Five Total Strangers

by Natalie D. Richards

  I unbuckle and twist my body, shove my hips out and away from the seat. My legs shake, but I crouch in the narrow space between the front seat and the back. I can’t sit here between the two of them any longer. I need space. Air.

  Kayla finally gets the door open, and Brecken forces his open, too.

  “We need to get out,” I say. I start an awkward climb to the passenger-side door. Everything about my angle is unnatural—I feel like I’ll tumble backward out of the car. My stomach cramps, a warning from my body that this is not right.

  Hell, nothing has been right for hours. Weeks. For the whole year, if I’m honest.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have done this!” Brecken says.

  “You agreed to it, too!” Harper snaps. “Just get over it.”

  We all pile out of the car and assess the damage. We’re halfway up to our calves in snow here and the other side of the car is much, much worse. It’s buried above both tires, snow partly up both doors. The ditch is not deep—maybe eight feet, though it’s hard to be sure. And the car doesn’t look as bad as I thought, the passenger-side tires only a few inches off the ground.

  Still. It’s buried. This is beyond what we can do with a shovel. We need ten shovels. Or maybe a backhoe.

  A certainty settles deep in my gut looking at the half-buried SUV: we aren’t getting out of this snow without a tow.

  I look around at the nothing that surrounds us. It’s dark and cold, and there’s an ache deep in my bones that feels like it’ll never shake loose.

  We gather quietly at the front of the car, a meeting of the minds, I guess. The wind is briefly quiet here and the silence is absolute, the snow muffling any noise the air might carry.

  “What are we going to do?” Harper asks. “Should we light the flares?”

  “What for?” Kayla asks. “So the abominable snowman can rescue us?”

  Brecken huffs. “We shouldn’t have come down here.”

  “Well, we did,” Harper says. “We’re here now.”

  Brecken gestures at the now useless car. “Might as well break out the campfire and the kumbayas because we’re not going anywhere soon.”

  “We can hike out,” Josh says.

  “Have you seen your leg?” I ask.

  He frowns down at it. “I’m not sure we have a choice. There were a few houses about a mile back, right? We could split up. Head in both directions. Whoever gets help first sends someone for the others.”

  “And if not, we’ll just freeze to death stumbling through the blizzard,” Kayla says. “Good times.”

  “The gas won’t last forever, so if we don’t get out of here, we’ll freeze anyway,” Harper says.

  “We need to dig out,” Brecken says. “We dig a trench and find something to ramp us back up to the road. It won’t be easy, but we can do it.”

  Josh shakes his head. “No, we can’t. We need help. We aren’t in the Australian outback, we’re in Pennsylvania. I know I saw some houses not too long ago.”

  “Even a mile in this will be like ten or fifteen miles,” Brecken says.

  “Digging out of that ditch will be like digging a grave,” Kayla says.

  Something about her tone chills me. I look around, surveying the landscape. The road we came from is only a hundred yards back. It curves sharply to the left and out of sight just past the field. I can’t even make out our tire tracks from earlier. Not from here. But I don’t remember the houses Josh is talking about. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.

  I shift on my feet, trying to think. Staying here feels exposed. Dangerous. The field on the left goes on forever, ending in a thick-looking row of trees that could be half a mile away for all I can see. What’s down the valley though? Past the snow drift on the right side of the road.

  I tromp back up to the road and across it. The snow is maybe twelve inches at first, but as I walk, it gets deeper. It’s probably up to my chest in parts of the drift, but I find an opening, a little valley in the snow, that I can walk through.

  The wind is picking up again, blasting my coat across my back. I shuffle forward carefully, not wanting to stumble off the road if I somehow miss the guardrail. But before I know it, the guardrail is in front of me. The drift to my left is enormous, but here a single swipe of my boot uncovers some of the metal rail.

  I step forward, peering down the gray-white slope of the valley. It’s steep here at the top, with trees dotting the hillside. It’s hard to be sure, but I think the slope becomes more gradual. The evergreen branches have provided some cover and with the wind blowing the other direction, the snow on the hillside is patchier. Here and there, I can see bits of black forest floor peeking through. I crouch down, peering through the tree trunks to see what’s at the bottom. Just darkness. Trees. Lights.

  Lights?

  My heart trips. I lost them, but I wouldn’t have imagined that, would I? It had to be headlights or a house or…something. I stare until I find them again, between the spaces in the trees. They’re real—I didn’t dream them. It’s only a few tiny yellow glimmers, but they’re lined up at the bottom of the valley, which means there is a road. And those lights? They are houselights.

  I squint, spotting the vague colorful twinkle of holiday lights in a window. There are people down there. Hope bursts through my chest, as warm and bright as sunshine through stained glass.

  “You guys!” I shout, pointing. “There are houses down there!”

  They are out of my sight, hidden entirely by the mountainous snow drift. And apparently with the wind howling they can’t hear me. I shout again, but no one answers.

  I stomp back across the road, fighting against the wind to get to them. My legs burn from wading through the snow, and I’m breathing fast, but I’m thrilled. It’s cold, but I don’t care. I could climb Everest in a bathing suit right now, because there are people! People who are not Harper and Brecken and Josh and Kayla. People who can help me get home.

  When I make my way back over, everyone seems to be wandering. The trunk lid is open, and I can hear Brecken working the shovel. Harper is murmuring at him. Kayla is near them. Josh, too, but he must hear me coming, because he turns and meets me at the trunk.

  “There are houses!” I say.

  “What?” Josh asks.

  Harper comes over and Brecken pauses. Even Kayla looks interested.

  “There are houses down in the valley,” I say. “It’s steep, but I can get down there. I’m sure of it.”

  “You mean you can roll down, breaking every bone in your body,” Brecken says.

  Harper frowns. “I don’t know. This feels like an even worse accident waiting to happen.”

  Brecken returns to his shovel.

  “Are you nuts?” I ask. “I’m telling you there are people, like a few football fields away! We can do this. Come look!”

  But they don’t. And why would they? A shiver runs up my spine, and the snow isn’t to blame. Because I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to get help at this point. Unless they don’t want us to get home.

  “Mira, I’m going to help him get started.” Harper’s smile is even more patronizing than her tone. “But then I’ll come look, okay? Don’t worry.”

  “The houses are not that far,” I say softly.

  Josh looks down at his brace, and then his jaw tightens. He meets my eyes. “I’m going to go look.”

  “Your brace will get wet.”

  “Then it will get wet,” he says. “If you think this is the way…”

  “I do,” I say. I touch his sleeve. “I’m going to grab my gloves and then I’m going down. If you can’t do the slope, don’t worry. I will get help up here. I won’t leave you.”

  “I’m going to go check it out,” he says.

  I’m not sure he’ll be able to get through the snow in that brace, and I’m definitely sure he won’t be able to descend the moun
tain, but I nod, watching as he picks his way across. He’s painfully slow and awkward, but I don’t argue, because I feel better with the idea of having him up there. If I fall, at least someone will see.

  I consider telling the other three, but decide to grab my gloves instead. I’m not letting Brecken and Harper talk me out of this. I’m going. They can stay and dig down to bedrock for all I care.

  I pull the trunk of the SUV open and drag my bag closer. The latch flops open and it spills. I swear, this damn latch.

  I swipe at the tangle of toiletry bags and clothes that tumbled out. Something else fell out, too. A large yellow padded mailer.

  It isn’t mine.

  It isn’t mine, but when I flip it over, I find my name scrawled across the front of the envelope in neat, sloping black letters.

  I frown, pulling open the flap. There is a thick stack of smaller envelopes and a single sheet of thick, buttery soft paper on top. Perfectly organized. Dread fills my stomach, a cold, hard ball beneath my ribs. There should not be an envelope with my name on it. But there is.

  My hands feel numb as I peel open the flap and tip the envelope up, dumping the contents into the trunk. The other smaller envelopes spill out in a hiss of paper, along with an assortment of miscellaneous items that must have been at the bottom of the mailer. A map of Pennsylvania, Harper’s wallet, and a battery that I’m guessing is Brecken’s. But my eyes lock on a familiar black rectangle with a shattered screen. My phone.

  This is the stuff that was taken.

  My throat tightens. I touch my phone’s shattered screen and spot one of the envelopes underneath. Mira Hayes. I shove everything else away and focus on the envelopes. They are all unopened and addressed to me. But the address in San Diego isn’t familiar. My face goes cold as I run my finger over my name, a high-pitched whine ringing in my ears. I scan the postmark dates spelled out in red inked postage stamps. February 4. April 8. June 12. August 30. November 15.

  One of the envelopes bears my first name only, neatly printed across the front. It looks fresher. Newer than the rest. A sick certainty tells me I do not want to read these. I pause, spotting the single unfolded sheet of crisp white paper. It was on the top when I looked at the envelope.

  I swallow as I turn it over. I read one line and know I am right to be afraid.

  I should be terrified.

  Mira,

  I can smell you in this car.

  I can hear you sigh.

  I can feel the way your breath shifts the air.

  Every one of my senses is full of you, and still you don’t see me.

  But you will.

  You aren’t calling your parents again, Mira. You aren’t going to Pittsburgh. You aren’t going home. You’ll stay here, deep in the mountains. I’ll find a place, a private place where no one will find us.

  Maybe then you’ll see me.

  Maybe then you’ll understand that you’re mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The letter slides from my hand, floating down to the scattered envelopes below. I try to step back, and my knees go to water. I hear Harper and Brecken at the front tires. The shink of the shovel over and over. Kayla approaches, her steps crunching. I pitch forward, catching myself on the side of the car with my hands. I can’t breathe.

  Can’t breathe.

  But I have to.

  I force air into my squeezed-shut throat and ignore the thumping of my heart. The chatter of my teeth. Think. I need to think. My gaze drifts down to the wallet. The phone. The envelopes.

  They all show an address on Tribune Street. My brain searches every crevice of my memory, trying to make sense of it. What does that address mean to me? Is it familiar? I know Tribune Street… It’s—

  Seaspun Gallery. I had a show at Seaspun Gallery, and they had an office where I dropped my paintings. It was my first series in gray. Not a drop of color touched my palette for those paintings, not burnt sienna or cadmium red. Just lamp black and titanium white and all the shadows between.

  When was that show? A year ago? Maybe right after I got home after Phoebe died. I press my palm to my head as the thoughts spin. It had to be February. Early February. I paw through the letters, checking the dates in red ink until I find the one I’m looking for. February 4.

  I rip it open and unfold the letter, scanning it quickly. They were at the show. Oh, God, this person watched me. Talked to me. I frantically search my memory, finding nothing. The show was year ago—it was all a blur of nameless faces and my fake smiles. All I could think about was how sad Mom was at home. But I wasn’t home. I was at Seaspun Gallery. And this person saw me. And wrote about fate and destiny.

  Who did this?

  I blink and a flash of Brecken’s dark eyes in the rearview mirror. Another of him, flushed and breathing hard against the tree. He’d talked about destiny, too. And about us, together.

  We make a good team, Mira.

  Destiny’s on our side.

  Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Take two steps back from the car.

  “Hey.” I nearly jump out of my skin, but it’s Kayla. Just Kayla.

  My hand is at my throat, the letter back in my other hand. I don’t remember grabbing it. Kayla glances at the letter. How could she not look with the way it’s shaking in my fingers?

  “What the hell…” she says, and I can see the shock fall over her as she scans the pile of letters. “What the hell is all of this? Is that your phone?”

  Tears slide over my cheeks, hot and unexpected. My voice is a cracked, dead thing. “I don’t… This was in my bag.”

  Kayla looks back over her shoulder and my senses catch up. I hear Harper muttering. The shink of Brecken’s shovel. He could hurt me with that shovel. His words from the campground come back to me, sudden and terrible.

  We should stick together, you and me.

  I think of him cornering me behind the car. Trying to blame Josh. Trying to get me on his side. I was right to be afraid of Brecken.

  I grab Kayla’s arm and pull her close.

  “Hey—” she protests.

  “Do you know anything about these letters?” I ask. “Your stuff isn’t here! Everyone else’s stuff is.”

  She doesn’t flinch. “What the hell? No!”

  I don’t know if I can trust her, but I can’t imagine her behind this. She’s barely holding on, and this isn’t the work of an addict. It’s meticulous. Organized. I think of Brecken’s bag and shudder.

  “I think Brecken wrote these letters. I think he wants to hurt me.”

  Kayla hesitates, then shakes her head. “What are you even talking about?”

  “There are nine letters in here. Brecken wrote them.” I shake the paper in my hand. “He said things today that were in this letter, and he has already run a person over. I am not staying to see what he’ll do to me.”

  A beat passes, a thousand emotions flickering across Kayla’s face. She does not speak.

  “I’m going,” I say, swallowing hard. “Come or stay. It’s your choice.”

  Her eyes flick to the ditch. We can’t see them well, but Harper and Brecken are chatting. My chest aches at a glimpse of Harper’s dark hair through the windows. I want to warn her. I want to get her away from him.

  But then I remember the way she protected him. The way everything he does softens beneath the lens of what he did for her in the airport. I won’t be able to convince her, and I can’t risk losing my chance to run.

  I glance at Kayla, and she looks drawn. Serious. But she nods. “I’m with you.”

  I grab my bag, leaving most of the letters where they sit. I can’t imagine touching more of them. We head out across the road, stepping through the deepening snow. I’ve got the large envelope still clutched in my left hand and the wind catches it, flapping it back against my sleeve. At the other side of the road, Josh looks up,
surprise flickering into concern when he sees me.

  Even through the wind, I can hear the now-sickening shink of Brecken’s shovel. Over and over. Like digging a grave, Kayla said.

  I shove the envelope into Josh’s hands, crying. He turns it over scanning my name. He frowns. And somehow, his reaction makes the terror hit harder. I’m breathless, my words tumbling over each other on their way out. They choke over unexpected sobs. “It’s Brecken. I think you were right about Brecken.”

  “What?” he asks. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t… There were all these letters. And they were to me, but at the wrong address. He’s after me. We have to get away from him.”

  “Slow down,” he says, waving Kayla closer. “What are you talking about? What is this?”

  “She found a stack of letters,” Kayla says. “And all of our shit, except mine. Looks like she has a stalker, and she’s pretty spooked.”

  She sounds like she’s smiling, which means she’s probably still high. Nothing about this is funny.

  “We have to go,” I say.

  Josh shakes his head. “Because you found two letters? I’m confused.”

  I shake my head. “Tons of letters. I left them, but he wants to keep me here in the mountains. He thinks we met or maybe we did meet. I don’t know. But he’s acting like this is some great love story.” I practically gag on the words. “It’s insane. All of it is completely insane.”

  Josh steps back, face blanched. He covers his mouth with his hand.

  “And you don’t remember him?” Kayla asks, her voice lilting.

  “No, but it doesn’t matter,” I say. “He thinks we are destined to be together. I told you. Insane.”

  I reach for Josh, who flinches, unsettled by the letter. By everything I’m saying, I’m sure.