“Shut up! Just shut up, okay? I helped you and this is how you thank me? You told me you wanted to marry me when Goodwin was dead. You said we’d split the money.”
The money. My money.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. The car lurched and swerved sideway. When he looked up his face was deformed with rage. He pressed the gas harder and the engine shrieked. We flew down the highway in the dark.
“Wade, slow down!” Ramona cried. He reached for the handgun in his holster. She clawed desperately at the steering wheel.
The car shot to the right, off the road and into the desert. It bounced hard over the uneven ground for a few seconds and then swung over a steep rise in the desert. It hung balanced on the edge for a few awful seconds and then it tipped over the edge, pitching forward into a deep ravine. Ramona and I screamed.
The world went sideways. The cruiser flipped and rolled, once, twice, then a third time.
When it finally stopped, I was hanging upside down. The car was on its roof in a deep ditch. The seatbelt across my waist bit into my hips. The engine spun down and the horn blared.
I realized I was the only one wearing a seat belt. Ramona was slumped at the bottom of her seat, unconscious. Blood trickled out of her nose. Jenner was out cold and his airbag was splattered with blood.
A window in the backseat was partially smashed. I unbuckled my seatbelt and fell to the car’s ceiling. Lying on my back, I kicked at the broken glass until the jagged hole was big enough to squeeze through. I pushed my backpack through the hole and pulled myself free.
Clambering up the sandy wall of the steep ditch, in the darkness, with one arm, felt like it took hours.
At the top, the ground was hard as asphalt and cold as ice. Fierce wind whipped across the desert, freezing my wet cheeks. Stabs of fresh pain shot down my injured arm.
I didn’t look behind me as I limped towards the road.
Then, the roar of an engine, getting louder. Bright, blinding headlights were heading straight for me.
I stepped into the light.
***
I woke up to the exotic smell of sandalwood and jasmine. It was dark, except for a candle burning on a low table. The bed was soft, and in the flickering candlelight I could see I was wearing a white silk robe. My fingers brushed a fresh dressing on my wound. My arm was still attached to my body, at least, and miraculously, the pain had vanished. Was this a hospital?
I tried to think, to remember where I was. The last thing I remembered was the sound of metal crunching and a sickening sensation of falling, plummeting down into…what? I couldn’t remember.
My head dropped down on the sweat-soaked pillow and I closed my eyes.
I thought about my mother. It had been so long since I felt the tickle of her hair when it brushed my face, her soft arms around me. I caught a faint whiff of perfume—it smelled like the blossoms on the lemon tree behind our house, rain in the vineyards, and crushed lavender rose petals.
Her scent.
“Mom? Are you here?” I rasped to the silent room. You’ll see her soon. When you die on this bed. That didn’t sound so bad. Darkness flirted with the edges of my mind.
Maybe she’s waiting for you in heaven right now. Maybe you should go to her now.
“Momma, I love you,” I whispered. A vise squeezed my arm and a violent blackness forced its way into my mind.
***
Something was shaking me back and forth. Soon. Soon now. I was in a black car and we were speeding, rocking back and forth as we hurtled to the edge of a massive cliff. It was almost at the edge. Then, the car nosed down and a black chasm gaped below. Waves crashed against sharp rocks far below.
Someone was shaking me. I opened my mouth to scream but only managed a pathetic whimper. I cracked an eyelid open.
A beautiful face loomed over mine.
Alexander.
“Wake up, Lana. You’re safe now. The doctor’s here.” I reached out and pressed a hand to his cheek. It was real. And warm.
His face blurred, like a wet photograph smeared by a thumb, and I fell, plummeting into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
The End
To be concluded in Book 2, Valley of Fire.
Coming soon…
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Acknowledgements
Thank you to my devoted sister and first reader, Noelle, and my tireless champion and wonderful husband, Aaron. Thank you to my children who tolerated their mother’s writing time. Thank you to my mother Lorraine, my first fan. And thank you to all the sore-wristed, bleary-eyed fiction writers out there who inspired me to finally join their ranks several years ago. We may toil alone, but I hear you typing late into the night.
I would be remiss if I did not also acknowledge the original inspiration for this story, the real-life Gilded-Age heiress, Huguette Clark.
May she rest in peace.
About the Author
Bronwyn Archer grew up in Southern California where she attended an all-girls high school that was (almost) nothing like the Briar School for Girls. There, she discovered two things: a love of literature and the importance of a good fake ID if you wanted to find a prom date.
After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania with degrees in English and Art History, Bronwyn moved to Paris, where she edited a magazine for expatriates. After failing to become the next Hemingway—despite spending hours at the Ritz Hotel’s Hemingway Bar—she became a copywriter for ad agencies and entertainment companies like HBO and Disney.
Now married and living in L.A., Bronwyn writes fiction and raises children. She’s up to two rescued mutts and four kids, which makes her a semi-freak in this neck of the woods, but she’s learned that once you decide to live your life your way, everything else gets a little easier.
Valley of the Moon is her first novel.
Learn more at:
www.BronwynArcher.wordpress.com
Twitter: @BronArchBooks
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