by Sarah Ready
I flip down the visor and take a look at my eyes in the mirror. Hmm. Black mascara, sparkly taupe eyeshadow, and yup, sure enough, horn dog eyes. But, honest, I wasn’t thinking about Matt Smith, I was thinking about that shower from the other day. I could use another shower. We’ve been driving for the past twelve hours and I’m tired and sore. I snap the visor back up and turn to Nick.
“Better?” I ask.
He looks over and I flutter my eyelashes at him and cross my eyes.
He laughs. “Screwball.”
“Thanks for earlier,” I say. I already said it, but… “You really went above and beyond.”
“Forget about it.”
I can’t though. “I’ve been getting you in some crazy situations with my soul mate hunt.”
He hums an assent. “Don’t worry, I think it’ll be smooth sailing from now on.”
“You think?” I ask.
“How could it get worse?”
“An ax murderer?” I say, recalling his words from earlier.
He laughs. “It’s not gonna happen. We’ve paid our dues.”
I nod and settle back into my seat. Nick’s lip tilts up and I can tell he’s thinking about something he likes. His hands are stroking along the steering wheel and I can almost feel it like he’s touching me.
I clear my throat. “So, I’ve been fantasizing about a new greeting card line.” For some reason, I want him to be as excited about this idea as I am. I bounce up and down in my seat, squirming with the need to tell him more.
“Fantasizing, huh?”
“Yes,” I say. Now that the dam’s let loose I’m unable to stop. “That’s what I do. I dream up ideas all the time. Anything can set me off, an overheard conversation, a picture, a moment. Once a baby threw up in his dad’s hair and then the hair falls off and it turned out to be a toupee and that made me think about…” I trail off.
Nick has the goofiest smile on his face. “What?”
“I like your fantasies,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to share all my fantasies.”
“Uh huh,” he says. “So that toupee made you come up with the ‘hell toupee’ card?”
“You saw it?” I ask. I clap my hands together and chortle. “Oh my gosh. Who’d you give it to? You buy my cards? Wait a minute…” I stop. “Are you my stalker? Do you have all my greeting cards in a scrapbook that you take out and palm through while listening to sappy songs?”
Nick clears his throat and then turns to me. “My mom sent me cards every month I was stationed in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, right. Oh.” I feel like a total jerk. Things just got weird. “Um. Well, anyway.”
“Tell me about your idea,” he says.
“Really?” I ask. My voice is high, so I clear my throat and try again. “Really?” That’s better.
“Yeah, I want to hear it.”
“Okay, so check this out…” I pull my drawing pad from the backseat and quickly sketch a scene. “There’s this cat. He’s this cranky loner cat who hates everybody and just wants to be left alone.” I draw the outline of a cat with hooded eyes and dark fur. “And then there’s this dog, and the dog loves everybody and everything and is—”
“Your spirit animal?”
“Nooo,” I say. “The dog is in love with the cat.”
Nick shakes his head and gives me that special Nick look that makes me squirm. I draw the dog. It’s a big floppy-eared, big-eyed, happy puppy. I hold up the page to him with my cat and dog illustration. “See. And in each card they’re having a different adventure and…you hate it.”
“No. It’s good,” he says. He looks back at the road. “You should do it.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
He stares straight ahead, even though I want him to look at me so I can see what he’s thinking.
“Definitely,” he says.
“Okay, I will.” I sketch for a while, the ideas coming fast. Nick keeps peeking over and making sounds of approval. I’m giving the illustration my full attention and the miles fly by. Soon, we’re past Denver, and Matt Smith Number Four isn’t far.
“It’s getting late, maybe we shouldn’t go tonight?” I ask.
The sunset paints sherbet orange against the dusty purple mountains. I’ve never been this far west before and the rich colors and the high peaks that jut into the sky inspire me. But the encroaching night makes me question showing up on a stranger’s mountain stoop. Maybe I’m starting to see Nick’s point of view. We don’t know this guy.
“Nah, we’ll make it before eight. We can get a hotel after,” Nick says.
“But like you said, he could be a psycho.”
We’ve turned onto a dark mountain road. There are no street lamps and no houses. Nick drives slowly over the pothole-ridden pavement and the car groans.
“She gonna make it?” I ask.
He sighs and pats the steering wheel. “It’s alright, Shelly, she doesn’t mean it.”
I bite my lip to stop from smiling. I don’t know why he insists that Shelly has feelings, the weirdo. I look out the window at the passing trees. I bet in the sunlight the forest is pretty, but right now my skin is crawling. The knots on the trees look like faces watching us pass and the limbs look like crooked fingers reaching down. A dark shadow swoops in front of us and I jump.
“Easy, it’s just an owl,” Nick says.
“Gah,” I say.
We hit another pot hole and I bounce in my seat. I check the GPS, we’re currently driving on a green splotch, as in, we’ve gone off any mapped roads.
“He’ll be nice. He just likes nature. And solitude. And the dark,” I say. “I mean the stars. Look at the beautiful stars.”
You’d think I grew up in the city instead of a small town, but this kind of isolation is new to me. Even in the country outside Romeo, there are still neighbors. Is this guy my Matt? And if he is, why is he living a half-hour car ride from any other human being? Maybe he just needs the love of a good woman.
“You’re not worried?” I ask. I try to penetrate the deep black of the woods. The only thing I can see clearly is the narrow bit of road illuminated in the gray line of the headlights.
“It’s fine. I like the woods.”
I shake my head. “This whole thing just took an eerie turn to slasher movie territory and you’re not even concerned. Oh no…I’m not a virgin.”
Nick swerves a bit and then jerks the car straight. “What the heck are you talking about?”
I gesture at the woods, then at him and me. “We’re heading into some Halloween freak fest and I’m not a virgin. You’re the unsuspecting jock driving us toward the slasher and I’m the impure girl that has to die because…because…I lost my virginity in the back of this. Freaking. Car.”
I bury my head in my hands. “Can we come back in the morning?”
Nick pulls over and puts the car in park. He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he says. He hesitantly runs his hand up and down my arm. I let the rhythm of his stroking set in. After a minute I lift my head.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. I’m past my freak out. “Sorry, that was silly.”
He shrugs then gestures out the window. “Shelly can’t make the driveway. We’ll have to walk from here.”
I look at the side of the road. Sure enough, there’s a two track and a painted sign that says Smith’s Landing.
“Looks nice enough,” says Nick.
He turns off the engine and we step out into the night. It’s brisk, and before closing the door I grab a cardigan. Then I remember something.
“Hang on,” I say. This is the perfect time to make use of Vee’s birthday gift. When else will I be deep in the woods and in need of survival gear? I pull from my suitcase the multitool and pop it in my bra. Now, I’m prepared.
Nick locks the doors and we head up the hill. My chunky heels aren’t the best shoes for walking on a dirt road, but they’re probably the best option of all the heels I brought. Hopefully the drivewa
y isn’t too long.
I stumble and Nick looks over. When my heel sinks into a rut and I stumble a second time, Nick moves closer and holds out his arm. I look at it, then slowly reach out and loop my arm through his. It feels, it feels…right. Like we should always be touching. Or that we should’ve never stopped. I move my free hand to the inside of his forearm. He’s wearing a T-shirt and my fingertips run over his skin. I draw my hands down then up and sink into the warm, dark feel of him. He pulls in a sharp breath and I sway closer. His sharp exhale falls over my upturned face.
His skin glows in the moonlight and I catch a flicker in his eyes. The forest falls quiet and the sound of crickets and tree frogs dampens. If I kissed him, what would happen? Would it feel as good as it once did? Would it feel as good as this?
I stand on my tip toes and close my eyes.
14
Nick
* * *
Matt Smith Number Four…
* * *
Dang, she’s about to kiss me and I don’t want to stop her. But she’ll never forgive me if her supposed soul mate is at the top of the mountain and I take advantage of her at the bottom. I don’t want to be the guy she walks away from.
“Come on, Sparky. Your soul mate’s waiting.” Which sounds lame, I admit, but these are extenuating circumstances.
Her eyes snap open and I watch as they go from hazy to irritated in a second flat. With that, she stiffens and pushes away from me. Then, she brushes at her dress and straightens her cardigan.
“Right. Exactly. Right,” she says. Then she marches forward. I stay just close enough to catch her in case her heels sink into a mole hole or catch on an uneven track.
“Stop hovering,” she says. “I’m fine. Temporary insanity inspired by…non-creepy woods.”
I quirk a smile she can’t see. She slaps at a mosquito that keeps buzzing around our heads. Then she stops and points at a wooden sign nailed to a tree.
“What’s that?” she asks.
We walk closer and I shine my phone’s flashlight on it. “Go away,” I say. “Huh. Alright.” I shrug and keep walking. Chloe stays at the sign a second longer, then runs after me.
“What? That sign doesn’t bother you? Shouldn’t we turn around?”
“Nah, it’s fine. People in the country have those signs. It’s standard protocol.” In fact, I was planning on posting no trespassing signs on my land. I want to be left alone. That’s why a lot of people move to the country, for peace and quiet.
We walk on a little more with nothing happening. “See. It’s fine,” I say.
After a bit, Chloe stops again and points at another tree. “What about that one?” she asks.
I shine my flashlight on it and read, “No trespassing.”
“I think we should turn around,” she says.
I shake my head. I’m invested in this now, we’re more than halfway up the hill and I’m not turning around. It’s not like we’re in a war zone. “We don’t have time. We have to leave for Nevada by six a.m.”
I keep moving and Chloe scrambles after me.
“I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s kind of creepy?”
“No, I think it’s normal. If you have property in the wilderness, you get signs. No trespassing. No hunting. It goes with the territory. It’s fine.”
“Fine,” she says.
We keep walking. The night bugs get louder and I spot a few animal eyes reflecting in the moonlight. There are quite a few shed deer antlers along the trail. Finally, through the thick of the trees, I see a light shining. That has to be the house. It’s maybe a quarter mile away.
An eerie screeching laugh echoes through the night followed by a shrill scream.
“What’s that?” Chloe asks.
She moves closer to me but doesn’t take my arm.
“Screech owl,” I say. If I didn’t know what one sounded like, it would scare the pants off me.
Chloe rubs her arms, then points at another sign, although I’d already seen it.
She reads it aloud. “Trespassers will be shot.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
She shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest. “Nope. I’m not taking another step.”
“Come on,” I say. I move toward the house. “See, it’s fine.” I take another dozen steps. “See, completely and totally—”
I wrench back. Pain bursts.
Chloe screams.
I swat at the pain in my chest.
“Gol dermit…he shot me,” I say. Then I lose control of my body and I crash to the ground. As my vision goes gray and hazy I spy another sign. It says, Told You So.
15
Nick
* * *
I’m dreaming.
Chloe has me tied to a bed and I can’t get free. She’s dancing over me, her hair falling in soft curls brushing over my skin, and all I want to do is touch her. I beg her to untie me, but she won’t. The need to touch her is burning through me. It’s agony being tied down, but instead of freeing me she starts to undress. More than anything in the world, I want let free so I can touch her. But she stays just out of reach.
Untie me, I beg.
She laughs and takes a bite of chocolate cake. Her tongue swirls around the fork and I groan.
Untie me, please, I beg.
Wake up, she says.
Untie me.
“Dang it, Nick. Wake up,” she says.
I jerk awake and flinch. “I’m awake,” I say. My voice is scratchy and my throat is burning dry. I try to open my eyes and then I realize that they are open. We’re in a pitch black room that smells like unwashed sheets and years of dust. I go to move and realize I can’t.
“What the?” I tug and feel the bite of cold steel. Holy heck. I’m handcuffed.
“Chloe?”
“I’m here,” she whispers.
“What happened?”
I listen for her in the dark. I hear her rustling on fabric nearby, I think she’s only a few feet away. Her movement sends her soft familiar scent to me. I spread my hands and feel cold metal bars and fabric beneath them. I’m sitting on a carpeted floor and it feels like I’m cuffed to the footboard of a bed.
“Are you on a bed?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s Matt Smith.”
I swear. She was right. Or I was right back at the medieval dinner theatre. This Matt Smith is a psychopath.
“Did he…?” I ask, even though I’m terrified of the answer.
“No. I’m fine.”
I try to feel around to figure out how I’m restrained. The key here is not to panic. Panic in a situation like this and it’s over. Also, don’t give up. The minute you start thinking you’re dead, you are.
“Can you get loose?”
“No,” she says. “I’m handcuffed to a metal bedframe. I’ve been trying for like an hour.”
I feel around to see if I can find any weak spots. “I’m going to get us out of here. Hang tight.”
“He thinks his ex-wife sent us. He didn’t believe me when I told him the story about summer camp and soul mates.” She pauses and then says, “He never went to summer camp.”
“Well, that’s an upside.”
She’s quiet while I work at the cuffs.
“He really hates his ex-wife,” she says. “Did you know there are Happy Divorce Day cards?”
“That’s too much,” I say. I keep my voice light so she doesn’t sense that the longer it takes me to get loose, the more worried I’m getting.
I work my hands around the contours of the footboard. The metal rail I’m cuffed to is about three inches around. I slide the cuff up and down the rail and determine that it’s about two feet long. The thing is thick and solid, but maybe not unbreakable. I could kick it, or try to find a weak point. If nothing else, I could break a wrist to get out of the cuff. I need to hurry though. I don’t know how much time we have.
“How long was I out?” I ask.
“A little over an hour. He shot you with a tranquilizer.”
So that’s why I’m not feeling any pain, just a pounding headache and a hellish thirst. I feel mildly reassured that I’m not going to bleed out before I can get Chloe out of here.
“Nick?”
“I’m here,” I say. It’s dark in this room. I can’t see two feet in front of me. No windows. Nothing. I contort until my leg is lodged against the rail and then I press as hard as I can. The darn thing won’t even bend.
“If we’re gonna die—”
“We’re not going to die,” I say.
“But if we do. I forgive you…for the flagpoles.”
I shake my head and then realize she can’t see me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shifts on the bed. “The flagpoles. The day after we had sex,” she says meaningfully.
“What?” I remember the day we had sex. It was both of our first times and the best day of my young life. The day after, when she dropped me, was the worst.
“The flagpoles. You hung seven pairs of my panties on all the flagpoles around Romeo. The elementary school, the library, the post office, the high school, city hall, they all had my undies and a sign—Chloe Daniels is a bad lay.”
“What?” I ask. “What the hell?”
I kick at the bed. It doesn’t budge.
“You…wait. You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“No. No idea. I left town, remember? My dad had a heart attack in Albany. I left town and two hours later you phoned to say you never wanted to see me again.”
“But you told me I wasn’t worth the trouble,” she says.
“I was eighteen. The girl I loved told me she hated me, that I was the scum of the earth and she never wanted to see my nasty face again. Meanwhile, my dad was in a hospital bed dying. What did you expect me to say?”
I kick at the footboard again. Hard. With about ten years of pent up frustration.
“Your dad was dying?” she asks.
“Didn’t you hear that through the Romeo grapevine?” Usually there’s no shortage of information.
