Salvation

John had little choice in letting the girl inside the cabin, as the torrential rain made it a near miracle she had made it to the front door in the first place. She was barefoot and bruised, her right leg covered in small, two-inch cuts. She had long, ginger hair that was now plastered to her face due to the rain. All that was covering her was a torn nightdress, decorated with butterflies.

John moved aside to allow her in, and she leapt onto the rug, collapsing to the floor. She was panting, and barely had the strength to stand any longer. He took one last look outside and then briskly shut and locked the door. The rain was now muted, and the warmth of the front room took hold. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, for the third time now. “What’s your name?”. He got nothing from the girl, she was curled up in the foetus position on his rug. John was aware that she could begin bleeding on the floor, on his very expensive purchase from Bucharest. However, he decided there were more important issues at hand. 

Kneeling down to her level, John could closer inspect her wounds now. The cuts resembled that of thorns, or perhaps a blade. Poking out from her nightdress, around the nape of her neck, was what resembled the start of a tattoo. He tried to reach out, but the girl snapped around and pounced on all fours; snarling. John fell onto his hands, startled by this.

Her eyes were darting between his, trying to analyse who this stranger was. She inspected his face and body, both which suggested he hadn’t worked a day in his life. He had rounded glasses, which complimented his otherwise boring face. The slightest sign of 5 o’clock shadow could be seen on his face, and he had dark hair atop his head. It was thick and curly, surprising for his age, which she estimated to be mid-40s. She suddenly calmed down, realising this man before her was no threat. 

“Sorry” she said, retreating from her aggressive position. She sat, cross-legged on the floor. She forced a smile. John took a deep breath and moved slightly closer to the girl. He repeated his question. 

“Who are you?”

She broke eye contact and looked around the room she was in, for the first time since entering. It was dark, but she could make out where she was. In her rush through the treeline, she hadn’t had time to analyse the exterior of the house. The walls were a beautiful combination of open brickwork and dark oak, which gave the house a safe feeling. Beside the door was a coat rack, with only one coat hanging from it. An umbrella accompanied the lonely coat. There was a framed photo of the man she found before her, with a woman in his arms. They were stood in what looked like a hanger, but it had been converted into a convention of sorts. A literary convention. Was this man a writer? 

“You can call me Kirsty” she finally replied, looking back to his eyes. 

John nodded. He raised one hand and placed it against his chest. “John” he said. Kirsty could be seen slightly mouthing his name back to herself, a memory technique. John stood, and gained his balance once again. “We should get you some clean clothes” he suggested, “I can lend you some” and with that, he disappeared into a backroom. 

Kirsty also stood, and inspected more of the house. Following a light source, she walked into the kitchen. It was small and quaint, and an island stood in the centre of the room, two barstools surrounding it. She glanced around the room, and couldn’t help but notice that everything was tidy. Very tidy. A large, double-doored fridge stood before the counter, with photos dotted scarcely. In one of the photos, a small boy was seen with John and the woman. They were fishing.

“I hope these fit you” John’s voice came from behind Kirsty. She spun around and John was holding a black t-shirt and denim jeans. She smiled. “They’re good. Thank you” and she took them from him. 

John took a sigh as she left the room, raising his hands to his face. Rubbing his eyes, he leant against the counter. Kirsty quickly appeared again, wearing the clothes. The t-shirt was a little big for her, and was embossed with a logo from a video game that seemed foreign to both John and Kirsty. 

“Can I get you anything? I noticed you were bleeding-”

“I can’t stay” Kirsty interrupted. She tensed her shoulders, almost as if in pain.

“Oh” John replied. “Are you sure?” he sat down on one of the barstools. 

“There are people following me. I can’t put you at risk” Kirsty glanced around the room again. “I hate to ask, but can I borrow some boots?” She wiggled her toes. Being barefoot wasn’t an option for her again. 

John took a long, hard look at her. He couldn’t figure her out. Not wanting to press her for answers, he left the room to rummage for boots, leaving Kirsty in the kitchen. She played with her jeans, as they were tight for her. She was unsure if the clothes she was now wearing once belonged to the boy in the photo, but she was grateful that John was willing to lend them to her. She would be sure to return them when it was safe.

John appeared with boots. “They’ll be big for you, but at least they’ll protect your feet”, and he placed them on the floor. Sure enough, they were far too big for Kirsty, perhaps made for that of a grown woman. She thanked him nonetheless.

Kirsty knelt down to begin tying the shoes, when a knock could be heard from the front door. Three distinct knocks, strong and confident. John looked confused, he wasn’t expecting company at this hour. Kirsty’s face went into shock.

“It’s okay”, John started, “It’s probably just my neighbour, she’s always -”

“No. They’ve found me” Kirsty replied. She made sure to keep low and got around to the other side of the kitchen, furthest away from the door. At the right angle, she could be spotted from the front window. Perhaps she already had been.

John looked even more confused. “Who…?”

But Kirsty didn’t reply. Instead, her face turned pale as she looked to the kitchen window. John followed her gaze, only to meet the sightline of a man, peering through the window. He was grinning something evil.