Sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the night air. Michael turned his head and spotted two fire trucks blazing down the main road, lights painting the quiet town in red.
"Rowdy-ass town," he muttered, hurrying across the street before the trucks barreled closer.
From there, a billboard caught his eye.
HADDONFIELD, ILLINOIS.
Michael smirked. "So that's where the hell I landed."
He limped slightly toward the glow of a gas station up ahead, its mini mart lit against the darkness. The bell over the door jingled as he stepped inside.
It was empty except for the clerk—a young blonde, maybe late teens, sitting behind the counter with her nose buried in a paperback. She looked bored out of her mind.
"Evenin'," Michael said, forcing himself to speak in the most proper tone he could manage. "Uh… y'all sell clothes here?"
He'd already figured this was a mostly white town, and he wasn't trying to draw heat on himself by sounding too raw. Low profile, keep it chill—that was the move.
The girl looked up, her blue eyes flashing curiosity. Then she smiled faintly.
"Hi. Rowdy night out there?" she teased, nodding at the sirens.
Michael gave a short laugh. "Yeah, somethin' like that. But, uh… you got any clothes? As you can see, what I'm wearin' ain't exactly workin' out for me."
Her eyes flicked over his scorched, tattered clothes, and her brows raised.
"No kidding. Yeah, follow me." She slid out from behind the counter and led him down the aisles.
"Since it's Halloween," she said, "we only got costumes left. But a couple pieces might fit you."
At the back wall, racks of cheap costumes hung in plastic bags. Most were for kids, but here and there were bigger ones—biker jackets, fake vampires, skeleton hoodies.
Michael held up the crumpled twenty. "I only got this. Hope it's enough."
She looked him up and down again, frowning slightly. "You… didn't get mugged or anything, did you?"
Michael smirked bitterly. "Heh. I wish. Let's just say I been through some shit tonight."
Her head tilted, curiosity sparking. "What could be worse than that?"
Michael's smile thinned. "Trust me—you don't wanna know."
A few minutes later, he walked out of the aisle in a plain shirt and jeans from a cheap biker costume set. It wasn't much, but it was better than looking like a burnt-up vagrant.
"Thanks. For real," he said, adjusting the collar.
She nodded, lips curling in approval. "Looks better on you already."
Then, after a pause, she asked, "So… do you have a place to stay?"
Michael froze, her question catching him off guard.
"Don't mean to be nosy," she added quickly. "It's just… I haven't seen you around before. This is a small town. We notice new faces." She twirled a strand of her hair, almost shy, but her eyes stayed sharp—studying him.
Michael thought fast.
'Ain't no way I'm tellin' this girl some gods tossed me out the sky. She'll think I'm fresh outta the asylum.'
He put on a weary sigh. "Nah, you right. I don't got nowhere to crash. Some crazy dude snatched me up, dropped me out here in the middle of nowhere. I ain't even from around here."
Her smile faded, replaced by genuine concern. "…That's awful. Did you call the cops?"
Michael's expression hardened. "No cops. Don't trust 'em."
She hesitated. Looked at him, then at the twenty in his hand. "You got anybody you can call?"
He shook his head. "Ain't nobody."
Silence hung heavy between them. She chewed her lip, clearly torn. Then finally:
"Look… I don't usually do this. But I'm almost done with my shift. I live close, and there's an extra room at my place. It's not much, but it's safe. You can stay the night—if you promise you're not dangerous."
Michael chuckled. "Dangerous? Nah, girl, I'm chill. You ain't gotta worry."
She studied him a second longer, as if weighing his soul, before finally nodding.
"Alright. Wait outside while I clock out."
Michael stepped out, sitting on the bench by the gas pumps. The kindness in this town surprised him. First the old hobo, now this girl. For someone cursed to live a life of bad luck or worse, tonight felt… otherwise.
The moon glared down on him as he sat in thought.
"Hey."
Jessica's voice broke through his haze. She walked out, jacket on, phone in hand.
Michael stood up to meet her.
"I forgot to ask," she said, brushing her hair back. "What's your name?"
"Michael… Michael Johnson," he said, grimacing a little at the last name.
"I'm Jessica. My friends call me Jess." She smiled, extending her hand.
Michael took it, surprised by the softness of her grip, the warmth of her skin.
"Nice to meet you, Jess. I appreciate the hospitality, real talk."
"It's fine. This is a small town—we look out for people." She smiled again, though her eyes still held that flicker of caution.
Michael nodded, though in his heart he laughed bitterly. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl offering him a bed, just like that.
'Sorry, Dr. Umar,' he thought to himself with a smirk. 'Guess I ain't strong enough.'