by Jess Bentley
Chapter 5
Jake
With the wind howling all around the cabin, I’m finally getting the peace and quiet that I wanted. It’s ironic, but this sudden winter squall pinning me indoors is the best thing that could’ve happened to me. I really needed a chance to unwind.
The lights flicker every few minutes as the fierce elements test the limits of the solar battery array in the cellar. But I’m sure it will all hold out just fine. Storms are common here and I designed the wiring and battery with these challenges in mind. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get a fire going in the old stove, just in case there are brief interruptions overnight.
I didn’t build this cabin with my bare hands, but damn close to it. It was already on the property, built decades ago by hunters who used it on a communal basis, when they needed shelter. It was just a timber frame with two rooms, a deep porch, and a long, sloping shingle roof. It was just enough for a couple of hunters to camp in relative comfort for a week or so, safe from weather and predators.
I discovered it by chance, a couple of years ago, while hiking through the property. It was infested with spiders and racoons, and a few generations of grouse had made their nests under the porch. I probably could have set a match to all of it, but I was in need of a project.
It had no indoor plumbing and no electricity when I got to it, but of course I’m not going to live like that. After a few months, I got solar panels installed on the roof and a bank of marine batteries in the cellar. LED lights make the most of the energy that’s collected, even on short days or overextended stormy periods. I dug out the root cellar and outfitted it with the basic necessities: dried food, fuel, water, and a few cases of pinot noir.
Now it is my home away from home. It’s my refuge. My safe space to be alone and collect my thoughts in peace.
The dried walnut logs spark immediately in the stove, catching each other on fire and instantly producing a cozy glow. The crackling fills the air, pushing the sounds of the snowstorm into the background.
As I settle into my leather recliner with a well-worn copy of The Old Man and the Sea, one of the security monitors flickers to life again. I squint at it, sucking my teeth in irritation.
It’s probably nothing, probably just an animal. Or maybe not even wildlife. Some gust of wind probably just dropped a branch in front of the motion detector and set it off. It’s been happening all day, ever since the storm ramped up. Happens all the time.
Kicking back in the chair, I open the book to a random page to start reading again and try to ignore the glowing monitor. I can’t see anything on the screen anyway, with the wind and snow making everything look the same. If it’s a bear or something, he’ll probably just wander off on his own without making any trouble. It’s a good time to settle in and read, peaceful and quiet.
They picked up the gear from the boat. The old man carried the mast on his shoulder and the boy carried the wooden boat with the coiled, hard-braided brown lines...
The glow from the security monitor casts blue-white light on my book, and it’s annoying. I should just turn it off. Actually, I could probably just go to bed at this point. The weather service said the snow is going to last at least through tomorrow afternoon. I could catch up on a good six months of sleep I’ve lost. Now is my opportunity, and I shouldn’t squander it.
He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains.
Motion attracts my attention away from the book again. Is there something on the monitor after all?
With a sigh, I drop the dog-eared paperback on the small wooden table and walk across the room toward the monitor again. The other six monitors on the shelf are still off. Only this one seems to be malfunctioning.
Tapping on it with my fingernail, I try to make out what I’m seeing. Just blurry shapes of whites and slightly less white. The snow seems to be almost sideways, blowing in drifts.
But then, there’s a shadow in the middle. Maybe a rabbit? Maybe a groundhog or something like that?
The shadow flops forward, then stops. Snow drifts over it as the wind batters it. Then it lurches slightly to the left, then rises and…
Oh my God.
Suddenly focused, I jam my legs into snow pants and strap my boots on while simultaneously fastening a heavy parka over my shoulders. This is not weather I would ever want to be in, but whoever that is, they look dramatically less prepared than I am.
I don’t know how they got here, or why, but there will hopefully be time to ask those questions later.
The front door bangs open, caught by the wind and flattened against the logs as I push my way onto the porch, feeling around under a drift of snow for my snowshoes. Barely thinking, I set off against the fierce wind, certain that I’m headed in the right direction but unable to see farther than a few inches in front of my nose. High above me, the alpine branches crash together as winds bear down at dangerous speeds. This is the sort of weather that flattens forests and anything underneath it.
With my hands outstretched, I force myself to power through the storm, hoping to pick out some sound. When I finally do find something, it’s little more than a lump in the snow.
Leaning over, I reach through the icy surface and grab hold of fabric in my fists, then heave to lift it over my head and fling it over my shoulder. It barely weighs anything, and I wonder if some kid, maybe a runaway, somehow wandered through here by mistake. It’s a million-to-one shot, but how else can I explain it?
My tracks are almost buried as I try to retrace my steps, but somehow I find the trail I’ve made. Back in the cabin, I take my passenger and set them down in the middle of the floor, surprised to find they’re in a pale pink, nylon skiing outfit.
What the hell?
With my parka drying over the rack and boots back on the drip tray, I dare to look at this person again. They’re not moving. I’m afraid I’m too late. Perching on the edge of my chair, I steeple my fingers and rest my chin on them, trying to clear my head.
Who sent you? I ask it silently. How did you find me?
Are you still alive?
When the lump moans, I practically jump out of my chair. Rushing over, I gently reach out to untangle this knotted lump, finding arms, legs. Mittens still on. Ski boots, but no skis.
It’s a girl… a woman. She seems to be unconscious. Her lips are blue, trembling against each other as I try to straighten her on the rug, hoping to figure out if she’s injured and how badly.
“Miss? Ma’am?” I ask, hearing how stupid my voice sounds.
She doesn’t answer, and that’s a relief. Her eyelids are dark, almost translucent against her eyes. I don’t think she’s conscious at all. But her forehead is pink and looks damp, and it occurs to me she might have a fever. Auburn hair curls against the skin, sticking to it. Her lashes fringe her closed eyes, unmoving.
“Well, shit.”
Looks like I’m going to have to take care of her. Reaching out, I rest my palm against her forehead and find that she’s burning up. Seriously overheated. I doubt it’s this flimsy nylon getup she’s got on, so she must be sick. Did she fall? Maybe shot by a hunter or something?
“Jake, just take care of it. Worry about it later.”
With a sigh, I realize that’s exactly what I’ve got to do. At least she’s unconscious, and can’t hear me talking to myself like a crazy person.
From the back closet, I get a foldaway bed and arrange it in front of the glowing wood stove. It’s not exactly luxurious, but at least I will be able to get her warmed up and check her for injuries.
After setting up the bed, I turn around and stare at her figure in the middle of the floor. Doubt crosses my mind, wondering if I really should be doing this at all. I could have left her in the snow. Nobody would have ever found her. If I do this now, all kinds of things could happen from here. All kinds of consequences, and I won’t be able to contr
ol any of them.
“Jake, stop being such a wuss.”
She weighs almost nothing, I realize again as I lift her from the floor and place her gently on the cot. Kneeling next to her, I carefully unzip the pink nylon jacket and peel it away from her chest. She’s wearing a thin, athletic shirt with a zipper at the neck. Using my fingers, I decide to run my hand up her arm, starting at her fingers, checking for the telltale crunch of broken bones.
Her hand is limp in mine, her fingernails blue under the clear nail polish. But the skin of her fingertips are still petal pink, indicating she still has good circulation even though she’s obviously cold.
Her tiny wrist is miniscule in the palm of my hand, and when I gently rotate it, there doesn’t seem to be any resistance. Then I press lightly against the flesh of her forearm, finding the bones inside and tracing their length to make sure they’re uninterrupted by fracture.
At her shoulder, I rotate her arm to ensure there is no strange dimpling or deformation to indicate a dislocation.
Nothing. So far, so good.
Repeating the entire process on her right arm, I keep an eye on her expression. She never winces or moans to indicate pain. I don’t know if she could feel it right now anyway, but I want to make sure I’m not hurting her.
“That’s good,” I tell her, though I don’t know why. “Now, this might seem a little rude…”
The nylon shirt zipper sounds remarkably loud in the room as I unzip it, sliding it away from her skin. With as much clinical detachment as I can muster, I run my fingers over her collarbones, then her ribs, then slide my hands behind her back to feel the ridges of her spine. Her breath is a tiny animal sound in my ear as I hold her close to me, counting each vertebrae under my thumb.
At her waist, I press against her hip bones, looking for thigh dislocation, happy not to find one. Swallowing nervously, I unzip the ski pants and slide them over her thighs, leaving her in just a pair of sky-blue nylon panties and staring helplessly at her long, creamy, lightly freckled legs. The panties gap at her crotch, revealing a downy tuft of auburn hair, just a subtle hint of the pubic treasure she’s hiding in there. Swallowing, I force myself to look away.
“Jesus.”
Her right ski boot comes off easily, but the left one does not. Once I have the buckles unclasped, I try to twist from the heel and she groans loudly without waking up, curling to one side protectively.
As soon as I get the boot off, I can see why. Looks like it’s probably just a sprain, but her left ankle is swollen significantly, with a lumpy knob distorting the joint, already turning purple underneath.
Gingerly I tug on each one of her toes, making sure that the nail isn’t discolored. Thank God she isn’t wearing toenail polish today. I can see that her circulation is still good. It’s probably just a sprain.
Relief floods through me. Just a sprain. I stand over her, smiling and nodding to myself. A sprain I can handle. I can get this wrapped up, no problem.
“Get it wrapped up… And then what?” I ask aloud.
Because in reality, what do I have here? A strange naked woman? Who I just undressed in my cabin in the woods? Who’s injured and came here for God knows what?
What have I done?
Chapter 6
Lola
I’m hot but shivering, alternately feeling like I’m boiling and then frozen in ice. In my dream, I’m hanging onto a plank floating in an icy river, trying not to fall off while the current carries me underneath spiny branches, between water monsters and poisonous slicks of red liquid.
I want to cry out or something, but every time I take a deep enough breath, I feel like I’m sinking, about to slide under the water again. So instead, I just try to stay attached to that one thought: breathe. In and out, over and over. Just keep doing that, and hopefully everything else will come clear. As long as I am breathing, I am probably not dead.
Eventually, it seems that I’m not on the river, but in a bed. I’m hot but especially on one side. A fire maybe? A fireplace? I think I can smell smoke. Maybe I should worry about that, but every time I try, the thought slips away like mist through my fingers.
I just need to rest. I just need to sleep some more.
Again I wake up, aware that I’ve done this maybe a dozen times now. This time, there’s a little more clarity. I’m definitely not in the hotel. I’m on a bed, a small one. There’s a fire to my left, but it’s in a box. A stove, I guess.
I realize my eyes are closed but it hurts to try to open them. By raising my eyebrows, I can see just a shard of a distorted, swimming image of a room, but it’s all bleary and funhouse-reflected. It barely makes sense.
Probably best to just keep my eyes closed.
Again, I fall back into sleep. Immediately I start dreaming of the river, but then the river turns to snow, and I’m skiing. I’m skiing behind Nance and some grumpy fellow named Roger, and also some guy… Chad. That’s Chad.
He’s wearing a snakeskin ski jacket for some reason, and there are sparks shooting out of the back of his ski boots like this is some kind of show for tourists. He skis back and forth in front of me, dangerously blocking my path. I think he’s doing it on purpose.
I’m angry at Chad. I feel misled and sort of stupid for even flirting back with that guy. Why did I make it so easy for him to flirt with me? I should have known that he was married. You have to ask people these things up front when you’re dating. You can’t just assume that a man is going to tell you all the things that you need to know.
I’ve been around the block. I should know better by now than to fall for Chad’s dumb lies. It’s all some kind of game with them. They think it’s so funny to withhold important details like the fact that they’re already married, or the fact that they are moving to Singapore or they don’t love you anymore, until you figure it out on your own. They’re happy to take whatever you’re willing to give them until you figure it out.
That’s the point of the game: figuring out that you’ve already lost.
Chad skis back and forth in front of me, cutting across my path like a jerk until I finally decide not to play and head over to a different trail. This is much better, to be on my own. I like being on my own, right up until the part where I fall down a ravine and sprain my ankle and splat like a cartoon character over a boulder.
But at least I did that on my own.
Suddenly I realize I’m not dreaming anymore. That all just really happened. I was skiing, and I was angry, and then I was falling down a hill. I must’ve blacked out and when I came back, there was a blizzard. It was so loud…
In fact, I feel like I can still hear it.
As I tune in, I realize I can hear a lot of things: the crackling fire, the wind outside, my own breath, and something else…
Someone else.
Slowly I convince my eyeballs to open again, just an eighth of an inch at a time. Just enough to figure out where I am. It hurts to see. Do I have a fever or something? I want to reach up and feel my head, maybe look for the source of this pounding sensation. But my arms don’t feel like they’re going to be of any help.
Still, the longer I try, the more I can see. It’s a room, rustic and simple. Over the stove next to me, there’s a clothesline with a parka and some other things, maybe. A small window shows only white light from outside. Though the walls are made of logs, the lighting is small LED bulbs. So it’s not as rustic as it first appears. It’s definitely twenty-first century.
With every breath, I get a tiny bit stronger. Tentatively I jiggle my shoulders, surprised to find my bare skin rubbing against the blanket beneath me. Alarmed, I move the rest my body just a little bit to test the friction and confirm what I already feared: I’m as good as naked under this blanket.
Where are my clothes?
More importantly: who took them?
I want to panic, but I’m not sure I have the energy. As my breathing becomes more rapid, the room gets darker. I’m going to pass out again if I’m not careful.
Squinting, I force my brain to catalog what I’m seeing. Stove, stone wall, log wall, clothes, window, giant lump, chair, door…
Giant lump?
It’s blurry, but as I look at it, it looks back at me. It leans forward.
It makes a sound.
I’m certain those are words.
“You’ll feel better if you take a few deep breaths,” the voice says. “I had to sedate you so I could wrap your ankle…”
I’m naked? And he sedated me??
Oh, of course I found the only serial killer in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, I think bitterly. Of course I did. That’s just the beauty of my internal decision-making process.
My heart begins to race I try to sit up, but it’s impossible. I am made of clay.
“Just relax, would you? Listen to what I’m telling you!”
Some obedient part of me follows his instructions, even though I don’t want to. I settle back against the blanket, my brain nearly boiling over with confusion.
“I’ll get you some water,” the voice says.
He stands up, and he’s huge. Way over six feet, broad as a door. He shuffles toward one side of the room and returns, kneeling next to me. When he’s close, I can see his face in better focus. Dark hair, shot through with silver. Intense, glittering, dark silver eyes. A full and unruly beard covering the whole bottom half of his face.
A wild man. A mountain man.
“Drink this,” he commands me in a growl as I feel something prying against my lower lip.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s just water,” he mutters. “Drink it. It’ll help.”
What choice do I have? After a few seconds, my lips remember how to close around the straw and I suck tentatively, grateful to find that it’s truly just water as far as I can tell. As soon as I start to drink, I am ridiculously thirsty. The cool water courses over my raw throat, dripping through the middle of my body and landing in my stomach. I can feel the sensation seeping outward from there, rejuvenating my tired cells.
He stays crouched by my side, staring at my face. I close my eyes again, waiting for my brain to sort this information out. Should I be afraid? Should I scream? I don’t know what I actually have the energy to do, besides trust him. At least for now.
