//------------------------------// // Let Sleeping Dogs Lie // Story: The Girl with the Lyre Tattoo // by Dennis the Menace //------------------------------// Adrian Ross sat in the cab of his sedan munching on a sub sandwich and sipping coffee in between bites, his radio cranked down at a soft volume. The display read: 10:59. If his parents were home they would have a fit, despite the fact that he was heading off to college in what, three months? He thought about calling them all the way in Paris, but he wasn't sure what time it was. Adrian could be summed up as average, if not a bit awkward. Seen, but rarely heard from, unless in good company like most people tended to do. He was your average eighteen-year-old. Pale skin, messy brown hair, brown eyes hidden behind a pair of Vogue glasses; none of these features were particularly dazzling or distinct enough to warrant any attention: a handsome face, maybe, in a few years perhaps, thin lips and a prim smile, straight teeth after a stint with braces for the majority of his high school years, a sharp, angular jawline, and high cheekbones. His body was a stark contrast to his face. You could see his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed. His height added to this, giving Adrian the appearance of a lanky young boy that resembled a man. In the distance, the iconic Space Needle was silhouetted against the dark sky, lit up like a Christmas tree in the night, serving as a backdrop for the rest of the city. He saw it everyday; it was nothing new. The mystique was lost on him after seeing it every day. Seattle was the fifteenth largest metropolitan area and one of the largest cities on the West Coast, with the twelfth biggest economy in the United States and a population of 3.4 million. Nine months a year you could bet at some point during the day rain would fall. Nobody knew each other and nobody cared; still, it was home. And as always with the weather in Seattle, it was wet. The calm before the storm had just passed, the ominous roll of thunder in the distance like a prelude for what was about to come. Even in a city such as Seattle it was an oddity to see rain in the summer. The odd drizzle here and there, but then again, summer in Seattle was a paradox in itself and was hardly an exact science. Sure, it was June, but it wasn't really summer until sunlight showed through the impenetrable foggy overcast that lorded over the city to remind you there still was a sun. Or until you could actually see peoples' arms and legs without being covered up by raincoats. Whichever came first. First came the lightning. Then the thunder, and at last, the rain. It washed down his windshield, washing the dirt and grime away. Rain was something you had to get used to living in Seattle. No point in fighting it; he had learned to embrace it. There was something about the onset of a rainstorm that made him want to go outside. The bitter chill of the wind, the wet, squidgy feeling when his clothes got wet. Adrian popped open the door, balling up his trash and tossing it in a nearby trashcan. Drops pelted his gray Zoo York hoodie, the wind stinging his cheeks. He frowned, trying to get a better look. Was he seeing things? Even as he walked back to his car, he kept looking back. At that point he could have simply driven off and everything would have been all and well. But he stayed. He did a double take. He squinted his eyes and cocked his head. From his vantage point in the driver's seat he could barely see the silhouette of a body curled up behind a dumpster in a narrow alleyway between two brick buildings. He looked down, his head bobbing slightly as if he was weighing options in his head. Not my concern. And in truth, it wasn't any of his concern. What was one homeless person to him? Still, even as he continued to sip at his coffee inside his car shielded from the elements, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He certainly hadn't said it aloud, but he felt a little selfish for thinking that way. What if it wasn't a homeless person? What if it was a dead guy? Even worse, what if it was a person who needed help? Maybe they'd been attacked. On the flip side, what if they were dangerous? Violent? And even if they weren't, somebody else could help them. Then again, he wasn't sure if he could live with knowing that he'd let someone freeze to death. He opened the glove compartment and took out a flashlight and turned off the car, exiting it and locking it. He pulled up his hood, feeling drops pelt his jacket. His hands shook, out of fear or from the cold as he moved forward. His heart raced, pounding in his ears, the sound of the rainfall a dull roar. One quick look, and then I'm gone. He counted the steps he'd have to take. His sneakers squeaked against the wet sidewalk. Five steps. Four. His heart pounded and he swallowed, gulping before shakily opening his mouth. It felt dry. He licked his lips. Three. Two. "H-Hello?" One. He swung around the dumpster with a slight jump, falling backwards with a cry and scrambling back slightly. Adrian was hypnotized, and for several seconds, stared in awe. The girl had been placed in a rather...compromising position, curled up in a fetal position, her backside facing toward him. Tattooed onto her lower back was a golden lyre. Her naked body was slim and petite with long, shapely legs and perky breasts. Her pale skin was like ivory, smooth and wet, and he noted, lacking in any tan lines as well. She had a soft face that was easy on the eyes. Her cropped silvery hair was soaking wet, and green. Mint green, more like, with streaks running through her wintery locks. Her half-lidded eyes, he could barely see, were a beautiful shade of gold. At the moment, they seemed dull. "Oh shit." The fact that Adrian was getting a glimpse at the first naked girl he would ever see in his entire life was outweighed by the fact that she was the first naked girl he had ever seen in his entire life, unconscious in an alley, dampening the erotic display. He knelt down, his hand already in his pocket fishing around for his phone while the other checked her pulse. And there it was, a steady heartbeat that could be felt with two fingers to her neck. She was, thankfully, not a corpse, though if she were to have remained out in the rain without any clothing any longer, the possibility of death by hypothermia would have been plausible. The entire situation brought a saying to mind as he began to shake her. How did it go again? Let sleeping dogs lie, yes. Let things be, for they might cause you trouble. Oddly appropriate, in this situation. Gotta call 911. "Lady?" He lightly slapped her face a few times. "Hey, wake up." He hadn't realized he'd been speaking loudly, almost yelling. "Mm?" Her eyes flickered briefly. Her eyelids were heavy, and already drooping. Adrian lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Oh god, you're awake. Hey, help's on the way, alright?" She didn't answer. "C'mon, stay with me." She wasn't moving. Her eyes were screwed tight. "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" the robotic voice intoned. "Hello? I've got an unconscious woman. I'm on the corner of—" A chime cut him off. "Hello?" He glared at his phone, reading the dimming LED display. The battery charge level was flashing, on its last red bar. "No, no, no!" he hissed. "You've gotta be kidding me!" Adrian felt compelled to crush the Samsung in his hand while mentally kicking himself. The one time he needed it for an emergency and it died on him. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He tried turning it on again. The screen lit up for a brief moment, and he was able to dial 911 before the phone shut off completely. "Payphone!" He suddenly cried with a snap of his fingers. "There's gotta be at least one." This was 2012. When on earth was the last time he saw a payphone on the street? He screamed for help. No one answered. As if to remind him of the rain, the sky boomed with the crack of thunder. He was positively drenched by now. "Just...hold on, I'm gonna get you some help, okay?" he said, his hands motioning for her to stay put. He slapped his forehead. Why was he talking to her? She was unconscious, of course she couldn't talk back. What do I do? She wasn't his problem! The very least he could do was leave his jacket behind for her, but that was it. 911 was probably dispatching a police officer! He bit his lip, groaning in frustration, taking slow, deliberate breaths to calm himself. He closed his eyes, and listened for a distant wail. A siren, anything. Help was on the way, wasn't it? Nothing. Adrian simply stood, looking down upon the woman, shielding her body with his. He had to make a decision. He had to make a choice, to commit. Once he took her in, saved her life, he was responsible. He began slowly walking away, shaking his head, his mind locked in an internal struggle over the morality of leaving someone to fend for themselves. Somehow, the fact that she was a young girl wearing no clothes made this worse. She was alive now. If he walked away... I can't just leave her here! He growled, settling on a final decision, sprinting over to his car and tearing open the backseat door. Technically, this was kidnapping, was it not? He cringed as he scooped her up in his arms, noting how light she was. Her head lolled around, her body still limp. Adrian noticed her hand clutching something at her chest: an iPhone. He was careful not to bump her head while sliding her into the back seat of his sedan, not bothering to put her seat belt on. Even while holding her for those brief seconds he could tell that her body was cold just by touch, made apparent by the goosebumps on her skin and a slight shivering. He unzipped his jacket and draped it over her body to keep her warm. Adrian gingerly pried her fingers off the smartphone, attempting to turn it on to no avail. The screen remained dark, and it would be a miracle if it was still working after being so long in the rain. As quick as he could he slid into the driver's seat, turning the ignition, rolling up the windows, and turning up the heat. He adjusted the rear-view mirror to keep an eye on her. She stirred slightly and got his hopes up, only to burrow deeper into the warmth of his hoodie. Questions ran through his mind. He pushed them into the back of his mind and turned his attention to the road ahead. Adrian was a good driver, not a safe one. But for this one time, he followed the speed limit and slowed down when turning corners. His eyes glazed over as he thought of how odd it was, having a girl he barely knew in the backseat. It was surreal. What was he supposed to do? Legally, take her to the hospital, to the police. "You okay back there?" A shift underneath his jacket. "Listen," he said, raising his voice, "I'm getting you some help, okay?" He repeated himself. "I'm taking you to the hospital." Her hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, yanking it a bit harshly. The car swerved, and he shouted. "What the fuck!" He centered the car back on the lane, pushing her arm away. "What's the matter with you?" He slammed on the brakes, turning around. She weakly gasped, shaking her head. "You need help." She refused. She was literally trying to exit the vehicle via the locked doors. Is she suicidal? He was supposed to ignore that. No matter what somebody said, you had to take them to get help. But there was a wild look of desperation on her face. It was fear. Why was she afraid of the hospital? Afraid of the police? "You need help." She grabbed his shirt, yanking it, pleadingly, a tear running down her face. Perhaps the rain. His neighborhood could easily be described as suburban, comfortable and homogeneous in nature. The people here were friendly, their lawns were trimmed, and their houses well-kept. At the same time the phrase, "Good fences make good neighbors", was taken to heart. He parked the car and twisted the key in the lock, pushing open the door to his house. The first few steps into the residence would have him inside the foyer, meant to be a place to entertain guests. As such, there was a couch and coffee table with random magazines. On the right after walking in the door was a staircase. A few more steps in and he was already at the kitchen and the main living room. In the farthest corner of the living room was a grand piano, coated with a layer of dust. Withering flowers in vases and photo frames had been placed haphazardly in the strangest of places in order to give the impression to the discerning viewer that this was the ideal household of a quiet, middle-class, traditional family with a garden and white picket fence. By no means were they wealthy, but they lived comfortably. In any case, the house was empty. The girl was still asleep. Trying his best not to stir her, Adrian slipped his thin arms underneath her body and hefted her inside. He set her gently down on the couch, propping her head up with a pillow. Her face was scrunched up in an inscrutable expression. He brushed the offending lock of hair from her nose. Her silky wet hair smelled of spearmint. She was cold to the touch. He drew a bath for her, making sure the water was lukewarm. Any drastic change in temperature wasn't good. When the tub was nearly full he tried to wake her up again, shaking her arm gently. The girl raised her head sleepily. "Hey," Adrian whispered. "Wake up. C'mon." She shivered, her teeth chattering. He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her into the upstairs bathroom, gently setting her down in the half-full tub. The girl seemed to flinch as she was enveloped, her eyes wide as she silently gasped. Downstairs in the kitchen, he lay the iPhone inside a bag of rice to hopefully fix it. He grabbed a mug and began warming up a cup of hot chocolate. His hands quivered, spilling some on his hand. He hadn't realized how shaken up he was. He rapped his knuckles at the bathroom door. "You okay in there?" Silence answered him. "I'm coming in, okay? I won't look." Perhaps he would. Through the cracks of his fingers he could see the girl, droplets of water sliding down her smooth skin as she awkwardly held onto the the towel rack. Her teal hair was damp and clung to her neck. She didn't even seem to care that he was there. She didn't even look at him. "Here," he said, holding out a fresh towel. She didn't take it. Adrian swallowed, seeing her shiver slightly. "Let's dry you up, okay?" His movements were slow. He stepped forward, running the towel quickly over her body and hair. No reaction whatsoever. It was downright unnerving. He led her to his room, helping her to sit down. "Here," he said, offering her a clean T-shirt of his. It was large enough to cover her all the way down to just past her hips. "I don't think my mom's clothes will fit." He began picking up clothes strewn on his bedroom floor. "Sorry about the mess." His dresser had several drawers pulled out, some of his clothes stuffed inside and overflowing. Coldplay and Maroon 5 posters were plastered on his walls. Pencils and pens and papers were strewn across his desktop, and a camera sat atop a tripod in the corner. She sat in his office chair, her golden eyes gazing off into space, glazed over, her hands in her lap. "I found your phone," he said. "I think it's yours." He shook the phone dry. It hadn't nearly been long enough but to his amazement the device still worked, despite there being some water damage in the screen. She reached out and grasped in gently, staring at it. "Do you know how to unlock it? You can call somebody." Her overall demeanor resembled an animal in unfamiliar territory. She hadn't said a word. "You speak English?" No response. "Do you understand me?" Her head tilted down in a subtle motion. Not once did her expression change from anything but a permanent state of shock. Not once did her eyes meet his. I guess that means yes. "Can you talk?" This time, a slow nod. As if she herself wasn't sure. "Will you talk to me?" A reluctant shake of the head. And I guess that means no. He laughed, shaking his head. He couldn't believe what was going on. Thank god she understood him. Now if only she would talk. The boy knelt down, placing himself beneath her gaze, trying to force her to meet his eyes. Instead, she continued to stare off into the distance. "Lady, I wanna help you," he said earnestly. "But you gotta give me something. A name? Anyone I can call? Friends, family?" An immigrant, maybe? Doubt it. "Are you illegal?" She seemed to be mute. Deaf, possibly? Blind? Perhaps she was afraid of him? "Oh!" He rolled his eyes. "I'm so dumb, I haven't even told you my name yet. My name's Adrian," he blurted, so it sounded as if he was out of breath. He extended a hand. "Adrian Ross." Her eyes fell upon his offering gesture. He had the hands of a pianist. She seemed to regard his long, slender digits with extreme fascination as she shook his hand. He grasped her hand as delicately as he could, afraid that if he would hurt her if he shook too hard. Her hands were small and delicate. They were very soft and feminine, while his were rough and calloused. "Uhm, err, what's...yours?" She regarded Adrian for a brief moment, and at last she made eye contact, her golden irises regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. With a swallow he could see her jaw working itself and her lips were moving, like she was trying to form words in her mouth, before she cast her eyes down again to her hands. "I, uh..." As he began to pull away slowly, seeing as they had held onto each other longer than customary, he was surprised when the girl turned her palm around, spreading her fingers. He emulated her motions, unsure of her intentions. Needless to say Adrian was quite surprised when she suddenly interlaced her fingers in between his. He fumbled over his words, his face flushed. "L-Look, I found you by the side of the road near some dumpsters in an alleyway." No reaction. She was idly playing with his hands, feeling the contours of his knuckles and joints, tracing patterns in the palm of his hand. Her touch made his hands tingle. "Was there an accident? Did," he paused, unsure of how to word the question, "did somebody hurt you?" She didn't look...hurt. Maybe a little dazed. "Did somebody hurt you?" he asked again. She shook her head. "Really?" A strong nod. He sighed. "That's...good." He looked at her. "That's good, isn't it?" A nod. "You don't talk much, do you?" He heaved a sigh, trying his best not to seem frustrated. Finally Adrian slipped his fingers away, shuffling over to the coffee table. "I uh, brought you some hot chocolate." He offered it to her. "Just...drink that while I go call the police—" Her head shot up immediately. She shook her head swiftly, the word, "No", just on the tip of her tongue before she closed her mouth again. Adrian did a double take. "So you...don't want me to call them?" A firm nod. Maybe she's a criminal. He shook his head. Her? Not very likely. "The hospital then. Let me take you. That should have been the first place I should have taken you." She gave an adamant shake of her head. She even managed to mouth, "No", silently. Why doesn't she want help? He was supposed to ignore her. That rational part of his mind told him that there was something wrong, that there was a reason why she didn't want to get help. Her expression spoke volumes. If he took her to the hospital, the police, bad things would happen. "Listen, I gotta know now. Did somebody rape you?" Her reaction was surprising. She scrunched her nose up in a look of disgust and amusement, shaking her head rapidly as if she was saying, "What? No, no, no! You've got it all wrong." "Because if someone did, I have to get you help." Then again, he was going off on body language and yes or no questions, so that didn't help very much. "Are you okay?" No answer this time. Adrian bent down, reaching his hand out, pulling back slightly with hesitation before placing it on her forehead. It wrinkled as she frowned. "You're a little warm. You might be running a fever." He looked down, catching sight of her knees, noting the dried bloodstains. "Did you scrape your knees?" He opened his bathroom mirror, rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He read the label on the bottle of Advil, and giving it a shake with a nod. In the crook of his elbow was a bottle of disinfectant. He took some bandages as well. "If you're not going to let me take you to the hospital without a fight, then I'm gonna have to patch you up." When he gave her the ibuprofen, the girl swallowed it without a word, downing it with some water. "This might sting a little," he said as he soaked the cotton ball in disinfectant, touching it to her knee. The girl winced, biting her lip with a small whimper. Adrian tried his best to gently wipe it across her cuts, bandaging them with some Band-Aids. "There. Now it won't get infected." Not a bad job. She wasn't listening. Her eyelids were growing heavier and heavier by the minute and she was nodding off. The girl was falling fast asleep. His eyes softened. "The chair isn't all that comfy, is it?" he said quietly. He saw the girl's head tilt slightly even as her eyes were closed. "You can sleep in my bed," Adrian said, nudging her. "C'mon." She took a few steps forward in the short trip to his bed, collapsing and rolling over on his mattress with a sigh. Adrian flicked the light switch, the room going dark. He sat and leaned back in his chair, propping a pillow up behind his head. He cracked an eye open. The girl sat up a little, looking at him expectantly. Was she offering him space on his bed? "Oh, no, no!" He laughed a little. "This chair is comfy enough." She nodded and laid back down, turning away. In a few minutes, Adrian could hear her soft snore. She was a complete stranger, and he was letting her sleep in his bed. It didn't sit well with him, having her in the house. It was a mistake, but it wasn't like he could tell her to sleep anywhere else, maybe downstairs. He tried making himself comfy, slouching down in his chair.