CHAPTER 2 – A STRANGER IN THE NIGHT #2
I almost say yes, but a thin trickle of paranoia snakes through me. Don’t trust strangers. My mother told me that, maybe, or maybe it was a teacher, or the TV. But Hunter doesn’t look dangerous. He looks like a man who’s seen too many sad stories tonight.
“Do you know where the hospital is?” I ask, voice thin.
He nods, gets to his feet, and offers his hand again. This time, I take it.
His grip is warm, steady, and it anchors me to the moment.
I follow him to the edge of the sidewalk, where his car is parked—a big, expensive-looking SUV, black and gleaming under the shitty sodium lights.
He opens the passenger door, waits for me to slide in, then walks around to the driver’s side.
Inside, the heater is blasting, and I sink into the leather seat, fighting the urge to cry again.
Hunter glances at me as he starts the engine. “You sure you’re alright?”
I nod, staring at my hands.
He waits a beat, then pulls away from the curb. For the first time all night, I feel almost safe.
I don’t know what happens next, but for now, I let the city blur past, and I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, I’ll remember who I am.
I try to memorize the shape of every streetlight, every sagging power line, so if I do forget my way again, maybe I can find the pattern.
Hunter parks two blocks from the hospital’s main entrance and walks me to the doors, but when I see the sickly yellow interior lights, the antiseptic shine, I freeze.
Something about the hospital terrifies me. I shake my head.
“Wait,” I say, voice too loud. “No. Not here.”
He leans towards me, blue eyes intense. “You’re not well,” he says in a low voice. “Anyone can see that. You need stitches, or a scan, or—”
“Please.” I wrap my arms tight around my ribcage. The air tastes like chemicals, and the sliding doors whisper open like a mouth about to swallow me. “I can’t. Just… not tonight.”
Hunter frowns, jaw tense. I can tell he wants to argue, but instead, he just says, “Fine. Let’s walk it off.”
We head down the block, side by side but with an entire universe between us. He keeps glancing at my head, but never asks what happened. I half expect him to just ditch me, but he walks the whole time in silence, matching my limping pace.
After three blocks, we hit a park—patches of crusty snow, a jungle gym with blue plastic slides, all of it abandoned.
It’s late, maybe eleven, but the city never truly sleeps.
There’s a guy on a bench, hunched and picking at the torn fabric on his backpack.
As soon as we step off the sidewalk, the guy stands up, quick, and intercepts us with a wide, ugly smile.
“Hey, man, got the time?” he asks, voice slick. He’s short, wiry, with a scruffy beard and a nose that looks freshly broken.
Hunter keeps his distance, body shifting so he’s half in front of me. “It’s late,” he says, flat.
The guy nods, eyes flicking from Hunter’s face to mine. He grins bigger, showing gums. “She your girl?”
Hunter doesn’t answer. He just stares, eyes ice blue, expression locked. The guy circles, trying to angle behind me, and I feel a pulse of adrenaline in my chest. The guy’s hands are in his pockets, but his walk is predatory, shoulders hunched.
“Hand over your jewelry,” he snarls, stepping close enough I can smell sweat and something sharper, maybe meth. “Whatever cash you have too.”
I stumble backward. I don’t have any cash or jewelry. Does he mean Hunter’s watch? There’s a gleam of silver on the huge man’s wrist.
Meanwhile, my companion doesn’t seem intimidated at all. The alpha male laughs, a low, cold sound. “You really want to do this right now?”
“Not talking to you, asshole,” the guy sneers. “Give me your shit, sweetheart. Both of you.”
My legs threaten to fold again. I back up until I’m against a frozen jungle gym, metal rungs biting my spine through my coat.
The man gets closer. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Suddenly Hunter is in motion. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t run. He moves with a deliberate calm that’s ten times scarier. He steps between me and the guy, hands at his sides, loose.
“You’re going to walk away,” Hunter says, voice so soft it almost floats.
The man’s mouth opens, like he’s going to argue, but the rest of his body wants nothing to do with this. His eyes dart to Hunter’s hands, to his shoulders, to the empty swing set behind him.
“Fuck you,” the guy says, but it’s all bluff now. “I’ll remember your face.”
Hunter tilts his head, gives a small, amused smile. “That would be a mistake.”
They stare at each other for a long second, the air between them electric. Then the guy’s nerve snaps, and he bolts—across the playground, through the trees, gone.
For a while, I can’t move. Hunter turns to me, face unreadable.
“You alright?” he asks, same as before.
I realize I’m shivering, my fingers white. My whole body vibrates, but now it’s from the adrenaline, not the cold.
“I don’t remember my name,” I whisper. It slips out before I can think about it.
Hunter doesn’t seem surprised. “You’re not yourself,” he says in a slow voice. “Tell you what. You’re not interested in the hospital, but I know another place. Let’s get you somewhere safe, and figure it out.”
He offers a hand again. I take it, desperate for the anchor, and follow him out of the park. His grip is careful, gentle, but I can feel the strength there. He could have snapped the mugger in two, if he wanted. Instead, he just watched him walk away.
I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to make of anything.
We make it back to his SUV. He opens the door, waits for me to get in, then slides behind the wheel.
He doesn’t start the car right away. He looks at me, searching my face, and I sense he’s trying to piece me together, too.
“You’re fine,” he states. “For now, you can be whoever you want.”
I press my palms to my eyes, and in the darkness behind my lids, I see blue again. His blue, but also a memory—maybe—of a young man with eyes like sky and a laugh that made me laugh too. The image slips away, replaced by pain, and I let my hands fall.
“Can you just drive?” I say, voice shaking. “Anywhere. Away from here.”
Hunter nods, starts the car, and does exactly what I ask.
I curl in the seat, clutching my knees, and try not to think about what I’ve lost. Or what I might still lose.
All I have is tonight, and this stranger who makes the world a little less terrifying.
We drive in silence, the world smeared outside the windows, snow like static on a dead TV.
I count the rhythm of the wipers, the low growl of the engine, every detail a tiny thread keeping me stitched to the present.
Hunter doesn’t talk, but he checks the mirror every thirty seconds, making sure we’re not being followed by anyone worse than our own ghosts.
After a few miles, he pulls into a 24-hour gas station, the only place lit up for blocks.
I blink against the fluorescence as we step inside.
The clerk is behind bulletproof glass, head bent over a tattered Sudoku.
I trail behind Hunter, still shivering, and he grabs a bottle of water, a pack of Advil, and a Snickers from the display rack.
“You hungry?” he asks, and his voice is low, soft, like he’s afraid to spook me.
I shake my head, but he grabs a turkey sandwich anyway, plus a can of Red Bull.
“Bathroom?” I whisper.
He gestures. I fumble my way down the narrow hall, barely making it inside before the nausea hits.
I throw up in the sink—nothing but acid and air—and rinse my mouth, blinking at myself in the streaked mirror.
My hair is a disaster, matted with sweat and dirt.
The wound on my forehead isn’t too bad though.
Just a shallow cut, although it is streaked with a bit of grime.
I splash water on my face and try to clean it.
I also try to remember something, anything, but all I get are fragments.
A hand on my back, pushing me forward. The blinding light of the crash.
The sound of a woman laughing, far away, but maybe it’s just the echo of my own voice, gone sharp and brittle.
I want to cry, but I’m too empty for it.
Back in the store, Hunter waits by the register. He’s tall, broad, with a restlessness in his stance, like he’s used to being in charge of things that matter. When he sees me, he sets the food on the counter and pays without a word.
We sit in the car, engine idling, heat on full blast. He passes me the water and Advil, unscrewing the cap for me because my hands are shaking too bad.
“You sure you don’t need the hospital?” he asks again.
I shake my head, then regret it as a wave of dizziness washes over me.
He watches me swallow the pills, then tears open the sandwich and hands it over. I nibble the corner, more to appease him than out of hunger.
“Do you remember anything?” he says after a while.
I stare out the window, at the buzzing sign across the street. No, not at all. Not much, at least.
“I’m Daisy,” I blurt.
He glances at me, blue eyes careful. “That’s your name?” he asks, voice careful.
I nod, almost believing it myself.
“Daisy,” I repeat. “Yes. I think so.”
He says nothing for a long time, just studies me with those azure eyes. Something about the way he looks at me makes my skin go tight, my insides loose.
“Okay, Daisy,” he says, the name strange and familiar at the same time. “I’ll get you somewhere safe.”
I mean to say thank you, but the words stick. I just stare at him, trying to figure out why this stranger is being so nice to me, when every atom in my body is screaming that I don’t deserve it.
He drives slow through empty streets, only stopping once to make a call. He steps out of the car, pacing under the awning, speaking low and urgent. I can’t hear the words, but I know the tone: he’s worried. About me, or about himself, I can’t say.
He comes back in, claps his hands together, then flexes them on the wheel.
“There’s a place I know a few blocks away. They have space, and you can crash for the night.” His eyes flick to my bandage, then away. “After that, we’ll figure out your next move. Sound good?”
I nod, too tired to question anything.
As we pull away, I notice the way his hands grip the wheel—strong, controlled, like he’s holding the whole world in place for me.
I wonder if I knew him before tonight. I wonder if we have a history, or if this is just what it looks like when two broken people cross paths in a city that eats the soft ones alive.
We pull up before a huge, granite building in ten minutes. It’s a stately place with an awning, a porte-cochère, and a small garden in front. It looks as impenetrable as a fortress, and also very wealthy.
When we get out of the car, he leads me into the building where a doorman greets him.
“Mr. McCarren,” the man says respectfully, tipping his hat.
“Hey, Miles. I’ll be using one of the guest suites.”
The doorman nods.
“Certainly sir. Genevieve let us know that 701 is ready for your guest.”
With that, we take golden elevators up to the seventh floor, and walk down a hallway with cream colored carpet and artwork decorating the walls.
Finally, Hunter opens the door to a suite that smells faintly of cedar and clean laundry.
The floors are carpeted in a plush grey pile, and there’s a couch, a massive TV, and a desk in the main room.
Just past that is a bedroom with a gleaming en suite attached to it.
There’s even a small kitchenette, with a dishwasher and granite countertops.
Hunter sets the gas station food on the coffee table, then gestures to the en suite. “There’s a shower, if you want. Clean towels. Just call downstairs if you need anything.”
For a second I think he’s going to speak more, but he just retreats to the living room, his cell phone in hand.
I’m not sure who he’s calling but exhaustion hits me, and I feel dirty.
I close the bathroom door, strip out of my dirty clothes, and step into the shower.
The water is hot enough to sting, and I let it.
I scrub my hair, picking out little bits of glass and asphalt, and watch pink water swirl down the drain.
When I come out, wrapped in a towel, there’s a fluffy white robe folded on the bed. I pull it on and sink onto the edge of the mattress, exhausted.
He’s waiting in the living room, watching the city through the window. He turns when I enter, and something flickers in his eyes—a heat, or maybe just concern. I can’t tell. I sit gingerly on the couch, and for a second, we just look at each other across the chasm of this unfamiliar space.
He sits, hands clasped. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “About tonight? Or before?”
I shake my head, eyes burning. “I can’t remember,” I say, voice barely a whisper.
He nods, like he understands. Maybe he does.
We sit in silence, broken only by the city hum outside. Eventually, my body gives up on me, and my eyes start to close.
“You’re safe here, Daisy,” Hunter says, voice low and absolute. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
For the first time since the crash, I believe it.
I drift, half-asleep, the taste of his name—Hunter—lingering on my tongue.
Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll remember who I am.
Tonight, I’m just Daisy.