Lola had always been a light sleeper–a very inconvenient trait in the old apartment complex where she lived, where the walls seemed no thicker than a centimeter. She always heard noise from somewhere, no matter the time of day. She couldn't quite define where the noise had come from. It seemed closer than from outside her one-room apartment. She grabbed her phone–she had meant to replace the bulb in her nightstand lamp for weeks–and intended to turn on the flashlight to shine around the room. It wouldn't be the first time that mice were scurrying about, and although she wasn't afraid of them, they didn't exactly help her sleep any better. If she could, she would chase them out the door.

As soon as she illuminated her screen, she saw she had received a text from an unknown number. Instantly, she was on alert. Normally, she turned off the sound when she went to sleep, but after Carla's panicked call, she had left the volume on high. Carla. She immediately opened the message. Her eyes darted over the text, and she frowned. Whose clothes were covered in blood? And why was this person texting her in the middle of the night? Did the sender intend the message for someone else? She clicked on the photo and saw a young man with a cap on his head looking over the water. She recognized the tattoos on his arms all too well, and although his face wasn't clear, it had to be Phantom. 

Was he covered in blood? Yesterday, she had gone to him, hoping he could help her find Carla. It–it wasn't her blood, was it? She began to tremble as she pressed the call icon and got up.

 "Lola? Is that you?" 

"Yes," she said with a voice trembling with nerves. "Where... what happened? Did you find Carla?" 

"No. I... " He sighed deeply. "I screwed up." 

"What do you mean?" Her voice sounded shrill. "That blood... it isn't Carla's, is it?" 

"No, don't worry. But I don't know where she is." There was a tension in his voice that hinted at things he didn't want her to know. 

"Did you kill someone?" she asked in a frantic whisper. 

"The less you know, the better, Lola. Can you help me or not? I can't be seen on the street like this." 

"Yes... or well... I don't have any men's clothes here." She had a sweater that was too big for her but which she loved. Maybe he could wear that. But pants? 

"Get them from my clubroom. The door is open." 

"Okay. Will you send me the address?" 

"Yeah." There was a brief silence. "Thanks, Lo." 

Lo. The shortening of her name stirred something warm inside her. It felt familiar. As if they were more than strangers who had only met two weeks ago. She gathered some clothes and left the apartment. The hallway light wasn't working, and she almost tripped over the scattered trash twice as she tried to ignore the smell of stale urine and weed. Man, how much she would give to leave this dump. But she wanted to stand on her own two feet, and although it hadn't turned out as she had hoped, admitting that out loud was the last thing she wanted to do. She would get through this. This was just... temporary. 

Lola closed the door behind her and walked to her old Chevrolet Spark, which looked like it had been a bumper car in another life. Every ride she wondered whether she would reach her destination. 

She put the key in the lock and headed to the Mayan's clubhouse. Since she had found a job there as a cleaner a month ago, she had made quite a few trips there. The men had subtly hinted that they wanted to see her on stage too and that she would earn more that way, but Lola didn't think she had the right figure for it. And the idea of all those men ogling her didn't  exactly appeal to her. Not that the cleaning job was fantastic, but after having to declare her own business bankrupt, she had to do something. 

A scant ten minutes later, she parked in the lot next to the nightclub and walked around to the clubhouse. Cleaning it was also part of her duties, so she had the key and stepped into the empty space. She crossed the bar area and walked to the back. Phantom's clubroom wasn't the only one she had been in, but it was the only one she had entered without a suffocating feeling in her chest. It had quickly become clear to her that sweetbutts, the female visitors of the bar, were there mainly for entertainment. Like prostitutes–but the type you didn't have to pay. Sleeping with the men was apparently an honor. Lola however had her own opinions about that. Still, Carla told her they could offer protection–she had been able to stay here as an illegal immigrant, and they had protected her identity. Although they couldn't prevent someone from taking her. She pressed her lips together. It remained to be seen if she would be able to find protection here herself–if she would really need that–but Phantom... Phantom gave her a safe feeling, even though she barely knew him. 

But now he's covered in blood because he wanted to help you. 

A small smile found its way to her lips as she slipped into his room to grab the clothes.

Phantom was hidden in a shadowy spot outside a motel. She had brought a bottle of water so he could wash the blood off his arms and face. With his back to her, he quickly changed clothes. 

He looked at her a little awkwardly afterward."Thanks." 

She smiled at him. "No problem. I'm partly the cause of this... bloodbath, right?" 

He sighed. "It was... I... " He let out another deep sigh and stared ahead. "I need to lay low for a few days. Can I stay at your place?" 

"You're not hiding from the club, right?" The thought made her chest tighten. 

"No. But if I'm caught on camera, they'll go to my house and the club first." 

She understood. And yet... She felt ashamed of the place where she lived. She had no idea how to put it into words. He would only look at it from a practical point of view–and deep down, the thought of spending more time with him made her heart beat faster."You can come with me," she said. "But... it's not much," she admitted. "If I had the money, I wouldn't be living there anymore." 

He smirked. "I can handle a lot. I even spent some time without a roof over my head." 

His answer intrigued her; it suggested he hadn't had an easy life. She was curious about his life , although this wasn't the moment to ask. He looked exhausted."So you don't have any news about Carla, right?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. 

He shook his head and looked at her apologetically. "No, sorry. It was a dead end." He looked at his hands, and Lola was sure he saw the wiped-off bloodstains. "Literally." 

She swallowed. Had he killed someone before? The Mayans weren't saints, but they weren't murderers either. Moreover, he hadn't been with them that long. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

He stared into the void and whispered an almost inaudible denial. 

Suddenly, he looked so lost... and the fact that he had called her showed that he had as few people as she did.So, she pulled him into an embrace and held him tightly.