California—

Birds are singing, happy there is a blue sky today. The breeze is nice and slow carrying the scent of the sweet grass and hay. Today is just simply beautiful. Yep, it's going to be a good day. I can feel it.

“Hey, Earth to Kiara,” I hear Jeremiah say. “Let’s get moving.”

I turn, finding him sitting atop his black horse with a white star on its forehead. The morning sun glints off Jeremiah’s hair, leaving golden highlights along the slight curls.

“Why do you always have to be in such a hurry?” I grumble, pulling myself up into the saddle on my red paint horse.

“It’s not me, it’s Blackjack. He’s chomping at the bit to go,” he says, as Blackjack literally bites at his bit, pawing at the ground.

I laugh. “Okay, okay.”

“Ready?” I hear Mama ask.

I glance over at the woman with red-brown, graying hair sitting atop a red horse. I nod and as we ride out, I notice gray clouds on the horizon. How strange. The weather is supposed to be clear for the next few days. As we trot down the road, I feel my spirits lift. The feeling of the breeze flowing through my hair is one of my favorite things.

Mama sighs deeply. “This is nice. It’s been a while since the three of us got to go for a ride together.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Good thing the girls are at a sleep over.”

“And none of us had to work,” Jeremiah says and turns to me. “Well, except for you since you don’t have a job.”

I feel my gut burn and glare at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I do a lot of work at the house!”

He chuckles and Mama looks over to me. “Don’t listen to your brother. We’re very appreciative of what you do around the house,” she says.

I stay quiet, not knowing what to say. I know it’s true, but at the same time I can’t help but feel like I’m just wasting away sometimes. My heart seems to sink further and further.

“What’s wrong?” Mama asks.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I mutter.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“It’s like everyone else knows what they want to do with their life except me. Jeremiah always wanted to be in construction like Dad and even the people I went to school with all seem like they’re working towards something and I’m…just here,” I tell her. “Even Nicky does his college courses online.”

“Kiara, don’t compare yourself to everyone else. Everyone does things at their own pace. I mean, I didn’t start studying to be a doctor until I turned twenty-two. You’re only seventeen. You have plenty of time to figure things out,” she tells me.

I grip the reins. “But what if I don’t and I become a crazy old cat lady or something?”

Mama chuckles. “Just start with something small.”

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to get out of the house more, too. Make some friends,” Jeremiah suggests.

“I’m fine on my own,” I grumble.

It’s not like I hadn’t tried before. Nobody seems to want to stick around long enough for me to get to know them and it doesn’t help living way out of town where nobody wants to drive to. Besides, no friends means no drama. I like being by myself.

Before I realize it, we are on the beach. The water is deep blue and the dark clouds on the horizon seem to make it look somewhat haunting. I turn away, feeling a twinge in my chest.

Suddenly, Sugar stops and her ears lay back. She throws her head up, whinnying. “What’s wrong, Sugar?” I ask, petting her neck.

“What is it?” Jeremiah asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe she smells something,” I say as she starts to paw at the sand.

Then Blackjack and Cinnamon begin doing the same thing. I quickly jump down and try to calm her, Mama doing the same.

Jeremiah pats Blackjack’s neck. “It’s probably nothing. Just caught wind of an animal or somethi--”

In the blink of an eye, he is landing in the sand with an ‘oof’ as Blackjack rears up, before heading off with the others in tow.

“Hey! Blackjack! Sugar! Cinnamon!” I call.

“Follow them!” Mama says.

Once we catch up to them, they all have their noses down. Then I realize they are standing over a person. Why would they get so upset over this? As I get closer, I notice their coat is ripped to shreds in the back and there is a lot of blood. 

Suddenly, it is like I am frozen. I can’t breathe.

“Oh my god,” Mama mutters and quickly goes over while Jeremiah pulls the horses away.

I remain silent, unable to move as I watch. There are several lacerations across their body and the sand is doused in red. Mama gently turns them over to start her examination. As I watch, I realize he’s Asian, looking close to my age. I notice the gaping wound on his abdomen. Blood is dripping from his mouth and head and he’s absolutely soaked. I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. What in the world happened to him?

“He’s still alive,” Mama says. “We need to get him home fast.”

Suddenly, it is like I feel air return to my lungs, but my heart continues to race.

“Help me get his coat off. We’ll use it to put pressure on this wound,” she says.

I go over and we pull his coat off, tying it around his waist tightly. Jeremiah has Blackjack kneel on his front legs, laying the boy in front of the saddle. Without another word we all climb up into our saddles and he pulls the boy onto his lap, holding onto him with one hand while guiding the reins with the other. We take off back home as quickly as we can. My anxiety rises as each second passes by.

Everything happens so fast as we get back home, Mama running in and shouting at us to get his clothes off as we bring him onto the porch. Before I realize, I am reaching down, pulling his remaining boot off as the other must be lost to the ocean now. Everything is so surreal.

As I look up, my heart feels like it falls to the ground. Across his body are several scars varying in age and size. Jeremiah and I lock eyes for a moment but say nothing.

Mama rushes out and seeing the scars her eyes widen. “Get him into the kitchen,” she says, regaining her composure.

Jeremiah grabs him up, trying to be careful. Then we hurry into the kitchen where Mama has cleared the table and laid down towels. I follow, my heart pounding, and tears well up. I just don't know what to do. What if he dies?

Mama puts her hand on my shoulder. “Listen carefully, Kiara. You need to concentrate very hard on helping me close these wounds. I can't do this alone,” she tells me, her eyes like steel.

I look down at him, lying on the table looking as if he’s on death’s doorstep. I take a deep breath and nod, reaching for the antiseptic on the counter. She checks his pulse again and then takes out her pen light from the first-aid kit, opening one of his eyes to shine the light in. She gasps, leaning back a bit.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just disinfect my tools,” she says, going back to her examination.

I unscrew the cap and start dousing her tools in it. She holds out a cloth and I soak it also before she starts disinfecting the wounds. The smell of alcohol fills the air.

He begins murmuring unintelligibly then his eyes start to slowly open. He suddenly reaches out, knocking the disinfectant out of my hand and onto the floor. Then he grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me forward, my head snapping back. I yelp and my heart races. What is he doing?

“Mou shinai!” he yells.

I am frozen, staring at bright red irises. How is this possible? Jeremiah grabs his arm and tries to pull him off, but he won't budge.

“Fuzakeru na!” he shouts. He loses breath and starts to wane. “O…omae…wa…”

His eyes droop before he passes back out. Jeremiah and Mama catch him, laying him back onto the table. We all look at each other for a split second before going back to our work. I can’t help but wonder what he was trying to say though. What language was that?

After what seems like hours we manage to stitch and clean his wounds. Most of the wounds were superficial thankfully. We even pulled a couple pieces of twisted metal from his arm and leg while he remained unconscious.

Once we bandage him up, Mama lays a blanket over his lower body as he is now left in nothing but his boxers from having to stitch up a couple areas on his legs. We all take a moment to catch our breath, staring at the person lying before us. I can’t help but stare at the scars riddled across his body, some even along his upper arms and a couple on his neck. We also found two large vertical scars on his upper back along with other smaller ones.

He is quite lean though. He must do a lot of exercise. For a second, I stare at him. Who is this person? Long black hair falls just below his shoulders, framing his face. Looking at him I can’t help but notice he’s rather handsome, high cheekbones, creamy tan skin, and full lips. The red eyes flash into my mind and I feel a twinge in my heart.

Mama examines him closer, looking at the scars. “There aren’t any stitch marks. It’s like they were just left to heal on their own,” she mutters.

Then I notice a strange pattern on his left inner forearm, a winged symbol. I realize it is branded into his skin and my breath catches. I look up and notice they are looking at it too. What does it mean?

“Did either of you see anything else at the shore?” she asks.

We both shake our heads and Jeremiah looks back down at the boy. “Thank goodness you handle stuff like this all the time, or he would probably be dead now.”

I slowly nod. It would be difficult to take him to a hospital anyway. The closest one is at least an hour away, and he would surely not have made it. Even calling an ambulance would have taken too much time. How long was he out there anyway? Where did he come from?

“I wouldn’t say ‘stuff like this’ usually,” she mutters. “Let’s see if he has any identification.”

She picks up his pants from the floor where she had dropped them and starts digging through the pockets, coming up empty except for a few foreign coins. I look through his coat and hoodie, but there is nothing. Great, we know nothing about him. Not even a name. What would we do if he doesn’t make it? How would we tell his family and friends, wherever and whoever they are?

Mama purses her lips. “Let’s put him in the guest room and take turns watching him.”

We both nod. “I guess he's going to be asleep for a while,” Jeremiah says.

“Most likely. Jer, you’ll need to share a couple sets of clothes if you don’t mind,” she says.

He shrugs, knowing he can’t say ‘no’. “They’re gonna be a little big for him.”

Then we follow as Jeremiah carefully carries the boy up the stairs and into the guest room. He lays him down on the bed under the window and goes to his room to grab a change of clothes for him. I wait outside while Mama redresses him.

She comes back out, quietly closing the door behind her. “Okay, now we wait.”

At that, we go back downstairs to clean up the mess in the kitchen, tossing his ruined clothes and towels in the trash. As I clean up the spilled disinfectant, I can’t help but remember the way he yelled at me and his eyes.

“Hey, Mama… His eyes…” I mutter slowly.

She is silent for a moment. “I know.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know sweetie. Could be… genetic? Whatever it is, it’s best not to worry about it right now.”

Jeremiah comes down the stairs after changing out of his bloodstained clothes. “Kiara, how’s your neck? He jerked you pretty hard.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him.

He sighs and I look back up at him. “I wonder what he meant when he yelled at us. What language was that?” he asks, his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall.

“I’m not sure. I’ll get on the computer and see if I can find out,” I mutter. “Maybe learn a few phrases so we can communicate with him better too.”

“Good idea,” he says.

“Should we call the police? What if somebody tried to kill him?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” Mama says. “He doesn’t have any I.D. on him, not even a green card or a passport if he really is foreign. There could be serious consequences for him if he lost it or if he doesn’t have one.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Jeremiah says.

“What if he does though?” I ask.

“We will have to ask him when he wakes up,” Mama says.

Jeremiah nods. “Yeah, that might be for the best. Get the story from him first before bringing anyone else into it.”

Mama picks up the jar she placed the pieces of metal in. They have white paint on one side.

“Do you think maybe there was a plane crash?” he asks.

“It’s possible. Keep your ear out for anything about it,” she says.

“Yeah. I’m gonna head back over there and see if I can find anything else. Maybe a wallet or something,” he says, heading to the door.

“Okay, be careful,” Mama says.

My heart sinks more and more. If he was in a plane crash, then what about everyone else? What if he’s the only survivor?

“I feel sorry for him,” I say quietly.

Mama puts her hand on my shoulder. “When he wakes up, let’s be sure to make him feel as comfortable as possible.”

I nod once. I really hope I can be of help to this stranger.

Translations:

“Mou shinai” = No more

“Fuzakeru na” = Don’t mess with me/Fuck off

“O…omae…wa…” = Starting a sentence with “I will…”