Chapter 3

Clover’s POV

“You have got to stop kidnapping people, Clove!”

“I didn’t kidnap him!” I replied frantically and stomped my feet lightly.

I was spiraling in a nervous wreck. I’m not fully certain about my suspicion after the report on the TV but it makes so much sense. My eyes briefly darted to the stranger on my couch.

I walked away from him and towards my window. I don’t want to disturb the guy’s slumber but I also checked for anything unusual outside my house before replying. 

“And you know that instance with the kid is a misunderstanding. I was helping the child go home but the mother freaked out and accused me of taking her child.” I sighed. “It’s not my fault that I was driving the kid in a white van similar to the missing cases at the time to look for their house.”

Brushing my fingers through my hair, I calmed myself and focused. Things are not looking good for me. I must think this through.

Okay, I feel bad for assuming the worst but no ordinary person would have been bleeding out because of a gunshot. On a Tuesday. Near a building that then exploded… even my optimism can’t deny that.

I lowered my voice and bit my nails,  “He was hurt near the site of the bombed storage house where two mafia groups were fighting. My conscience couldn’t leave him for dead so I took him home and treated his injury before I saw the news.”

Glancing at the nameless man, I pondered, “Should I call the police?”

“If you suspect he’s part of the Nero Syndicate, don’t do that,” my friend warns firmly.

“The police are also afraid of them. They won’t help you and his group will hunt you down if they find out that you put one of their members, or potentially their leader, in prison. He’ll end up escaping and will get back at you. You do not want to get involved with these people.”

I nodded to myself at the reminder.

It’s true. I don’t know a lot about the crimes in this town because it hasn’t been a year since I moved here but I am aware of the rumors and stories about the Nero Syndicate. They are very notorious in this area. 

Everyone warns you to stay away from them.

Meanwhile, I think I just went and brought their dying boss into my own home. 

This is insane. I’m going insane!

God, this is a bad habit of mine. I try to help and always create trouble instead. That’s why I can’t keep a proper job.

And speaking of my latest job…

I think I left the inside of the ice cream truck still bloody. Not only that, I turned off the cooling system so the ice cream is probably all melted already. I was also supposed to return the truck to the shop!

I’m so gonna get fired. Again. A record-breaking third time for this month… wonderful! 

I face-palmed myself in frustration.

“Just get rid of him,” my friend’s voice pulled me back to the present.

Pausing, the words hung in the air of my contemplation.

I glanced with guilt at the figure on the couch. “He’s in a bad state,” I replied, rubbing my hands on my arm, torn on what to do. “I’ve seen enough of his wound to understand that it will be bad if I throw him out right now.”

So I added,  “And I still haven’t confirmed his identity… I think I need to keep him here until I figure out what to do.”

There was a ruffling on the other line and my friend’s voice raised, “You said it yourself, he could be a criminal! Think about yourself first, Clove! What would you do if they found him in your place? They will harm you!”

I couldn’t reply because I understand that. Deep down, I am very scared right now because things look bleak for me… but while I did not exactly graduate medicine, he is still kind of my first patient. 

I don’t want to abandon a dying person even if it risks my safety. I know I won’t be able to have peace anyway. I’m just wired like this.

My friend continued insisting, “Just go drop him by the road or street.”

“Leave him on the street?” The words rang in my head as I repeated the suggestion and walked towards the guy.

I observed his pale face as my conscience continued gnawing on me.

I know in the back of my mind that it’s probably the most rational thing to do—“But that would… kill him,” I mumbled out loud. 

The sad truth is, I don’t have enough guts or backbone to do it. 

Even if he could be a very dangerous person, I don’t think I have the right to decide whether he lives or dies. Because if he does die, it’s like having his blood on my hands. I can’t live with that.

At that moment, it sinked in for my friend that I’m choosing to do the dumber option.

There was a brief silence before I got a response. “Fine… just—just wait for me, okay?”

Slightly confused, I asked, “I thought you were out of town?”

“I’ll return early. After this call, I’ll be on my way so don’t do anything reckless until I get there, you understand? These guys are very dangerous.”

Relief flooded my chest. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I didn’t want to make it obvious but I was shaking from inside out.

Smiling, I said, “Okay, I’ll wait for you.”

The call ended and despite my nerves, I still went to check on the stranger. I placed the back of my hand on his forehead and realized he was running a fever so I had to sponge his head with cool water.

“I really do hope you’re not a criminal,” I whispered to him.

Then, I went out to clean the ice cream truck parked outside my apartment. I scrubbed any evidence of his blood and disinfected the inside as much as I could.

Hours passed by in a blur. I changed his bandages too. I don’t have antibiotics so I monitored him. I couldn’t drive him to the faraway hospital in this state. 

Without knowing it, I briefly fell asleep on the floor by the couch.

Until he yelled loudly in his sleep. “Flames… don’t—!”

I jumped awake.

Blinking, I looked around and stared at him. His face was contorted and he was muttering incomprehensible words. I think he’s having nightmares while being delirious.

I’m not sure if the flames he was talking about were connected to the explosion earlier but he seemed so distressed, like he was reliving something horrible.

And while I was wiping him with a towel, he grabbed my hand unconsciously. He was cold and trembling.

At that moment, I felt pity for him.

I don’t know if he’s truly an outlaw or a dangerous person.

Right now, he just seems… scared.

And fear was something that I have always grappled with.

Combing his sweaty hair off his pale face, I told him gently, even if he can’t hear me—

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” I assured him.

Perhaps this is a mistake. But I know what it feels like to be scared and in pain with no help from anyone so I can’t just turn my back on this person. As naive as that sounds. I think I’d just bite the bullet. 

I’ve made my choice.

I’ll send this man away when I’m sure he’s healed enough.

Until he wakes up, I have to take care of him and save his life.