JACKSON POV
"Nothing." He said, glancing away, disappointment evident in his voice. "There's just nothing."
This was a little too sad, even for me.
"Do you think there's anyone we could call? Anyone who might be looking for you?"
"I don't know." The helplessness in this voice was almost painful to hear. "I don't know if I have a family, or friends, or a home. I don't know if anyone's looking for me."
He glanced at his hands, his face darkening. "I don't know anything."
We sat in silence for a long moment. Outside, the storm continued its rage, wind howling uncontrollably, threatening to split the window open if it wasn't locked so tight.
My apartment suddenly felt isolated, very far from the rest of the world and we were the only ones left in it. I glanced over at his down-in-the-dumps expression, wishing there was more I could do.
But there wasn't, at least in this weather.
"You should get some rest," I finally said, breaking the silence. "Head trauma and amnesia are no joke. Even if you feel fine now, it doesn't change the fact your body went through something."
I stood and moved closer to him. "You can take the couch tonight, and tomorrow when the storm clears, we'll figure out our next step. Find someone who can help, or—"
"Jackson..."
I stopped. My name in his voice did something weird to me.
"I didn't tell you my name," I said slowly.
He blinked, then understanding crossed his face…then hesitation. "It was written in your mail. On the table by the door."
Of course, that made sense. My gaze narrowed, skeptically. That made…perfect sense.
"Thank you, Jackson," he continued and his random appreciation caught me off guard. "I wish I could give you a name to call me."
My heart instantly melted. I took a deep breath and shook my head, resisting the urge to give him a name but that proved useless.
"Fine," I muttered in defeat. I had to stop picking up strays. "We need to call you at least something. Until you remember your real name, of course."
He nodded excitedly and I almost laughed at that. Reaching out at the coffee table, I grabbed my glasses and plopped them on my nose, clearing my throat.
I studied him closely—the pale skin, the bewitching ice-blue eyes, his unusually low body temperature.
Then it struck me.
"Frost!" I beamed. "I'll call you Frost if that's okay."
The man—Frost—tested the name silently, rolling it around and something flickered in his expression.
"Frost," he repeated more loudly. "Yes. That feels…right somehow."
"Frost it is then," I confirmed with a smile, and the name settled between us.
I showed him where the extra blankets were and brought him a pillow from my room.
The couch definitely wasn't long enough for somebody Frost's height but it'd have to do.
Frost didn't complain, he just accepted the bedding with the same careful courtesy.
"Thank you," he said again and I never thought I'd get tired of hearing that. "I know this isn't…I know I'm an imposition."
"You were hurt, lost and it was a blizzard," I said with an arched brown. "It's not an imposition, it's basic humanity."
Something complicated crossed his face, like the concept of basic human decency was foreign to him. "Still. Thank you."
I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward
"Uhm…bathroom's over there," I pointed. "If you need it. Kitchen's—well you can see the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever. I'll be in there."
I pointed lastly to my bedroom door.
"If you need me."
I smiled then turned around, I was halfway across the room when he spoke again.
"Jackson?"
I turned back.
Frost was standing in the middle of the living room, looking lost and uncertain and completely innocent as he pressed his hands together.
"Why did you choose to help me?" he asked. "You don't know me. I could have been dangerous."
I considered the question and it was pretty fair, plus he had a point. I hadn't even considered it, he could have been extremely dangerous.
"I guess…" I hummed in thought. "I guess, I just believe that everyone deserves saving." I said finally, nodding my head.
"And I couldn't just watch someone die right in front of me." I shrugged. "Bottom line, it felt like the right thing to do. Plus my conscience would have judged me so bad otherwise."
Frost just stared at me, his face completely blank for a long moment. Then he suddenly nodded.
"Thank you," he said again but softer this time.
I retreated to my bedroom and closed the door leaning against it. My heart raced and I could positively say that something was wrong with me.
It didn't pulse this much since that time I competed in a marathon and instantly regretted it. Just what was wrong with me?
Through the thin walls, I could hear Frost moving around, the couch creaking as he settled onto it.
I should be terrified, if I put everything that had just transpired. I should be weary and scared and I should be calling someone but, why wasn't I scared?
Why did I want to have this strange human being all to myself? To be the only one who helped?
Maybe it was because I knew—the fear and confusion and desperate, aching need to understand who he was.
I knew what it felt like to be lost. To not understand yourself. Maybe not to this extreme, but the feeling was familiar enough.
I stretched and moved to change into my pajamas. I slowly climbed the bed feeling the stress of today wash over my body.
Finally comfortable, I stared at the ceiling, knowing sleep wouldn't come anytime soon. Mostly because my mind raced with a thousand thoughts I had no answers to.
Who was Frost? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Why was he standing in the middle of a blizzard wearing such light clothing with those strange objects in his pocket?
And—just what was he?