by Sarah Ready
I shake my head. “I want you to go,” I tell her. “I need you to keep looking.”
“No. I’m not leaving you. I told you before, I don’t want to die down here alone. I want to be with someone I know and trust. A friend.”
She rests her head against my chest.
I know what she’s envisioning. That she’ll leave me here, and she won’t find her way out, that she’ll die alone at the bottom of a crevice or in a tunnel and I’ll die alone in this stinking cavern. She’s making a choice. I think it’s the wrong one.
“Please don’t,” I say. “I need you to keep going. To get us out of here. I’ll be with you”—I press my hand to her heart—“right here.”
She sniffs and shakes her head then wraps her arms around me. I sink down to the ground and lean against the wall. She curls into me. Her hands wrap around my waist and she lays her head against my heart.
“We’ll sleep for a bit,” I whisper. I kiss her hair and rest my chin against her head. After she has some rest I’ll convince her to leave me. To go, to keep fighting, to live.
I rub my hands over her back, the tension slowly fades from her and then her breathing steadies. She’s asleep. I wrap my arms around her and try to memorize the feeling I have when I hold her. The warmth of her, the softness of her skin, the curve of her back and the flare of her hips. How even though it’s dark, she shines bright for me.
For more than an hour I sit quietly, just holding her.
If she refuses to go, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands. Years ago, when I was a kid, I went to the Race to the South Pole exhibit at the Natural History Museum. I remember Scott’s party of British explorers were doomed. They were in an endless blizzard with no way out. They were going to die. One of the men had severe frostbite in his feet and he was slowing the party down. He knew he was harming the others’ chances of survival, so he calmly told them he was going out for a walk and that he may be awhile. And then he left, walked into the white, and never returned. He sacrificed himself so the others could move faster. So he didn’t ruin their slim chance of survival. This man walked into the darkness for his friends. As a child, I read the journals with horror and I didn’t quite understand why he did it, but now I do. I understand. If Veronica refuses to leave, I’ll have to do what that man did. Find a way to walk into the darkness, die so that she can survive. Make it to the light.
I shift her weight in my arms and pull her close.
“I love you,” I whisper.
There’s a sound above me. A squeaking and the humming of wings. I look up, then blink, because I think I see something. Which can’t be right, because we’re in a pitch black cave. But…I see movement and…
I shake Veronica. She wakes up with a start.
“What? What is it?” she asks sleepily.
“Look,” I say.
I point toward the sound of the bats returning to roost. There must be hundreds of them. Thousands. They’re flying into the cave from a hole in the ceiling. And we can see it. We can see it because it’s five in the morning and there’s the thin, gray light of dawn filtering down into the cavern.
It’s dark, but I can see her. I can see Veronica.
We’re going to live.
13
Veronica
The mouth to the cave is twenty feet up a straight ledge. The sunrise filters in and looks like spidery gray webs as it lands on the rock and the returning bats. The bats fly past us, through the cavern and down the tunnel. I look up at the diving, swirling mass of them, and the rocky ledge, the light, and I start to cry. The tears fall from my eyes and I can’t stop them. They pour out and my chest heaves as I let go of all the fear and desperation that we’d be trapped. That I would lose him.
Sam gathers me in his arms and holds me as the light continues to grow.
Finally, my tears stop and there’s no more fear, just a peaceful feeling that everything’s going to be alright and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I look up, and for the first time get a look at the man I love.
The light’s still dim, it’s that early morning dark, but I can see him well enough.
My heart fills with love as my eyes follow the path of his face that my hands felt so many times.
He has a short thick beard. His hair has a cowlick and sticks up to one side. There’s a mottled purple bruise on his left cheek his left eye is swollen half-way shut. Under his right eye is a cut covered in blood. He has deep, purple bags under his eyes and a worry line between his eyebrows. And he’s filthy. His face is covered in dirt and dust. The rest of him doesn’t look any better. His clothing is torn and dirty, his legs are scraped and raw.
I feel the beginning of a smile. Behind the dirt on his face, the bruise, the swollen black eye…I see him. I look into his eyes. They’re exactly as I imagined. Warm, full of joy, awe. But strangely, I also see a hint of caution. As if he’s concerned with what I’ll think of him now that I can see his face.
I reach up and trace my hand down his jaw. “There you are,” I say. “Tallish. Short hair. Hazel eyes. Exactly as I imagined.”
He drops his head against my hand and lets out a long exhale.
“Just think, after we shower and eat, and the sun comes up I’ll be able to see all of you. Meet you in the outside world,” I say.
“It’s a date,” he whispers roughly.
And then he smiles at me and I catch my breath. I stare into his eyes and we grin like two fools who have just beaten the longest odds and won the world as our prize.
“I was right,” he says.
“About what?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Right now, I can only imagine what I look like. Probably worse than he does. But he’s not looking at my hair, or my body, or my clothes. He’s looking into my eyes. My heart turns over. I’m his.
I look up at the ledge. It’s an easy climb, there are plenty of handholds and footholds. Even exhausted and weak from hunger, we’ll be able to climb out in minutes. I turn to Sam.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
I lead the way, working out the best route. I was right, in less than five minutes we’re both standing next to a small rock outcropping, the cave mouth is hidden by the surrounding rocks. I grab Sam’s hand and pull him close.
The soft, golden light of sunrise filters through the trees. Morning sounds fill the air, birds waking, chipmunks chattering. The crisp scent of pine needles and moss hits me. I pull in a deep, fortifying breath. I’m so grateful that I’ll never, ever have to smell wet limestone and dank earth again.
I take a moment to take in the open air, the breeze tangling though my hair, the sun falling across my skin, the noises around me. The life.
“We did it,” I say.
Sam squeezes my hand.
“Do you know where we are?” he asks.
I look around, try to see any landmarks I recognize. I face the direction of the sunrise. East. I’m not sure where we came out, whether we’re miles from our original position or mere meters. The White Pine Trail is in a large swath of forest, but I know almost every inch of it.
“I don’t,” I say, “but if we head east, we’re bound to come to civilization. The forest’s eastern boundary butts against the freeway.”
He lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay. Let’s get hiking then.”
I’m worried, we need to get food soon. I estimate the highway is anywhere from five to twenty miles away. We need to get out of here and find people, that’s the first priority. But, on our way out, I’ll keep my eyes open for food. There’s plenty in this forest, I’ve feasted on wild plants, roots, berries, and more. It’ll be okay.
We’re going to be okay.
I take his hand and we work our way through the woods. The undergrowth is thin in this area, the soil is rocky and the hiking isn’t too difficult.
“There’s a clearing up ahead,” I say. It’s about a half-mile away. I can just make out the edge of the tree line. Then I hear a sound, a loud
whooshing.
“What is that?” I ask.
Sam tilts his head and listens. “I think…” His eyes light up. “That’s a helicopter.”
We look at each other.
“They’re looking for us,” I say.
“The clearing,” he says.
Then we both start to run. If we can get to the clearing and signal the helicopter we’ll be out of here in minutes. No hiking, no flagging down cars. In five minutes this will all be over. I don’t know where the last bit of energy comes from, but Sam and I sprint through the woods and charge into the clearing. He reaches it before me. When he does he pulls to a stop. I slam into him and bounce back. He doesn’t move. He just stands there.
“What is it?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything. I come around him, then I see why he’s stopped. The far edge of the clearing is filled with people.
“What is this?” I ask. He doesn’t have to answer. I realize almost right away what it is. They’re here for us. It’s an organized search. There are the big white tents with tables and chairs. There are water coolers and food.
More than that, there are a dozen news vans with satellite dishes, reporters, and cameramen. Are they all here for us? Are there always so many searchers and reporters for two missing hikers? The helicopter is louder now. It hovers over the clearing, nearer to us than the search party and reporters. The meadow grass flattens under the wind of its beating blades. The helicopter sets down and the blades slow. The engine stops and the clearing grows quiet. The reporters and searchers are looking our way, and then I realize that they’ve seen us. Because there’s a shout, and a cheer, and then dozens of people are running our way.
“What is this?” I ask again. I’m confused. Everything is a blur, a daze.
“Stay with me,” Sam says.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say.
But the next minute, the most beautiful, long-legged, pouty-lipped woman jumps out of the helicopter and flings herself into Sam’s arms. He stumbles back, catches her. She wraps her arms around him and plasters her body against his. I step back, confused. Who…what? Then the woman covers his mouth, not with a happy-to-see-you kiss, but with a let’s-make-babies-right-here kiss. A roaring fills my ears and I blink, suddenly dizzy. The reporters have reached us, the cameras.
“Sam?”
A woman grabs me, holds me up. She has a microphone and she shoves it at me.
“You’ve been lost in the woods with Frederick Knight for five days. An ordeal that most women in America would kill for. How was it? Did he show his legendary charm? What did you do to survive?”
I stare at the reporter, unable to comprehend what she’s saying. What she’s asking. I shake my head, push the microphone away.
“Sam?” I call. There are a dozen people separating us.
The woman from the helicopter still clings to his arm. But there are other women with him now. A half dozen of them in short, tight dresses, one is in a bikini, like she’d been…sunbathing? They are all kissing him, touching him. The reporters surround him, shout questions at him. He’s looking around, I can tell he’s agitated.
Then there’s a loud shout, and a woman in a sundress pushes through the crowd and throws herself into his arms.
He looks at her, and then clasps her to him. Like he loves her.
I turn back to the reporter that asked me the question. There’s a whining noise in my ears and black dots dancing in my vision. Sam’s…Sam is…
“What did you say?” I ask. My voice is thick and heavy, comes from a far-away place.
“You spent five days lost in the woods with Frederick Knight…”
I don’t hear anything else she says. I stare at Sam.
Not Sam.
Frederick.
Not Sam at all.
That man is…
I take in the number of reporters. The media frenzy. The helicopter. The dozen of model-esque women surrounding him.
He’s…
I clasp my stomach, bend over, certain I’m about to throw up. Bile rises and I start to gag.
“She needs help,” the reporter shouts.
My legs give out and I collapse to the ground. I grab the long grass and try to steady myself. Pull in heaving breaths.
He’s not…
Tears swim in my eyes. I look up. Who are these woman?
Does it matter? Frederick Knight always has women surrounding him. Because he’s a player.
The King of Players.
The truth slams into me.
I’ve been played.
Was it just five days ago that I told my friends to never trust a man? That they’re all players or wanna-be players? I knew their tactics, only you understand me, I feel like I’ve known you forever, and…
I draw in a ragged breath.
I remember what I always told my friends. Players use the biggest con of all. Right before they lift your skirt they always say…
I love you.
I picture the moment he said I love you, right before he…
A sob escapes me. But…that doesn’t make sense. He said his name was Sam. He saved me. He cared…he…
Suddenly, he’s there. He drops to the ground in front of me.
“Veronica, are you okay? Talk to me, are you okay?” He pulls me toward him. Looks up at the surrounded crowd and shouts for a paramedic.
I shake my head. I don’t need a paramedic.
“You’re…” the words stick in my throat. “You’re Frederick Knight.”
“No,” he says. I look around at the reporters pressing in, the women. “I mean yes, but…”
I shake my head. The blood rushes from me and I feel cold.
I look at his face again. The sun is higher and the morning light is bright.
I stare at him and I don’t see the man I know. I see…Frederick Knight. I don’t know how I missed it before, in the dawning light of the woods. His honey-colored hair, his sharp nose, his full lips, the hazel eyes that wooed a thousand woman. His perfect physique, the muscular shoulders and washboard abs. I recognize him now. I’ve seen him too often on the front pages of magazines and the news headlines. His is the face that mocked me, the face I ran from.
I’m going to be sick. I gave myself to Frederick Knight. I fell in love with a player.
I think back on my actions with dawning horror. I fell in love with him. I couldn’t imagine leaving him in the cave. I couldn’t leave him. I was going to die with him rather than save myself.
I became my worst nightmare. I was worse than my mom. At least she had a home and a life, I was going to stay with Frederick Knight in a cave. To die.
“Get away from me,” I say.
His face loses color. “My family calls me Sam. I am Sam. To you I’m Sam. Veronica please.”
I shake my head. Yank my arms from his.
“Don’t touch me,” I say. “You lied. You played me.”
My heart pounds in my chest and even now, I still want him. I want him to say it’s all been a mistake and we’ll go home and have a shower and…no. He’s made me weak. He’s a player. We get out of the woods and the first thing he does is make out with another woman. Even after seeing that, though, I want to stay with him.
He’s made me weak.
“Let me explain,” he whispers fiercely.
I shake my head no. Tears blur my vision. “You had five days to explain. Remember our pact? No lies, no deceptions, just the truth. No secrets in the cave. You had five days to tell me the truth and you didn’t.”
He closes his eyes. Nods. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“You aren’t who you said you were,” I say. My voice is ragged and I feel an aching, tearing at my heart.
“No. You’re right. I’m Frederick Knight,” he agrees. “But I love you. I love you more than you can know.”
His voice is Sam’s, the voice that comforted me and whispered to me and made me feel safe, but it’s all wrong because the voice I love is coming from the
face of the man I loathe.
Don’t I? Don’t I loathe him?
He reaches out and takes my hands again. I see the paramedics with a stretcher push their way through the crowd. They’re fifty feet away. They’ll be here soon. Take me away from here.
Before they do I need to make something clear.
I won’t spend my life with a player. I can’t. Years of news footage flashes in my mind, Frederick Knight with half-naked women, Frederick Knight walking the red carpet with beautiful actresses, Frederick Knight, this man, in a hot tub pouring champagne over gorgeous models…six days ago.
I won’t spend my life in love with a man who will make me weak and break me down. I won’t.
It’s funny, Miss Erma was right, I couldn’t run from fate. I tried, so it threw me in a pit, plunged me in the dark, and had me fall for the man I swore I’d never like, much less love. Frederick Knight may be my soul mate, Miss Erma was right, I couldn’t run, but I won’t make the mistake my mom did. I won’t stay with a liar and a cheat and a player.
“Sam,” I whisper.
He nods and a light of hope enters his eyes. My heart responds, wants to latch onto the fact that he says he loves me. But my dad claimed to love my mom too. Players always claim they love you.
“Remember when I promised you that I’d never be with my soul mate?”
“Yes?”
I swallow back tears. “You said you’d never let me fall for my soul mate? You promised me that you’d never let me be with him? Remember?” My voice breaks on the question.
“Yes. Of course I remember. I won’t let you. I promise.”
He squeezes my hands. I look into his face, remind myself of who he is. The billionaire player with magazine cover good looks. The man with a multitude of lovers and a trail of broken hearts.
“My soul mate is Frederick Knight,” I whisper.
He sucks in a breath. Shock and confusion light his eyes.
“But…” He stops, looks at me, and I can’t read what his eyes are trying to tell me. Because they are Frederick Knight’s eyes, the eyes of a player. A man I don’t know.
