Copper and Salt Page 2

  Finally he lifted a shoulder, smiling a little ruefully. “Will you at least let me bandage your ankle?”

  Alex hesitated, then raised his leg, placing his foot in Oren’s hands, his eyes steady on Oren’s. There was a crystalline moment of silence as they looked at each other and then Oren bent to his task, unwinding the bandage and rolling it into place around the delicate framework of Alex’s ankle, muscle and tissue stretched over bone like a fragile canvas.

  When he was done, he tucked the ends in and smoothed them down with his thumb. “There,” he said, smiling at his work. “All done.” He grabbed the socks and eased them into place before glancing up at Alex, who was looking down at the clothes Oren had put him in.

  Alex looked up, something like panic on his face. “Where are clothes?”

  “The ones you were wearing?” Oren asked. “They’re rags, I was going to burn them.”

  Alex made an inarticulate noise of protest, clutching at Oren’s arm. “No, please, I need—”

  “Was there something in them that you need?” Oren asked.

  “Da, yes, in pocket,” Alex said, his whole body taut and desperate. “Please, I need to—”

  “Easy,” Oren said, gently dislodging Alex’s hand and getting to his feet. “I’ll get it, okay? You just stay there. I’ll be right back.”

  He jogged up the stairs to the bathroom and found Alex’s filthy pants in a crumpled heap, digging through them with a grimace. In the right hand pocket, he found a folded piece of paper, but further probing turned up nothing else.

  Resisting the urge to look at it, Oren returned to the living room and handed the paper to Alex, who very nearly snatched it from his hands, clutching it to his chest.

  “Mulțumesc,” he whispered.

  Oren bent to close his first aid kit. “Ready for that second bowl of soup?”

  Alex nodded and Oren smiled at him and went to get it.

  He busied himself cleaning up as Alex ate, keeping where Alex could see him and avoiding any loud noises.

  Alex’s head was back against the cushions of the couch when Oren finished, his long throat exposed and the bruises thrown into stark relief by the winter sun.

  Oren closed his eyes briefly and then coughed, pretending not to notice the way Alex started at the noise.

  “I’m going to be up and down the stairs, working around the place,” he said as he picked up Alex’s bowl and Alex watched him with wary eyes. “Don’t mind me, just stay here and rest. If you need anything, just yell for me.”

  “What….” Alex chewed his lip briefly. “What is—name?”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry!” Oren held out a hand and then pulled it back almost as quickly, feeling like an idiot. “I’m… Oren. Oren Asher.”

  Alex nodded, and the corner of his mouth curved up a tiny bit as he closed his eyes again.

  2

  Oren spent a few minutes putting the kitchen to rights, sneaking surreptitious looks at Alex, who appeared to already be asleep again. Finally, though, he was ready to go downstairs and get to work.

  He tiptoed past Alex’s curled up form and down the stairs on the opposite end of the living room that led down into his pride and joy, the place he’d spent countless hours getting just right.

  The polished mahogany banister gleamed, curving in a graceful arc around three of the four walls below. He’d carved most of the space from the rock himself, camping out in a small Airstream as he painstakingly built his workshop and home, living on dime store noodles and peanut butter and scrimping and saving every penny he could get his hands on.

  Oren trailed a hand along the banister, smiling to himself. Even dimly lit with only the weak sunlight from windows overhead, the room glowed with a soft welcome.

  He hopped the last two steps and ducked left around a towering bookcase, heading down the narrow path that led to his tiny office tucked away in the back.

  The workshop wasn’t very big, but the stone of the hillside it had been built into swallowed sound, and Oren wanted to be able to hear Alex if he called, so he gathered his files and headed back up the stairs, his arms full.

  Alex was asleep again and didn’t stir as Oren settled in at the little kitchen table, spreading the documents across the flat surface and getting to work.

  Several hours passed, the house silent except for the crackling of the fireplace and their breathing. Oren got up several times to add more wood, checking on Alex each time.

  As the sun began to set, Alex sat up and stretched. Oren noticed and put his pen down.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?”

  Alex ducked his head and mumbled something.

  “Are you hungry?” Oren asked, standing. “I can heat some more soup, or make you a sandwich, or—”

  Alex looked up. “I need—” He hesitated. “Bathroom?”

  “Oh my God, I’m an idiot,” Oren exclaimed. He hurried up the stairs and held out his hand to Alex, who took it and allowed Oren to pull him to his feet. “I’m so sorry, I’m a terrible host.”

  Alex said nothing as he wrapped an arm around Oren’s shoulders, but his mouth curved up slightly.

  They hobbled haltingly up the stairs to the landing, where they paused so Alex could catch his breath.

  “Doing okay?” Oren asked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I just carried you?”

  “Can walk,” Alex said.

  “Donkey,” Oren said under his breath. Alex shot him a startled look but didn’t comment as they tackled the second short flight of stairs.

  At the bathroom, Oren stopped and Alex slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. Oren leaned against the wall and waited, wondering if Alex was going to climb out the window and escape. Not that he’d get very far if he tried that—the bathroom looked out over a craggy outcropping of rock and a twenty foot drop to the base of the hill below. Alex would have to be a mountain goat if he wanted to go that route.

  After a few minutes, the toilet flushed and then the sink ran. Alex appeared, his face pale, and Oren jumped forward to steady him.

  “Getting to be dinnertime. Let’s get you back to the couch and I’ll whip something up for us. Too bad I don’t have power right now, or we could watch a movie. I guess we’ll just have to read, or make conversation like civilized people.”

  Alex’s breathing was harsh but his lips twitched. “My English… not good.”

  “Hey, no problem,” Oren said easily, steadying him down the steps. “You may not have noticed, but I like the sound of my own voice.”

  “I… noticed,” Alex managed, collapsing onto the couch.

  Oren laughed. “Alright, you rest, I’ll be right back.”

  They ate in the firelight, bowls of beef stew balanced on their knees and a plate of garlic toast between them. When they were done, Oren gathered the dishes and took them to wash. He spent a few minutes cleaning the kitchen in the flickering candlelight and then climbed back to the living room.

  Alex gestured at the stairs and made a motion with his hands. “Is good—for muscles, living here? Much… climb.”

  Oren laughed. “You could say that. I like it, though. Keeps me fit.” He wavered for a minute and then sat down, fixing Alex with a serious look. “So I’ve been thinking.”

  Alex’s face shuttered and he hunched his shoulders, withdrawing into himself without speaking.

  “I know you don’t want to be here,” Oren said. “To be honest, I really don’t want you here either.” Alex shot him a startled look and Oren smiled, a little rueful, but didn’t elaborate.

  Alex opened his mouth and then closed it again, nodding.

  “Anyway,” Oren continued, “my point is, we both want you gone, but that’s impossible at the moment. I’m frankly amazed that you got as far as you did on that ankle. But the ice isn’t going anywhere and we’re in for some bad snow next, according to the weather reports.”

  Dismay crept over Alex’s delicate features. “I—I must—”

  “I know,” Oren said. “You have to go
. But you can’t. You go out in this weather, you’ll die of exposure within the hour.”

  Alex tugged at the hem of his borrowed shirt, his mouth drooping. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I do not mean to—”

  Oren scooted forward a little on his seat. “Hey,” he said gently, and waited until Alex looked up. “I’m glad I can help you.”

  Alex’s mouth worked. “I cannot pay—”

  “Not asking for payment,” Oren said, waving that off.

  “I must go when snow melts,” Alex said. “I must, Oren.”

  “Got it,” Oren said. “The second the roads are clear, I’ll pop you in my jeep and zip you into town.”

  Alex tilted his head. “Pop?”

  “Figure of speech, sorry. I just meant that I understand that time is of the essence, and you have to go as quickly as possible.” Oren hesitated. “Do you—is someone waiting for you?”

  Alex looked up, tears sheening his eyes. Finally he nodded, jerky and quick, and dropped his gaze back to his knees again.

  “Okay then,” Oren said, dropping the subject. “I’ll take the couch and you can have my bed.”

  “No,” Alex said. “I will take couch.”

  “It was stuffed by Satan!” Oren protested.

  Alex gave him a confused look but shook his head, setting his jaw. “I will sleep here.”

  “God, you really are a donkey,” Oren muttered.

  “Why do you call me this?” Alex asked.

  “Because you’re stubborn,” Oren said, smiling in spite of himself. “Are you going to fight me on everything?”

  “Yes,” Alex said, but he was smiling too, lips curving slow and sweet. “Thank you, Oren.” His eyes were serious in the dim glow of the banked fire, and Oren rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Maybe someday you’ll tell me about it,” he said, standing up. “Right now, it’s time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Help yourself to anything in the fridge if you get peckish in the night.”

  He retreated up the stairs to his bedroom, but not even The Importance of Being Earnest was enough to keep his attention, and eventually he dozed off, finger between the pages, thoughts on the stranger in his living room.

  When he woke up, he knew immediately that he was alone in the house. He couldn’t put his finger on why—a feeling, somehow, a stillness in the air that hadn’t been there the night before.

  He flung the covers back with a bitten-off curse and scrambled from the bed.

  “Alex?”

  There was no answer.

  Oren swore again and grabbed his coat from the hook by the back door, shoving his boots on and not stopping to lace them properly before plunging out into the bitter cold that stopped his breath in his lungs.

  Stupid, stupid kid, he thought, pausing to make sure his jeep was still in the garage. It was, so Alex was on foot, and he’d try to head for town. Oren’s house was about two miles outside the city limits, a modest hike on foot for anyone without a cracked ankle. Alex was in no shape to be trying to get anywhere by himself right now, even without the weather to contend with.

  It was far too icy to drive, so Oren slithered and slid down the hill and broke into a careful jog along the slippery road, hands out to keep his balance, his cheeks stinging and lungs burning with the cold. It was still early, the sun below the trees and the road dark as a result.

  Movement caught his eye and he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Alex!”

  The small shape at the bend in the road spun at that, losing his balance on the ice and disappearing in a wild flailing tumble out of sight.

  “Shit.” Oren ran faster, praying he didn’t fall and break his own ankle, and slithered headlong to a stop at the edge of the ditch, leaning precariously over it. Alex was a crumpled heap in the bottom of the hollow, both hands around his ankle as he rocked back and forth.

  Oren half-fell, half-jumped down into the ditch, landing next to Alex with a thud that jarred the wind from him.

  “Did you land on your bad foot?” he managed after a minute.

  Alex nodded, his face drawn and white with pain.

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Oren said. “That’s my fault. Come on, let’s get you out of here. I think your ankle’s bad enough that we should try to get you to the hospital.”

  Alex opened his mouth to say something and snapped it shut as the rumbling of an engine floated through the crisp air.

  Oren straightened. “”Who the fuck is driving in this? Maybe they can give us a ride.”

  Alex clutched at him. “No.” There was panic on his face and in the desperate strength of his fingers on Oren’s coat, and Oren bent to him.

  “Hey, easy, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  The engine got louder—it sounded like a snowmobile, he realized—and Oren tried to straighten again, to climb out of the ditch and flag down the driver, but Alex was clinging to him with both hands now, on his knees as he tried to keep Oren’s head below the road, out of sight. He was clearly well on his way to a full blown panic attack, his skin chalky and eyes huge, breath sharp and short and chest heaving, and Oren abruptly made up his mind.

  He dropped to his knees and pulled Alex against his chest, tipping them both sideways until they were lying face to face on the inclined surface of the ditch. The trees arched over them, forming a lacy net high above their heads of bare branches, and the snow was cold and wet, the dirt hard-packed beneath them.

  The vehicle was almost on top of them now, and despite the fact that Oren didn’t really think they were in any danger, Alex’s obvious terror was catching, and Oren found himself holding his breath as it rumbled slowly past.

  This close, he could see tiny flecks of gold inside the brown of Alex’s eyes. He smelled like damp wool and apples and fear, an acrid tang that scoured the back of Oren’s throat when he drew in a deep breath.

  Silence fell. Alex was panting in tiny, shallow heaves, his eyes fixed on Oren’s face. As Oren watched, a tear slid across the bridge of his nose.

  “He will kill you,” Alex whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  It was several more minutes before Oren was able to get Alex out of the ditch, but finally he cajoled him to his feet. He climbed out first and then reached down and took Alex’s hands, pulling him up easily.

  But when Alex tried to put weight on his right ankle, he cried out and folded up, hunching into a ball around the pain.

  “I… cannot,” he managed. “I am sorry, Oren.”

  Oren touched his shoulder, glancing up and down the road to make sure they were still alone. The sun was coming up, dawn finally beginning to spill over in pale pinks and blues, but it was still hard to see much, where they were.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m going to have to carry you, okay?”

  Alex looked up at him, clearly reluctant, but finally he nodded.

  Oren bent and scooped him up bridal-style, an arm behind Alex’s back and the other under his knees, careful of his ankle, and turned for home. It was faster to cut across-country through the snow rather than brave the icy switchback road, so he struck out, his burden almost unnoticeable in his arms.

  “So, what would you like for breakfast?” he asked as he walked, mostly to break the awkward silence.

  Alex shot him an incredulous look and burst into tears, pressing his face against Oren’s chest as his shoulders shook.

  Whoops. Oren sped up a little, careful on the treacherous ground and clutching his armload close. It wasn’t long before he was climbing the hill behind his house, wading through the snow to the slippery deck and letting them in through the back door.

  “Hey, we’re here,” he said, rubbing Alex’s thigh with his thumb as he carried him into the living room. Alex’s sobs had tapered off into occasional hiccups, but his face was still buried in Oren’s shoulder.

  Oren hesitated and then swung right, climbing the stairs to his bedroom and setting Alex down as gently as possible on the bed.

  Alex blinked and scr
ubbed at his face, looking around him. “Oren—”

  “Don’t argue with me,” Oren said. “I’m getting the first aid kit, I’ll be right back.” He didn’t wait for an answer, retreating back down the hall to the bathroom to grab the kit and, as an afterthought, the narcotics.

  Alex was sitting with his right leg stretched out in front of him when Oren came back, his chin propped on his left knee as he gazed down at his bad ankle.

  “How is it?” Oren asked.

  Alex lifted a shoulder. “Am not doctor.” The words were clipped but it was obviously pain sharpening his tone.

  “Okay, let me look at it,” Oren said, sitting down on the end of the bed.

  He pulled Alex’s tattered boot off over the rapidly swelling ankle and grimaced as he gently felt along the bone.

  “I’m not a doctor either,” he finally said, looking up. “But I really do think you broke it. I need to take you to the hospital.”

  Alex shook his head hard. “No.”

  “Would you rather never walk again?” Oren demanded.

  “Is better than dying,” Alex shot back.

  Oren flung his hands up and Alex flinched, pressing his face to his knee again.

  “I’m sorry,” Oren said instantly, scooting backward to put some space between them. “Alex, would you look at me please?”

  There was a heartbeat of silence and then Alex lifted his head, a heartbreaking mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes.

  Oren opened his mouth to speak but someone knocked on the door before he could. Alex’s eyes shot wide in terror and he covered his mouth with both hands.

  “It’s okay,” Oren said quietly, touching Alex’s good knee. “You stay here. Don’t make any noise.”

  Alex reached for him, grabbing Oren’s wrist. He was trembling, white as a sheet, and Oren’s heart hurt.

  “Is him,” Alex said raggedly.

  “Who?” Oren asked, and then shook his head. No time for that right now. “Never mind. Stay here.” He reached out on impulse, cupping Alex’s cheek, Alex’s eyes wide and terrified above Oren’s hand. Then he stood and ran for the door as the knocking came again, louder and more insistent.