climbing into her car in the first place.

“Mira,” she mumbled, holding a tank top in front of me to check the size.

“How do you know I live forty miles away?”

“I checked your wallet while you were unconscious.” She spun around and pushed her way through the racks of clothes to the check out.

“But you didn’t remember my name?” I asked, blindly following behind.

“I wasn’t looking for your name when I found you, I was trying to figure out where you lived,” Mira replied as she tossed the clothes on to the checkout belt.

“Why?” It seemed like an odd thing to worry about.

“I told you, I don’t like cops. If we’d been close to your address, I would have called an ambulance and waited, figuring you would get a ride home from a cop or something.” The cashier stared at us as we spoke. Mira spoke with truth, but with a heavy hand of impatience too.

When the total rang up on the register, Mira whipped out some cash and paid for the new clothing.

“I could have paid,” I protested meekly. It was futile. Mira was a hurricane and I was along for the ride.

Mira took the change from the cashier and walked towards the exit, once again not waiting to see if I was following. She stopped at the restrooms and pushed the bag of clothing into my hands. “Get dressed. I’m hungry.”

I walked into the restroom with my bag of clothing and took a second to breathe. This had been the most traumatic and also the craziest night I’d had in my entire life. Five hours earlier I had awoken to a woman’s smooth voice, my head resting on warm pavement. I remembered little of what had transpired, except that I’d hurt, everywhere.

I opened my eyes and turned towards the bathroom mirror. It was my first time seeing my face. I walked a few steps closer to the mirror and turned my face to get a better look.

The scar on my cheek cut into my hairline. A nurse had shaved part of my head to make the gash easier to sew back together. The skin around the cut was red, angry, and bruised too. There was a bandage over the stitches. I had to keep the area dry for a week. One of my eyelids was raw from road rash, and the eye itself was swelling quickly. I was a mess.

It was then that I remembered the reason I was in the bathroom and I quickly changed while in one of the stalls, sliding on the jeans that were looser than I expected. I winced while pulling the tank top over my head, feeling the material gently brush the wounds on my back.

On my way out of the restroom, I tossed my scrubs into the garbage and looked for Mira outside of the restroom. She was no longer there. Instantly, disappointment and loneliness bloomed in my heart. I quickly shut it down and strode towards the exit, not sure what to do or where to go, but knowing that I was on my own.

Except I wasn’t. Just outside the entrance was a waft of smoke and sure enough, Mira was there smoking a cigarette and running her fingers over her phone. I watched her for a moment, watched how she sucked in the smoke from the cigarette before she blew it out in a small stream. Her eyes caught mine and she pocketed the phone before striding over to me. “Let’s eat,” she said before taking two long pulls from the cigarette. She dropped it and stomped out the lit end before stalking back to her sports car.