Ten days. She thought it had been ten days. All she really had to go on were the number of times they had been on the move, the number of times he’d stopped the van and she’d known he was coming for her. Again.
He’d told her that this day of travel was going to be the last, and she was terrified of what that meant. She had the horrible feeling that this was going to be her last chance, one way or another. He’d switched from ropes to chains after she’d gotten free once, and now she was again lying on her back on the dirty mattress, weak from hunger and thirst as well as from mistreatment. She could barely feel her outstretched hands any more, but her wrists throbbed. She’d fought her restraints, ever since the doors of the van had closed behind him like the gates of hell, for the first time in days. Neither the handcuffs that held her arms down or the chains around her ankles had given an inch. Now she was exhausted, without even the strength to try and push the gag out of her mouth. When the van finally slowed and bumped to a stop, she wanted to cry, but there were no tears left in her.
Nothing happened for a long time. She tried to hear what was going on outside her prison, what preparations her kidnapper was making, but all she made out was a far-away buzzing from time to time. Then suddenly there was the crunch of gravel. She screamed, every ounce of her remaining energy going into the stifled sound.
Logan pulled into the parking lot and, as was his usual habit, drove all the way to the back corner. He was mildly annoyed to see another car already parked there, but he parked a short distance away and fumbled for a cigar before opening the door to his truck. Getting out, he cracked his neck and took a moment to breathe the crisp night air before lighting his cigar. The lot overlooked a cliff and he could see for miles; he wandered towards the view as he reached into his pocket for his lighter. Then his head turned as his ears picked up an odd, muffled sound. His nose twitched.
Nearby. Waves of terror. Blood, sweat, urine. A heartbeat pounding in fear.
He turned slowly, scanning the nearly-deserted lot and the trees surrounding it. Then he took a step towards the black van. The scent grew stronger.
He stuffed the cigar into his inner jacket pocket and strode over to the van, peering into its front seat. Nothing, but the scent was overwhelming now. He banged on the side of the van and the terrified heartbeat grew even more frenzied. “Hey. Someone in there?” There was nothing for a moment, then a faint sound of metal-on-metal that even he would never have heard if his senses hadn’t been on alert. Logan walked slowly around the van and reached for the handles of the rear doors; then he saw the chain and padlock holding them shut. He rattled the chain and the scent of fear increased, if that was possible.
Logan scanned the parking lot one more time. No one was around; the only activity he could sense was inside the diner. He turned back to the van, released one set of claws and plunged them through the lock and chain, then swung the door open, holding the claws at the ready. He froze.
The back of the van reeked of human waste and other emissions. It took him a startled second to realize that the bundle lying on the filthy mattress on the floor of the van was a woman, her arms and legs bound and outstretched. He let the claws slide back in and vaulted into the van, kneeling beside her. “Christ! What the fuck is this?” He couldn’t even see her face; her long, tangled hair fell over it, and as he reached towards her she turned away from him in insensate terror. He saw that she was both gagged and blindfolded and tried to make his voice reassuring. “Hey—it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Her wrists were chained down to bolts in the floor of the van; since she couldn’t see him, he popped one blade and reached for the hand closest to him. Adamantium slid through steel as if it were butter and as the chain fell away he noticed that she wore gloves. That seemed odd. Even more oddly , she didn’t move an inch.
He released her other hand and still she didn’t move; she just lay still, her chest heaving with terror. “Come on, it’s all right. Let me get that blindfold off you.” He reached towards her face and as soon as his fingers touched her she did move, covering her face with one arm. She made a small whimpering sound and he let his hand fall back. “Okay, okay. Take it easy.” He shifted down to free her legs; her ankles and knees were wrapped with duct tape, and underneath her ankles were also chained to the floor. “Someone wasn’t takin’ any chances,” he muttered to himself, and disposed of the bonds quickly. Then he moved back to her side; she lay still, the protective arm still over her face. She was wearing jeans and a torn shirt, both filthy, and he could smell the blood on her—her blood—mixed with the scent of someone else.
It’s not him. It’s not. Marie tried to force her mind to accept what her heart already knew. It’s someone else, and he’s letting me go. She felt the new hands, gentle, on her shoulders, coaxing her to let her arms down, to sit up. Then someone was tugging at the tight blindfold; as long as the hands stayed behind her head, she wasn’t scared, so she let them. Then the leather strip between her teeth was loosened.
“Go on, spit it out.” This voice was different, not vicious or cloying. It wasn’t ordering her. She relaxed her jaw and let the hateful thing fall away, then choked out the filthy rag it had held in place. She felt the hands on her shoulders again and she was being gently turned around. She still had her eyes closed, but she dared to just let them flutter open for a second.
Dark hair. Different eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut again. It isn’t him. Oh, god…what’s happening…
Even in the weak light that filtered in from the parking lot, Logan could see her face, and it shocked him. She couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen years old, and she still seemed absolutely terrified; after one quick darting glance she closed her eyes tightly. “Christ, kid, what the hell is going on here?” He slid out of his jacket and put it over her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Get away from my mutie.” A click told Logan a gun was cocked and pointed at him, and the girl simply stopped breathing. He swore inwardly at himself for letting his guard down. That sentence had told him all he needed to know about this situation, and he didn’t like it one bit. He turned.
The man on the other end of the shotgun was huge, dirty, and looked snake-mean. Logan could smell the filth on him, and he knew it was his scent he’d smelled on the girl. He liked that even less. “She don’t belong to you, and it sure as hell doesn’t look to me like she wants to be here.” He dropped his arm from her shoulders so he could move in front of her; the gun didn’t bother him, but it was probably scaring her, if she’d opened her eyes at all.
“She’s mine. Outta the van.” The man curled his lip in a sneer. “You get on your knees! Right now!” It took Logan a second to realize that the command wasn’t directed at him. He glanced behind him and saw the girl make a move as if to obey. Then her eyes did open, wide and dark, the pupils dilated with fear. She shook her head.
Good for you, kid. Logan moved slowly, making sure his body was between her and the gun. “Don’t listen to him, kid. It’s okay.”
“You fuckin’ asshole. Get outta my van! You ain’t gettin’ none tonight.” The man thrust the barrel of the gun towards Logan. “You stay right there, princess. I’ll deal with you later.” Logan heard the girl’s breath catch in her throat and it made him see red. He moved forward slowly. All he wanted was to get farther away from the van before he dealt with this scumbag. No one was going to miss the motherfucker, but bullets could ricochet, and one might hit her. Plus he didn’t want her to have to watch him do it—she was scared enough already. He raised his hands and got out of the van.
The other man shoved him out of the way and banged the doors closed. That was all Logan needed. With one swipe the gun was in pieces, and then he slammed an adamantium-laced forearm into the man’s throat, driving him into the van and crushing his trachea instantly. Logan held him there, against the van, and watched his eyes and mouth work silently as the life began to ebb out of him. Then Logan put his fist against the bastard’s stomach and released the claws one more time. Blood began to run from his mouth and nose as Logan dragged the claws up, slowly.
“That’s what you get for rapin’ little girls,” Logan growled into his face, but he never knew if the man could still hear him. He let the body fall to the ground, wiped the blood off his knuckles onto the shirt, and dragged the body out of sight, around the van.
Marie cowered in the corner of the van where she had scrambled when the doors banged shut. The gun hadn’t gone off; after the one jolt against the doors there had been nothing. She covered her face with her hands when the doors began to open again, certain that it would be her kidnapper returning to tie her up again, to tell her that her would-be rescuer was dead.
“Come on, kid.” She heard someone getting into the van. “It’s okay. He’s gone, I promise. He can’t hurt you again.” Her teeth started to chatter. Oh my god. What did that mean? Then the other man was beside her again, wrapping something around her shoulders that didn’t reek of sweat and urine like everything else surrounding her. He helped her inch forward, past the chains and the mattress, but when she got to the doors and felt the outside air she tensed in fear, closing her eyes again tightly. Then she was being lifted by strong arms that carried her into that cold, clean air. She kept her eyes shut as he carried her; then she was being put down, but not in the van or on the ground. This was a cool leather seat in a different vehicle. It smelled faintly of gasoline and tobacco, but not of anything bad. She felt the strong, gentle hands wrapping the jacket more closely around her body. “Just hang on. I’ll be right back.” Then the door closed and it was blessedly silent and peaceful. She kept her eyes closed, just in case.
Logan returned to the heap he’d left on the ground. He hauled it up and opened the back of the van, heaving it in and tossing the pieces of the ruined gun in after it. He looked over the little hell that had been created there. Chains hung from the ceiling and walls of the van; ropes and tape were piled beside the filthy mattress. He saw several boxes of surgical gloves and his mouth twisted in disgust. “You died too easy, motherfucker.” He slammed the door on the body and went around to the front of the van.
The girl’s scent was all over the van; she’d been kept there a while. He jerked the seat of the van forward and found a bundle of cloth that smelled of her, or at least what she probably smelled like under all the dirt. He pulled it out; it was a long cloth coat. He rooted around and came up with some boots and a large green duffel bag. He unzipped it enough to confirm that it was hers; he stuffed the boots and the coat into it and closed it up. Nothing else in the cab of the van looked like it could be hers, so he slung the duffel over his shoulder and tossed it into the back of his own pickup as he returned. The girl hadn’t moved a muscle, didn’t react as he got in on the driver’s side. Then he realized his keys were in his jacket pocket. Her eyes were closed; cautiously he reached towards her, but the second he touched the jacket she was pressed back against the door, eyes wide open, naked terror written on her features.
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was a raspy whisper.
“I won’t. I just need my keys—they’re in the pocket there. You wanna get them for me?” She blinked, once. Then slowly one gloved hand slipped into the pocket he’d indicated and came back out with the key ring. She held it out shakily and he took it from her fingertips. “Thanks.” He started up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading back towards the highway. He glanced over at her after a minute; her eyes were open but glassy and her expression was dazed. “Kid? You okay?” It was a stupid question; obviously she wasn’t okay, but it was one of those automatic queries. She didn’t seem to hear. “I think we oughta get you to a hospital.”
She did react to that. “No! No hospital. Please—just let me go—“ She reached blindly towards the door and he reached over to grab her hand; she shrank away from his touch.
“Look, you can’t just jump out of a moving car. Hold still, okay?” He hated the way she responded instantly to his command, going completely still at his words, but he couldn’t let her hurt herself. “Jesus, kid, I’m sorry, but we’re going pretty fast here.”
“Please…” Her face looked grey and ashen, and her voice was a weak moan. Logan bit back a curse and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. No one was going to bother checking out the now-abandoned van until daylight at least, so it didn’t really matter if they lost a few minutes. He cut the engine and turned to her.
“Let’s get something straight. I don’t know exactly what was going on back there, but I can guess. It’s over, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you. You understand? I’m just tryin’ to help you.” Those huge brown eyes turned up to him were heartbreaking in their disbelief. He waited, letting his words sink in. Finally, just a spark of animation appeared. She swallowed hard.
“Who are you?” A tremulous whisper.
“My name’s Logan. What about you?” ‘Princess’, the fucker had called her. He mentally banished the word from his vocabulary. There was no answer, and he saw her fingers plucking at the edges of his jacket, pulling it more tightly around herself. The gloves she wore, stained and dirty, suddenly made sense, along with the way she hadn’t let him near her face. “Your skin—that’s your mutation, right? That’s why you don’t want to go to a hospital?”
She closed her eyes and he heard her breath hitch. Then she nodded once, abruptly. “Don’t touch me,” she said again. “It hurts people. And it hurts me too—so don’t. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
She sounded utterly broken, and the resigned offer made him sick. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He had to force his voice to remain calm, masking his inner fury. That son-of-a-bitch— “I’m one too. A mutant. It’s okay.” Her eyes opened at that and he nodded encouragingly. “That’s right. I get it. You want to tell me your name?” She shook her head and he sighed. “All right, kid. What do you want me to do here? You oughta see a doctor.” Although where he was going to find a doctor who would treat a mutant teenager, especially one with apparently dangerous skin, he had no idea.
“No—I can’t. I’m all right.” She was so obviously not all right that it would have been funny if it weren’t so sad. “I’ll just—“
“I can’t leave you here. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You’d freeze to death.” He said it with finality and she seemed to accept it. She wasn’t in any condition to make decisions, he realized. She was young and scared and hurt and he was just going to have to deal with it. He reached around behind the seat and came up with a can of soda. It wasn’t exactly cold, but somewhere or other he’d heard that sugar was good when people were in shock. He held it out to her. “Here. Drink. You look like you need it.” She gave him another long, wide-eyed look before hesitantly reaching for the can. She fumbled with the flip-top, her gloves getting in the way, but she managed it. The warm soda fizzed over the top of the can as it opened and she brought it to her mouth quickly to keep it from spilling all over her. Some did trickle down her chin and she mopped it up with a glove. After she’d managed a few sips, she darted a glance at him.
“Thanks.”
It was a little step, but it was something. He nodded and reached to start up the truck.
“Do you have anything to eat?” She was looking at him, half-scared, half-guilty. “I’m sorry—I just haven’t had anything since…”
Shit. He didn’t have anything; he’d been about to get something at that diner, and the next truck stop was at least an hour away. He reached toward the glove compartment and found the remains of a package of beef jerky. He didn’t want to give her scraps, but this was all he had, so he pulled it out and dropped it in her lap. “Here. I’ll get you some real food at the next stop, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned over the engine and pulled back onto the road. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her strip the dirty gloves off before tearing into the package, pulling off chunks and cramming them into her mouth. He didn’t speak while she was wolfing down the food and the soda. He stole another glance at her then and saw her wiping her mouth self-consciously. Funny kid—behaving like a little lady, even now. “That a little better?”
He got another quick, darting glance and he knew she was still feeling out the situation, deciding if she could trust him. “Yeah. Thanks.” He saw her brushing at the dirty gloves, trying to clean off—he didn’t want to think about what she was trying to clean off.
“You don’t have to wear those things. Throw ‘em out. I won’t touch your hands.”
“They’re all I’ve got,” she said quietly.
“I got your stuff. It’s in the back.” She looked up at that, then over her shoulder. “Green bag, right?”
“He had it?” Something like hope was blossoming in those too-big eyes.
“Yeah. Up front, behind the seat.”
“How’d you know it was mine?”
“Could smell it. Smelled like you, not him. Part of my mutation.” He spoke briefly; he didn’t like talking about it, but her eyes widened even more.
“Wow. That’s…really cool.” His mouth quirked little at that. “I must smell pretty awful to you, huh?”
Now that was not something he wanted her worrying about. “I’m okay with it. You can get cleaned up later.”
“Sorry,” she offered. Then she started to slip out of his jacket. “Oh god, I shouldn’t be wearing this—it’ll—“
“Leave it. It’s been through worse.” He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her and she winced. “Sorry. Sorry, kid. I forgot.”
“It’s not that. He cut me,” she said, and slipped the jacket down to reveal her shoulder. A patch was torn from the long-sleeved shirt she wore and he could smell the blood, see it tracing a pattern. “He put his initials.” She pulled the jacket back up. Logan ground his teeth together. Stabbing was definitely too good for that prick. She settled back against the seat, resting her forehead against the window, and he thought she might fall asleep—she certainly looked tired enough. He drove on in silence for some time.
“Is that how you knew I was there?” He glanced over and saw her watching him, twisting the dirty gloves between her hands. “The smell?”
All right, he wasn’t having any of that. “I heard you. You made noise. That was smart.”
She looked disbelieving. “You could hear me? I could hardly make a sound.”
“All my senses are stronger than normal. And I could tell something was wrong. I sensed a lot of fear. I could feel your heart, blood pounding. That kinda thing.”
She was silent for several minutes. “What do you sense now?” He gave her a quick look, but she didn’t seem fearful. More—puzzled. He realized she just really didn’t know, couldn’t gauge her own feelings right now.
“You’re not so scared any more,” he told her. “Your heart rate’s back to normal, a little slow even.” She was exhausted, was what it was, and her body knew the emergency was over even if her mind wasn’t sure yet and was trying to rest and recover. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning back against the window again, and he accepted her withdrawal. The next time he looked over, her breathing and heartbeat had changed subtly and he knew she was asleep.
The next turn-off had only a single fast-food place, but there were signs saying a stop thirty miles further on had a motel and all-night diner as well. The girl remained deeply asleep, so he drove on, figuring it was just as well to get as much distance as possible between them and the body. It was around three AM when he reached the next stop; she woke as he was parking in the motel’s lot and she sat up with a gasp, her eyes wide and frightened. “Hey! It’s okay. It’s okay.” He put a hand out towards her, then drew back. “Easy, kid.”
Marie turned to the strange man, saw his hand, open, hesitating. He won’t touch you. He won’t hurt you. She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. The man was looking at her with concern and she tried to smile. “I’m okay. I—forgot.”
“I know.” Logan withdrew his hand. “I’ll be right back. Then you can get cleaned up and I’ll get us some food, all right?” She nodded and he got out of the truck, starting toward the office. He stopped halfway as something occurred to him and he returned to the truck. He grabbed her bag from the truck bed and brought it around to her side. He tapped on the window before opening the door, and her eyes lit up just a little when he handed in her things. “Thought you might want to put on some shoes.”
She hugged the bag to her. “I will. I will. Thank you.” She still had the old gloves in one hand.
“Don’t worry about it. Kid—give me those things. You don’t want them.” She let them slip from her fingers as he tugged at them. He closed the door and moved off, tossing the gloves into a trash can he passed on the way.
For the first moment after the man left, Marie just sat still, clutching her duffel bag against her body. Being rescued was hard enough to believe, but to have her possessions returned to her as well—she seriously thought she was dreaming. Finally she opened the bag; on top was her coat and she stroked the familiar woolen cloth. She felt around until she found a battered pair of tennis shoes. She peeled off her socks before pulling on the shoes, stuffing them into the back pocket of her jeans. Then she glanced over her shoulder, towards the “Vacancy” sign over the office; she didn’t see the man returning yet. He’d told her his name, if she could only remember it. Then he reappeared and she turned around quickly, her breath coming faster.
Logan.
He returned to the truck; the girl was sitting where he’d left her, and until he saw her he didn’t realize he’d been afraid she’d run. But she got out, still clutching her bag. Docilely, she followed him to the room and he opened the door, letting her inside. He closed the door and the blinds and then turned to find her standing still, holding her bag, his jacket still hanging from her shoulders. Gently, he took the duffel bag from her and set it down on one of the beds. She slipped out of his jacket and held it out to him; for the first time he could really see her, and she looked like she’d been through hell. Bruises covered her face and neck and her lips were cracked and cut at the corners from the gag. He could see the angry red marks circling each wrist. She looked like she might pass out at any second. “Hey, are you all right?” She nodded, but she swayed on her feet. He came over her and took one arm as gently as he could, careful to touch her only over her shirt, and led her to a chair. He knelt down next to her. “Kid—you look really hurt. You sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” Mutely she shook her head.
He came to a decision. He didn’t want to order her around, but she needed to take care of herself. “Listen. This is what I want you to do. I’m gonna leave for a while, okay? I want you to go take a bath or a shower, whatever, take care of those cuts and stuff. Just dump what you’ve got on outside, I’ll get rid of it when I come back. You got more stuff to wear in your bag, right?” He didn’t want any misunderstanding here. She nodded. “Okay. So you get cleaned up, get dressed, and get into bed. That’s yours.” He pointed. “That’s mine. Or whichever. You pick.” That got just the ghost of a smile and he felt ridiculously elated. “I’ll bring back food. Anything you can’t eat?” She shook her head. “All right.” He rose to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the table, leaving quickly so she wouldn’t feel awkward about undressing with him in the next room.
Marie sat still for a long moment after the door closed. I could run. I have my stuff—I could—I could— But she knew, somehow, that she didn’t have to. Everything he’d said without saying it out loud—she understood what he’d been telling her. He was taking care of her. He wouldn’t do that and then—
Slowly she got up and crossed the room to her bag. She opened it, pulling out her coat and laying it down on the bed, then digging further to find underwear, a soft shirt and pajama bottoms, another pair of gloves. She stepped out of the tennis shoes she’d put on in the truck. As she reached for the hem of her torn shirt, a cruel voice echoed in her mind.
Strip, princess.
She shivered and her hands fell away. Then the sensible, strong voice in her mind, the one that had kept her sane these last days, spoke instead.
Logan didn’t say that. He doesn’t want you naked. He wants you to take a shower and get dressed, and he won’t come back until you are. The inner voice was stern, and suddenly she was able to rip off the filthy clothing. She made a bundle of it and threw it into a corner, then gathered up her fresh things and went into the bathroom. She leaned over to turn on the shower and saw herself in the mirror.
Oh, god. She barely recognized herself. Bruises and cuts covered her arms, her body. Her wrists and ankles were raw. She leaned forward, wincing as she brought a finger to her split lips, and then she saw the letters carved into her upper arm. She turned away and stepped into the shower. The water stung her cuts but she turned it up as hot as she could stand and stood under the spray, letting it wash away the dirt and at least a little of the pain.
Logan took his time over a burger and fries, and didn’t order another round to go until he’d finished. He was a little worried about leaving her alone—she’d looked ready to collapse—but he wasn’t going to let her think he wanted to look at her. When he figured it had been long enough he returned to the room.
A small pile of clothing lay outside the door. He scooped it up, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and took it a few feet to the trash. Then he let himself back into the room.
She was sitting on one of the beds, cross-legged, combing out her still-damp hair. She put the comb down and looked up at him. With the dirt gone her bruises were even more evident, and the shirt she wore now had short sleeves, so he could see that they extended up her arms. Still, she looked less dazed, slightly more normal. She had a blanket wrapped around her and wore a different pair of gloves. “Hey. You look better.”
“I bet I smell better,” she said, and he laughed. He closed the door and came over to hand her the takeout bag.
“Burger and fries. It ain’t exactly hospital food, but that’s what they had.” She took the bag. “Go on. You need to eat something. You must be starving.”
Her gloved hands closed over the bag. “I am. I just—“ Suddenly, to Logan’s complete consternation, she burst into tears.
“Hey—“ He looked around frantically, but there was nothing in the room that was going to help. Finally he sat down on the bed behind her and hesitantly put his hands on her shoulders. She was literally shaking with the force of her tears; he took the bag from her and set it on the nightstand so it wouldn’t spill before wrapping his arms around her, enclosing her in the blanket. “It’s okay. It’s okay, kid.” He rocked her a little, cradling her against his body. “I know, you were scared. It’s okay now. Take it easy.” She turned in his arms, hiding her face against his chest, and he felt her fingers tighten on his shirt. “Ssh. It’s all right. I gotcha. You cry if you need to.”
He held her, murmuring reassuring nonsense he wouldn’t have believed himself capable of, until she finally quieted. Even then she just clung to him, her face pressed into his now-damp shirt, for a long time. Finally she sat up, turning her face away from him.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped.
“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” She tried to move away, but he held her still. “Stay here.” He got up and went to the bathroom; he found a clean washcloth and soaked it with cold water. He came back and knelt in front of her, holding it up. “Can I? I’ll be careful.” She sniffled and nodded. Cautiously, he bathed her face with the cold cloth, and she closed her eyes as he cleaned her up. Finally he handed her the cloth. “You finish up.” She took it with a watery smile and blew her nose.
“Thanks. You’re really sweet.”
That took him aback as much as anything else that had happened that night. ‘Sweet’?
Nonplussed, he got up, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I don’t know about that.” To cover his embarrassment, he retrieved her food. “Let’s try this again.” He went to sit on his own bed and turned on the TV as she opened the bag. He noticed that she stripped off her gloves again before eating, and even though she must have been starving, she ate daintily. She finished everything, nonetheless, with impressive speed.
“You still hungry?” He looked up from ESPN.
She shook her head. She put the trash into the takeout bag and got up to put it in the garbage can. Then she went to her bag and looked for something; she got out a toothbrush and toothpaste and went into the bathroom for a minute. When she came out she put her things away and climbed back onto her bed. “I’m going to lie down now,” she said. “You can leave the TV on—it won’t bother me.”
“You sure?” She nodded and crawled under the covers; he could see she was already half asleep. He turned down the sound and reached over to turn the light off anyway.
“Logan?”
He hadn’t even been sure she’d heard that, or taken it in. “What?”
“Marie.” He looked over at her; he could just see one eye peeking up from under the blankets. “I’m Marie.”
He nodded. “Okay. Good to meet you. Marie.” She closed her eyes and was almost instantly asleep. He lay for a while, watching the flickering screen and listening to her breathing, before switching off the set and dozing off himself.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Fortunately, Logan lives in Canada.