by Carrie Elks
Adam was interested now. Enough to lean forward, a frown playing at his lips. ‘And if I recognise them, what then? Does it magically make everything better? Will I fall at Everett’s knees and forgive him everything?’ His chest tightened at the thought.
‘Again, that’s too simplistic. The aim of our sessions has never been to make everything feel like a fairy tale. It’s been to help you recognise what’s happening to you, allow you to take control of your reactions. To stop something like LA from ever happening again.’ Martin crossed his legs, one knee over the other. ‘And soon we’ll need to talk about what happened in Colombia.’
Within a second, Adam sat up straight, flinching as though somebody had hit him.
‘Not right now,’ Martin said, putting his hand up. ‘But we have a few sessions left, and before we finish I’d like to explore what happened there.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re coming toward the end of our time. I’d like to give you a little homework before our next one.’ He turned in his chair, pulling a small notebook from the table beside him. ‘I want you to keep a diary every time you react like you did today. I want you to write down what you’re feeling, where you are, and what you think triggered it. Then next time we can discuss what you’ve done.’
‘Sure.’ Adam took the blue book from Martin’s hands.
‘Are you going to do it?’
Adam couldn’t hide the smirk that played on his lips. ‘Probably not.’
Martin sighed, his frustration obvious. ‘You know, this would be so much easier if you just met me halfway.’
Adam could feel his muscles relax, his spine loosening at this return to more familiar territory. ‘But it wouldn’t be as much fun, either.’
‘Fun for who?’ Martin murmured, in a voice that didn’t invite a reply. ‘OK, Adam, you’re free to go. I’ll see you at our next session.’
Adam lifted his hand in a goodbye wave. In the strangest way, he was looking forward to that.
When Adam stepped out of the tall office building on Main Street, the snow was still falling, forming a fresh blanket of white on the ground. It was the first winter storm for the valley – though in Cutler’s Gap, where Adam lived in his cabin, they’d had snow for weeks.
He had a few jobs to do while he was here in the town – letters to mail out and some supplies to buy. Things he couldn’t buy in Cutler’s Gap, with their single convenience store and run-down old bar. Though he liked the isolation, the lack of amenities could sometimes be a pain in the ass.
All the shops were decorated for the season, their white wooden windows framed with twinkling lights, to highlight the displays inside. The street was decorated, too – the lamp-posts were spiralled with red tinsel from the ground to the top, with lights strung between them. And in the centre square, next to the bandstand, was a huge Christmas tree, standing proudly with a large star affixed to the top.
It was all ready for the Christmas parade, due to take place the following week. It drew visitors from throughout the state, and sometimes beyond, people desperate to enjoy the old-fashioned Christmas they rarely saw anywhere except on their television screens. Adam could remember the parade from his younger years – the intense excitement they’d felt as the band started to play, the way the firemen would throw candy out of the truck, while all the kids gathered around with their hands cupped out. It was a relic from a more innocent time.
Ironic, really, that he’d tried to escape LA and the nostalgia for small-town Christmases, and somehow he was back in the real thing.
It was nearly five by the time he’d finished his errands and bought a coffee to go from the Blue Bear café. The sky was already darkening behind the layer of snow clouds, the sun having given up her fight against the encroaching grey. Adam balanced his Styrofoam cup on the roof of his dark red Chevy truck, and slid his keys into the lock, releasing the door. He threw his bags on the passenger seat and then slid inside, gingerly starting the engine up.
He’d had this truck for years. It had spent most of the last decade in his parents’ garage, surrounded by sleeker, shinier models. But there was something about its familiarity, its solidness, which stopped him from upgrading. Plus it was reliable on the old mountain roads, like a Sherman tank on the slippery ice. That counted for something when a short drive could mean taking your life in your hands.
Of course, short was a relative term. In this case it meant little over an hour for him to ascend the mountains and drive back to Cutler’s Gap. Everything was spread out in West Virginia – it wasn’t unheard of for somebody to drive two or three hours for a fresh loaf of bread.
He pressed his foot on the gas, revving the engine up, then slid the gear into drive. It was time to go home. And as he pulled out of his parking space and into the main road, Adam realised that’s exactly what his cabin in the woods had come to mean to him.
3
This cold night will turn us all
to fools and madmen
– King Lear
Kitty leaned forward, her nose only inches away from the windscreen as she switched the wipers on to top speed. This had seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago, as she stepped onto the aeroplane at LAX, and was directed by an over-fawning flight attendant to the first-class cabin.
Three hours of pure luxury. Now there was an experience she’d probably never have again.
Her drive from Washington Dulles Airport to West Virginia was more like third class. The four-wheel drive she’d been told would be waiting for her at the airport had turned out to be a compact Kia. It was still better than any car she’d ever owned, but apparently it hated snowy mountain roads. But then again, so did Kitty.
The snow was falling thick and fast, the flakes coating the windscreen no matter how fast she tried to wipe them. She kept her foot gingerly pressed on the accelerator as she tried to slow her breathing. There was no point in panicking; she’d only make things worse.
A glance at the GPS on the dashboard told her she was less than twenty minutes away from her destination. Or at least from the town nearby. Though Cutler’s Gap appeared in the choices on the GPS menu, the address for Mountain’s Reach – where the Klein family were staying – seemed completely elusive.
The Kleins had flown to West Virginia the previous week, to spend some time with Everett’s elderly parents who had a house there. Though Mia had begged Kitty to leave school early and join them, she’d managed to stand her ground for once. That’s how she’d ended up flying here alone, agreeing to hire a car and make her own way to join them in Mountain’s Reach.
She hadn’t anticipated it would be quite so bloody snowy though.
She was so deep in her thoughts that by the time she realised the GPS was telling her something, she’d totally missed what it said. She glanced down, frowning, trying to work out if she should stay on the road or take a left. When she pulled her gaze back to the road in front of her, it was already too late.
The deer came out of nowhere – a sudden flash of mid-brown fur against the white blanket of snow. She barely had time to pump the brakes before its body hit her bumper with a sickening crunch.
The car skidded to a halt, the engine turning ominously silent as the dashboard lights flickered off. She stared open-mouthed out of the windscreen, her eyes taking in the carnage ahead.
Dear God, she’d just killed Bambi.
Her hand shook as she reached for the car door. It took two attempts before she could finally grasp it with her fingers enough to pull the handle, releasing the lock and allowing the door to open.
An ice-cold wind forced its way through the gap, making her shiver even harder. She swung her feet down onto the tarmac and pulled her hopelessly inadequate coat tightly around her. As she made her way to the front of the car she could see the bonnet was crushed from the impact, and the headlights were shattered. It didn’t look as though the car was going anywhere right now.
When she’d heard it was cold in West Virginia, she’d assumed it would be London cold. A few degre
es above freezing, maybe a bit of misty rain. But this weather was horrendous. The air felt arctic, making easy work of her thin jeans, light jacket and suede loafers. The snow was already seeping into her shoes, turning the brown suede a dark muddy colour. Flakes clung to her blue jeans, dampening the fabric, making her skin protest at the icy sensation. She looked over at the deathly still deer, wondering if she should just climb back into the car and wait out the storm, but then she saw something that made her breath catch in her throat.
Her heart raced as she stared at the deer, waiting to see if the leg twitch was just a figment of her imagination. But then it moved again, a little harder this time, enough to make her realise the deer wasn’t quite so dead after all.
She went back to the car, grabbing her phone from her bag. Surely somebody could help them. She searched through the contacts until she found Mia Klein’s number, pressing the green phone icon to connect the call.
Nothing.
Not a ring tone, not a voicemail. Just a click and then silence. She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the display. A single bar was flickering in and out, like a naughty child playing hide and seek. Just as she thought it might be there to stay, it disappeared altogether, replaced by No Service.
Wonderful.
She brushed the snow from her hair, her teeth chattering at the cold dampness on her face. She was starting to feel bone-cold now, the sort of frozen that couldn’t be cured with a simple bath and a change of clothes. No, this would take hours of warming until she could feel her toes again, and until her skin didn’t feel as though it was going through some kind of Captain Birdseye deep-freeze processing.
Sighing, she lifted her phone up, so the display was in front of her, and took a few steps away from the car. The side of the road was lined with snow-covered pines, their tall canopies preventing any reception. Maybe if she walked further along she’d hit a sweet spot. She made her way along the road, her eyes trained on the non-existent tiny bars, searching for some sign of life. Treading tentatively along the frozen surface, her muscles taut from trying to keep herself upright, Kitty rolled her eyes at her situation.
By the time she reached the body of the deer, her clothes were soaked through from the snow. She stood over the prone animal, looking at the blood spilling out onto the road. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth as she felt her stomach begin to heave.
The deer’s front legs began to move, seeking purchase on the frosty ground, but the rest of its body remained still as a statue. Kitty dropped to her haunches, her eyes meeting the deer’s warm-brown stare. It looked as scared as she felt, wide and unblinking, and the reflected fear brought her tears to the surface.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, stroking the deer’s surprisingly rough fur. ‘I didn’t see you coming, I never meant to hurt you.’
The deer, of course, said nothing. It could only lie there and gaze with glassy eyes, while its front hooves made the occasional fruitless movement. Kitty watched it helplessly, rubbing her chin, wishing she knew what the hell she could do to help the poor beast.
Above her, the sky was darkening as the storm took hold. Kitty glanced up, then back at the deer. Not a single car had passed her since she’d come to a skidding halt ten minutes ago. When was the last time she’d even seen a house? She’d passed a small town around forty minutes ago, Hartville, or Harville or something? Since then the road had only been lined by snow-covered trees, with the occasional break in the forest for a gravel road that led to who knew where.
Who knew how long she would be stuck here?
Focus, Kitty. OK, so what would her sisters do if they were here? Lucy, her oldest sister, was easy. By this point she would have probably organised some kind of vet ambulance, had her car towed away, and set up an appeal for endangered deer. Juliet, the next eldest, was more of a romantic. She’d be too busy staring at the winter wildflowers and wondering if there were bears living in the forest.
Bears? Oh shit. Kitty bit her lip, trying to remember if there really were bears here. Did they hibernate in the winter? It would be just her luck to be eaten alive and never seen again.
Trying to distract herself, she thought about Cesca, not that much older than Kitty herself. Cesca would probably be as clueless as Kitty, if her description of arriving in Italy last summer was anything to go by. Thank goodness they’d had Lucy to look after them growing up, otherwise none of them would have survived.
A rustling noise came from the forest, the evergreen leaves shaking in the wind. It was just the wind, right? Kitty felt her spine stiffen, her body on high alert. There was no way she could run on this icy ground in her Steve Madden loafers.
She was just imagining all the grizzly ways a bear could kill a person when she heard the low rumble of an engine coming from behind her. A moment later, she could see the headlights, too, cresting over the hill, approaching her and the deer at a fair speed.
She stood up, waving her arms madly. ‘Hey,’ she yelled. ‘Over here!’
It turned out to be a rusty old flatbed truck, dark red paint chipped and peeling from its bulky frame. The truck slowed down, coming to a halt beside her abandoned rental car, the driver turning off the engine and opening the door.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled up. What had seemed such a good idea a moment ago now seemed foolhardy. She was in the middle of a deserted mountain in West Virginia, with a busted car and a phone that wouldn’t work. Now a stranger was climbing out of a beaten-up Chevy, and for all she knew he could be some kind of axe murderer, desperate for his next victim. Maybe a bear attack didn’t sound so bad after all.
Her fears intensified as the driver climbed out of the truck. He – and, boy, it was definitely a he – was tall, well over six feet, with a thick beard and a dark-knit beanie pulled down tightly over his head. Between the hat, his thick coat and his sturdy jeans, his only exposed skin was between his hairline and his beard.
And those molten chocolate eyes that were taking her in.
Oh boy. In spite of her frozen body, she could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. Even though she could only see a small part of his face, she could tell he was attractive, with a strong, straight nose and high sculpted cheekbones. She wasn’t sure whether her heart was pounding from fear or interest.
Glancing over at where Kitty was standing next to the deer, the man grabbed something from his truck, before turning around to face her once again.
He was carrying a rifle.
Yep, it was definitely fear.
Cradling the gun in his arms, he walked towards her. The closer he got, the more she realised just how tall and muscled he was. His proximity heightened Kitty’s fear into some kind of hysteria.
‘Don’t shoot!’ she screamed, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘For God’s sake don’t kill me.’
Surprised, the stranger stopped walking. ‘What the hell?’
His voice was low and rough, matching his determined demeanour. Kitty felt herself start to shake, her muscles quivering as she stared at the serial killer in front of her.
‘I’m sorry.’ She tried to make her voice as even as possible. Don’t show them you’re afraid. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
The man stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Do I look like I’m going to kill you?’ An element of derision laced its way through his words. Immediately she felt her hackles rise.
‘You’re carrying a gun,’ she pointed out.
‘To put the deer out of its misery.’ He gestured at the animal beside her, then shot her a scornful look. ‘Unless it’s dead already.’
‘I… I thought it was,’ Kitty said, her teeth starting to chatter, from a mixture of the cold and the shock. Not that the guy in front of her was helping any. He may have looked good, but contempt for her was pouring out of him. ‘But its front legs are moving, see?’
The man came closer still, then crouched down next to the deer, placing his hand against its neck. ‘Its pulse is weak,’ he said, stroking the deer
again. Then he lowered his lips, until he was speaking into the animal’s ear. ‘Don’t worry, girl, you won’t suffer.’
It was only when he loaded his rifle that Kitty realised his intentions. Her fear for her own safety vaporised, quickly replaced by indignation. Surely he wasn’t really planning to pull the trigger?
‘Don’t kill it,’ she shouted, about to launch herself in front of the deer. ‘It’s still alive, it just needs help.’
The man cocked his head and looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘She’s dying,’ he said sharply, stroking the doe, his hand pressed against her spine. ‘The impact’s broken her back. You need to move away so I can take care of her, it’s the kindest thing to do.’
Kitty wanted to cry. Her relief at the deer being alive vanished, replaced by the knowledge that she was suffering from her injuries. Rising up to her feet, in her useless suede loafers, Kitty half stepped, half slid backwards, letting the husky man do what he needed to.
