Becca Mullins moved across the gift shop, picking up items that were out of place and putting them back in their proper spots. She paused to straighten a stack of birthday cards that had gone askew. The overhead lights caught the crystal beads of a display of bracelets and glittered as she approached. She moved the bracelets, spreading them out evenly along the bar they hung from.

 

The clock clicked over to nine p.m. and it was officially closing time. She flipped over the sign on the door, locked it, then went behind the counter to take care of the cash register. After taking the drawer to the office, she counted and jotted numbers into the books, making sure everything came out perfectly. She took the time to sort the money just how she knew her manager, Penny, liked it, turning all the bills to face the same way, unfolding the dog-eared corners so the stacks sat as neat and flat as possible inside the safe.

 

Next, Becca made a note of several items she noticed were running low and should be ordered soon. This wasn’t part of her job exactly, but she found ways whenever she could to go above and beyond, hoping to earn the position of Assistant Manager, which had been vacant for some time now. She thought Penny really liked her from the way she always took time to explain things and teach her. She always complimented Becca’s displays and often noted how good her work was.

 

She locked the office door with a hopeful glow in her heart. She could really use the pay raise that came with the Assistant Manager position. It hadn’t been easy moving here. She knew no one and had her daughter to think of. Who would watch Emma while she worked all day? But Red Hills had been the picture of southern hospitality when she’d arrived, bruises still visible around her eye and on her cheek from her ex, Nick.

 

It had been Penny who first helped her. Becca had rushed into the gift shop to buy an umbrella in a sudden downpour. Emma had found her way to the toys and was begging for a new doll when Penny came to ask them if they needed help. Becca knew she couldn’t afford the doll and had to take it from her four-year-old with tears in her eyes. Penny had seen this and given her the doll. They’d chatted a bit and before she knew it, Becca’s life story was poured out on this poor woman.

 

Penny lived alone and insisted they stay with her until they found their own place. For three weeks, Penny and Becca got to know each other. Becca started working at the gift shop, and a neighbor watched Emma during the day. Life had finally started to come together. Now Becca and Emma had a tiny apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs, and they had worked hard to make it home.

 

As she walked back through the store, Becca’s eyes fell on the display of dolls Emma had so loved, and she smiled, thinking of how Emma hadn’t let the pink-dressed, yellow-haired doll go for days. She was likely sleeping with it right now, clutched tight to her chest on Lucille’s couch, waiting for her mommy to come and take her home.

 

Becca flicked out the lights and set the alarm before locking the door behind her. In her car, she blasted music and sang along, enjoying the cool evening air tossing her hair around. She turned left and onto a stretch of highway that was heavily wooded. She was on guard for animals on this street, glancing often at the sides of the roads for glowing eyes that might run in front of her.

 

She glanced to the right and saw a mound on the ground. At first it looked like a dead animal. She couldn’t make out any part of it, but as she got closer and the object was washed for an instant in bright headlights, she saw a boot.

 

It had happened so fast that she had already passed the spot before she realized it was a person lying there. She pulled into the gravel, stomping hard on her brakes.

 

With her phone tight in her hand, she approached the person. It looked like a man from what she could see of his blond hair and jeans. But there was no movement, and she didn’t want to run up to a dead body in case it was a gruesome sight. Her stomach already felt queasy with the thought.

 

“Hello?” she called out tentatively when she was about twenty feet away.

 

No response. She tapped the flashlight feature on her phone and shined the light on him. It definitely was a him. Blood trickled from multiple places on his face. He’d been beaten badly. His eyes nearly swollen shut, his lip split and thick, purple splotches across his cheek bones. The sight gave her chills, thinking of how many times she’d had injuries like these after a night of Nick’s anger.

 

She inched closer, trying to see if his chest was moving.

 

He lay on his side, half curled into a ball. His black shirt was torn and shiny with blood. His jeans, also ripped in places, were dirty and bloody. A black leather jacket was hanging from him in shreds.

 

“Can you hear me?” she asked.

 

She knelt down beside him, afraid to touch him. His chest didn’t seem to be moving. With a shaking hand, she pressed her fingertips to his wrist. She found no heartbeat. But then a soft wheeze came from his mouth.

 

“Oh my God, are you still alive?”

 

He made a ragged coughing sound and moved his arm a few inches.

 

“Just hang on, I’ll call 9-1-1.”

 

He said something. She couldn’t make it out, but the sound was so insistent, that she paused.

 

“What did you say?” She leaned closer to his mouth.

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Don’t? Don’t what, call 9-1-1?”

 

“Don’t call,” he wheezed.

 

“But you look like you’re about to die. You need to get to a hospital.”

 

He took a shuttering breath and pushed himself up with effort to a seated position. Blood gushed from his nose and he spit out more blood.

 

Becca put her hand to her mouth and had to look away. She had napkins and tissues in her car and got up to dash over and bring them to him. She handed him the napkins, but they were soaked through within seconds.

 

“Please,” he said, half whispering. “Get me out of here.”

 

She looked back to her car, which was about thirty feet ahead. He didn’t look like he’d able to walk that distance, and she wasn’t strong enough to help him much.

 

“Hang on.” She returned to her car and backed it up slowly, craning her head around to see how close she was getting to him.

 

He pushed himself onto all fours, pausing to breathe through the pain. He crawled over to the back door. Becca opened it for him, pulled Emma’s car seat from its place, and dashed to the trunk to get the blanket she kept there for times when Emma got cold. She spread the blanket over the backseat and stood back awkwardly as he pulled himself up and into the car.

 

“Can I help you somehow?” She wasn’t sure where he was injured and didn’t want to just grab him somewhere it might hurt.

 

He didn’t answer. Shaking, he pulled himself up onto the seat and slumped over.

 

She closed the door behind him and got into the driver’s seat. “You need a hospital badly.”

 

He was still bleeding, pressing a dripping napkin to his nose. She handed him the rest of the napkins. The cluster of bright white turned red almost instantly when he held them to his face.

 

“No.”

 

He coughed, splattering blood all over her car’s seat. Becca swallowed hard and tried not to let her stomach turn over.

 

“They’ll kill me,” he said.

 

At first, she thought this was ridiculous. If you were hurt that badly, you needed a hospital. That simple. Whoever had done this surely wouldn’t kill him while he was there. But then she thought of the last time Nick had landed her in the hospital. Her friend had taken her to the hospital against her wishes. Nick had come into her room and almost suffocated her to death before a nurse happened to come in. Then Nick had quickly moved the pillow behind her head, making it look like he was the perfect husband, trying to make his clumsy wife more comfortable.

 

If whoever had beaten him had left him for dead, he was right. If they knew he was alive, if they drove by and found him gone, they would check the hospitals first. It wouldn’t take much in his condition to kill him. She wouldn’t do that to him. She remembered how terrified she had been to wake up in the hospital when she thought she was safe at her friend’s house, and how the terror had multiplied when Nick entered the room, his face full of rage. She would not do that to this man.

 

With a deep breath, she pulled back onto the road and drove to her apartment building.

 

***

 

Becca and Emma’s apartment was what people called “shoe-box sized.” She was grateful to have two bedrooms, but there was hardly enough space for the bed and a dresser in each. The kitchen held only a small wooden table and four chairs across from the short counter. The counter space was filled with gadgets—a two-cup coffee maker, toaster, dishrack, microwave, and a small candle. There wasn’t much counter space left for anything else. But it had a window over the sink and the fridge was a decent size. And it was included when she moved in.

 

The living room was the biggest room, though it was only big enough to hold her couch, a coffee table, and the stand that held the little TV. She’d managed to shove a tall plant in the corner to give the place some life, and a few photos hung on the wall. But the one free corner was full of Emma’s toys, as was her bedroom. The bathroom had a full-size tub, luckily, with a shower head at the top, and just enough counter space for her to spread out her makeup while she got ready in the morning. Despite its size, she loved it because it was theirs and theirs alone.

 

She lived on the second floor, and as she looked back at the man in her backseat, she wondered if he’d even be able to get up that many steps. Her parking space was forty feet from the door.

 

“Are you going to be able to walk?” She turned in her seat to look at him. “I can try to pull closer.”

 

He looked up at her and blinked, his eye a small split as he coughed again, wincing and holding his side. That was enough to make her decision. She backed out of her parking spot and pulled up as close as she could to the door.

 

Becca came around to the back door, opened it, and looked over him. What if her neighbors saw her helping this bloody man to her apartment? She didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

 

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and scooted to the edge of the seat until his feet touched the ground. He tried to stand, but groaned and clutched his stomach where the blood shone red through his shirt.

 

She leaned in and put her arm around his shoulders, then pulled as he tried to push up. He got to his feet shakily and shuffled a step forward. Becca positioned herself under his shoulder carefully and he leaned heavily on her to shuffle to the door.

 

Once she got him inside the stairwell, she leaned him against the railing. “I’m sorry. I have to move my car. I’ll get in trouble if it’s there too long.” Not that her landlord would kick her out over it, and he seemed to like her just fine, but Becca was somewhat paranoid about messing things up. Or about letting someone down. The years of Nick’s yelling, his control over her every move, living every second to appease him, had done its damage. She was working through it, Penny often playing therapist over coffee in the early mornings before the shop opened, but the instincts to please and the fear of failing were still rampant in her every thought.

 

She dashed back outside, moved the car back to her spot, and took the blanket from the backseat. When she picked it up, she was horrified to see several blood stains on the tan car interior. How would she explain this to Emma? For now, she moved the booster seat back over it and hurried back to the building.

 

Becca wrapped him in the blanket and took her place again under his shoulder as they went step by shaky step. After the first set of stairs, she wondered if he’d make it up another. But there was nothing else to do but try.

 

“Almost there. Come on, just a few more steps, you can do it.” She tried to push him up as much as possible, but he was heavy and solid.

 

Finally, his foot stepped on the landing and he shuffled to her door. She unlocked it, got him in, and relocked it, making sure the deadbolt was secure. Someday, she hoped, she would feel safe. But today, with the added possibility of people coming after this man, was not the day to leave the deadbolt unlocked for even a minute.

 

“We need to get you cleaned up and bandaged so you don’t bleed to death.” She took him to the bathroom and he slumped to the floor, catching himself on the edge of the tub.

 

She worried he might have severe internal bleeding or other damage that she couldn’t do anything about. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to bandage him up well enough to help him. The chance that he would die in her apartment tonight seemed very likely. Maybe she would need to convince him to go to a hospital. She could drive him somewhere far away. She could stay with him and make sure no one came to attack him.

 

But for now, she had to at least try to see what the damage was and how bad. Now she wished she’d never given up her dream of becoming a nurse. But Nick didn’t want a working wife. He wanted someone to stay home and clean the house and cook. Once Emma came, she’d been happy to do just that and hadn’t thought about her nursing dream since. But now it would have come in handy big time.

 

“I have to get this jacket off you, okay? Just tell me if I’m hurting you too much.”

 

He nodded and straightened out his arm so she could pull at his sleeve. The leather was stiff with blood and stuck to his skin. But it was already so shredded. It looked like someone had taken a knife to it, slicing the back into thin pieces.

 

“I’m just going to cut it off, okay? It’s already torn beyond repair.”

 

She ran to the kitchen to get scissors and when she came back, knelt by him to cut the jacket from him. Many pieces did stick, requiring her careful hand to peel them away without tugging on his skin. Where the back of the jacket had been slashed, his back was also cut in several long wounds. Most of them had crusted over with blood and didn’t seem to be too deep.

 

Since his shirt, too, was as damaged as his jacket, she kept going and cut it off. As she peeled away this layer, she could see the many stabs and bruises covering his skin. She had to clench her jaw and swallow hard. The anger welled in her mixing with her disgust of the bloody wounds. Maybe she wouldn’t have made a good nurse after all if she reacted like this to so much blood.

 

She ran the water in the tub, making sure it wasn’t too hot or too cold. His boots and socks came off easily. Aside from the blood that dripped down his legs, he was unharmed from the waist down. His jeans would be a challenge, though.

 

“Umm,” she said, standing over him. “Somehow, we have to get your pants off.”

 

He tried to pull himself up, but as he heaved, he went even paler than he’d been, and he stumbled over to the toilet in time to fall back to his knees and throw up into it. He groaned in pain with every heave, and when he was through, he rested his arms on the toilet seat, his forehead covered in sweat and blood.

 

“Well, I cut everything else off,” she said. “I guess that’s all we can do at this point.”

 

She carefully took her scissors and cut along the seams of his pants until he was left in just his boxers. He slid over to the tub, and swung a leg up over the edge to fall into the water with a splash.

 

Becca quickly flushed the toilet, not daring to look at the bloodied water as it swooshed out of sight.

 

“Is the water okay? Too hot or too cold?”

 

He shook his head and leaned back in the tub. She picked up the wash cloth and started with his face, dabbing carefully around his eyes. He opened them to look at her, his right eye almost swollen shut, but his left eye a glittering green slit beneath thick eye lids.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and let his eyes close.

 

Once she cleaned his face and scrubbed his short blond hair, she moved down his chest, noticing for the first time how incredibly muscular he was. His lower stomach was a cluster of round muscles, his chest protruding out above it. His arms, too, were thick and round, the lines of his veins bulging out under his skin. He couldn’t have an ounce of fat on him. She didn’t have to do much to his legs, since they soaked in the water, but she ran the wash cloth over them anyway, feeling his hard, wide thighs and calves.

 

It looked like most of the damage was to his face and back. One leg had a welt on the side. Maybe someone had kicked him to drop him to his knees. In several places, his stomach and back were bruised and cut, with his back having the majority of the slashes across the skin. His face had several small cuts, was half purple with bruising, and the swelling seemed to be getting worse.

 

She let the water out of the tub and grabbed a towel to dry him off. But she’d only gotten past his head and face before the blood from his cuts had made a small pool in the tub around him.

 

“You’re bleeding too much,” she said. “I think you really should go to the hospital. We can go to one that’s far away if you want. I’ll drive you. But you might have internal bleeding.”

 

He shook his head. “I have too many enemies. They’ll find me.”

 

“You’d rather die here?”

 

“They’ll kill me anyway.”

 

Becca rubbed at her face. What could she do? If he didn’t care if he died here, she’d have to do her best to keep him alive. First, the wounds.

 

All she had were pink and purple glittered bandages in her bathroom cabinet. Emma loved them, but they’d be little help to this man. She went into her room and looked around. What could be used as a bandage? Her clean sheets sat in a pile in the corner. She’d come back from washing them at Penny’s yesterday and hadn’t had a chance to stuff them into the narrow hall closet yet. She picked up a pillow case and shook it out. This might be the perfect size.

 

In the bathroom, she helped him sit up, then took a hand towel, folded it in half, and placed it over his back. It covered the area of the wounds. She wrapped the pillow case around him, tying the corners in the front to keep pressure on the wounds. He groaned when she pulled it tight. Most of the cuts on his face were smaller. She dabbed away the new blood, smeared some ointment on them and covered his face in pink and purple glitter bandages.

 

“Sorry.” She almost chuckled at the sight. “These are all I have.”

 

“Least they don’t have kittens on them,” he muttered, pulling the corner of his mouth up.

 

“Ready to stand up?”

 

He gripped the sides of the tub and pushed himself up, pausing to tremble as he straightened his legs. His boxer shorts were now soaking wet and covered in blood.

 

“Umm.” She pulled her mouth to the side. “Those should probably come off.” She pointed to his boxers.

 

He nodded and she slid them down, trying not to look. But as she used the washcloth to remove the blood that had dripped from his back before she got the bandage in place, she snuck a peek at his front. She was not disappointed. His butt was firm and round.

 

She set the blanket on the floor for him to step onto and supported his weight as he lifted each leg over the edge of the tub.

 

They shuffled to her bedroom. He seemed to move even slower now, and she wondered if he was just getting tired and stiff, or if that meant his injuries were worse. She had no idea how internal bleeding worked, or what the signs would be if he were in danger of bleeding to death of unseen wounds.

 

Please don’t let him die in my apartment, she thought. She pulled back her covers and he slid into her bed. Too bad it wasn’t under better circumstances that she had a sexy naked man in her bed.

 

She brought him water and he sipped at it, then let his head fall back on the pillow.

 

“Can I get you anything else?”

 

“Ice,” he whispered.

 

“To drink or for your head?”

 

“Head.”

 

She went to the kitchen and filled a bag with ice, then wrapped a paper towel around it. Maybe some pain killers would be good, too. She stopped in the bathroom and took her bottle of ibuprofen from the mirror cabinet.

 

In her room, she carefully set the bag of ice over his worst spots of bruising and put the bottle of pills on the lid of her hamper, which doubled as her bedside table.

 

“Here are some pain killers, but I don’t know that they’ll help much. Is there anyone I can call for you or anything else you need?”

 

“No,” he whispered. “Thanks.”

 

“Okay. I’m going to leave the door open and sleep in the other room, so just call if you need anything.”

 

He didn’t respond, so she turned out the light and went to the living room to make a call. She dialed the number for Lucille.

 

“Hey, hon, everything okay?” Lucille said when she answered.

 

“Yeah, sort of. Can you keep Emma overnight?”

 

“Sure thing. What’s going on?”

 

“It’s nothing major.” How much should she tell her? “Just have a sick friend here, and I don’t want Emma to get it.”

 

“Oh, sure. No problem. She’s already asleep anyway.”

 

“Oh, good.” She was relieved Emma was sleeping, even if it meant she didn’t get to say goodnight to her. Becca didn’t think she could handle telling her she’d need to stay there away from her. It was the first night they’d spent apart since they left. But it’d be much worse for Emma to wake up and find a strange man in her mom’s room, swollen and bloody. How would she ever explain that? “I’ll call in the morning, okay?”

 

“Have a good night and don’t you go getting sick, either.”

 

“No, I won’t, thanks.”

 

She hung up and went to clean up the bathroom. The blanket was still on the floor. It was dark blue in color, but she could see the spots of blood, almost black-looking. Would the stains come out? She ran cool water in the tub and dropped in the blanket, trying to rinse out as much as she could before wringing it and hanging it up on the shower curtain rod.

 

The floor had a few blood-tinged puddles, which she wiped up with the now pink washcloth. She tried to rinse it out, too, but it had been white and seemed like it would never be again. At least not without some strong bleach. Maybe Penny had some and she could try to soak it next time she went over to do laundry.

 

She sat down in the living room, exhausted. She didn’t feel like watching TV, but was too keyed up to sleep. Her mind ran back through the night. The man lying there on the ground, how she’d thought he was dead. Getting him into the car, getting him here and cleaned up. He had enemies, he said. Was he just another bad boy like her ex had been?

 

She thought it was hot in the beginning, the way Nick got into fights and always won. He was so strong and tough. But when those fists had turned toward her, it wasn’t so attractive anymore. She’d realized too late that his anger issues didn’t exclude her and that the way he led his motorcycle club with an iron first was the same way he’d rule her entire life. From the way she did laundry to the way she dressed, who she spent time with, where she went. And if she did something he didn’t like, she paid for it. Usually in bruises. Sometimes in blood.

 

Becca still felt ashamed that it had taken her seven years, three and a half of those with Emma watching, before she got the courage to leave. And the money. She’d had to borrow from her parents, who had little, and had to leave almost everything she owned to get them out of there. But, they were here now, had been for six months.

 

From what she heard from people back home, Nick already had a new girlfriend. She’d expected him to come looking for her. She did take his child, after all. But when she thought of all the nights he’d screamed at her to make “that baby” shut up, she thought maybe he was glad to be rid of them. Just as well. She sure was glad to be rid of him.

 

She’d felt so free these last months, even if it had taken most of that time for her to stop looking over her shoulder. Now that this man was here, was she just inviting trouble back in? How badly did these enemies want him dead? What if they showed up at her door?

 

Becca went into Emma’s room and climbed into her bed. She held her little purple bunny close and tried to sleep. But every little sound she heard, she jumped and had to listen carefully for several minutes to see if there was either someone at the door or if the man needed something. It was a good thing tomorrow was her day off. She would have been a zombie with such a late and restless night.

 

Around two a.m. she decided to check on the man. She tip-toed into her room, using only the light of the moon shining through the curtains to see. He was on his side and looked peaceful enough. She watched him for a moment, saw his chest rising and falling slowly, and felt the relief wash over her. Hopefully in the morning, he’d still be breathing.