I’ll think about what happened, she told herself. I’ll concentrate on every detail of what caused this…situation. I won’t think about how I’ll get out of it; I’ll think about how I got in it. That’s what Dad—ever-sensible Dad—would tell me to do.
First, what had caused her to wreck? Had she slid into another car? Turning as far to the left as her neck would allow her, she saw no car. Had she lost control and crashed into that useless piece of guardrail? She shut her eyes tightly, trying to remember. No, she’d been driving slowly, so slowly….
Her eyes snapped open. I saw something on the road and I tried to dodge it by…by how? I pulled into the other lane, but there was a semitruck, for God’s sake, and I swerved back to my lane and slid into the guardrail and then—
Tap. Tap.
Tap!
Marissa jerked her head to the right and struggled for breath. A white blur at the window sharpened into the long face Marissa had seen on the highway. Gaping black eyes dominated inhumanly pallid skin—eyes seemingly sunken too far back into the eye sockets to belong to anyone alive. Three painted black tears trailed down the right side of the face, the third one beside the gray lips. Marissa was clearheaded enough to know it was a mask with long dark and white hair escaping from beneath the hood—hair rough, tangled, and dry, the hair of a long-dead corpse.
Fear tightened Marissa’s throat painfully. She couldn’t scream. She could barely breathe. Although she realized the face outside was a mask, its immobility unnerved her. It looked like a human skull. Wind caught loose strands of long hair and coated them with snow and ice, turning them into a stiff, grotesque frame for a skin-stripped face.
Marissa fought the urge to struggle in the locked seat belt that earlier had saved her life but now made her a prisoner. Her thoughts skimmed back to a late summer day when she was nine, happily running in the woods with Catherine and their friend Tonya Ward, and had landed beside a den of young rattlesnakes. Marissa had been wearing canvas sneakers and no socks. Immediately the mother snake’s tail had rattled before her head rose, poised at the bare flesh above Marissa’s ankle.
Catherine and Tonya had stopped, looking back at Marissa, who’d shrieked, then gone stiff at the sound of the rattle. Catherine had begun screaming at the top of her voice, but coolheaded Tonya had ordered Catherine to
shut up
and firmly told Marissa, “
Do not move.
” After what seemed an interminable time, the snake stopped rattling and lowered back to its passive coil. After two or three minutes, Tonya had told Marissa to pretend she was in slow motion and take tiny steps until she’d escaped the danger of the mother snake.
Right now Marissa felt as if she were looking into the inscrutable eyes of that poisonous, deadly snake. Marissa’s body instinctively stilled. She didn’t open her mouth to cry out. She didn’t allow her gaze to waver. She felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She and the being outside merely stared at each other like figures carved in stone—Marissa hurt, cold, and trapped; the figure covered in a black rain slicker, its face impassive, and its eyes as unfathomable as the eyes of the dead.
Then its fingers began scrabbling at the handle of the car door.
2
A cold lump settled in Catherine’s stomach as soon as she spotted the semitruck pulled to the side of the road, flares set around it. A brown sedan had parked behind the semi and a blue SUV sat on the other side of the highway in front of what Catherine dreaded most to see—a sizeable, ragged-edged gap in the guardrail.
James drove past the aperture in the guardrail, slowly pulled in front of the SUV, and stopped. “I’m going to see what’s happened,” he told her calmly. “I’m leaving the car on so you’ll have heat. Will you be all right?”
“I’m not staying in the car!” Catherine’s voice shook. “Maybe Marissa—”
He clasped Catherine’s hand and squeezed it. “And maybe not Marissa. Maybe not much of anything. This guardrail is so old and weak it might have just cracked in the cold and collapsed on its own.”
Catherine looked at him disdainfully. “That’s the kind of story you would tell a child, James Eastman, and I can’t believe you even
tried
it on me! How stupid, how insulting, how utterly…utterly—”
He’d unlatched his seat belt, opened his door, and jerked his hand away from hers while she ranted. “Yeah, okay, I’m awful. You have tears dripping off your chin.
I
am going to see what happened.
You
are going to stay in the car.”
He slammed the door and walked away from the Lincoln toward another man, never looking back at her. Catherine huddled in the warm car, pulling a tissue from her tiny purse that didn’t hold much more than a tube of lipstick, a compact, and a cell phone. James in his black cashmere coat walked quickly toward a burly figure wearing jeans, boots, a billed cap, and a heavy denim jacket. The man glanced her way and Catherine saw that he looked on the verge of collapse. His whole body shook. One hand continually wiping his eyes, the other hand nervously taking off and putting on his cap. He must be the driver of the semi, Catherine thought, trying to feel sympathy for his obvious distress, but she kept shuddering, imagining his hulking truck meeting Marissa’s small, sporty car.
Finally, the truck driver produced a large flashlight and almost charged toward the opening in the guardrail. James and another man each took one of his arms, trying to stop him. Let him go! Catherine thought in fury. Let him look! Maybe it isn’t Marissa at all. I’m sorry for anyone who did wreck, but
please
don’t let it be Marissa.
Catherine couldn’t stand it. In a flash, she jumped from the car and ran toward James, maneuvering ice and snow in her spike-heeled shoes. “What’s happening? Are the police coming?”
“You should have been an ice dancer,” James said as she stopped precisely in front of him without a wobble. He clasped her shoulders. “I told you to stay in the car.”
She glared at him and nearly snarled, “James, how-bad-is-it?”
“Well, we can’t tell much about it,” James said unconvincingly. “The truck driver had a cell phone. A police unit was near—they should be here in a minute. It seems a car swerved out of its lane and almost collided with the truck and ended up going over the bank instead.” James lowered his voice. “The guy in the jacket is the truck driver. He’s a mess—blames himself. He won’t wait for the cops. He’s determined to go over the bank to see if…to see the car.”
“I don’t care about the damned truck driver,” Catherine hissed. “What kind of car went through the guardrail?”
“He couldn’t really see; it happened fast, the weather—”
“James!” Catherine watched his dark gaze trying to avoid hers. “It was a red Mustang, wasn’t it?” she asked flatly.
James finally looked directly into her eyes, drew a deep breath, and tightened his hold on her shoulders. “Yes, Catherine, it was.”
3
The cavernous eyes never wavered from Marissa’s as the hands scratched at the car door. Marissa didn’t break the gaze, giving no sign she knew whoever was outside was trying to get inside. To get inside and do what? Stab her? Strangle her as she lay twisted and trapped in the car she’d cherished?
Her left shoulder had begun to ache from the pressure of the seat belt holding her body as the car had hurdled, bounced, and jerked to a stop. Or what felt to Marissa like an
unsteady
stop if she wasn’t imagining the slight rocking motion caused by her would-be visitor beginning to pull forcefully on the handle of the door.
The handle of a
locked
door! The thought flashed into Marissa’s mind like a blinding flare. When she’d lived in Chicago, before moving back to Aurora Falls, where people rarely broke into automobiles, locking the car doors had become second nature to her. In or out of the car, she always locked the doors, and she’d done so this evening while Catherine stood at the car window spouting warnings.
Marissa’s mental bubble of triumph burst when the being outside pulled even harder on her car door and Marissa realized it had given up on opening the door and was now trying to make the car lose its delicate balance. The Mustang began to sway. Although Marissa felt as if she might faint, dimly she thought of how ironic it would be to survive a near crash with a semitruck and a perilous dive down the icy river-bank only to die by having some child’s nightmare monster pull the car into the Orenda River. If the car went into the river, she would die. Underwater, car doors wouldn’t open unless the cabin of the car had filled and the pressure had equalized. She didn’t think she could hold her breath that long.
Marissa couldn’t even prepare for the worst by opening a window—the
thing
was outside trying to get in the car. She could open a window underwater, but trapped by the seat belt she couldn’t reach the automatic window opener. Yes, her situation was quite entertaining, Marissa thought, so dizzy with pain and fright she felt almost goofily drunk. “This would make a good story, but who’ll write it if no one knew about the monster?” She laughed almost hysterically before she choked on the blood running from her nose.
Abruptly her twisted amusement at the situation vanished and Marissa crashed back into a world of darkness and snow and something grotesque outside the car trying to kill her. For a moment, she wondered if she might be slipping in and out of consciousness. No grotesque thing was trying to kill her. She’d half-slept in the cold and had a child’s nightmare. Night terrors. She’d been prone to them when she was very young.
Then Marissa’s tormentor pulled so hard on the car that it grated on the snow and the front end shifted downward. The seat belt jerked harder on her left shoulder, increasing the pain. Marissa looked directly at the figure, and deep in the cavernous holes in the mask she saw darkened eyes narrow a fraction and triumph flitter in their murky depths. Did the monsters of children’s imaginations smile? She couldn’t remember about her own, but if she lived through this ordeal, she’d ask a child, because
this
monster smiled…
And then vanished. Marissa felt as if someone had blown out a candle. Her tormentor was there and then it wasn’t. Where could it have gone? Could it have ducked below the car window? Was it creeping behind the car?
She tried to twist in her seat, but she was aching, shivering with cold, and frightened almost senseless. Suddenly a bright light shone beside her face. Her hands flew to her eyes and she cried out, terrified of what horror was surely to come. Then, drawing a ragged breath of tepid air, she burst into silent sobs when a man shouted, “You can stop holding your breath, Catherine! Marissa’s alive!”
Chapter 3
1
Even in the frenzy of her wild fear, Marissa detected something familiar, almost comforting, in the voice of the man who’d said her name. She tried to wrench her body to the left so she could see him, but with his flashlight shining directly into her face all she saw was the curve of his cheek, the shadows of wavy hair around the rim of his cap, a pair of dark eyes, and a hint of his mouth.
“Can you lower your window, Marissa?”
She shook her head no. Her throat tightened as tears began pouring down her face. “Can’t reach.”
“And Mustang doors are nearly impossible to open with a slim jim.” She could vaguely see his smile and suddenly she knew him. “That’s all right. Just don’t move around any more than necessary. Are you hurt?” His words blasted through the night as if a concrete wall separated them. “Think anything is broken?”
“Nose. Shoulder hurts. Can’t feel the rest of my body.” His smile turned stiff and false, and she knew he was thinking paralysis. “I can move my legs and arms. I’m numb from the cold.”
She could see his face relax and the smile return to normal. Normal? How did she know how his normal smile looked? She hadn’t seen it for over four years.
Marissa finally blinked away her tears and calmed down enough to concentrate on her rescuer. Eric Montgomery. Tall, good-looking, smart Eric Montgomery. Back in the days when Marissa was best friends with his younger sister, Gretchen, he had an easy, wildly attractive smile, mischievous brown eyes, and appeared to be in unfailing high spirits. No one seemed immune to his charm, especially girls. But he’d been hers—hers alone. She’d thought they’d be married and have a child by now.
Eric’s life suffered a dramatic change after his sister died, though. He’d left his job in Philadelphia and returned to the police force at Aurora Falls. He’d shut out Marissa and almost everyone else in his life. Now he was described as aloof, chilly, serious. Everyone said he was still “blue steel sharp” in the brains department, though, and he seemed utterly devoted to Aurora Falls, which had earned him the position of chief deputy at such a young age. Since Marissa had returned home this past summer, though, she’d seen him only from a distance and he’d given her a brief, dismissive wave.
Her throat relaxed enough for her to yell frantically, “Did you see it?”
Eric frowned. “Did I see
what
?”
“It’s on the other side of the car.”
“You say someone fell out of your car?”
“
No.
But something is out—”
Too late. Eric had already begun tramping and stumbling through the slick, snowy undergrowth, headed for the opposite side of her car. Marissa closed her eyes. What would that thing do to him? Was it crouched, waiting for him to circle the car so it could push him down the rest of the rugged bank to the river?
While she waited almost breathless for the sounds of an attack, she heard only wind whistling through icy branches. “Nothing over here, Marissa.” His voice boomed as he circled the rear of the car and came back to her window. “Catherine said you didn’t have any passengers. Maybe you imagined it.”
“No! Something, someone—”
Eric either didn’t hear her or decided to ignore her. “Catherine and James Eastman are up on the highway. So is the semitruck driver you scared half to death. He says you pulled right in front of him. Don’t worry, though. We’re going to get some equipment out here, put some chains around this car, and pull you up to the road in no time.”