Claire Dahle stared intently at the semi-conscious man before her. It was hard to tell from looking at him how bad off he really was, but he looked terrible. He was weak, but the water seemed to have helped somewhat. They needed an ambulance, she thought. If he could be stabilized enough, she could drive another ten miles or so, to where her cell phone signal would return, and call the authorities. If he drank the second bottle of water, maybe he could hold on until help arrived.

     “Are you ready for more?” she asked.

     He nodded, so she opened the second bottle and held it to his lips. It was impossible to see what he’d look like without the swollen face, she thought, not to mention his scraggly beard. The eye he could open was a deep brown, but every part of him she had seen was battered and he was covered with deep bruises and abrasions. A cut on his left temple had bled heavily and the resulting mess was crusted down the side of his face and matted in his black hair.

     “It’s none of my business, so I won’t ask how you got to this point,” she commented as he drank some more.

     He paused, staring at her as though trying to understand her words, and then began drinking again, slowly and with a steady determination that reassured her. He seemed stronger with every swallow of water.

     “I found an old t-shirt in my car. Would you like to have it?”

     Slowly he nodded, so she set a faded green shirt on the ground near his right hand. He picked it up hesitantly, gasping when he tried to raise his left hand out of his lap.

     “What’s wrong with your hand?” she asked.

     “Broken wrist,” he croaked, not raising his eyes from the shirt. “Go away. I’m fine now.”

     Claire wanted to laugh at such a ridiculous statement, but restrained herself and stood up. Without a word, she ran down to the car. She could feel his gaze following her as she rummaged in the trunk of her car. Finding what might work, she gathered up a small pile of materials and headed slowly back toward the man.

     “Why are you back?” he asked uncertainly, keeping his gaze firmly down in his lap.

     “I’m going to put a splint on your wrist,” she replied. “You should be able to move your arm a little better after that. Now, lay your arm out on this.”

     She laid a thick piece of a cardboard box on his lap and knelt down before him. He stared at her for a long, doubtful moment, but finally complied, using his good hand to carefully straighten the wrist so it felt right. She brought forth two plastic rulers and some thick first aid tape. Setting the two rulers carefully around the break, she taped the fragile structure all around. A clean sweat sock with the toe cut off was next, slipping easily over the splint. She then used blue masking tape to wrap it around. When it was finished, she looked up. “Does that feel all right? Enough until you can get to a real doctor, anyway?” she asked anxiously.

     Without a word, he leaned forward, thrust the t-shirt over his head and managed to get his damaged arm through the sleeve. The effort was enough to make the breath hiss from him as he dragged the faded old cotton shirt down over his chest.

     “It’s fine,” he panted. “Thank you. I’ll be fine now.” He leaned heavily back on the tree and closed his eye again.

     Claire frowned and said, “You’re obviously not fine. Is there someone I can call for you when I get within cell phone range? Otherwise I can send an ambulance out here for you. I can’t just leave you alone without sending for help. There’s nothing and no one around us for miles!”

     “What a meddlesome female you are! I don’t want your help and I don’t need it!” he croaked suddenly, his eye glinting angrily.

     The sun was sinking lower. In a few hours it would be dark and already it was getting cooler. The sight of bruises developing on his face and neck made her shiver at the thought of the pain he must be in. His skin was turning a painful red, as sunburn began to manifest. The guy was a piece of work, she thought. He was stubborn, pathetic and arrogant all at the same time, even while he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. It was ridiculous to keep arguing with him, and her relaxing afternoon drive in the country was no longer possible. Irritably she wondered how far her responsibility toward her fellow man went. She doubted that he could walk ten feet without passing out and wondered why he didn’t simply tell her who could come and collect him. Everyone has someone, right? She looked all around and saw nothing but rolling fields and an empty country road that sorely lacked helpful people.

     “Please let me call someone who can pick you up,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to hang around here trying to help someone who doesn’t want help, but I can’t leave without knowing you’ll be okay.”

     “There is no one,” he muttered drearily. “Are you satisfied?”

     “No,” she said more gently. “I’m probably an idiot, but I need to contact someone to help you or I can’t leave you here alone. Please, what can I do to help you?”

     His controlled expression relaxed for a moment, and she glimpsed grief and confusion in his eye before he covered his face with his right hand. Compassion overcame her brief irritation. He was a sorry mess.

     “I don’t know what to do,” he said, so faintly she could hardly hear him. He looked up, frowning, and muttered, “Does a rapist and an adulterer deserve to be helped?”

     Claire jumped and scrambled back involuntarily. She realized too late how fearful it made her look, until a cynical scowl appeared on the man’s battered face.

     “Are you a rapist?” she asked slowly.

     “No… I don’t think so, but it’s what I was shunned for.” He paused and then added, “And why should you believe me? It’s certainly an impossible story.”

     Her eyebrow soared skeptically. Criminals all protested their innocence, of course. And if he was shunned, he must be from one of those isolated religious communities up north. People gossiped about them, but no one really knew much about the lives of the residents. It was said that they lived in old-fashioned, even primitive ways. He was weak, certainly no danger at the moment, and she had now invested enough time in this bizarre situation to want the truth of it. She sat down a few feet away from him and said, “Please tell me.”