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((I'm a gonna post here soon!))

The lake had risen a few feet, several trees sticking out of the water. Gene had never seen anything like it. He nearly tripped over a tree root, and cursed to himself, angry with the lake and the rain and the tree’s parents. Gene was usually angry with parents. “Kids today…rotten whippersnappers…never do any work…farming not good enough for ‘em…” He grumbled, one old gnarled hand resting on a tree trunk as he walked past it. Gene froze, his hand curling. There was a young woman propped against it, her lower half under water. The lake seemed to have carried her here… Gene swallowed, bending down to see if the girl was alive. He pressed two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. There wasn’t one. She must have drowned here. “Oh honey…why didn’t you stay safe and dry at home?” He said softly, gruff voice saddened.

She stood fine without his help, wearing little more than white strips of cloth wrapped around her chest and hips, like bandages, and Gene wondered where the girl’s modesty was. She seemed to wonder this as well, her head down as she looked at her ‘clothing’, speaking in a panicked tone now. Gene took his raincoat off, draped it around her shoulders. She said something else, grateful, and he watched her try to fasten the buttons. “Here, like this…” He said, doing the job for her, then giving a gruff “You’re welcome.” When she repeated the earlier gratitude word. “Where is your home?” He asked, and she merely blinked at him. “What is your name?” He asked, starting to feel frustrated that she didn’t understand him. “Can you speak any English at all?!” He said gruffly. He expected more of the strange language, but was surprised to hear the slightly accented words in his own language. “En…glash? Slower?” She seemed to ask, and Gene complied. He was just glad they could talk.

“Well…she’s polite enough…” His wife said to him quietly, as if the small woman would hear them. They were both standing with their backs to the large picture window of their home, watching the mysterious girl walk aimlessly around the kitchen, hands clasped behind her back as if she was afraid to break something. She was wearing the baggy brown sweater his wife had managed to coax her in, which went down to her knees and had sleeves that fell past her hands. When he had lit a fire for her, she had visibly panicked, knocking over the chair she had been in and all but running from the house. Ellen had calmed her while he extinguished the flames, husband and wife terribly confused as to why the girl had reacted so badly. But now she seemed fine, leaning down to study their coffee pot, head tilted a little.

The girl blinked at her, dark eyes drifting back to the pot. “Once…” She said soft enough that even Gene’s hearing aids almost didn’t catch it. Ellen shook her head. “No, no one is in there. Why don’t you sit? Would you like something to eat?” She said in a chattering tone, taking the girl’s hand and guiding her back to her vacated chair at the table. The girl sat without protest, dark eyes watching the elderly woman, but not answering. “Food?” Ellen said again, smoothing the apron on her plain dress. The girl blinked.

Gene wasn’t sure how long they stood there, a minute, five maybe. Finally, the girl looked back up at the two of them, face thoughtful, like a child. “Pretty.” “The sandwich?” Gene asked incredulously, openly staring at her. She frowned slightly, looking back at the plate. “Sun…which…” She looked back at him, blinked once. “Pretty sun-which?” Gene shook his head in bafflement. “What’s your name dear?” His wife asked, and Gene looked up again to see if she would answer this time. She was frowning, trying to concentrate. “Name…fluff…” Both he and his wife stared. That could not really be her name. But no, she was referring to something else. The girl straightened, as if hit with a sudden revelation. “Fluff!…” She was looking right at them, as if they knew what this was. Seeing their confusion, the girl put her hands on her head in the shape of animal ears, then “Meow?” “You…have a cat dear?” His wife asked, while Gene wondered why he had bothered with bringing her home. She clearly belonged in an asylum somewhere. But the girl nodded excitedly, and his wife went to her again, resting her hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure…Fluff is okay dear. But what is your name?” The girl seemed troubled that they did not have her cat, but gave her name anyway. “Trivla…” She regarded his wife solemnly, as if her name were something to be ashamed of.

When she returned, he could see she was concerned. “Well?” He asked, and she met his eyes. “She curled up in the center of the bed…she’ll sleep soon I think.” He sighed. “What do we do with her?” His wife shook her head. “Care for her until she remembers her home I guess…” Gene reached out for her, and Ellen hugged him. “Whoever this Sachin person is, I think he hurt her…maybe tried to kill her even. She was barely clothed when I found her Ellen.” He said softly, resting his chin on her soft white hair. “She didn’t have a scratch on her Gene. Just two markings on her lower back. Tattoos. One was red, the other yellow. Each had the middle missing.” Gene puzzled over this. “And her pulse…Gene…how can it be that slow? Perhaps we should take her to the hospital.” She added, clearly worried. “And what if this Sachin person really exists? We can’t take that kind of risk…” They both thought of the girl’s confusion, of her thoughtful listening and English. Mostly, they thought of her dark eyes, which were heart wrenchingly innocent. “I guess we can’t...but…I guess we can figure it out tomorrow.” His wife finally said, and she moved to his side, both of them heading to their room.