WELCOME

[helen dawson]

Green. Everything there was just so green; trees, grass, plants, even the walls of the houses, hell, even the light itself seemed green. Too much green, in her opinion; she wasn't used to it, and Helen Emily Dawson surely hated novelties; being surrounded by things, people, environments she knew and was used to was easier and more comforting, in her opinion, than facing the unknown. Actually, she often feared what her mind hadn't previously had the chance to analyze, and ended up often hating it, even if she struggled to be as open minded as possible. Anyway, as she pressed her forehead against the cold glass of a rather dusty window, she didn't feel that bad anymore; after all, she was on a trip with her mother, wasn't she? One the two of them had planned together; it was not like Helen had been dragged there forcefully either, therefore there was no reason to be sad.

A small smile curling her lips, she realized how moody she was and it almost amused her, for a second; usually, she dismissed it as her being a "complex girl", as she liked to define herself, if she needed to. Simple, one side minded people weren't worth any effort, in her opinion, being far too easy to figure out to be interesting in her eyes; mysteries were rather charming to solve, for Miss Dawson. How could someone not love the unknown and adore mysteries? Only little Helen could have explained this. At the moment, because of this reason, she found a particular topic interesting indeed even intriguing; the several disappearances that had occurred in the United Kingdom, especially London, in that period; it was weird how they had immensely increased in the past months, and how the people who were missing seemed to have nothing in common. Maybe it was a new Jack the Ripper? Though, it was almost impossible for a single being to “accomplish” all that; besides, he {or she, for the matter, since women were even more dangerous than men, in Helen’s opinion} didn’t even want to become a famous killer, nor was trying to emulate another one, else a it would have been more rational to leave a sort of “signature”.

Shivering slightly, the girl decided to push such creepy thoughts in the back of her mind and tried to think about what to do next; her mother was resting in her room, since she hadn’t felt really well that morning, probably because of the extremely humid weather of the place. Then again, Strangford Lough was one of Northern Ireland’s most famous place for its vegetation, therefore it was rational to expect it would have had a wet climate; whilst it bothered Hope, Helen didn’t really mind it, which was down right weird, since she hated rain with a passion. As it’s well known, though, any rule has its exception, and the soft, chilly Irish raindrops were the ones to her preference for sunny days. It was such a nice place…no wonder why Hope had chosen it in order to get a relaxing break, after having been rather frustrated lately, since apparently London wasn’t inspiring her either. Therefore, there they were, in Ireland; of course, there were only Helen and her mother, since her father was busy with the shop as always and Carver…his last phone call was from Oxford. Since the day he had met Tommy, he was always away and seemed much happier, which Helen was glad about, of course, but, at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel slightly envious, mostly because she had no friends. Not that she needed anyone, anyway; or at least, that was what the girl kept repeating to herself.

Hearing some noises coming from the room next to hers, which was her mom’s one, Helen quickly grabbed her jacket, a small purse and walked out of the room; she loved her mother with all her heart, but dealing with a slightly sick and still frustrated Hope Dawson was never a good idea. Besides, she wanted to find something, before coming back home; now now, one would most likely think she’d be looking for a guy, or maybe a shop, but that would be highly unlike Helen. A flower, bell heather, to be precise, was her aim at the moment. Now, she liked orchids, but Miss Dawson wasn’t exactly one to look for a particular flower in its natural environment; then, how come she was doing exactly that? The answer was kind of obvious, if you knew Helen Emily Dawson: literature, also known as her deeper love and talent. She had recently read a poem about heather ale by Robert Louis Stevenson, and, since then, she had been wanting to see some of those flowers; having known by chance there were some nearby, she had decided to try and find them, maybe even getting a good picture of them with her camera, if she managed to. Photography was something little Miss Dawson liked enough as well; that was, unless she was the one being photographed, of course, in which case she absolutely hated it.

According to what another guest of the Bed and Breakfast they were staying at had told her, there was a small hill near the building, which was almost literally covered in heather bell. Looking around for a while, Helen then spotted the hill and started walking toward it, glad it was so close; she’d have got on top of it in less than half an hour. Actually, it took her almost an hour, since she was rather clumsy, but eventually the girl arrived on top of it and her eyes widened in amazement; that place was even more enchanting than the rest of the countryside. Smiling in a slightly childish way, she bent and observed the small lilac flower carefully, trying to memorize how many shades of colour were on its petals, before noticing something else; the landscape from there was spectacular. Reaching the edge of the hill to get a picture of it, the girl was trying to find the best angle, when she suddenly realized something; the ground under her feet, still soaking wet because of a recent storm, was collapsing, and Helen found herself falling forward. Knowing there was nothing to hold on to there, she closed her eyes, utterly terrified; what an odd way of dying that was.

[tanner brandt]

Tanner was an absolute wreak. Paranoid, unwilling to really trust anyone he had hadn’t met before, and even questioning those that he had, queer eyed. The boy wasn’t a very impressive sight; a mildly scary one actually. He looked like a person who was on the verge of committing a dangerous crime of some sort, or someone who had already done so and was watching their own tail. He ran his left hand roughly through his wild hair, tugging at it, while his right hand stayed on the wheel. He wanted to scream, to scream so loudly that the town nearly half an hour behind him would know just who it was. But he needed to keep as low as a profile as he could. For all he knew, he could have been followed this entire way. With that thought back in his mind, he stepped on the gas, urging the car even faster than it was already going, greatly exceeding the speed limit. There was no time to waste and he wasn’t going to tot along at the recommended forty-five miles an hour only to have that man catch up with him.

The question was, who was he running from though? Well, actually he didn’t really know. He knew the man’s name was Adriano, but other than that information he knew generally nothing personal about him, and he really didn’t want to know anything either. Really the man was very kind and caring, but what he had done to Tanner, what he had told the boy… He would never forget it. All of it, it was all just supposed to be a dream, a really messed up, crazy ass dream. Just thinking about it made him want to start weeping, but he had already learned that lesson during his recovery. Losing all of your energy only because you wanted to cry a few bloody tears wasn’t worth it.

The background noise mean to be the soundtrack for his little trip was a mix of the Eurythmics and honking horns at his rather reckless driving. Not that there were many cars out driving in the middle of the night to honk at him; the majority of the time it was just him in his little cruiser on the road. For some reason, with Annie Lennox serenading him, he was calmer, even if her songs were a little too peppy and happy for him at the moment. As long as she was singing, he wasn’t alone and he wasn’t a monster.

It had been five nights since he had runaway from Adriano’s basement and the little group that lived upstairs. The boy rubbed his neck where the lacerations from his first meeting with the older, much older, had been. They were fully healed and gone by now, of course, but he could still tell you exactly where they had been. By no means was that the man who had turned him into this, this thing, but Tanner still held him somewhat responsible in a “shoot the messenger” kind of way. He was probably being terribly unfair, but he didn’t really care. Now that he was a vampire, he didn’t have to be the same scared little boy. Tanner groaned and let his head fall back for a moment, nearly crashing into a vehicle crawling in front of him. Oh, of course he was that same person; he just didn’t want to be. He didn’t want any of this.

After about two hours of driving with only one break, he finally came to his destination: Strangford Lough. He remembered it only slightly, seeing as the only time he had been here was about sixteen years ago and most of those memories he had came from retold stories or photographs, but it was still a nice sight. He pulled into a little Bed and Breakfast, which would have the basement waiting for him if he was correct. He had called the night before from a public phone and done some pretty fancy talking in order to get himself that room on such little notice. But if all of the precautions he had taken in order to get here had worked, it would be a safe place for him to stay for a day or two. If he was wrong, well he would load the car full of gas the next chance he got, just in case.

Tanner parked the car, then stepped out and looked around carefully. He was decked out in black pretty much from head to toe, trying to blend in with the incredibly dark nights of the Irish country side as he could. He wore a trench coat that hung to about his thighs, not to mention snug black jeans, a fitted blue shirt that was the darkest shade he was able to find, gloves, and a scarf. The knees of his jeans had some dirt splattered on them, and underneath his gloves his hands were faintly tinted red from blood. The past five nights had been rough, trying to find farms with enough animals to sustain him just out side of the town he had taken to hiding in. During those three week when Adriano had been nursing him back to health, he had heard all about hunting, and everything else that someone of his kind would need to, but as far as he was concerned, there was no way he was going to take blood from another person. Not again.

Well, as far as he could tell, he hadn’t been directly followed. He looked up at the sky, trying to judge how much time he had before he had to retire. God, he really wasn’t good at that. He sighed, then went inside into the little building. It was pretty quiet, to quite for his liking really. He looked around, peaking into a few of the rooms, looking both for a clock and someone to give him a key. Finally, after searching every room that wasn’t locked, he came across the owner, or the man who was married to the woman who took main claim for running the place anyway. Tanner gave the little old man the nicest fake smile he could muster, shaking his hand and trying to convince him that he wasn’t really a serial killer or something of the sort. At least there was a good thing about being out only at night: he didn’t really have to worry about socializing anymore. He was never really socially graceful anyway.

After about ten minutes of the boy convincing the scared man that he did indeed just come for a stay and not to rob him, he managed to get the key to his room. He sighed thankfully, going out to his car and grabbing the small bag of supplies that he had snuck out of his house in the duration of the past few nights. It wasn’t much, just a few little comforts: a cd player to sleep to, a few cds, a few of his clothes, and anything else he could think to grab and a few things he had “found.” He felt terrible about stealing, and he wasn’t very good at being discreet about it, but if he was going to outsmart someone who he suspected had followed him or might be following him. There were certain things a person needed, like money.

He threw them all into his room then locked it, pondering after he did so for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do with the two hours he had of safety left before he defiantly needed to be inside. If he slept now, he would wake up too early and have to wait out the time alone, so it was best to wait until the last second to go to sleep, he figured. But what to do? He wandered up the stairs from the basement, going back outside to check to make sure that no one else had arrived yet or really had followed him. Nope, he was fine, for now at least. Nothing to do but wait for a while.

Tanner did the only thing he could think of: roam around. He looked at the beautiful scenery that the entire landscape had, with picturesque views in every direction you looked. He just let his feet carry him in a random direction, not really caring where he went or how far it was from the B&B, just as long as he could get back in time. He bent down in mid step, not breaking his stride, to pick a flower. He wasn’t really quite sure what it was, but it was pretty. A vibrant reddish color, like that of some other flowers he remembered seeing back in Londonderry in his neighbor’s garden. Maybe it was the same flower.

Just as he bent down to pick another one of the flowers, he heard something. It was faint but distinct to his newly enhanced ears nonetheless, even if he couldn’t identify really what it was. He looked in the general direction that it had come from, his nose catching a scent that he wouldn’t have been able to smell from this far three weeks ago. The boy ran towards the source of the sound, trying to get a better view of it in the darkness, still not quite used to his speed as he tried to stop. He could see incredibly well considering how dark it was, but he still needed to get closer to figure out what it was. Now that he was closer, he looked towards the tip of a cliff where the unidentifiable noise had come from. Then he saw it, er- her. There a girl standing there right along the edge, and the mysterious sound had been the sound the ground was making as it collapsed under her.

Now he ran at full speed, not stopping to think of whether or not this girl was someone he could trust or not. He was always going to be that guy that tried to help when someone was in trouble, even if he wasn’t sure he could make the slightest different. When he was moving though, it was as if her fall was in slow motion and he was just getting closer and closer and closer, till finally he was there, towering above her when seconds ago he had been maybe a football field away. Normally he would be completely bewildered by that fact, still not used to it and thinking how amazing he would have been if he had been blessed with that speed as a track member, but now he needed to try and help this girl.

Her neck was about level with the flowers now, so he flung himself onto the ground, his hands latching onto her under her arms just as she was about to fall out of reach. The momentum of her falling body had barely any effect on him, and he was able to pull her back onto safe ground as well as resituate himself so that he was sitting up with amazing easy, and without even breaking a sweat. He felt like Superman, that is if he had the curse of blood lust as well.

The boy stood up, dusting off himself as well as taking a half a step away from her. Even if he had enough decency to save her, he still was incapable of letting himself fully trust others, as well as incapable of trusting himself around others. He hadn’t had to test himself yet, to see if he could touch another person or even sit next to them without lunging. She looked like such a nice girl; he didn’t want to hurt her because he wasn’t in control of himself, even if that meant being somewhat rude.

“Are you alright?” He questioned, his hair falling in his eyes slightly as he observed her sitting where he had placed her after pulling her back up. “Are you hurt or anything?”

[helen dawson]

A stuffed animal; it was a black dog with big brown eyes, floppy ears and a long tail. It had been Helen's favourite one since she was a two year old child, and she always carried him -Bobby being his name- with her; that was, until one day, when she was just a first grader, some older kids had taken it from her and threatened her to tear him into pieces in front of her. Just then, seeing her tears, her usually calm and peaceful older brother punched the child who had dared making his Len cry, earning a black eye and some scratches, but getting Bobby back and making her smile again.

A book; The little prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry. That was the first one her mother gave her and, unexpectedly, the girl hated it with a fiery passion; to her, it was just an insane amount of highly weird and unnecessary events, not even connected by any kind of reasonable logic. Of course, Hope was extremely saddened, when her daughter told her she had hated the book, or, to be precise, that book; as a matter of fact, the girl had been charmed by how powerful simple words could be, and therefore looked for other works by other writers, starting with the classic Little women by Louisa May Alcott, which she loved. That was pretty much when her love for Literature started, and it was still alive, inside of her.

A cat; a little black one, with amazing green eyes. A twelve year old Helen had found it just before a storm occurred, and had decided to take it home with her, not having the heart to leave him outside, alone and scared, even though she knew she wasn't allowed to. After feeding him, she had tried to hide the kitten in her room the best she could, but her father, after hearing some suspicious noises, found out about him anyway. With her huge surprise, though, he didn't scold or ground her, but smiled and gave the little pet some milk, stating it would have been their secret, for a while; eventually, he managed to persuade his wife to let Helen keep it, and he was still with them.

Honestly, at first she had no idea why such thoughts were crossing her mind, while she was falling down the edge of that hill; it is said that when someone is about to die, that person will see a tunnel with bright light or even remember all his or her life in a matter of seconds. Miss Dawson had never believed in any of those stories, at that point knowing she had been right; though, honestly, she'd have preferred to find that out later. Instead of lights, angels or whatnot, those few random objects were the ones her mind was focusing on; it took her only a second -even if probably it was much less- to realize why that was happening; each and every of those items were connected with a member of her family. Carver had been the first, since, at least now she could admit it, he was the one she cared more for, followed by Hope and eventually her father; still, of course, all of them were important to her. It was at the thought of not seeing any of them anymore that tears started gathering in her eyes, her throat knotted in a painful way meanwhile.

How would they have reacted? Butch would have been upset, Carver would have most likely blamed himself for God knew what reason, since he always felt like it was his duty to protect her, while Hope would have simply been destroyed. She had left her in the Bed and Breakfast, without even a note or anything; it probably would have taken a while to find her...Miss Dawson didn't have the strength to put "corpse" and "her" in the same sentence, at that very moment. How could she have been such an idiot, anyway? The ground was wet, there were high chances something like that would have happened; if she had only thought about that earlier, before placing her feet on the edge. It was ironic, the one time she hadn't analyzed the consequences would have been fatal to her.

More tears rolled down her cheeks, as her mind unwillingly focused on every goal she could have accomplished, which would have stayed only a dream, or, better, a regret; becoming a writer or at least a journalist, proving to be mature, finding someone who would have loved her...Okay, she'd probably have scolded herself for that last thought, since Helen would have preferred dying rather than admitting the existence of that sappy side of her. It wasn't even a metaphor, but quite literal, at the moment.

Just how long was that torture going to last? If her life had to end, then it would have been better it happened quickly; hell, it should have been fast. Who knew falling from a hill would have taken that much time? Since she had to hit the ground, it was better for that to occur as soon as possible and stop those horrible thoughts of hers; she had always been the kind of person who hated waiting anyway.

Just then, something else happened. Helen felt something stopping her from falling any further, something which incredibly resembled the touch of a pair of hands grabbing her torso; anyway, that didn't make any sense. There was no one with her in that place, she was probably already out of reach for anyone to save her, since she could now see the emptiness in front of her, not to mention the girl was rather sure she hadn't even screamed; therefore, it was highly improbable anyone would have been able to save her at that point. Most likely, she was already dead and that was a hallucination; shivering at that, she thought that it wouldn't have been logic anyway. It was ironic, how, even then, she hated to be proved wrong.

Though, when said hands pulled her back onto the ground, Helen's mind was proved wrong, once again. Blinking once, the twice, slowly she touched the grass she was surrounded by with her shaky hands, to make sure it was real; it was slightly wet, soft, green, and it even smelled like grass. Was it not a dream? Quickly touching her own face, Helen felt that even her own body and perceptions seemed to work properly. Apparently, she was safe, now.

Turning her face to look at the spot were the ground had collapsed, maybe to reassure herself once again that the danger was over, maybe for pure masochism, Helen then felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, seeing how close she was to it; with an energy she didn't even think she had, she crawled away from that point, as fast as she could, until there was a good distance between her and the tricky edge. Placing a hand on her chest, she then tried to breathe regularly again, and to overall calm herself down, before suddenly remembering about something, or, better, someone.

Glancing around herself, at first the girl wasn't even able to see who had saved her; only after a few seconds, she managed to spot a rather tall dark figure, nearby, but not close to her. He -it had to be a man, and most likely a muscular one, considering the strength he had grabbed her with- blended in with the shadows almost perfectly; if it hadn't been for his eyes, which shone just slightly, she probably would have thought no one was there. Suddenly realizing she was still laying on the ground, Helen's cheek became a slight pink and she stood up, which she managed to accomplish only leaning on the nearest tree trunk.

His words reached her ears just then, as she lowered her head to look at her now dirty clothes, mostly to avoid looking at his face. "I...am okay, thanks to you." Miss Dawson managed to say in a low voice. "It seems like I'm not hurt either, just a few scratches." As she said such words, the brunette felt a sharp pain spreading from her ankle and fell on the ground again. Massaging the bruised part, she furrowed her brows lightly. "Sprained most likely, doesn't seem broken to me. I guess I talked too soon. But anyway." She added, in an ironic tone."I was about to die, so I can't really complain about it. I still can't believe I've been such an idiot- I always over analyze anything, and my not thinking enough for once could have caused my life to end. Funny, really." Ohh, she would have slapped herself if she could."Not to mention how my brother would have reacted. Or my mother, or Butch...how could I have been so careless?"

Now, that was odd, at least. Helen Dawson wasn't one to talk about herself with strangers, not at all; probably, she was doing it at the moment because of the great shock she had just been through, but, maybe, there was something else too. That guy...somehow, she didn't feel comfortable around him; probably, not being even able to see his face, expressions and such wasn't helping either. Not to mention, he was behaving slightly weirdly anyway; normally, you didn't keep that distance from someone you had just saved, as if you were almost...scared. Letting her gaze focus on his eyes for just a few seconds, Helen thought she had seen it clearly; there was fear, in them. Such a strong man scared by a small girl like herself? Great, something else that made no sense at all.

"Thank you, again." She stated clearly, but still in a soft voice; somehow, she had a feeling that he would have ran away, had she been harsh. "If there's something I can do for you, just ask. My mother and I have rented a room in a Bed and Breakfast near here." How was one to behave with the people who had just saved your life? Offering him money seemed rude to her, but even going away with a simple thank you..."I'm Helen, by the way. Helen Emily Dawson." Speaking of being rude, not even introducing herself would have surely been.

[tanner brandt]

He studied her has she talked and attempted to stand, only to fail and fall again. The boy nearly threw himself to help her again as she tumbled, but then stopped short as she hit the ground, still a decent distance away. She just kept on talking away, more so than anyone he knew he thought. He just kept on observing her, looking for the few characteristics that vampires had, wondering if he was in a safe situation. Her skin was pale, but with just a natural amount of fleshy tones to make it normal. He really didn’t think she was, but he was so paranoid. What if she was an informant for Adriano? He blinked, focusing his eyes harder, remaining silent. He had only just been introduced to this world: was the information he had enough to keep him out of danger?

As she discussed her brother, her mother, and someone named ‘Butch,’ he took a step forward, kneeling on one knee. Tanner was close enough for her to probably see his face in mild detail. He averted his eyes for the most part from hers, feeling uncomfortable making eye contact, as if doing so would allow her to see straight into his soul and to his slightly pink tinted teeth. He ran his tongue over them; man, he wished he had thought to bring a toothbrush.

The young man moved a bit closer to her sprained ankle, running his covered fingers over it so carefully that he barely even touched the skin at all. As far as he knew, a vampire was probably less likely to attain injuries than humans, but he wasn’t really sure. He wasn’t really sure about any of the assumptions he was making, let alone anything else he thought he knew. Tanner let out a small sigh, finally guessing that there was a pretty good chance that, if she attacked him randomly out of know where, he wouldn’t be in trouble. He let his eyes fall on hers, biting his bottom lip slightly; she posed no threat, he was just being an idiotic worry wart.

When the girl, introducing her name as Helen, mentioned the Bed and Breakfast, he knew exactly which one she was describing. The little old couple owned the only place for a traveler to stay in this area, or at least the only one that was in this part of Strangford Lough. But what was the chance that she would be staying there as well? His eyes darted about her face, as if looking for some sort of twitch or something that might show that she was hiding a secret, but there was nothing. Then something caught his attention.

He shifted himself at an unnatural speed so that he was staring right into her eyes, his face inches from hers. Tears. It made sense that she might have cried a few tears as her body fell to his possible death, but what caught his attention about them that they were for certain made of water, if not a salty watery solution at that. Slowly he brought his hand up to her face, his right hand resting gently on her left cheek. His body relaxed some, correction, a lot. The boy’s eyes nearly shown with happiness as he wiped away one of the tears. But just as quickly as his relief had come from his assumption of her being human being true, it left as his fingers brushed against her throat. He pulled away quickly, practically throwing himself away from her, tumbling backwards and nearly rolling over his own head. Once he sat up again, he stared at her. God, he was so bipolar, not to mention he was probably coming off as someone who had escaped from an insane asylum.

The boy just sat there for a moment, running his hand through his hair. If someone was given a job as a professional awkward moment creator, he would certainly be the best and earn the most money. He tried to smile at her after a few seconds more of silence, but it came out as one of those expressions that is so obviously not natural, but from this distance he wasn’t even sure if she had seen it. Man, if she hadn’t mentioned that she was staying at the same place as him, he would have just run for the hills and dealt with waking up a bit early.

Tanner swallowed, giving up his fake smile, then said something for the first time since talking to the old man. “Sorry…” he mumbled, not even positive that the girl had heard him. What was her name again? Oh right, Helen. Helen Emily Dawson. “Sorry Helen, I’m just a bit… on edge, I guess…” That was the understatement of the century. He bit his lip, breaking through the skin once again, causing it to bleed. God, he really needed to remember how sharp his teeth were now.

Trying to urge himself to continue talking, he kept on with his little sad pathetic show of muttering and chatting uncertainly. “I don’t really think there is anything you can do…” he trailed off, shifting his gaze to the area around them. It looked empty for the most part, but he still wondered what might be out there that he couldn’t see. Tanner shivered, not chilled, but for other reason. He really wasn’t fond of the thought that somewhere in the darkness, there was figure that he couldn’t see just standing there, watching him like a leopard watches its prey. Not comforting thought at all.

[helen dawson]

Weird; his behaviour was more than odd, indeed. Not being able to tell if she was right or not, Helen nevertheless felt like he was observing her; it was too dark at that precise moment to even see his eyes, since a cloud had cast a shadow on the moon, therefore she tried to dismiss it, blaming that on her usually suspicious mind and vivid imagination. Those were both useful features, when you wanted to be a writer, but, sometimes, she would have wanted to be a more careless person, with a less brilliant mind. Even if her own stupidity had almost killed her, just minutes before...

Trying to shake that thought off of her, Helen focused on something else, even if the pulsing pain in her ankle wasn't really helping either; normally, when she was nervous she paced around wherever she was, succeeding in looking a little mental, sure, but it usually relaxed her, even if just a bit. In that situation, though, the wound wouldn't have let her do that; sighing just a bit, the girl therefore tried to find something else to do to fill that awkward silence, since she didn't know what to say anymore. After all, she wasn't a talkative person and therefore that wasn't a role that suited her. Brushing a lip over her lip, she closed her eyes and focused on the scent of the heather, hoping it would have made her feel better and calmed her down. Why was she so nervous anyway? There was seriously no need to.

That was, until Helen felt something on her ankle; that something dangerously reminded of a hand's touch. Startled by whatever was actually touching her, she slowly raised her chin, only to see that she had been, indeed, right; it was his hand, on her ankle. Blinking her eyes, she cleared her throat just barely, feeling her body getting quite tensed meanwhile; it just felt weird that he had all of a sudden chosen to get close to her, after staying at distance for all that time, even letting her fall in the process. Furrowing her brows, Helen assumed she was wrong thinking he was one of those people suffering from Aphenphosmphobia, simply known as fear of being touched; again, not being right slightly annoyed her, even if she felt slightly relieved as well. Who knew, maybe he'd have even been so nice to help her walking; she seriously doubted she could have made it to the Bed and Breakfast by herself, still probably wouldn't have asked him to do that, due to her fixation on being able to accomplish everything by herself. "What do you think? It doesn't seem broken, right?" She asked in a casual tone. Why was the guy wearing gloves, anyway? It was not that cold indeed; maybe, that was a topic neutral enough to ask about, just to break the ice.

Right while she was parting her lips to speak, her eyes met his. They were close. Far too close, for her taste; his face was actually inches away from hers; at that point, she was seriously starting to wonder if her eyesight had been damaged by the shock, since it was obvious he couldn't have been as far away from her as she had thought he was, just a second before. No human being could have moved that fast, indeed. "Wow, you're fast..." She managed to say, before feeling the touch of his hand, again; only, that time it was on her cheek, instead of her hurt ankle. Swallowing, her breath increased its speed a little, as the girl's mind started to race; they were alone, there were few chances someone would have come in such a place at night, he was extremely strong...It was not like he wanted to do something with her, right? Staring into his eyes, though, Helen saw how happy he seemed to be; it didn't really seem the expression someone who was about to commit a crime would have had on his face. Slightly relieved, the girl actually felt guilty for doubting him, the guy who had just saved her life, when he wiped her tears away; most likely, he was just trying to be gentle, after that previous cold behaviour of his. Again, her thoughts changed when he slided that same hand on her neck; ashamed of herself, she felt her cheeks blushing instantly, as well as her heart beating faster, as probably he was able to feel too, since his finger was just above her jugular vein.

The following second, he had basically ran away from her again, even if "ran" wasn't exactly a proper word; with an incredible speed, again, as if she had burnt him, again. Blinking her eyes once more, Helen wasn't that tensed anymore, but couldn't help but wonder if he was under the effect of some drugs. Unable to see his face once again, she could just guess and hope not; that was the last thing in the world she needed nor wanted to believe in, since it wasn't exactly reassuring. Though, maybe, it could have been a good plot for a short story; helped by someone who proved to be more dangerous than what she had been saved from. Ugh, she needed to stop thinking that much.

After his words -was he stuttering, by the way?- reached her ears, Helen did her best to come up with a decent answer, possibly one that would have reassured him about how what he had done was insignificant to her; after all, she owed him something, didn't she? "No need to apologize, really. I guess that saving lives could make that effect, yes. Not that I would know, of course, but I assume it might." She ran a hand through her dark hair and tucked a strand behind her ear. "I'm glad to see that you remember my name." Helen added, a slight smile on her face. After all, he may just have been an odd guy; with a brother like Carver, she couldn't be that surprised, after all. Maybe Helen happened to attract unusual guys? Okay, she didn't mean "attract" in that way, though.

Her stream of thought was interrupted by his words, again. "Oh, I see." The girl replied in a slightly sad tone; not being able to do anything was something she didn't enjoy either. "Seneca said that the only thing human beings should be grateful to receive is time. I disagree." At that, she stood up with as much dignity as she could, still leaning on that tree trunk. "Hadn't it been for you, I'd be dead now. I want to do something for you; there must be something I can do. Even if you don't think I can, try me; I'm good at helping people." She stated, a serious look on her face the whole time; sincerely, she would have felt bad if she hadn't rewarded him, somehow. Plus, the way he behaved and looked around made her think he was the one needing help.