The third encounter.

I woke up with a groan, my neck stiff and my body aching from being curled up in the enormous driver's seat of the G-Wagon. It was light outside, the world outside my windshield a blurry mess of gray and green, slick with rain.

A persistent tapping on the window finally yanked me from my exhausted sleep. I jumped, my heart immediately seizing with the residual terror of the robbery.

I cracked the window, peering out. Standing under the steady drizzle was an old woman who looked to be in her 70s. Her face was a network of kind wrinkles, framed by a patterned headscarf. She looked frail, yet worried.

"Are you doing okay, my dear?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent.

I nodded, squinting.

It was pouring, and this elderly lady was standing in the downpour, worrying about a stranger in an expensive SUV.

"This is no way to end your life. You could suffocate and die, you know?" She gestured dramatically with her hand at the word die, and that alone snapped me back to the shocking reality of my situation.

"NO! No, I'm not trying to kill myself, I promise, I—"

"It's okay, it's fine. Young kids like you get depressed all the time, but look at you, look at how perfect you are, yet you want to kill yourself."

"I—" I tried to protest, to explain, but before I could, her eyes welled up, and she started crying.

"Ma'am, I promise I'm not trying to kill myself…" I quickly unlatched the door and got down from the car, stepping out into the cold rain to face her. I couldn't stand being protected by the car's wealth while she stood out there in the elements.

She smiled at me, her tears mixing with the rainwater streaking down her face.

"Okay," she conceded, mixing her eyes and looking at me with apologetic understanding. "Do you have a few pounds to spare, my child?"

I felt a fresh wave of shame wash over me. I had no money. I'd spent my last cash on the coffee last night. My phone was still in the abandoned Audi, my credit cards locked in the phone's pouch. There was no way I could give this helpless old woman money. How would she believe me when I was driving a freaking G-Wagon and wearing an expensive coat?

"I— I don't, I don't have any mon—money…" I choked out, and with that, my own tears started flowing again, mixing with the rain. I reached out, my hands finding her shoulders.

"I was robbed last night and my car was bashed. When I got home to tell my boyfriend the bad news, I—I found him cheating on me with his secretary, Lisa. I left my Audi at our place, but I—I spent most of my money paying for his G-Wagon, and now I have no place to stay because I can't go back to that house with a man that's cheating on me. And I'm here at the hospital because my friends are injured, and and and, I'm just—"

She pulled me into a tight hug, her small body surprisingly warm. Freeing me, she squeezed a five-dollar bill into my hands. It was crumpled and damp, and I couldn't even manage to refuse it.

"Get yourself something to eat, okay?" she said, her eyes earnest. "And whatever you do, don't go back to that man. Get back your Audi, take the G-Wagon and block him forever. Don't pick his calls, don't reply to his texts, and if you get a chance, run him over with your car, okay?"

"Y—yes, ma'am," I whispered, overwhelmed by her fierce, dramatic advice.

With that, she placed her palm gently on my cheek and smiled. She then turned and walked away into the rain, disappearing around the corner of the clinic.

I felt so shameful.

I knew I would never forget this day, and that I would find this woman again. I would repay her a thousandfold.

I wiped my face, and hopped into the car.

I needed to make sure Joe and Thomas were truly ready to leave.

I parked the G-Wagon in the back lot and walked quickly back into the clinic. The hallway was quieter now. I found the emergency rooms where Thomas and Joe were resting.

I pressed a kiss to Joe's forehead and silently vowed to sort out the disaster I'd dragged them into.

​My own condition was deplorable. My coat was covered in coffee, dirt, and a smear of blood from the highway.

I approached the nearest nursing station.

​"Excuse me, Nurse," I said, trying to sound composed. "My clothes are a bit of a mess from the accident last night. I was wondering, do you have any spare scrubs or something I could change into? I just need something dry."

​The nurse, a cheerful woman with kind eyes, looked me up and down. A moment passed, then her eyes widened. "Wait a minute... you're Celene—Kylie, aren't you? From The Unseen?"

​I managed a faint, tired smile. "Guilty."

​"Oh my goodness! That scene on the rooftop? Incredible!" she gushed, instantly forgetting my plight in her excitement.

"Of course! Come with me. We have a storage room; I can find you a pair of clean scrubs, no problem."

​She led me down a narrow corridor to a utility room stacked high with linens, boxes of medical supplies, and racks of freshly laundered hospital scrubs.

​

"Here you go," she said, handing me a freshly folded set of dark blue scrubs. "Take your time. Just knock when you're done."

​I thanked her profusely and shut the door. The moment I was alone, I stripped off my filthy coat and tear-soaked clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. The relief of being out of them was immediate. I was halfway through pulling the scrub top over my head, my arms tangled in the fabric and the collar covering my eyes, when the door creaked open.

​A sudden, sharp intake of breath made me drop the shirt. I spun around, clutching the scrub top over my chest.

​Standing in the doorway, framed by the bright hallway lights, was the guy from the highway.

Again!

​"You've got to be kidding me," I exclaimed, my voice tight with shock and irritation. "Are you following me? First the highway, then the elevator, and now the hospital closet? Do you work here or are you just everywhere?"

​I felt a flash of adrenaline, quickly replaced by a sudden, reckless impulse. I pulled the scrub top up quickly, covering myself, and put my hands on my hips, looking him over.

​He didn't even look at me. His eyes were focused on the pile of clothes on the floor, particularly on my abandoned, muddy coat. His face was rigid.

​"I—I am so sorry," he stammered, his deep voice cracking slightly. He quickly averted his gaze from the center of the room, his expression tightening into one of genuine distress, confusion, and something that looked distinctly like sadness.

​He backed out immediately, pulling the door shut with a gentle click, leaving me alone in the sterile silence of the storage room, the scrub top still clutched in my hands.

​