She spoke first and interrupted my train of thought. "Before you tell me a lie, remember that I didn't call the police last night and I'm not inclined to do so now. Last night when I undressed you, I noticed the hair on the back of your head is singed and the skin on your neck looks scorched."

I almost swallowed my tongue at her warning. Her unnerving stare looked right through me. "What if I don't feel comfortable telling you?"

She thought for a second before she answered. "That wouldn't reflect well on my hospitality now would it?"

She had me cornered. She was good. "Could I have another cigarette?" I asked, crushing out the old one in the ashtray on the nightstand. I took a long draw off the fresh one and leaned back against the headboard. "I was at a fire last night."

"Yes, I thought so. I heard the fire brigades go by last night. It looked like the Lynnman Warehouse over on Marion."

"It was." I conceded. I couldn't believe that confession had come from my mouth.

"Hmm," she murmured, "Do you have a wife or any children?"

"No," I answered quickly, relieved that she'd changed the subject. "I have to go to the bathroom," I said changing it again.

She smiled warmly. "I hadn't thought of how to handle that. Let me see if I can find a pair of crutches for you to use," she said leaving the room.

I sat up carefully after she'd gone, and moved my legs sideways over the edge of the bed. My foot began to throb as soon as I lowered it to the floor. I scooted sideways toward the low footboard and looked over the edge at the chest she had glanced at periodically during the conversation. On it lay a pair of underwear, a different pair than the ones I'd worn the day before, my leather jacket, wallet, and the hundred and fifty dollars I had carried.

I leaned over, grabbed the underwear and slipped them over my legs, being careful not to touch the bandage. I put the money and wallet in the jacket before moving back to the head of the bed.

She returned with a single crutch that looked like it had just been taken from a Civil War soldier. The top part that fit under the armpit was a large roughly carved block of wood and the lower part was nothing more than a polished and partially twisted tree branch. It didn't have a hand grip and I assumed that you just gripped the branch at wherever your hand landed.

She looked down at the underwear I'd donned then back up to my eyes. "Good for you. Are you ready to try it?"

"Oh yes, I'm ready." I had to urinate badly.