Storm by Carian Cole, now you can read online.
Chapter One
Sometimes, when I’m driving alone, I go into what I call the ‘road coma’ where I suddenly become acutely aware that I have no recollection of the past, say, twenty or so miles of driving. I can’t remember a darn thing. Not the road, not stopping at stop signs, not what was on the radio… It’s a total blank. A quick flash of fear will grip me, and I’ll think what if I ran someone over and don’t even know it? Surely, if I had, I would have experienced a quick bump and thump and snapped out of it.
Right?
I blink and clutch the steering wheel, suddenly realizing I am driving on a winding, narrow mountain road that’s covered with snow. When I left the house an hour ago, the snow was barely coming down. I glance at the GPS, which hasn’t said a word in a long time. The little blue arrow is pointing to what must be nowhere, because I don’t see a thing up here except for trees. And snow. Lots of snow. I swallow hard and wonder if the GPS has been talking to me while I was in a road coma and I just ignored it. Michael promised me when I left the house earlier, there was no way I could get lost with this tiny digital device, but now I am having serious doubts.
I grab my cell phone to call him and tell him I am, indeed, very lost, but the phone is in SOS mode. Sighing, I throw it back onto the passenger seat where it bounces and lands on the floor. I reach down to grab it and inadvertently, turn the wheel and the car starts to slide. Being the pinnacle of panic that I am, I jerk the wheel back and hit the brakes, and the car goes into a total spin. The snow is coming down hard in a violent zigzag and all I can see is a spinning white blur as I try to get the car under control. I’m not even sure what side of the road I’m on anymore or if I’m even going in the right direction. The car and I are like a feather in the wind, gently blowing this way and that, twirling in the gusts, until we finally come to an abrupt and final stop in a ditch, my head bouncing lightly off the steering wheel. I force my eyes open and peer around. No, it wasn’t a crash. Not really. It was a rather anti-climactic stop after all the spinning. The car just came to a stop—nose first off the side of the road. And while I am thankful the car isn’t totaled with half my head sticking out of the windshield, I am most definitely stuck, tires spinning.
I reach for my cell (again), silently praying for a signal, but there is nothing. Zero bars. I try to remember if I passed any houses or gas stations while in my driving-induced stupor, but I can’t remember the last time I saw any signs of civilization, which really enforces the fact that I am most likely nowhere near the posh hotel where my business meeting is being held this weekend. I am lost and stuck. Lost and stuck. My heart starts to pound faster. Lost and stuck. Stuck and lost. Zero bars.
Okay, Evelyn, stay calm. Deep breaths.
“Hey, you okay?” The pounding of his palm on the window scares the heck out of me. I jump and scream. Sasquatch with a black cowboy hat and a long black coat, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth is now trying to break into my car.
Oh, my God! Psycho kidnapper murderer in the snowstorm.
“Hello?” he says again. He opens the car door and snow falls into the car and onto my lap. I cringe away from him, smashing myself up against the middle console of the car seat. I sneak a peek at him and see he has a piercing in his eyebrow.
What makes people want to stick strange metal objects into their face?
“Don’t touch me!” I scream. I wish I had a gun. Or a knife. But all I have is a pack of orange tic-tac’s, and although I did get one stuck in my throat once, I doubt I could use them as a self-defense weapon right now.
“Okay, lady, just calm down. Did you hit your head?”
Lady? Who’s he calling lady?
“No, I didn’t hit my head.” Or did I? I reach up and start touching my head. There is a little sore spot. And it feels wet. I pull my finger away and examine it. Blood!
“Oh, my God. I think I cracked my skull open!”
“No, you didn’t. It’s just a little bump.”
“It’s bleeding!” I rummage around in my purse and pull out a crumpled tissue and blot my head. It’s just a tiny bit of blood, but still. Sasquatch watches me with an amused smirk, then reaches out his hand and pushes my hair away from my forehead.
“You’re okay,” he says. “Just a tiny bump.”
I cringe away and curl my lip up like a rabid dog. “Don’t touch me. Please, get your head out of my car.”