Chapter 2 Stranger Danger

Raynelle.

I honked, swerving my car to the right. I crashed into the trash can on the side.

“What the actual fuck!” I slammed the car door, making my way to the large lump laying on the floor.

My medical instinct kicked in and I placed my hand on his neck, examining his pulse.

It was weak, but present.

“Let's take you to the hospital.” I whispered, scanning my surroundings cautiously.

The city wasn't safe, but I wasn't about to leave a patient on the verge of death lying on the stone cold pavement.

He gripped my hand, his voice hoarse.

“No hospital.”

I could barely make out his facial features against the dim lighting, but I reached out, patting his hand.

“We need to get you to the hosp-.”

“No hospital.” His voice was louder this time, darker, carrying enough authority that sent chills down my spine.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist. "Please."

I looked down at the blood soaking through his shirt.

Less than an hour ago I'd watched someone die because I couldn't save him.

I couldn't watch another.

I don't know what he said or how it happened but, he laid on my backseat as I drove home.

My fingers turned white as I gripped the steering wheel, the realization of my actions finally sunk in.

I'm taking a stranger home.

He placed his entire weight on me as we struggled to get up the stairs.

“Fuck.” He groaned, clutching his abdomen as I fumbled with the keys in my hand.

I laid him on my couch as I turned on the lights.

He grunted in response, shielding his eyes. A gasp escaped my lips, my eyes widening.

His shirt was torn, a long gash marring his skin. It stretched diagonally from his left ribcage down to his pelvis.

“I…I can take care–” he whispered, his voice drawing thin.

Shit. I dashed to my bathroom, pulling out my first aid box. It was empty.

Yes. A medical resident didn't even have a swab of cotton wool in her first aid box.

I pressed an old rag against his wound,

“Apply pressure on the wound.” I ordered, “ I'll run down the streets to get some supplies.”

I grabbed my coat and a fifty dollar bill, making my way through the flight of stairs.

The neon lights of the pharmacy shone in the distance and I barged in, grabbing the medical supplies I needed.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Again.

A glaring notification stared back at me as I unlocked it.

30+ Missed Calls.

23 Notifications.

Harlow, My sister. A sudden sense of dread engulfed me and with shaky hands I answered.

Her voice echoed through the speaker, eerily quiet. "Ray? Where have you been?"

I paused, trying to gauge her mood. "I just got off work."

"I've called thirty times." There was a bit of shuffling on her end, “Why didn't you answer.”

I heard the familiar panicked screams, the ones I could never get used to.

"Harlow, what's wrong?" I asked, my lips pursed into a thin line. “Where are you?”

There was silence. She didn't answer.

“Harlow.” I called out again, slipping the cashier the bill. “You're making me worried. Where are you?”

"Ray…” Her voice suddenly cracked, “Mom collapsed. She's in the hospital.”

My phone slipped out of my hand, clattering on the floor. Mom?!

I stumbled back to my apartment, the earth spinning underneath my feet.

‘This is just a dream.’ I reminded myself, ‘It is just another horrible dream. I'll open my apartment door and I'll be all alone. Harlow never called.’

I pushed the door open, the unfamiliar sight of a six foot tall man squished on the couch greeted me.

“This can't be happening.” My legs went weak and my knees buckled under my weight.

“It can't be happening.” I choked back a sob, grabbing at the roots of my hair.

I could barely afford rent, where the hell were we supposed to squeeze out money for chemo from.

Harlow was neck deep in student loans and I hadn't even fully settled in Brooklyn.

The man's low grunts yanked me back into reality.

Good going Raynelle. You just had to invite a stranger, possibly a serial killer into your house in the middle of the night.

I picked up the forgotten medical supplies and knelt beside him, carefully peeling the ruined shirt away from the wound.

A sharp breath caught in my throat. The cut was deep, worse than I expected.

I inhaled deeply, hiding my trembling fingers behind me.

‘Murderer.’ The voice in my head re-echoed, louder than before. ‘You’re going to kill him. Like you did before, like you always do.”

“Let's go to the hospital.” I pushed myself up, “This is bad. Very bad.”

His hand grabbed mine, steely grey orbs staring at me with burning intensity under the dim lights.

“No hospital.” His voice was low, but I could feel the steady pulse in his veins.

Every instinct of mine screamed at me louder than before.

Why? Why was he avoiding the hospital?

‘This isn't normal,’ I thought to myself as I knelt down. ‘Nothing about this was normal.’

I snapped on the latex rubber gloves I had just snagged from the pharmacy.

“Take a deep breath.” I cautioned, lifting his shirt, just enough to see his wound. “This is going to hurt.”

The old towel I had given him was already soaked.

“Are you having difficulty breathing?” I asked, pressing a pack of sterile gauze pads to staunch the bleeding.

He grunted in response.

I'll take that as a no. “Then are you feeling light headed? Dizzy?”

I could feel his muscl

es tense under my touch as he nodded.

“That's bad.” I whispered as the bleeding slowed. He's already lost blood.

A lot of blood.