In the reflection of one of the bus stop's glass walls, I see a bit of dried blood on the corner of my mouth.

Now, how did that get there?

I lick my index finger and wipe the blood away before wiping my finger on my shirt. Curious, I look down at my clothes for the third time since sitting down just to make absolutely certain-- perfect. No blood. Not that I figured there would be, I ripped the bloody shawl off and chucked it on the ground a few minutes ago, but it never hurts to be a little overcautious.

My heart beats with nervous anticipation. I tap my feet on the ground, whistling a choppy, arhythmic tune, stopping every few seconds to swallow down the bile building in the back of my throat. Deep breaths, I keep telling myself, whispering under my breath but the advice doesn't take and I'm still sitting here, still waiting, still looking over my shoulder, expecting someone to be standing there, ready to take me back.

It's right now I realize waiting at the nearest bus stop wasn't the brightest idea.

I shoot another glance to the glass wall and open my mouth, checking my teeth. Everything seems to be in order, missing molar withstanding.

That punch did not feel good.

When's the bus going to get here? I wish I had a watch, or could see a clock, or could read an analog clock or something. Anything. What time is it right now? What day is it? Do buses not run on certain days? Is it a holiday? Is it a real holiday or one of those federal day off holidays wait wait wait buses are publicly funded, right? So they'd be off on those days too? Do the buses even run anymore?

The growing, twisting knot in my stomach almost forces the half digested remnants of my last meal all the way up my throat as my long line of questions continues on, endlessly, but then I hear the most wonderful sound I could hear right about now.

"You gettin' on or not?"

I look down at my lap to see the wallet I, borrowed, from the gentleman that left me with one less tooth.

Phew.

"Ye-yeah."

I push myself off the bench, force a smile onto my face and climb the steps that lead into the bus, coming face to face with the driver; an older man with gray hair and a death glare aimed at me. Flustered, I reach into the wallet and pull out a dollar, then into my pants pocket and retrieve two quarters, handing the three items to the driver with a smile on my face.

He eyes me suspiciously, then waves me aside.

I take the first seat I can find and swallow hard, pressing the back of my head against the window.

I swear I can hear sirens, alarms, something far behind the bus as it pulls away. I look around, there's hardly anyone on. That fact makes me happy, for some inexplicable reason. My eyelids fall shut and any attempt to opening them feel like lifting anvils. I haven't felt like this since the last time I came down off a caffeine high.

Just before I nod off completely I hear the raspy voice of the driver call out from the front of the bus.

"Heh, you got on at the right time blondie. One of them Spring Harbor nutcases damn near killed a nurse or somethin', staged a fuckin' jailbreak."

Independent of my conscious brain, my lips move and force out a tired "Wow."

I wake up in a daze, cold sweat running down my face, my clothes sticking to my skin. The late afternoon sun is gone, replaced by the high floating moon. The bus has come to a halt, the doors open.

"End of the line."

Groggy, I push myself out of my seat and stumble towards the door. The driver grabs my hand as I turn to take the first step down the set of stairs and turns my attention towards him. In the light of the moon and the streetlight hanging above us, he looked older, rougher than he had when I stepped on.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I respond, leaning on the railing. "I can find my way home from here."

I don't think he quite believes me, but what can he really do to stop me? Reluctantly he lets go of my hand and I make my way down the steps and onto the concrete curb. The door slides shut behind me once again and I turn around to wave at the driver as he drives off.

Eyes closed, I step onto the sidewalk and stretch. My neck's sore from the position I fell asleep in, and as I stretch, staring up at the night sky it dawns on me, I have no idea where I am.

This isn't good.

I reach into my back pocket, and my fingers hit something I didn't expect to have. A cell phone?

I pull it out and look at it, a sudden wave of remembrance washing over me.

Of course I took it.

I press the button and slide to unlock, thanking my lucky stars that there wasn't a passcode. A few taps on the screen later, I'm dialing a number I only half remember, hoping I got it right as I press the phone to my ear and hear it ring.

I'm holding my breath. And squeezing my eyes shut.

The person on the other end of the line picks up and says, after a long, drawn out sigh, "XWF Talent Relations, Joseph speaking."

A big smile comes across my face and I stand in silence for a couple seconds, before remembered I haven't said anything yet.

"Hey Joseph, this is Iris Oppenheimer."