Two - Sanctuary

"Without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods."
 - Aristotle




Grayness and fog dominated the landscape as she approached her destination. Here, there weren't many cars passing through the narrow streets even during rush hour. No one bothered to clear away the snow. If the winding roads hadn't forced her to slow the car to a crawl, she might have lost traction on the ice.

The cold bit harshly at her exposed wrists and face as she stepped out of the car. It bled through her thin jacket and hood, causing her to hiss and stamp her feet as she slammed the door behind her and rushed towards the door of the house.

The sign over the door read A. E. SEWARD RECOVERY HOUSE. The letters were lazily scrawled across the plastic in an unprofessional hand, but she didn't give them more than a passing glance. Instead, she hammered on the door with one clenched fist, then stood back, shivering and shuddering uncontrollably on the doorstep, gaze directed firmly at the ground.

When the door swung open a few seconds later, she didn't look up to see who had opened it. Instead, she squeezed through, croaking as she went, "Runner." Only once she was inside did she look up again.

Outside, gray ice dominated. Inside, everything was bright and warm - polished mahogany walls, an elegantly-curved spiral staircase, thick, forest-green carpeting, sun-yellow lamps. She stamped her feet a few times, clutching at her thin arms through the jacket, then turned back to look at the one who had let her in.

She ignored the residents eying her suspiciously from the other rooms. There would be time for them later.

The man standing at the door was tall, and fat, and clad in jeans and a heavy-looking Steelers jersey. His doughy face looked as though it was used to smiling, but at the moment, it wore an expression of suspicion and mistrust. His left hand was in the pocket of his jersey, gripping something blocky and angular.

"First question," he said, as he shut the door again. There was a metallic click as the lock was thrown shut.

"I haven't brought any of them with me," she said, before he could tell her what the question actually was. She straightened up to her full height and pulled back her hood. Her gaze was no less mistrustful than his, but she looked more accustomed to it. "There might be one of their pets on my tail, but none of the big ones, and I'm pretty sure I lost the one around Indianapolis. And-" she held up her hand to stall anything else the big man might have been about to say "-it's the Boy, the Girl, and the Angel, mostly."A brief pause. "Mostly the Girl." She lowered the hand.

The big man looked less suspicious now, but his forehead was still heavily creased as he ran his eyes over her skinny form. After a moment, he said, sounding incredulous, "Three?"

"All of them," she answered flatly. "But mostly those three." She shrugged, then added, "I'm Christie Waterman."

He blinked twice, then tilted his head to one side and squinted at her. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"James came through here four years ago," she answered, staring levelly back at him. "He stayed for six months. He left a photo here for safekeeping, of his family on vacation in Florida. I ran with him. He told me about you."

The man straightened up again, and the hand in his pocket released its grip on the blocky object. His expression cleared, and he flashed her a broad, toothy grin. "Well, I've still got his photo, if he ever wants to come back and get it," he said brightly, taking a step forward. One of his broad, powerful hands came out to offer a handshake. "Pleased to meet you, and welcome to my little sanctuary. Just call me Andy. Or Mister Seward, if you've got to be formal about it."

She reached out and set her smaller hand in his. Her grip was firm, despite the difference in size, but her gaze remained flat and emotionless. "Christie," she said. Her voice was raspy and quiet, in contrast to his jovial, booming one. "And he won't be coming back for it."

Seward's face fell, but he didn't release her hand. "Oh," he said. He seemed to slump slightly, his entire body drooping with the weight of the news. "That's... too bad. I liked James."

"He liked you, too." She remained motionless while she waited for him to continue.

Seward coughed, then shook his head. "How... how'd it happen?"

She blinked once. "He went bad," she said flatly. "I killed him." A momentary pause, then, as if she was forcing herself to add something vaguely comforting, she added, "He had more of them after him than anyone else. Anyone would have cracked."

There was an answering nod from the big man. "I... hope it was quick, at least," he said quietly.

"It wasn't." She blinked again, then looked away. "I wish it had been, too."

Silence reigned for a few seconds. There were sounds of uneasy shifting from the other rooms, the feeling of eyes glued to the back of her head, but she ignored them.

After a moment, she said, "That's why I'm here. Part of it, anyway." She looked back up at him and, finally, withdrew her hand from his. "I've run alone for almost a year. I'm done with that. I don't want to run any more." She glanced around at the hallway. "And this is the only place I know where I can go."

Seward seemed to pull himself together at that. He gave her another grin, slightly weaker than the last, and said, "Well, that's what we're here for. You'll have to pay rent, 'cause I'm not made of money, but you can work around the house to reduce that cost and there's work around here if you go looking. We've got three open rooms to choose from."

"I'll take any of them that doesn't have a mirror," she said flatly.

Twenty minutes later, she was upstairs, sitting on her new bed and trying to ignore the sound of talking from below. Her gaze was trained on a small photograph she held cupped in her hands, as if it was a small bird. In it, a tall, thin, brown-haired young man grinned up at her, both of his arms around the shoulders of his parents. All three of them stood in front of the ocean, the blue water stretching out behind them as the surf lapped at their ankles.

She blinked rapidly for a few seconds, then slipped the picture into her pocket, rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand, and started to unpack.