by Taylor Dean
What am I thinking? I’m not about to die. I will get out of this situation. I will. I will.
Next I come across another stretch of fenced-in, mesquite and cacti lined roadway. I decide this is the worst part. I feel claustrophobic and cut off from whatever lies beyond. I’m relieved when I finally face wide open spaces again. I decide I love the flat land this part of Texas is known for.
After two more hours of constant internal pep talks, I’m done. I feel alone and vulnerable. No matter what I choose to do, nothing feels safe or like a good choice.
I now understand the saying: dying of thirst. It truly feels as though I’m about to die if I don’t get a glass of water soon.
I’m dizzy, my vision is blurry, my feet ache, and I’m drenched with sweat. The ground looks like it wants to meet me and become my best friend. Dark spots are circling my view, giving me tunnel vision.
This is getting serious. My hands are shaking and I feel as though I’m going to pass out.
I decide to stop and take a break. I need to reevaluate my options. I collapse onto a small rock that will do as a chair and my body seems to breathe a sigh of relief. I hope I have the strength to get up again.
I take in my surroundings. Land as far as the eye can see. The world feels like a huge and harsh place, and I feel small. I have no claustrophobia once I’m out in the open, that’s for sure.
If I can get to a phone, I can call Caitlyn. I’ve only lived in Lubbock for two months and I’ve been bunking with her until I can afford an apartment of my own. She’ll drive out here and pick me up, I know she will. She’ll give Finn a piece of her mind too, the louse. What a horrible thing to do to someone.
Worry overcomes me. I have an interview tomorrow for a paid internship at a psychiatric hospital. It’s an incredible opportunity and a competitive position. If I’m a no-show, I’ll lose my chance. That means I’m probably stuck with a minimum wage, no-experience-needed job for the summer. I need to save as much as possible in preparation for nursing school in the fall.
I sigh and realize I need to concentrate on more important things right now. Like survival. Heat exhaustion is a very serious issue and can turn life threatening very quickly. It’s now three-thirty in the afternoon and the sun is still high in the sky. My arms are pink and tender to the touch and the earth is starting to tilt in a funny direction. I’m in trouble and I know it. The kind of trouble that means I’m-about-to-keel-over-and-die-and-no-one-will-ever-find-me. Grassy spots on the side of the road are starting to look mighty comfortable. I just want to curl up and sleep.
At this slow pace, it’ll take me a few more hours at least to get to Roby and I have no idea what I’ll find there. If I can’t find help at a restaurant or gas station, I could go to a police station or hospital. Even a fire station will do. I am in an emergency situation. The thought is daunting. It’s not where I expected to find myself today.
I have to believe help will be in Roby.
But I can’t make it without water.
Now would be a good time for someone to ask me for a ride again. I contemplate finding a shady place to sit and wait for the rain that’s supposed to arrive this afternoon. The thought leads to a mental vision of me shivering in the bushes, drenched and stranded. I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils. Plus, I can’t sit around and wait for rain water to quench my thirst. I know I don’t have that kind of time. All I know is Finn felt determined to get home early today so he could dodge the rain. Reportedly, torrential downfalls are headed this way. The news predicts flooding is going to be a problem again.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
Even though I feel utterly alone, the most alone I’ve ever felt in my life, I realize that I’m not really alone. When people love you, are you ever really alone? They’re always behind the scenes, thinking of you and hoping for your safety. I have people in my life who love me. I matter to them. If something happens to me, they will mourn my loss from their life. This buoys me. They are with me, strengthening me. I feel them with me now, coaxing me to not give up. I hear my mom’s voice in my head; I love you, Spencer, my precious daughter. I hear my dad’s voice; My baby girl, my beautiful baby girl. I hear my brother’s voice; Don’t you dare give up, Spencer. Don’t you do it.
He’s right. I can’t quit now. I’ve come too far.
I’ve been sitting for too long. I have to keep going. I can’t give in to delirium. I pull myself up to a standing position and fight the dizziness that overcomes me.
Even though I’m still standing in the harsh sunlight, I can now see angry storm clouds in the distance. The horizon holds that blurry, slanted look, the one that tells me it’s pouring rain in that neck of the woods. I wonder how soon it will arrive here. The humidity level has risen in the past half hour and I’m sweating profusely. My skin feels cool and moist, yet I’m burning up and goosebumps are covering my arms. An odd combination. My pulse is racing and the muscles in my legs are cramping.
I need help now. I can’t wait any longer. I’m no longer fighting for just my current safety, I’m fighting for my life.
Suddenly, I hear a strange sound. A low buzz, the trill of electric machinery. It wafts over the airwaves and calls to me.
Life.
Someone is out here working. At last, I’ve found someone I can ask for help. Whoever it is, they are my only hope. My situation is dire and I don’t have a choice.
There’s a small gravel road to the right of me. The sound is coming from that direction. The rise and fall of the land doesn’t allow me to see where I’m headed. I follow the sound as if it’s the call of the Pied Piper. Wherever it takes me, that’s where I’m going.
I have no other option.
My feet propel me forward like they have a will of their own and I feel helpless. I’m no longer in control; the situation has taken control of me.
CHAPTER
Three
IT’S A HOMESTEAD. It looks as though it’s under construction. Why anyone would want to build their home out here is beyond me. I like the idea of not living too close to neighbors and I love the idea of living in the country. But this place is neither of those things. This place is lifeless, as if humans don’t belong here. The living conditions feel severe and unrelenting.
This place definitely has me beaten and admitting I’m not invincible. I’m worried that I’ll collapse any minute now. If I pass out, I’m a goner for sure. No one will find me for days—and it’ll be too late for me by then.
The homestead is actually a large fortress. I manage the long walk around the perimeter of the tall—at least ten foot—fence and finally find the entrance. It was to the left when I thought it was to the right. The tire tracks led both ways, so I had to take a guess. Wrong decisions are hounding me today.
I pause and notice the storm clouds are getting closer. The smell of rain is in the air, teasing my senses with the promise of moisture. If I can’t find help here, perhaps the rain will save me. Hope blossoms inside me.
There’s a locked rolling gate big enough for a car and there’s a small gate for human visitors. A large sign says PRIVATE PROPERTY, DO NOT ENTER and there’s no knocker of any type. Maybe that should send me a message, but I’m too drained to care.
The sound of some kind of power tool reverberates through the air. I want to say it sounds like a bandsaw and as I reach up to knock on the gate, I hesitate. I’m about to ask for help from a possible serial killer who saws people to death.
I swallow my fear and promise myself I will never watch another crime drama in my lifetime. They’re bestowing me with a serious mistrust of the human race.
I pound on the gate with my fist and it flies open. Oddly enough, the fortress is unlocked. Whoever is inside wouldn’t have heard me knock anyway. I yell hello a few times and receive no response.
That’s when I decide to enter the inner sanctum. I need help RIGHT NOW.
Inside the fenced-in property is at least an acre of land. There’s a big bla
ck truck parked just inside the gate and my eyes are met with a stunning home under construction. Even though it isn’t finished, the bones are there and I’m momentarily distracted by the real log poles holding up the roof of the porch. It looks as though the front porch will extend to the sides of the house and the words charming and rustic come to mind. There’s also a large motorhome lining the right hand side of the property. An umbrella covered table sits just outside of it, looking inviting.
Large flat boards create pathways around the area in order to avoid the inevitable mud the rains have created. I follow one of these paths even though the hot sun has dried up most of the earth.
That’s about to change. The rain is on its way.
I don’t see a hose or a spigot. If I spot one, I’ll make a mad dash for it, regardless of whose property I’m on. I’m beyond caring.
A man is standing on top of a ladder that’s leaning against the roof. Not only is he using a power tool, he’s also wearing eye protection. His vision is limited and he doesn’t notice me approaching. The power tool is so loud, it’s no surprise he can’t hear me either.
The last thing I want to do is startle him and make him fall from his perch.
I study him for a moment. He’s wearing perfect fitting jeans on his slim body, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I wonder how he can stand to wear that much clothing in this heat. I walk a little closer and can tell he’s young, perhaps only a few years older than my twenty-seven years. He has dark brown hair that looks as though it’s been freshly trimmed in a sharp military style buzz cut, and he’s completely intent on his task.
Suddenly he pauses for a moment, his tool still trilling loudly, and lowers his head as if he’s deep in thought. His lips move ever so softly as though he’s talking to himself or maybe uttering a prayer. I’m not sure. I see his chest inflate and deflate as he takes a deep breath in a defeated fashion. I don’t know his reasons for pausing in such a fashion. Yet, it strikes me as one of the saddest sights I’ve ever seen.
Then he pulls himself together and returns to work. I’m not really sure what I just witnessed and I don’t have time to ponder over it.
I wave my arms and yell hello again. The world is spinning and I’m not sure how much longer I can stand upright.
The motion somehow gets his attention. His head jerks up as he sees me standing several yards away. I’m wary of getting too close to him until I know how I will be received. The power tool turns off and the sound slowly fades. It’s obvious that I did indeed startle him, but thankfully not enough to make him fall off the ladder. The man slowly places his eye protection on top of his head as if they’re sunglasses. He seems shocked, almost as if I’m an apparition and he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I’m surprised by the fact that he’s a handsome man, but if someone’s going to save me, it seems fitting to stumble upon a handsome stranger. I need a dashing prince, a little fairy tale magic and pixie dust today. Desperately.
Maybe he’s really a crotchety old wrinkled man and my mind has turned him into a handsome human mirage. Clearly, I’m just seeing what I want to see. Regardless of whether or not he is what I want him to be, he represents help. And I am in need.
His fierce eyes are trained on me and his intense gaze feels as though it could cut me to the quick. He looks uneasy and I swear if he could reach out and ensure that I am real, he would do so. His eyebrows furrow, yet he hesitates before uttering a word, staring directly into my eyes for several moments. I feel as though he’s dumbfounded by my presence and can hardly believe I’ve invaded his space.
So, maybe he’s not exactly a prince of Disney proportions. But then, the Beast is considered a Disney prince, so I maintain my hope.
“Where’d you come from?” he says softly, as if he’s speaking to himself.
I’ve obviously stunned him. As I contemplate his strange response, I hear birds twittering frantically in the distance, as if they’re trying to escape the oncoming storm. I hear a rush of wind and a crack of nearby thunder. The storm will be upon us very soon. It’s arriving faster than I thought. In the meantime, we stand in the last spot of sweltering sunlight amidst surrounding turmoil. All at once a low hum starts to buzz next to my ear and I can’t place the sound. Then I realize it’s inside my head. It won’t shut up and I wonder if this is what death feels like. My body is shutting down and I know it. Suddenly, my heart feels as though it has relocated to my ears. It’s beating on double-time, faster than I’ve ever felt my heart beat. A wave of nausea washes over me. I hope I don’t throw up on this man’s property.
“How’d you get in here?” he asks. His tone isn’t necessarily rude, just surprised.
In my tender mental state, I answer, “I walked.” I immediately know that isn’t what he meant.
“The gate was locked.” Again, it’s as if he’s simply speaking his thoughts out loud, not specifically talking to me. It’s then he looks around his property, as if making sure I’m alone.
“I’m alone,” I tell him. “Your gate wasn’t locked. It opened when I tried to knock.”
The man seems to regain his composure. “Didn’t you see the DO NOT ENTER sign?” he says, sounding a little upset.
Definitely not a hero on a shining white steed. Too many Disney princess movies as a little girl have really given me a warped sense of romance. Think Beast, I remind myself. I shade my eyes from the glare of the sun and my arm feels as though it weighs a ton. “I saw it.” I know I’m supposed to be asking him for something, but I have to strain to remember what it was. Oh yeah, water. “I’m sorry, I was wondering if . . .”
“I’m not interested in buying anything.”
How’d he jump to that conclusion? I can’t imagine they have a problem with door-to-door sales around here. “I’m not selling anything. Your gate was open and I need your help. Can I . . .”
“You need help?” he interrupts, looking me up and down with those intense eyes of his. I detect that he’s warring with himself in some way and even though I’m trespassing on his property, I don’t understand the strength of his uncertain reception. His skin is bronzed, I suspect from time spent outdoors. I wonder if every craggy line of his features represents a story. He seems heavily weighted by life, as if it has knocked him down a peg or two. He hides behind a granite veneer and yet the crack in that veneer is the emotion in his eyes. I’ve never met a man whose countenance speaks to me in ways his words never will.
He has every right to be suspicious of me. I don’t doubt that I look like something the cat dragged in. I’m a scraggly mess and he probably thinks I have ulterior motives. Exactly what he thinks I’ll do, I don’t know. Steal all of his power tools? Paint graffiti on his fence? The rising wind blows like a harbinger of something momentous, making my long blond hair cover my face and I push it away.
“I’m lost. Well, abandoned actually. I’ve been walking for hours and . . .”
“Abandoned?” he questions.
“Yes. My date left me because I made him mad. We went to Austin for the weekend and I told him I would only go if we had separate hotel rooms, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you do. Everyone knows what that means. But he didn’t—or at least he pretended like he didn’t know what that meant.” Inwardly, I moan, wishing I could take all that back. I sound like a babbling idiot. The hot sun is making me delirious and I need to make myself clear.
Just ask for water and get the heck out of here, Spencer.
He stares at me for at least a full minute and I shift from foot to foot, feeling like a specimen under a microscope—one that’s about to collapse, that is. There’s a look of shocked incredulity on his face, like he can’t believe this is actually happening. I don’t understand his reaction. I’m just a girl who needs help. It’s not like I’m asking to invade his territory forever.
“I can’t.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself. “I just can’t,” he says again, so soft I barely hear him.
“He kicked me out of the car. I’ve been walking for hour
s. Please, if you could just . . .”
“No,” he says emphatically with a raised voice. Then again it’s as if he’s quietly speaking to himself. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready.”
“No?” I ask, feeling unbelief. If he’ll just let me finish a sentence, I’ll ask him for water and be on my way. “I just want a . . .”
“Roby’s just up the road,” he interrupts.
“Please, just a . . .”
“Someone will help you there,” he says with finality.
There’s a reason this guy lives all by himself in the boondocks. He’s about as friendly as a rabid dog. I doubt there’s a prince hiding underneath his stern demeanor. Only a beast.
Our eyes lock for a few moments. I implore him for help and I’m met with an unyielding gaze. I feel like I just ran into a rock wall. Hard.
Help is not here. Help is not anywhere. Despair engulfs me and I feel utterly defeated. I war between begging and my pride. My pride wins and that’s my downfall. “Never mind,” I whisper as my voice cracks. The impending rain will save me. I’ll cup my hands and drink to my heart’s content. I’ll find someone else to help me. Surely there’s another house down the road.
If there isn’t, it doesn’t matter. If I’m going to survive, I have to save myself.
Go me.
There’s no sign of compassion in this man. I cast a longing-filled glance at his motorhome and wonder if I can make a run for it and attack his faucet before Mr. Unfriendly even has the chance to get down from his ladder.
I know I don’t have the strength, so I turn to leave.
My gait is wobbly and I falter. The buzzing in my head increases in volume. My head feels as though it has turned into one huge pulsing heartbeat. I don’t want to die out here. It strikes me as odd that I might die in the middle of the heartland because I couldn’t find anyone to help me. So much for friendship being the Texas state motto. Maybe they should remind their residents to act accordingly.
