RAIN

Chapter three

The wind howled outside the cot. Somewhere, a loose piece of the galvanized tin roof was incessantly banging against the rafters as it battled the gusts. Standing alone in the room with his arms wrapped around his torso as he shivered, Jet looked at the artifacts and keepsakes around him. He was trying to convince himself that these were just ordinary people.

           The stranger's footsteps on the creaky floorboards pulled him out of his thoughts. He smiled when he saw the neatly folded pile of clothes on top of a towel in the stranger's hand.

He set it down on the small coffee table, and when he looked up at Jet, his stare was vacuous. A shiver trailed down Jet's spine, stealing the words from his mouth.

"You can change in the bathroom. It's right there," the young man said as he pointed out the location of the bathroom to Jet. "I'll make you something hot to drink. You are shivering."

"Thank you," Jet replied, trying to keep his voice from shaking like his body was.

He scooped up the towel and clothes and walked to the door the young man had pointed out. Turning the old discolored doorknob, he walked into a small rectangular-shaped room that instantly struck him with a sense of suffocation.

A standing shower was on one end, and the toilet, with the lid down, was crammed beside it. He had almost missed the face sink until he closed the door and found it. The room felt more like a broom closet than a bathroom. The air felt thin.

He set the clothes and towel on the toilet and opened the tap over the sink. A small trickle of water came out. He was surprised that there was running water. He washed his face and then carefully peeled away his jacket and shirt. He grimaced loudly at the visual of the crimson bruises on his fair skin. On his left side, a bruise on his ribcage was growing a deep purple shade. He dared himself to touch it and then instantly regretted it, clenching his teeth not to scream out. He could imagine the shards of broken bone sticking into his flesh on the inside.

He pulled his eyes away from his injuries and splashed some water onto his chest and behind his neck. He removed the rest of his clothes, liberating his feet from those shoes that felt like cinder blocks. Suddenly, he became aware of the exhaustion as it set in.

He dried himself with the towel. The smell of laundry detergent reassured him it was clean. He got dressed in the clothes the stranger gave him and concealed his gun in the waist of the jeans.

He looked at the clothes, it wasn't as bad as he had expected - a light blue shirt and a pair of comfortable blue jeans. He pursed his lips and shrugged gingerly.

Dismissing his image, he picked up his wet clothes from the floor. He rang the water from them in the shower that smelt of shampoo. The tiles were a brilliant white, he strangely noticed. He tidied his hair and looked at himself in the small mirror again. He sighed at the image staring back at him. He was a handsome man - lusted over by many women, with a few men added to the mix. He was tall and lean, with a good-looking face and an adorable smile. He took great pride in his appearance and regularly visited the gym to stay fit. He was full of life and zest, but the man staring back at him looked surprisingly tired and lost.

He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. It was not the time to be vain. He left the bathroom, carrying his wet clothes with him. The stranger was in the kitchen near the stove, his back turned to Jet. He was still dressed in his wet clothes, making Jet feel uncomfortable for him. His long black hair was coming loose from the bun sitting at the base of his skull.

"You can leave your clothes on the counter, I'll see to them," he said.

He turned around. The image of Jet visibly staggered him. He quickly composed himself before Jet could see the emotions surfacing in his eyes.