Handsome Man's Sanctuary

Why did that woman want my shoes? The question pulsed like a second heartbeat as I waited at the bus stop. My eyes swept a 50-meter radius—then locked onto the billboard overhead.

Two men smiled down at me.

• Handsome Man (grinning, holding binoculars)

• The Doctor (who’d discharged me from A&E)

The ad slogan:"SHARPEN YOUR SIGHT."

A white car slid past—my neighbor’s friend, the one she’d called 'trouble with paperwork."Then the coffee van.There. That’s where my shoes were going. The realization burned:

Something clicked about my shoes. Something about weight, about not noticing. The thought slipped away before I could hold it.

A few minutes later, both vehicles departed, one after the other, disappearing into the late afternoon, just as my own journey was about to begin.

The bus doors wheezed shut behind me, sealing away the last familiar scent of antiseptic and the memory of stolen sneakers. I got off at the bus station, boarded the first bus on sight, and arrived at the train station at 6:02 pm. There, without hesitation, I jumped on the first train at 6:04 pm, heading North, its rhythmic rumble a new beat in my journey.

I exited at a small town, just a short distance from my own village. Hours bled away in that town, a grey blur of waiting, the world a muted backdrop to my internal turmoil. Then, the rain began, a persistent, chilling drizzle that accompanied me for the next two hours as I walked, driven by an unseen compulsion, towards the house of the Handsome Man.

Something pulled at me as I walked. Leave traces. Mark the places that felt wrong. I couldn't explain why, but my body knew what to do. Bit by bit, I shed a jumper, two socks in two different symbolic locations, and fragments of my hospital discharge documents—a single paper at a time. On the last piece, a stark medical note revealed a chilling detail: something was wrong with my kidneys, likely connected to the dark brown urine. Oh, the CT scan. A new wave of dread washed over me: Something about swelling. Fluids where they shouldn't be. The medical words swam together, but the fear was sharp and clear.

I crouched in the public garden, watching Handsome’s house.

The Whole: "He's calibrating. Wait."

I was too exposed. I moved down the road, finding temporary cover behind some trees. Within a couple of minutes, my friend, the Handsome Man, jumped off a car nearby; I could hear his voice thanking someone for the lift.

Immediately afterwards, a police car stopped in front of a house very close to my hiding place, but they didn't see me.

After a while, a dog began barking—that was the sign to move to the back of his house. A quick glance inside his bedroom window revealed the TV and light on, but to my surprise, an old woman lay in his bed.

I waited for a bit at the back of the house, near the basement vent, from where I could hear the muffled voices of youngsters. Okay, he must be in his garage then.

When I was sure that everyone was gone, I descended to the garage. There, I heard a phone vibrating and the subtle sound of someone breathing. I whispered his name. Nothing. Then, I heard people coming downstairs, and I instinctively ran, hiding behind a corner, hoping no one would venture there. Good, they were gone. I returned upstairs, but this time, I waited for him next to the front door. Time was distorted, so I don't know how long I waited. My feet were numb in the wet socks. The cold had worked its way into my bones. Finally, just as I decided to knock, he arrived from behind me.

"Wow, what a surprise!" the Handsome Man exclaimed, his eyes widened—too perfectly timed. Theater. "You know, I was at a friend of mine watching a movie, and I just had this feeling I had to come back home. Come in. You're soaked, look at you. Wow, how beautiful you are, give a kiss." His lips lingered a moment too long. Or maybe not long enough. I couldn't tell which made me more uneasy

My mind raced. I haven't brushed my teeth in days. How many? I couldn't even remember. "Later," I managed, my voice hoarse. "I am cold and dirty." He returned with a clean tracksuit. The tracksuit swallowed me whole. His gaze lingered where fabric gaped

I began to tell him everything I had been through in those days, while he chatted seriously with someone on his phone. His voice had a different quality when he spoke to whoever was on the phone. Careful. Measured. He claimed he had been on the same train as me and that his mother was indeed visiting. Too many coincidences. My brain tried to calculate the odds but kept hitting static.

"You perceive the energy," he said, hanging up the phone, his gaze intense. "You need to eat something. Grab it, a fruit juice."

"You know, someone drugged me, trying to kill me, but they failed. I'm afraid to drink anything," I confessed, my voice trembling.

"Look, drink from the glass, only glass," he insisted.

"But, you too. You want to kill me too, why?"

"No, okay, no fruit juice, here, a banana.", peel first, check for needles.

"Handsome," I said, my voice gaining a renewed resolve. "Tomorrow we go to the mansion, on top of the hill, and we hide in there."

"Let's organize" he replied, already turning back to his phone. "Now I have to finish this discussion; it's really important."

"I am tired" I announced, moving towards the sofa. "I have a nap on the couch."

"Yes, wait" he responded, already unfolding the pull-out bed for me.

His goodnight kiss brushed my temple—cold as a scalpel. The tracksuit smelled like fabric softener and something else I couldn't place. Something that made my skin crawl.

I slept deeply that night, a heavy, dreamless slumber that felt more like erasure than rest. In the morning, before leaving for work, the Handsome Man looked at me, a cryptic promise in his eyes.