“You’re going to have to trust me on this. I think we’ll find help faster this way rather than trying to track up the side of that hill. It’s too steep, and it could be days before anyone finds us down here,” he said.
“But the lodge will notice when the van doesn’t return and send help,” she protested.
“They have more than one shuttle service running. They’ll just think this guy took the day off. There are more resorts and private cabins this way. If we wait here in the open, we could freeze or you could bleed to death. Please, Megan. You have to trust me on this,” he said almost pleading with her. It still didn’t make sense to her, but it seemed important enough to him. Her head and hand hurt.
“Okay,” she said thinking she’d be able to re-trace her footsteps if she needed to later. Maybe he knew what he was doing. He led her about 50 yards into the forest before he told her to sit down. The trees had blocked some of the snow from falling to the ground so it wasn’t as deep inside the shelter. He grabbed the first aid kit and rummaged through it taking out some gauze and tape. He removed the shirt, which was soaked with blood on one side. He wrapped her hand with the gauze and secured it with the tape. He pulled a glove out of one of the bags and put it on her hand. “The glove will be tight with the bandaging. It might help stop the bleeding. Try to keep it elevated.” She just watched him. Then he took another piece of gauze and put it to her forehead. He secured it with tape also. He was concentrating so hard she could see the veins in his forehead. He stood up, put the opened wrappings from the gauze back into the kit and closed it.
“Rest here for a minute. I’ll be back,” he said and turned. She sat and waited. He was gone for what seemed like a long time. She began to recall the moments before the van plummeted off the side of the mountain. Had she heard the driver call Jack by name? Is that what sent Jack lunging after him? If so, who was Jack? He said he worked for the IRS. How did a man who made it all the way to internships in medical school end up working for the Internal Revenue Service? She sniffed the air. It smelled like smoke. She looked around and started walking back toward the accident. As she neared the edge of the forest, she saw Jack using a large branch to roughen up the snow all around the perimeter of the van so no footprints were visible. The van was on fire. She turned around and went back to where he had left her.
Her mind raced. What was going on? Who was this guy? Why was he burning the van? Why was she so drawn to him and willing to follow him into the forest when she knew their best hope was to go up the hill or wait until someone saw the smoke from the van. She glanced in the direction of the van and then grabbed Jack’s backpack. She unzipped it and began going through it looking for clues as to who Jack Hamilton really was.
“What are you looking for?” a voice asked from behind her. She involuntarily jumped at the unexpected interruption.
“I, uh, I was looking for lip balm,” she replied thinking quickly. “My lips are getting chapped in the cold air.”
“And you thought I looked like the lip balm kind of guy?” he said taking the bag from her. He didn’t sound upset, she noted. He sounded like he was amused and maybe even flirting.
“You never know,” she said. “Can’t always judge a book by its cover.”
“True. We should go,” he said and put the backpack on his back.
“Yeah, in a second. Why did you go back to the van?” she asked.
“I forgot to check for a cell phone or a radio,” he said. She didn’t own a cell phone anymore - no one to call and no one to call her.
“Don’t you have one?” she replied.
“Lost it when I was rolling down the hill, I guess,” he answered.
“Where are we going again?” she said without standing.
“We’re looking for another lodge, a cabin or the road,” he said. “Come on.”
“Don’t you think we’d have a better chance getting rescued by the people who will show up to put out the fire you started?” she asked. He grinned. He seemed impressed by her.
“I’m not sure we want to be found by those people,” he said.
“What kind of people are those?” she asked.
“That’s something I needed to tell you,” he said.
“Start talking, because I’m not going anywhere with you until I get some answers,” she said planted firmly on the ground. “Why did the driver know your name?”
“You caught that, did you? Nice work.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said and raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her.
“My name’s on my luggage,” he said. “And there’s something else. Remember when I told you I worked for the government?” he asked. She nodded. “Well, I’m not exactly part of the IRS.”
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”
“Can we walk and talk at the same time?” he asked reaching out a hand to help her off the ground. She looked at it and thought about it for a second. Her head was telling her to run out into the area where the van was burning and yell for help. Her heart was telling her to take his hand and follow him. Wait…that might have been her hormones. So what was her gut telling her? It told her to go with him. It told her those big brown eyes weren’t lying now.
“Okay,” she said and took his hand. She put her backpack on her back, and they began through the trees and climbing over broken limbs. “I’m listening.” He walked first, holding branches so they wouldn’t hit her face and taking her arm as they worked their way over the tree limbs and down slopes.
“I’m actually more of a government law enforcement official,” he said.
“You’re FBI?”
“If you want to get specific, yes,” he answered.
“Great,” she said disappointed and disgusted. “What else?”
“Well, that guy in the van may have been someone from a case,” he said.
“So he’s after you?” she asked cautiously while considering the other option.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Well, if he’s not after you,” she said stopping. “Who is he after?” He stopped and looked into her green eyes. The fear and vulnerability bubbled to the surface as she looked at him.
“Look,” he said breathing a little heavily from the day’s stresses. “He may have been after me or… Or, he could have just been driving drunk.”
“You drove us off a cliff because he was ‘probably’ after you or he had a few too many?” He wasn’t telling her something. “I don’t believe you.”
“Come on. We have to keep moving,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere else with you until you tell me what’s going on,” she said. He looked down at her hand.
“You’ve bled through the bandaging and glove,” he said taking her hand. “We have to get you somewhere so I can fix this,” he said holding her hand in his. “Please trust me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I know what I’m doing.” She studied him as he spoke.
“Okay,” she said. “But as soon as we get somewhere safe, you have to tell me what’s going on.” He nodded.
“Try to keep pressure on this and keep it elevated,” he said and turned to continue.
He was methodical in his movements as he picked through the heavily wooded forest. Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, climbing over and ducking under tree limbs, he stopped and looked around.
“Let’s take a break for a couple of minutes,” he said as he looked at his watch. She slumped against a tree and slid down it.
“Do you have any idea where we are or where we’re going?” she asked.
“We’ve walked miles. There has to be something else on this God-forsaken mountain besides that town,” he said sounding more agitated than he had.
“Let me get this straight. We’re on the side of a mountain, hurt because you drove us off the road, we’re lost, we’re cold and hungry, and you don’t have a clue as to what to do next?”
“We have to keep moving,” he said. She knew he was right. Moving wou
ld at least keep them from freezing to death - for awhile anyway. She began to question whether he really knew what he was doing.
* * * * *
Just as she began to worry they were going to have to spend the night walking, they came to a small clearing. Jack put out his arm to stop her from going any farther. In the middle of the clearing was a small log cabin.
“Stay here,” Jack whispered. The snow was deeper in the clearing. He made his way to the cabin and looked through the spaces in the boarded up windows. He walked back to her. “Okay. It’s empty. We can stay here tonight.”
They walked to the cabin and when Jack made it to the front door he saw a pad lock on it. He picked up a couple of sticks to try to break the lock, but they weren’t strong enough. He found a rock and began banging the lock. Megan rolled her eyes and walked around the cabin. All the windows were boarded, except for one in the back. It was just above a stack of firewood. The owner probably couldn’t reach the window because of the wood. She climbed up the wood and tried the window. It wasn’t locked. The window was small, but she made it in. She closed the window behind her, unlocked the deadbolt on the back door and wondered what kind of moron took so much time to close up a cabin and doesn’t lock a window. Jack kept banging on the lock. She took off her backpack and put it on the kitchen table, which was covered with a sheet. The cabin had non-perishable items in the kitchen cabinets and was stocked with some men’s clothes and blankets in the bedroom closet. There was a small bedroom and a bathroom. She tried the faucet, but there was no water.
Megan walked out the back door and around to the front where Jack continued working on the lock.
“Want help?” she asked over his shoulder. He turned around.
“You think you can get us in here?” he replied. She shrugged. “Then, be my guest.”
“I can’t get that lock off of there,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Thank you,” he grunted.
“And neither will you without bringing down this mountain of snow, Einstein,” she said confidently.
“Do you have a point or are you just torturing me?” he said frustrated.
“I would have opened the door for you, but it’s locked from the outside,” she said. “The place is small but nice. Want me to show you around?” She turned in one triumphant move and crunched back through the snow. He threw the rock down and followed her. She opened the back door and walked into the cabin. Jack followed her and put his backpack on the table next to hers. “Impressed, FBI guy?”
“Embarrassed is more like it,” he replied. He checked the wood burning stove in the center of the room. “I’ll start a fire, and it should warm this place up quickly. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the smoke, besides if we don’t make a fire we could freeze in here. The night sky is going to be pretty black with the cloud cover.”
“There’s food in the kitchen and blankets in the bedroom,” she said. She went to the kitchen to look for food.
“How long have you been in here?”
“Long enough to get a headache from all that banging you were doing,” she said. “’Trust me,’ he said. I must be an idiot to follow around a strange man just because he says, ‘trust me.’”
“Okay, maybe I deserve that,” he said and began to look around for himself.
“You probably do. You drive us off a cliff, won’t tell me what’s going on and if it hadn’t been for this cabin, may have gotten us frozen,” she said.
“I’m getting the impression this is going to be our first real fight,” he said sarcastically. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing,” she said slamming a cabinet closed, and then thoughts spilled out of her like an exploding box of spaghetti. “You are infuriating. You come on to me, make all nice and then throw up a brick wall. I ask you questions, and you either lie or avoid them with the ‘trust me’ crap. From now on, you earn trust. It’s not free.”
“Are you finished?” he asked impatiently.
“No,” she replied confidently. Her head started spinning, and she swayed. He reached for her, but she pulled away and steadied herself using the kitchen counter.
“Let me help you to the sofa,” he said reaching for her again. “You need stitches and something to eat,” he said as she let him help her to the sofa. “With as much blood as you’ve lost, I’m surprised you’re still standing at all.” She grunted in return. Once she was safely on the sofa, he went back to the kitchen and began opening cabinets. He found some bottles of alcohol - vodka, brandy, whiskey. He took them out and put them on the counter.
“Make me one while you’re at it. I could use a drink,” she said only half jokingly.
He walked past her and into the bedroom. She was curious now but didn’t want him to know. She heard some ripping noises. He appeared with some white cloth and went to get the bottle of whiskey. He twisted off the cap and handed her the bottle.
“No glass,” she asked. “Kind of primitive, but it all ends up in the same place.” She took a drink. She didn’t like hard liquor, and the burn made her eyes water. He took the bottle back from her and dumped some onto the cloth. “What are you doing?” she asked, and he handed the bottle back to her.
“Keep drinking it,” he said and pushed her hair away from the cut on her forehead so he could remove the gauze. He gently blotted at the dried blood and the cut. She flinched and yelped.
“That hurts like hell!” she cried.
“That’s what the whiskey is for - pain and antiseptic.” He began to remove the bandaging around her hand, but she instinctively pulled away like a toddler about to get a dose of medicine. “I need to see how deep this cut is,” he said. “I don’t think your forehead needs stitches.” She sat quietly and watched him. He liked this doctor stuff she could tell. He was all business. She took more swigs of the liquor, and it eventually started to take the edge off the pain. She was growing more and more tired. He stood up, and she closed her eyes.
She opened them again when she heard him return. He brought her some blankets from the bedroom. “I found a needle and fishing line. I’m going to use them to close up your hand. First, would you consider getting out of those wet clothes?” he asked as he handed the blankets to her.
He was right, they were wet and cold. She replied with a gruff, “Maybe,” and stood up. The alcohol rushed to her head, and she swayed again. He reached for her, and she pulled away, “I can do it myself,” she said independently and defiantly. Staggering to the bedroom, she found some men’s flannel shirts and a couple pair of jeans. There were a couple of sweaters and sweatshirts. She put on a flannel shirt and a sweatshirt over it. She pulled on a pair of jeans as best she could with her injured hand and looked for socks. She found a drawer with about five pairs rolled into balls. She pulled out two and put them on. She looked ridiculous. The clothes were several sizes too large, but she was warmer. She walked out of the room with Will’s tie clip in her right hand and said, “There’s some more for you.” She plopped back down on the couch and wrapped up in the blankets. She took a few more swigs and didn’t even notice the burn. Jack had built a fire while she changed. It hadn’t quite caught yet, but the little warmth it provided was very welcomed.
He came out of the bedroom a few minutes later looking very rugged and handsome. He picked up the fishing line from the coffee table and sat on the edge of the couch.
“Keep drinking,” he said. “This is probably going to hurt like hell.”
“That’s not exactly what I want to hear,” she said slurring a word or two. “Can’t we just wait? It’s not that bad,” she lied. She knew it was bad.
“No. We can’t wait. I don’t want you to lose any more blood,” he said. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take us to find help.”
“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes, but I wish I had better light and a more sterile environment,” he said looking around. “Let’s go to the kitchen sink so I can pour this over
it.” He helped her stand and walked her to the sink. She was beginning to feel the effects of the day’s events mix with the alcohol. She rubbed the tie clip with the thumb of her right hand. She wanted to pass out. “I’ll get you a chair to sit on so you…uh, will be more comfortable,” he said.
She sat in the chair, and he positioned her arm on the counter so her hand was over the sink. “Did you get hurt,” she asked quietly.
“I might have some broken ribs… maybe a concussion and some scratches. I’m fine,” he said. Threading the needle wasn’t an easy task for his big fingers. Once he was finished with that, he began asking questions. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?”
She had seen this before on many of her reporting assignments in an emergency room. Take the patient’s mind off what is happening. Maybe he did know what he was doing - however, it was usually not the doctors who cared or showed any kind of bed-side manner. She felt the needle go through her skin and thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to play along…
* * * * *
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep or how she’d made it back onto the couch. When she opened her eyes, she noted most of the light in the room came from a couple of candles. She looked down at the blankets wrapped around her and then at him sitting exposed to the cold at the other end of the couch. She tried to use her left hand on the back of the couch to hoist herself. The pain shot past the alcohol, and she flopped backward.
“Ouch,” she cried.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said standing. “I’ve got some soup warming on the wood burning stove.” He put the soup into a mug and brought it to her. She reached for it and noticed her hand wrapped in torn sheets. She took the soup with her right hand and decided to drink it.
“How did the stitching go?” she asked trying to sit up.
“Once you passed out, it was fine. I didn’t like all the moaning and groaning you did before that, though,” he replied. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not a doctor, or at least your doctor.” The last part was barely audible. He sat down on the end of the couch by her feet.
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