He shifts his weight and rolls me over. He straddles my chest, trapping my arms under his legs. He is squishing my food. I growl and try to squirm out from under him.

“Look, look, look!” he says. He pulls a small cylinder from his hip pocket and twists the top. A beam of light shoots out the end.

He turns the flashlight on his face.

The light makes his skin yellow. It shows prominent cheekbones beside a long thin nose and a sharply squared-off jaw. His lips are stretched into a grin, but I can see that they are full, for a man. His eyebrows and lashes are bleached out from sun.

But that’s not what he is showing me.

His eyes, clear liquid sienna in the illumination, shine with no more than human reflection. He bounces the light between left and right.

“See? See? I’m just like you.”

“Let me see your neck.” Suspicion is thick in my voice. I don’t let myself believe that this is more than a trick. I don’t understand the point of the charade, but I’m sure there is one. There is no hope anymore.

His lips twist. “Well… That won’t exactly help anything. Aren’t the eyes enough? You know I’m not one of them.”

“Why won’t you show me your neck?”

“Because I have a scar there,” he admits.

I try to squirm out from under him again, and his hand pins my shoulder.

“It’s self-inflicted,” he explains. “I think I did a pretty good job, though it hurt like hell. I don’t have all that pretty hair to cover my neck. The scar helps me blend in.”

“Get off me.”

He hesitates, then gets to his feet in one easy move, not needing to use his hands. He holds one out, palm up, to me.

“Please don’t run away. And, um, I’d rather you didn’t kick me again, either.”

I don’t move. I know he can catch me if I try to run.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

He smiles wide. “My name is Jared Howe. I haven’t spoken to another human being in more than two years, so I’m sure I must seem… a little crazy to you. Please, forgive that and tell me your name, anyway.”

“Melanie,” I whisper.

“Melanie,” he repeats. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am to meet you.”

I grip my bag tightly, keeping my eyes on him. He reaches his hand down toward me slowly.

And I take it.

It isn’t until I see my hand curl voluntarily around his that I realize I believe him.

He helps me to my feet and doesn’t release my hand when I’m up.

“What now?” I ask guardedly.

“Well, we can’t stay here for long. Will you come back with me to the house? I left my bag. You beat me to the fridge.”

I shake my head.

He seems to realize how brittle I am, how close to breaking.

“Will you wait for me here, then?” he asks in a gentle voice. “I’ll be very quick. Let me get us some more food.”