I know I shouldn’t be out here at all. All the other times I’ve held out my thumb have been during the day, and I’ve only accepted rides with women or families. Even that is no guarantee of safety, but in smaller towns like this, it’s easier to find people to take pity on a small-boned girl standing by the side of the road. I’ve never ridden alone with a strange man, and I don’t plan to start, even if it means standing here in the rain all night.
And I’m feeling as though that just might be my fate when a woman pulls over in a VW Bug. I’m so happy to see her that I almost hop in before asking where she’s headed. But she’s only traveling another mile up the road, which would leave me nowhere in particular and too far from the highway, so I have to let her go.
By now I’m so discouraged, standing here like a wet dog, my toes squishing around in my Brooks, water dripping from my hair, my sleeves, that I don’t even look over when I see, out of the corner of my eye, another car pull over. I can’t imagine anyone who’d want me in her car at this point anyway, only to get everything as soaking wet as I am.
But the car idles next to me, and this makes me nervous. I begin to walk and it pulls forward. I glance over to see an ancient-looking Subaru, and just then the passenger-side door opens, as if to invite me in.
I’m wondering whether I should run when I see that the car is smothered in bumper stickers like SAVE THE WHALES and MEAT IS MURDER. Then the driver says my name. I bend down to see who it is.
Alex. I should’ve recognized him by his car alone.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Looking for you,” he says. “David couldn’t find you, and your room was cleaned out. So here I am.”
“You’ve wasted your time,” I say. “Go home.”
“Kat, please get in.”
“I can’t,” I say. “Unless you’re headed someplace far from here.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Is this because of Stacey?”
I say nothing. I feel the rain pelting my head and want nothing more than to get into the car.
“Kat, you can’t blame yourself. Nobody else does.”
“David asked me to stay close to her. And I didn’t. After all they did for me—this is how I repay them.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I left her on that trail, alone.”
“Suppose you were right there with her,” he says. “Do you think you’d have saved her?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you’d both be dead. Have you considered that?”
“I wish that were the case.”
“If you won’t stay for your own sake,” he says, “then stay for me. I don’t want you to go.”
“Alex, please. Just leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to let you run away.”
“I’m not running away.” He makes it sound so horrible, like this is even worse than what I’ve already done. And all I’m trying to do is keep from making things worse.
“Then what do you call this, exactly? You’re hitchhiking in the dead of night in the rain. You’re leaving David all alone just when he needs his friends the most. If you feel so guilty about this, after all he’s done for you, then why don’t you stick around and try to help instead of leaving?”
I glare at him, and I really hate him just now, mostly because he’s got a point and I can’t find any way to dispute it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should stay. Maybe I should try to make up for what I did. But I can’t help but feel that nothing good can come of my staying in Lithia.
“Just get in the car with me,” he says. “We’ll go back to town, and you’ll get through this.”
The rain has picked up, and I’m more tempted than ever to get into Alex’s beat-up old car. It looks warm, dry, comfortable, and Alex is still watching me, leaning over the gearshift, waiting for my answer.
But I don’t deserve his kindness. I step away from the car.
“Kat—” he begins.
And just then, a car pulls up behind his, stopping just short of the Subaru’s rear bumper. It’s a black, late-model BMW. Roman is behind the wheel.
He opens the door and steps out. He’s wearing a slick black raincoat and doesn’t seem bothered by the rain. He looks at me with those piercing dark eyes.
“It looks as though you need a lift,” he says.
“Move along, Roman,” Alex says. “This is none of your business.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, tree-hugger,” Roman says, then turns back to me. “Katherine, you need to get out of this rain.”
“What I need is to get out of Lithia,” I say, taking another step backward.
“Very well,” he says. “Get in. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Don’t do it, Kat,” Alex says sharply. He gets out of the car and in a flash is standing next to me. His face has changed, and he looks uneasy, frightened even. He reaches for my arm, but I pull it back.
“What’s it to you?” I ask.
“I can’t explain why,” he says in a low voice. “Just come with me.”
I look over toward Roman, who is standing next to his car. He doesn’t seem at all concerned about Alex or what he might be telling me. “Well, you’ll have to do better than that if you want me to go back with you.”
“He’s dangerous.”
“You’ve mentioned that. And I’ve told you that I can take care of myself.”
“Look, Kat, when I told you he’d suck the life out of you, I wasn’t being metaphorical.” Alex leans in and whispers, “Roman is a vampire.”
“What?” I laugh, unable to stop myself; it’s so absurd. And then I look at Alex, waiting for him to smile, to laugh with me—but he does nothing but stare back at me, his face completely serious.
“Alex, I don’t know what your problem is with Roman,” I say. “But you’re being ridiculous. I’m not listening to this anymore.”
Alex grabs my arm again, firmly, and I can’t pull it back.
“I’m not letting you leave with him.”
“Are you jealous, is that it?” I ask him. “You think making up bizarre stories about Roman is going to convince me to give myself over to you instead?”
“It’s not that at all,” Alex says. “I’m afraid for you. And you should be, too.”
“This is insane. Let me go.”
“I won’t let go that easily.”
“Let go!” Using all my strength, I yank my arm back and turn around, to walk back toward Roman, to his waiting car. But I’m surprised to find him standing right behind me, poised, on edge, as if about to take me from Alex if I hadn’t been able to wrest myself away. Both men are staring at each other with eyes I haven’t seen before. Both look as if they are ready to fight to the death. Over me?
It’s all so strange, it’s starting to feel like a dream.
“Come on, Roman,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”
I walk to his car, get in, and close the car door. The world goes silent. I’ve never been in a car like this before. It’s like being in a house, with classical music on the stereo, warm air flowing from somewhere.
Roman gets in, and as he pulls away, I watch Alex in the side-view mirror. He’s getting back into his own car, and I wonder if he’ll try to follow us. But when Roman hits the gas, I can see that there’s no way Alex will be able to keep up in his old Subaru.
I lean my head back and close my eyes and breathe. I hear a drip and realize that it’s me, that I’m dripping water all over the seat, the armrest, the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m making a mess of your car.”
“It’s nothing. Are you warm enough?”
“Compared to a few minutes ago, this is heaven.” I slip off my shoes to give them a chance to dry. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“Where would you like to go?”
“I’m not sure. I was going to go wherever my ride was going.”
“Well, we’re he
aded north,” he says, and I look out the window to see the two white-starred lanes of the highway. “I could take you to Eugene, Portland, Seattle. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Seattle? You would do that for me?”
“Of course.”
I can’t believe my luck. After almost two hours in the rain, I have a warm, comfortable ride; a safe ride.
But then I wonder why he’s so eager to get rid of me. Why, after asking me out, he suddenly wants to take me hundreds of miles away from where he lives. And I can’t help but hear the echo of Alex’s words: He’s dangerous.
“Do you want to take me all the way to Seattle?” I ask.
“It’s up to you. Why do you ask?”
“I guess I’m confused, that’s all.”
Maybe I’m projecting, but he seems to know what I’m saying, and he reaches over and puts his hand on mine.
“Katherine, we’re loners, you and I. We are fiercely independent, or, as some might stay, simply stubborn. I will honor your wishes because I know that I could not change your mind, even if honoring your wish is not my wish. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I do.”
Suddenly, I am not so sure I want to leave after all. Not so sure I want to leave Roman behind. My head is feeling light, and I lean it back on the headrest with a sigh. “How can I stay in Lithia, after everything that’s happened?” I ask aloud.
“You can stay with me. There are plenty of empty rooms in which to hide.”
“It’s all my fault.” I feel tears welling up.
“You did not kill that woman, of that much I am certain. “
“I know. But somebody did.”
“A bear.”
“That’s what they say. Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Then I decide to trust him. We are alike, after all, in many ways. Maybe he’ll understand. “I thought I heard a voice. A man’s voice. Up in the woods, right before.”
Roman lifts his hand off of mine and returns it to the steering wheel.
“And there’s this park ranger who doesn’t think these attacks have been from bears.”
A pause. “What does he think?”
“He didn’t say.” Now what I’ve just said seems as ridiculous as what Alex had told me just a little while ago. Serial killers. Vampires. Where do they come up with these things? Maybe there’s something more in the water around here than lithium.
“Maybe he’s just crazy,” I say. “Maybe I am, too.”
“We’re all a little bit crazy.”
“It’s not that I want to leave Lithia,” I say, sleepily. “I just don’t want to make things any worse. To do more damage than I already have.”
“Are you talking about Stacey, or our first date?”
I look at him, and he is smirking ever so slightly.
“That’s not funny, Roman. Everyone loved Stacey.”
“As did I,” he says. “I suppose I view death a little differently than most. The cycle of life and death is not something we should fear more than we accept.”
“Well, I can’t accept it. Especially when it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t left her on that trail.”
“Remember what Alex said. If you’d been with her, you might not be here yourself.”
I haven’t slept for nearly two days, and I feel my body crashing and rising, floating and drifting. I am drifting into sleep, on a tide so rapid I barely register what Roman has said. That he was not there when Alex said it. That there is no way he could have known what Alex had told me.
But I can’t bring myself to speak; I am too far over the edge of sleep. What’s left of my endurance fades into complete darkness.
Eleven
I am on the Lost Mine Trail again…but instead of running, this time I’m flying, moving across the tree line, skirting the edges of mountains. White wisps of clouds cascade in front of me. I push through them and gaze down to open pastures and creeks and needle-sharp treetops. Then I notice something familiar, a trail snaking between the trees, following the curves of the hills, switching back and forth, descending the mountain. Suddenly I’m zooming in, unable to control what feels like a precipitous descent. And, just like that, the dirt trail becomes a river of blood, and floating on it like a raft is Stacey’s neon hat.
I awake with a start, and it takes me a moment to realize I am not in the cottage. I’m in a strange bed. A huge bed. I spread out my arms and legs as wide as I can and still don’t get close to the edges. I’m enveloped in white sheets, a white comforter; it’s like sleeping in the clouds I was dreaming of.
Am I in Seattle? Or still in Lithia?
I look around the room. The ceilings are high, paneled in dark wood. The walls are white and blank, with only a lone painting hanging on one wall, like a museum between exhibits. The only color comes from the view from the large window on the left side of the room, a picturesque scene of trees and, I see now, the buildings of downtown Lithia.
I’m still here.
As I slide out of bed, I realize I’m wearing only my underwear, and there is no sign of my clothes from the night before. I discover a fluffy white robe on a nearby chair and slip it on.
I go to the window and look out, and that’s when I get a better sense of where I am—very high up in the hills, in one of those mansions I run past on my way to the Lost Mine Trail.
I lean my forehead against the window to look around, and I glimpse a nearby house, its exterior all stone, in varying shades of gray, with a stone chimney and a balcony that disappears around the corner. I don’t remember the houses being so close together in this neighborhood—and then I realize that what I’m looking at is not a separate house but another part of the house I am in. That I’m not in one of those mere mansions tucked away in the hills. I’m in the castle. Roman’s castle.
I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember is being in Roman’s car. We were headed north. I don’t remember telling Roman to return to Lithia. But maybe I did. Or maybe he read my mind. Maybe he knew all along that I wanted to come back.
I open the door to a long hallway. The floor is wood, with a Persian runner over it, and I look both ways before I call out, “Roman?”
But the house is silent. I turn away from the door, not quite ready to get lost by wandering down that long hallway. So I take a minute to look around the room. The furniture looks antique, and it is all large, as if this is a giant’s room. The dresser’s top drawer is at the same height as my head, and if I were to sit at the mammoth desk, I’d need a stepping stool to climb into the chair. The bookcase spans half of one wall and goes all the way to the ceiling. It’s filled with old dusty volumes that look as if they might fall apart if someone tried to read them.
The room’s only painting looks like something from an old European castle. I get up close to look at it, a portrait of some long-dead man, his pale face against a dark background infused with deep reds. The man’s face is young and looks a lot like Roman’s. He must be a great-great-something.
“Good morning.”
I whirl around to see Roman standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a silky-looking robe over what look like black silk pajamas, or very shiny, very comfortable pants. He always looks slightly overdressed, so it shouldn’t surprise me that he dresses up to hang around his own house. Or maybe that’s what people who live in castles do.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, walking toward me.
I remember my dream, then quickly try to banish it from my mind. “Pretty well,” I say. “I don’t remember how I got here last night.”
“I brought you.”
“Obviously,” I say. “What I mean is, I don’t know how I got there, in that bed, wearing next to nothing.”
Roman has an almost embarrassed look on his face. “You fell asleep in the car, and you were soaking wet. You needed to be out of those clothes.”
I give him a look. “And who, exactly, got me out of th
ose clothes?”
Roman smiles in that confident, flirtatious way he has.
“You?” I ask.
“I wish.”
I’m both disappointed and relived. “Then who did?”
“Svetlana.”
“Oh,” I say. I’m not sure what to make of this. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“She’s the maid.”
“You have a maid?”
“She’s my friend’s maid. She came with the house.”
“Oh.” I can’t seem to stop saying that, but this is all so foreign to me—castles and maids and a gorgeous actor standing right in front of me, as if it’s perfectly natural that I’ve just woken up in his house.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
I am suddenly starving. “That would be nice.”
“We have eggs, sausage…”
“How soon you forget,” I say.
“We have toast, almond butter…”
“That’s better.”
He nods. “Come with me.”
I follow him down the long hallway, our footsteps silent on the thick Persian rug. The whole place is so eerily quiet I want to jump up and down, make some noise. We walk down a long, winding staircase and through another hallway and a grand foyer that easily would hold my cottage, perhaps even a couple more. I get the vague feeling that we are being watched, but when I glance over my shoulder, I see no one.
We enter a gigantic kitchen. It’s easily the size of the restaurant kitchens I’ve worked in, with all the commercial-sized appliances, only this one has fine cabinetry as well, and nice antique faucets. A heavyset woman is standing near the sink, which is large enough to bathe a St. Bernard in.
“This is Svetlana,” Roman says.
“Hello,” I say.
Svetlana nods deferentially toward me but says nothing. Roman speaks to her in another language, and she turns away, disappearing into a pantry that looks to be about the size of the running store.
“She speaks no English,” Roman says. “Only Russian.”
“You’re fluent in Russian?” I ask.
“I’m fluent in a number of languages.”
“Are you from Russia?”
“No,” he says, and he pulls out a chair for me. The breakfast table is, like everything else in this house, old and huge. After I sit down, Roman goes to the other end, and we sit about six feet apart, facing each other like some old married couple in a black-and-white film.
Out of Breath Page 7
