The DreamWalker Series

Need Help? Call.

Ellette was exhausted. The heat always seemed to weigh her down. The café with its fans and misters, lined with lush foliage was a welcome retreat. She settled down at one of the quaint metal tables and noticed a card in the middle of it. It was plain white, nothing fancy. In black, block letters, it said "Boris. Good Guy. Need help? Call."

Ellette ran her fingers over the ink and glanced around the café. The card was old fashioned in this modern age of laser printed, high gloss business cards. She found herself worrying at the corner of the card, fraying the high-quality fibers.

She did indeed need help. She was on the verge of losing her apartment. She'd sold off everything she could to the pawn shop down the street. Finding a job wasn't going well at all. But did she dare trust some random card?

With a sigh, she waved the waiter over. As the skinny, high school-aged looking boy approached the table, she held up the card. "Someone left this here, do you know anything about it?"

The boy smiled, taking the card. "Yeah, some creeper has been leaving these in all the shops up and down the street."

"Oh," she said. "Well, thanks for letting me know. Um. What's the cheapest, halfway decent thing on the menu?"

He pointed out a soup and sandwich combo. "Short on cash, eh?" he asked, surprising her.

Most waiters weren't happy to learn she wouldn't be giving much of a tip. She nodded.

"It's on me. You look like you could use it," the boy said and turned back to the kitchen. She stared after him, stunned speechless.

Much to her disappointment, an older woman brought out her meal. "My waiter, from before... what was his name?"

"Um, what did he look like?" The woman chomped noisily at her gum.

"Tall, lanky, looked like he was maybe seventeen?"

The woman shrugged. "Dunno. A boy like that did pay for your meal though."

"Oh, well, thanks..." Ellette stared down at her plate, and noticed, at the center of the table sat a card.

She took the card, turning it over in her hands once more. Hadn't the boy taken it from her?

She considered the words written there.

Need help?

She really did. Though she doubted she'd ever call the number printed there, she slipped the card into her wallet. It was suspicious at best, creepy at worst. It was a last resort. Or better yet, a simple reminder of a young man's generosity when she'd needed it most.