Page 11 of Being Lost

He’s in my house. A stranger is in my house.I know it, but don’t know what the hell to do about it.

“Should have dead bolted it,” he admonishes, his words now sounding louder as he rounds the corner and comes into sight.

“I, er… My son wouldn’t be able to get back in,” I defend while backing away from the stranger who’s invaded my home. “And he’ll be home any moment now.” I fumble with my hands behind me, cataloguing what I’ve left there. A handy baseball bat would be nice about now, or a dagger or knife, but there’s not even a heavy ornament I can hold and get ready to brain him with.

“Soon as you saw a strange man at the door, you should have thrown those fuckin’ bolts,” he scolds me again.

Hang on.He’s just broken into my house, and he’s the one telling me off?

“Well, I won’t be able to keep anyone out if you’ve broken the lock.”

“Didn’t need to break in.” He pauses then huffs a short laugh. “Well, not by causing any damage.” After holding up a credit card he’s still got in his hand, he slides it back into his wallet.

I come to my senses. “Get out of my house.” My body is shaking, but I manage to keep my voice firm.

While on first sight his appearance and manner doesn’t seem threatening, it’s not the first time I’ve had strange men breaking into my house. The last time was when my daughter was kidnapped. I feel my face going white as the blood drains from it and get a dropping sensation in my stomach as I realise this will probably end badly for me. He was right,why hadn’t I thrown that bolt?

“Who are you? What do you want?” I shoot a look past him, realising my phone is in my purse, and my purse is by the front door. I’d have to pass him to get it. I’m trapped.

He’s a big man, six foot I estimate, seeing the comparison between him and the height of the doorway he’s standing in. He’s muscular and has some tattoos. To my chagrin, my brain goes off on a tangent as I realise I’ll have a handsome kidnapper at least—someone attractive to look at while I’m stolen away and sent to my untimely and probably unpleasant death.

“Oh, babe.” His eyes land on me. “I’m not here to cause you harm. I’m Lost.” His voice is as attractive as he, deep, gravelly. The kind of voice a man should use when he’s making love to you in the bedroom.

What?I want to slap myself around the head. This man’s just broken into my house using a piece of plastic to open the door. Only criminals do stuff like that, so, de facto, this is a man intent on doing bad things. Coupled with that, it’s been nearly twenty years since I had a man in my bed. Getting aroused nowadays takes one of those MC books I’ve been reading and a session with my BOB. I wouldn’t know what to do with a real dick anymore.

“Lost,” he repeats with a slight quirk to his mouth, making me blush, wondering whether he can read my thoughts.

Then the word filters through my head.He broke in to ask for directions?

Swallowing rapidly, I decide my best course of action is to play along. “Er, wh-where do you want to go?”

He chuckles. “I’m right where I wanna be, babe.”

Babe?I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that. Even my ex wasn’t imaginative enough to use anything other than my name. Suddenly, I realise he’s used it as he doesn’t know where he is, or who I am. I’m starting to think a lunatic’s broken into my house, and I must be as crazy as he as I find myself offering my name to replace the term of endearment falling inappropriately from his lips.

“I’m Patsy.” There, now he can stop with the babe thing.

He does that raising of the chin thing men tend to do. “Right, introductions done. Can we sit and talk?”

Introductions done?All I know is that he’s in the wrong house, and has admitted it, telling me only that’s he’s mislaid his path. Now he wants totalk?That’s probably a euphemism, or a new approach for a kidnapper or rapist. Or does he want me to tell him where my valuables are so he can rob me? Well, he’s come to the wrong house. I’ve nothing worth stealing.

Despite the fact he’s where he shouldn’t be, he doesn’t appear overly threatening, which is strange. Though would a would-be rapist walk in with a glowing sign over their head? Alder and Phil were criminals and nothing about their appearance would lead you to suspect their depravities. Nevertheless, while I’m considering whether he’s got any evil intent, when he casually sits on my sofa, right in the seat I’d so recently vacated, something inside me snaps.

“Who are you?” I spit at him. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing in my house?”

“I’m Lost,” he says again, arching an eyebrow as if that explains everything. “And I just want to have a chat with you, babe.”

“Don’t babe me,” I say fast, wanting to keep him at a distance even just verbally. “I want you to leave.”

His head moves side to side, and an amused smirk appears. He’s placed himself between the door and me. If I tried to run, he’d intercept me, and as for me physically fighting him off? Not a freaking chance.

As I’m summing up my non-existent escape routes, he informs me, “I’m not gonna leave until you start listening. Because, babe, you need to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“Are you some kind of salesman?” I offer the first innocent suggestion that comes into my head. I wonder what he’s selling if he is and whether I’d buy anything from him if that would make him leave. Though it’s unlikely, his skin is weathered as if he works outside, and his hands… Christ, I had to look at them, didn’t I? They lie loosely in his lap, but the position doesn’t hide the fact that they’re large. And if it’s true what they say, their proportions makes me think another part of him is unlikely to disappoint.

Shit. I am not going to go near those books again. They’ve put too many ideas in my head.

“Sit, babe.” He pats the seat beside him, half turning to make me space.

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