“JESUS CHRIST!,” screamed Zoe.

“That isn’t my name,” the albino said, with nary the slightest hint of sarcasm, or seemingly any other emotion.

“How the hell did you get here,” I asked him.

“No, more importantly, who the hell are you,” Zoe added.

Still speaking in that flat, nigh-on robotic voice [no, he wasn’t a robot, before you offer your theories, dear Reader], the albino replied:
“I followed you. And I have no name.”

For a few moments, neither me, Zoe or the albino man spoke a word. Only the countryside’s ambient noise filled our awkward silence.

The albino broke the near-silence.
“If you two would not mind, it might be preferable to continue this conversation in your apartment.”

Zoe shot me a quick look, as if to say: What the frakking frak?

“Uuuum…were we having a conversation,” she asked him.

“We are about to.”
He held out his chalk-white hands.
“If you would be so kind…”