Page 19 of Snow Blind

"Bryan, like I said," he commented.

"It would help at some point to be honest with me," she told him.

"Okay, I have to pee," he said, looking at her. "The bathroom seems a long distance from this chair. As much as the broth was warmly wonderful, it hit an empty stomach and is going right through me. I may not be strong enough to get down the hall, and you aren't strong enough to keep me from falling and busting my ass," he spoke.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," she said, walking over and passing him a plastic urinal for men.

"Great," he said, struggling to lower the casted foot to the floor. "Between the pain and the constant humiliation, I'm thinking maybe death would have been easier."

"Death is never easy, Bryan. We think it is because the time on earth comes to an end, but we don't know what comes after," she told him.

Passion Fruit looped a sheet around his waist. The walker was moved in front of him, as she used her feet as leverage against the chair which was braced against the wall. She pulled hard, getting him to his feet. The pink quilt that she'd attempted to make one cold, lonely winter, she draped over his shoulders to provide him privacy as he relieved himself into the urinal. Her back remained to him as he did his business. She heard the top of the container snap close and a grunt from the man.

"Any way to wash my hands?" he asked, placing his hands on the sides of the chair and lowering himself down.

Passion Fruit collected the urine, examining the contents for color and clarity. She passed him a package of wet naps as she walked away to pour out the waste. When she returned, his head was lowered.

"What is troubling you?"

"I'm hungry," he said softly. "I want some food, but I refuse to suffer the degradation of you sitting me on a shitter and examining my stool. Lady, what are we doing here?"

"Sir, you have internal injuries and a bullet hole in your shoulder from where someone attempted to unalive you," she told him. "The skin of your face was detached from your skull, which I had to staple in place, and I'm praying you suffer no infections. To add to all of that, you are sitting in my face, fucking lying to me about who you are and who wants you dead. I took a chance by saving your life. The least of your worries is taking a shit in front of me."

"Will you at least give me some food so I can have the strength to try to get to the toilet?"

"Is that seriously your primary concern at this point, Bryan?"

"I have nothing else to go on," he said, softly.

"Bryan, is there someone at home waiting for your return?"

He hung his head low and said, "Unfortunately no. I only have my aunt. I lived in the apartment over her garage and look after her. Aunt Ella, her kids are shit stains who left her to rot in her dementia. I moved in to help, but a month ago, I had to place her in memory care."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Your job? The place where you work?"

"Sabbatical, to write my book," he said. "I was starting it next week. Rented a place in Colorado, out of the way to commune with nature kind of thing."

"So, in other words, no one will miss you," Passion Fruit said, regretting the words.

His head was hung low as the reality of his life hit hard. He began to cry not only for his circumstance, but for the life he believed gave him so much freedom that had become a private prison. At a low point in his life, there was no one to call. No one would miss him. No one was searching for him, and these women could do as they pleased and it would be the end of his existence.

No one would know.

Tears streamed from his eyes at the realization as the sound of the back door opening, ushering in cold air from outside. The temperature had dropped considerably in the last hour, and he felt it in the ache in his bones. The woman Cranberry had returned. Her arms were loaded with bags, and she stopped in front of him and Passion Fruit. She scowled fiercely at her new mentor.

"Aw man, are you picking on Bryan? You made him cry," Helen said, dropping the bags.

"No, it's okay," he said softly. "Reality hit me, and the idea that no one is looking for me and no one will miss me really hurts. I am also at your mercy, so if there are awful things you wanted to do to me, imprison me, I can't fight you. I am relying on your grace and depending on your kindness, if there is any in you."

"Passion Fruit, will you feed this man?" Helen said. "Bryan, I got you clothes, shoes, slippers, a few books, and some puzzles to help with your mental dexterity while you heal."

Passion Fruit spoke up, "He's supposed to be working on his book. I don't know what kind, but I have an extra laptop around here and a few notebooks, if that will help."

The glistening of tears in his eyes were of relief. "You'd do that for me?"

"Yes, even though you are being less than honest with us, I will," Passion Fruit said. "You will need to tell us what is after you."

"I wish I knew myself," he said, looking at the items Helen presented to him. He found himself sniffling as he looked at the books. "I like Cussler. This is thoughtful. Puzzles. Nice. Thank you...Cranberry."

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