Gunnar sat across from Mischa in Sonic with two burgers and a package of onions rings. He had fought her to pay at the register, but she straight up refused and she gently pushed him away from the debit machine. He couldn't understand what this whole supper was about, but honestly, he didn't really care. If he got to sit and eat free food with a hot girl, things were looking way up since yesterday.

She ran her hand through her red hair again. He wanted to forget how soft it felt between his cracked fingertips and how sweet she smelled. She was at the very least, middle to upper class, had a boyfriend and should in no way be interested in a guy like him. Sleazes like Rob would be all over a girl like this, but it just wasn't right. She deserved more.

He had no idea why those words came out of his mouth, taunting her for feeling that attraction. Her look had shocked him more than anything. She wanted him as much as he wanted her back in that hallway. That was scary as shit. Girls never looked at him that way, not ones that Rob hadn't paid to flirt with them. And Rob wasn't the one who needed the help.

Mischa broke the silence. "It's nice to have someone to eat with. It's just kind of crappy, spending another night alone at my place when my dad's away working."

Gunnar frowned. "You shouldn't tell people that. You don't even know me."

"Tell you what?"

"That you're staying alone at your place. It's not safe to go spreading that around."

"What? You're going to break into my house next?" Mischa teased and poked him in the arm.

"No, but you just gotta be careful. There are a lot of messed up people out there."

He had strict instructions for Aida if he ever had to leave her alone or with their mother when she was high. Aida's room had locks that couldn't be picked so easily, and she knew when she needed to be in there. Sometimes their mother's clients didn't stay outside the home. Most people didn't even know where he lived, if he could help it.

"Why are you so evasive?" Mischa asked.

"What's that mean?"

"Means you don't like people to know your business."

Gunnar shrugged. "If you got questions, y'can ask 'em. But I'm not gonna tell ya my life story for shits and giggles."

 "Alright, how old are you?"

"Seventeen and you?"

"Sixteen. Where do you see yourself in five years?"

"Around, you?"

"I'll be finishing up business school, maybe open up my own shop."

"What do ya want to sell?"

"Clothes, accessories, help people see the person they never thought they could be. Clothes are a big part of that." Her eyes sparkled, and her whole body moved when her hands went wild with excitement. She looked like Aida when she talked about dancing.

Gunnar laughed. If only... "So if I had nicer clothes, I'd be a nicer guy."

Mischa took a sip of her drink that seemed to take forever. "I never said that. You're already a nice guy, maybe you'd just be able to see what you're worth a bit more clearly."

He raised an eyebrow. No one had ever brought up the topic although he could figure out their thoughts pretty easily. Another burn out, heading for the bottom of a cliff at top speed. He'd never cared enough to sway them otherwise. "And what exactly am I worth?"

"More than those stupid glares people give you every day."  

Here he thought his identity was a mystery when she asked his name. Turns out she knew more than she was pretending. Gunnar had to stop his heartbeat from giving away his attraction to this girl. She clearly knew how to get under his skin, in the best way. It needed to stop.

"Why are ya sitting here with me instead of your actual boyfriend?"

Her gaze fell down to her fries along with her smile. Success.

"I wanted to enjoy going out with someone for a change. Danny and I are past that point. I just haven't worked up the courage to tell him yet."

"You should do it sooner than later. Football players won't treat ya nice if ya keep this up, 'specially if you pull crap like hanging out with me. He'll probably get real angry." He'd seen it before, not with the sports players, but the men he knew who were just as proud. They just couldn't handle the fact that they couldn't satisfy 'their' women.

"I know."

"You don't want to get yourself hurt."

"Danny's not like that."

"I hope not."

Silence rested between them, and Gunnar picked up his soda to take a loud sip. The door across the fast food joint opened, and he noticed a blonde girl and a couple guys from the football team. If memory served him right, one of them was that Danny kid she was dating.

"I gotta go," he said, picking up any evidence of his presence.

"Please don't," Mischa said with a small smile. He wanted to stay; God, did he want to make her smile like that again. But this wasn't his fight, and he didn't need to be in the middle of anyone else's issues. His own were big enough.

"See you around."

He snuck around the other side to the opposite door, leaving his tray on an empty table. He gave Mischa's table one last look as the group strode over with smiles; the only one that wasn't genuine was the beautiful redhead's. The blonde girl looked in his direction for only a moment, but her look was pure ice. She knew.

Gunnar woke up feeling the temperature of Vita's glare on his skin. His eyes took in the wooden walls around him and thick comforter he must have kicked to the floor. The dream had felt so damn real; he could almost taste the salted beef on his tongue and feel Mischa's soft hair. Why was it so damned hard to stop thinking about that girl?

He knew exactly why he used to be so obsessed with her. When they talked, he got to be someone that no one else saw. He wasn't the son who never seemed to bring home enough to break even. He wasn't the runt who never got credit for saving the Shadows' asses regularly. He wasn't even the sad kid no one knew what to do with in the back of the class, the rare times he actually showed up. Mischa thought he was interesting, funny, even sweet, and he kept letting her feed him those lines. They were addictive, like soda pop.

Entertaining the idea that she might not have died that day was terrifying. He'd only felt so strongly about one other girl, Aida, but that was a completely different kind of care. He, Rob and Vita had searched and searched; there was no body, no matter how much swampy mud they trudged through and how many corpses they had to roll over. Mischa had just vanished. Wherever she ended up had to be better than this place.

He stood up and peeked out the window. The ground was still dry, meaning it hadn't rained again last night. His stomach grumbled, and he thought down to the empty pantry. It was finally time to face the truth. He had cleaned this place out of food and needed to go back to the scene of the crime.

He loaded his bottle up with the bit of water that remained and grabbed the empty backpack. He'd need to bring back as much as he could. Two warm coats hung in the closet. One could handle a rainstorm, should that fall on him, so he threw it in the bag. He also took out a pair of lace up boots. They were heavy to walk in but easy to retrofit with weapons holsters. A couple sharp blades rested in the sides in each pair in case he should come across that bandana gang.

Just as he was about to head out the door, the sketchbook called his name once more and he scratched the itch in hopes it would get her off his mind. The pencil flew across the paper, soft lines formed the gentle curls in her hair, the smooth curve of her neck and the beauty of her infectious smile. It wasn't until her replica was staring back at him full force, that he realized how much he actually missed her. A drop fell from his cheek to the paper and was absorbed slowly into the neckline of Mischa's shirt. He slammed the book shut. So much for forgetting about that girl.

A bicycle rested against the shed out back and would save him at least a day in travels, should the roads hold up. He attached a makeshift basket, fashioned from some old wicker furniture on the front to carry even more products. He had no illusions that he could survive for more than a couple weeks on the product he'd find, but eventually, he'd master a system.

The countryside he passed on his journey boasted greener colours than anything he'd ever seen in the desert. Tall, wispy grasses dotted the flat desert for miles as the sand slowly disappeared. Even the road had small plants struggling through the cracks in the concrete. Those rains must have held a bit more than water these days.

It only took until nightfall to reach the store. After some thought, he decided that he wanted the advantage of darkness on his side if he needed to make a quick getaway. He circled the whole building once looking for unfamiliar vehicles. Some of them looked different, but his memory on the way in hadn't tuned into all the details. He decided to adopt one of the Shadows' old techniques and stalk out his prey. He went to a nearby corner store with a view of the front of the complex to stave off hunger for the night and to sleep on a section of floor that wasn't littered in broken glass.

All day, he was a shadow on the wall, looking for any kind of activity in the store from his ideal vantage point. The cars in the concrete ocean didn't dare to move, only the occasional cart carried by the wind. Between the heat and the absolute stillness of the day, Gunnar nearly ran into that store mid-afternoon. He tapped into his patience, had another Powerade and box of cookies before the sun grew close to the horizon. He had about thirty minutes this time of year before it would be completely dark. Not a soul had come in, out, or near this whole neighbourhood. He wanted to profit from the bit of twilight where he could function without a flashlight.

He went through the pre-smashed front doors, rammed with carts from the bandana gang the night he had taken off. Painted obscenities covered the walls and floors in black, green and red, clearly their handiwork. Gunnar knew the source of the red from back in his days with the Shadows. He liked the think that Rob was a real piece of work, but the truth remained that Rob could almost pass as stable in that group.

Gunnar had only met Wilson twice on their jobs. The man had a similar build to his gangly self and dark hair which hung in front of his gaunt face. When he smiled, a few of his yellow-tinged teeth were missing, but the canines were undeniably sharp. Mike had said that he filed them in his spare time.

Last year, something had gone wrong on a standard break-and-enter job. The family was supposed to be out of town, but they hadn't left that day. Gunnar remembered walking into that room, the coppery stench strong. Wilson's hands were deep in the concaved chest of a middle-aged man. The walls shone with wet, dripping verses Gunnar remembered reading with his grandmother on Sundays in church when she was still living. Wilson's body was coated in red, trailing from his shaking hands to his elbows, while a delirious smile rested on his lips. They had all left him there without touching a damn thing. Wilson had fucked things up royally and would take the fall. He ended up in the psych ward with the police calling it second-degree murder.     

The red on the supercenter walls gleamed in the low light with the same eerie tinge. There was no way that was paint. Bile rose in Gunnar throat, but he choked it back down. He looked on the ground, already knowing what he would find. He reached Trevor's body, over by the mini-fridge. When he looked closer, he saw that they had sliced up his neck but that was the only injury, other than the big gash and bruise on his face. Hit then bled out, at least it would have been quick. Gunnar knew once he finished clearing the building and getting his supplies, he'd find a way to make things right.

After a careful sweep of the store, Gunnar let out a long, much-needed exhalation. The bandana gang must have found other tasks worth pursuing as the whole building was a ghost town. Gunnar filled a backpack and three others with necessary goods to last him a month. He didn't want to risk coming back sooner than he needed to. There was a wagon he could attach to the bike to make the trip. It would be a pain, but worth it in the end.

 He left his goods by the back entrance and doubled back to the front with a basket full of marshmallows, chocolate, graham crackers, and a card. The led weight in his chest beat erratically as he approached Trevor's body. Tearing open the bag of marshmallow released a sweet smell to cover the body's pungent odor. With care, he placed an alternating ring of marshmallows and graham crackers around his body. The chocolate went into the man's cold hands.

Gunnar ripped open a package of drawing pencils and began to take over the white space inside the card. The page filled with a man with a gentle smile and a small boy by his side, their hands joined. Gunnar bit his lip as he recalled the small details like the darkness of his beard, the way he walked, driven by shoulders. It only took ten minutes, but they were ten of the longest minutes of his life as he watched his temporary mentor come back to life on paper.

"Maybe in another life you can have that son, Trevor. Thanks for your help, buddy. Rest in peace."

He set the card on his chest and turned to leave. A tear escaped his eye and with each step, another one fell.

For Trevor,

For Aida,

Even his mother

Of course for Mischa.