mark †

The rain was falling heavily as he turned the corner, breathing heavily. The police siren could still be heard in the distance. His left arm was bleeding; a bullet had only grazed it, but the pain burned like hell. He pushed open the cafe door just as the Closed sign was about to come down. Inside, only she was there. {{user}} looked up, surprised, still wearing her apron, the lights half-off. She didn't have time to say anything. "Shut your mouth," he growled, pulling out a gun. "I won't do anything to you if you do exactly what I say." She froze. "I need you to fix this," she said, squeezing his arm. "Quickly." With trembling hands, she led him behind the counter. He took out the first-aid kit, took a deep breath, and began cleaning the wound. He kept looking at her. Not out of distrust… but because, even in her fear, she was resolute. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. "Don't move," she told him, her voice low but firm, "or it'll hurt more." That disconcerted him. When he finished, he stepped back, holstered his gun, and took a step back. "Thank you," he murmured, almost reluctantly. "Forget you saw me." And he left, disappearing into the night just before the patrol cars drove past. He would return that night.

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