Young Writers Society

Argo had stayed behind to help Yohann clear away the empty glasses, he did out of the goodness of his heart and had refused Yohann’s offer of payment. He didn’t want money, he just wanted to help out.

Outside it had started to rain. Argo sighed, it meant he would get soaked on his ten minute walk home, but he didn’t mind really, it was just a little rain.

Argo was, by nature, easy-going. He never let trivial things like rain bother him. What did bother him however, was Rock, his older brother. As far as Argo was concerned Rock did next to nothing to help out their family or his own. He had no job, no education, no prospects, nothing. Argo knew he didn’t have much more but at least he was working part time for Yohann. The rest of the time he spent studying. Argo had recently enrolled in the local University’s evening class scheme and was studying aquaculture. He intended to pass the end of year exams and set up his own fishing business around the lake. He’d employ Rock whether he wanted to be employed or not. That way he’d know his older, lazier brother would have a way of providing for his young wife and the children which were likely to follow.

Argo was mid-thought when the door of the Battered Bass burst open.

“Hey we’re closed!” Yohann said in a non-threatening way from behind the bar.

“Yohann, it’s me,” replied a soft voice. Argo watched as a tall, young man entered. Draped around his shoulder was a bruised and bloodied youngster who Argo recognized as con-man Matt.

Seeing the man struggling with Matt, Argo went over to him to help sit Matt down in one of the booths.

“What happened?” Yohann asked the stranger as he brought a glass of water over to Matt who was barely conscious at the table. He looked awful. His eyes were black and swollen and he had a crooked nose. Rust coloured blood mingled with his golden hair. He no longer looked like the pretty boy most of the Battered Bass had grown wary of.

“He staggered out onto the road,” the stranger replied – Argo was instantly taken in by his voice, it was soft, gentle, even melodic but also commanding and strong. “I almost hit him with my bike,” he continued “a gang of Julians beat him up.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Yohann asked the stranger. Argo understood that the two of them knew each other, rather well too for Yohann had placed his hand on the stranger’s shoulder.

“I’d say so, he’s in a bit of shock but his injuries aren’t serious,” the stranger replied. He wiped some rain from his hair with his white shirt sleeve which was now stained a little with Matt’s blood. “He just needs a good rest and some ointment for the cuts.” Yohann nodded and made to fetch his medicine box before turning back to Argo and smiling apologetically.

“Forgive me,” he said “Argo this is my cousin Jesse, Jesse Crest.” He waved his hand at the man sitting opposite Argo who, in return, extended his own hand for Argo to shake.

“Pleasure,” the man – Jesse – smiled.

“This is Argo, he works for me,” Yohann said before hastily leaving to get his medicines. This gave Argo a proper chance to inspect the man in front of him. He sat back in his seat looking tired. He was slim but strong. Argo could see the distinct bulge of bicep through the damp white shirt Jesse was wearing. His skin was olive coloured and smooth looking. He had dark brown hair that was slightly curled and longer than Argo’s which was cropped rather short out of his eyes. He had a handsome face which Argo noted was oddly symmetrical – even lips with a sharp cupid’s bow, a straight, thin nose, distinct jaw and high cheek-bones and large, round eyes that were a deep brown colour with golden highlights. His eyes were almost hypnotic and Argo caught himself staring into them and suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. He averted his eyes to the bar where Yohann was still searching for his medicine box.

“Do you need a hand there Yohann?” Argo asked, still feeling a little uneasy by how visually appealing he found the man opposite him.

“No need!” called an oblivious Yohann. He scurried over with a big grin on his face and the medicine box sitting proudly in his hands. He and his cousin set to work on Matt who was now seemingly asleep rather than unconscious. He muttered and scowled as the cousins’ deft hands got to work and cleaned his wounds.

Argo noticed that Yohann was much clumsier than his cousin. Twice he spilled too much ointment onto a cotton pad and he seemed to press too hard on Matt’s face because he flinched whenever Yohann touched him.

Feeling a little useless, Argo went to the bar and fixed a drink for Jesse, Yohann and himself. He found himself mesmerized by the arrival of Jesse. There was something captivating about him – he was so calm, relaxed and in control – but also something a little intimidating that Argo couldn’t quite identify. It was almost as if Jesse was some sort of nobleman or of a higher ranking than Argo, he had a quiet superiority about him and yet he seemed humble and meek. Argo shook his head to himself and frowned. The man was an enigma.

They put Matt to bed in one of the guest-rooms upstairs. He still looked awful but at least his wounds were cleaned and no longer bleeding. Back downstairs, the three of them had their drink at the bar.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Yohann was saying to his cousin “apart from dumping a beaten up con-artist on me, why else are you here?”

“I come with an invitation,” Jesse replied with a smile than revealed a set of pearly white teeth.

“Ever heard of the mailman?” Yohann joked.

“I wanted to invite you personally, besides I was passing anyway.” Jesse jerked his head towards his motorcycle parked outside the Battered Bass. “I’ve been navigating the desert, doing some soul searching.”

Argo nearly choked on his drink. Nobody went through that desert, it was too dangerous. Wild nomad gangs lived out there and were known to ambush passersby or those unlucky enough to wander out into the desert and get lost. Most of them worked in groups but there was also talk of lone drifters that follow you around offering directions, food or water in return for money – only to con the hapless traveler. If they didn’t get you then the extreme conditions would, as with any desert it was vast and dry and the heat excruciating. Argo would not have believed him had he not noticed, on closer inspection that Jesse’s clothes had a slight dusting of sand all over them and that his hands were cracked and sore. Yohann seemed less surprised by this – perhaps this was normal behavior for his cousin?

“How long did it take you?” he asked Jesse who shrugged and seemed to think about the question for a while.

“I’d say about five weeks, maybe six.”

“Shit!” Argo blushed a little when the two cousins stared at him “sorry,” he added quickly, but the two of them were smiling appreciatively.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Jesse said “but it has made me a lot surer of myself and of my mission.”

“Mission?” Argo asked wondering what he could mean.

“Hey Jesse, we should get you to bed,” Yohann said suddenly his tone shifting from light-hearted to stern in mere seconds “you’ve had quite the day.” Jesse didn’t protest but Argo wanted to know what was meant by ‘mission.’

“Thanks for your help Argo,” Yohann said handing Argo his jacket and opening the front door to lead him out “you’re welcome to take tomorrow off,” Argo knew that it was meant as a compliment but Yohann made it sound more like a threat. He decided not to argue and snatched his coat from Yohann who instantly looked sorry and regretful.

“I’ll see you,” Argo said and pushed past Yohann into the rain. He didn’t like the way Yohann had kicked him out and wanted to know more than ever what was meant by ‘mission.’ He walked out into the rain and blinked the water out of his eyes. He had every intention of showing up to work the next day.

Matt felt the warmth of sunlight on his face. He opened his eyes and winced in pain, they were sore and aching and felt like they were stuck together. He blinked hard. He wasn’t in his own bed. He knew that much. Slowly he sat up. He was aching all over and then he began to remember the events of the previous night. The thug who had beaten him to a pulp, the stranger who had helped him, a motorbike? No that couldn’t be right. He vaguely remembered seeing Yohann the owner of the Battered Bass and then he realized where he was.

He looked around the small, box of a room. A guest room. The walls were white washed and the shutters on the window were painted an olive green. A cool breeze blew in from behind the shutters. There was a basin at the far end of the room and a table with a rickety wooden chair next to it. Matt got up and went to inspect himself in the cracked mirror above the basin.

He was sickened by what he saw. His face was virtually unrecognizable. His blue eyes were engulfed by deep purple swellings and red blots. His nose was bent out of shape and his front tooth was chipped. His whole face was swollen and lumpy. He felt like crying. He looked hideous. Why did this have to happen to him? Why couldn’t that thug just take back the money he’d cheated the other Julians out of? Why this? Why this?

In anger he threw a punch at his reflection. The mirror shattered and shards of glass propelled through the air, several of them cutting his face. Matt winced and pulled his now mangled hand away. He looked down at the devastation at his bare feet.

“Seven years bad luck.” He muttered angrily.

“Only if you believe it,” came a gentle voice. Matt whirled around and saw a tall, slim man with dark hair and entrancing eyes leaning in the doorway. He was dressed in jeans and a loose white shirt. In his hands he held a tray of food.

“Who are you?” he asked

“I’ve brought you some breakfast,” he entered the room and placed the tray down on the table. Matt watched him suspiciously.

“I said: who are you?” The man smiled and stepped towards him with an outstretched hand.

“I’m Jesse, the guy who almost ran you over.” Matt hesitated then shook the guy’s hand. “Why don’t you come and have some food?” The guy gestured at the tray on the table. Matt was admittedly hungry so made his way to the table.

“Watch out for the glass!” cried Jesse but it was too late, Matt winced as the shard embedded itself into the soft flesh of his sole.

“Damn it!” he barked and hopped over to the chair leaving a skinny trail of blood behind him. Jesse held the chair out for him and he sat down with a sigh. He handed Matt a roll of bread from the tray,

“Here, eat this,” he said

“What about my foot?!” Matt snapped ignoring the bread.

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it”

“What?!”

Jesse handed him the bread then carefully went to the basin and picked up a wash bowl from the floor below. He filled it with water and some ointment from a bottle in his pocket. Matt would have been suspicious of the bottle had he not seen the familiar antiseptic labelling. Jesse walked back over to him and placed the bowl at Matt’s feet, kneeling in front of him.

“You eat and I’ll sort this out,” Matt wasn’t sure about this at all.

“There’s really no need…” he began but Jesse had already dipped a cloth into the water. Feeling awkward Matt ate the bread. Jesse placed the cloth over Matt’s feet which stung. Neither said anything as Jesse washed the blood from Matt’s feet and carefully removed the glass.

Matt couldn’t understand why he was being so nice to him, this wasn’t necessary, what had he done to deserve this kindness. He suddenly caught a look of his disfigured reflection in the water below, the grotesque face made worse by the rippling of the water. He looked disgusting. Then he realized. That was why the guy was being so nice: pity.

Matt had the urge to just kick Jesse in the face and storm out of the room and out of this stupid guesthouse, but just as he was about to land a smack in Jesse’s painfully handsome face, he looked up at Matt with a knowing look in his deep, dark eyes.

“All done.” He said. Matt didn’t say anything. He just couldn’t bring himself to say thank-you or show any form of gratitude.

Jesse simply smiled and left the room.