by Sarah Ripley
One
I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.
You have.
That’s crazy. We’ve just met.
In this life, yes. I was talking about the times before when you were others.
I don’t get it.
You don’t have to get anything. You just need to accept what is. Soon it’ll become perfectly clear.
Weird huh? Yeah, I thought so too but what he said to me was true. All true. But I’m getting ahead of myself. In order to understand, you need to go back a little bit. Ok, quite a bit actually but I’ll try and give you the quick version--otherwise we’d be here for months.
Once there was a beautiful young girl who lived in a magnificent forest. And I’m not talking a few years ago. Try a few thousand. In fact, it’s closer to five thousand years ago, back when life was a lot different than you or I might live today. There was no power to keep warm in winter. No video games, iPods, hair dryers, malls, movie theatres, trains, planes and automobiles. People made their own butter from cream and wore clothes from fabric woven by their own hands. No Gap fashion outlets here. No Starbucks.
None of that at all.
This girl was so beautiful that men from all around used to come and court her. They heard of her beauty as far as the crow may fly and then they travelled even further to catch a glimpse. Her hair was as dark and shiny as a raven’s wing. Her eyes were the blue of the purest mountain lake. Her skin was soft and pale and she moved more smoothly and gracefully than the most elegant figure skater. Not only was she beautiful and swift but she was kind and loving. Raised by her adoptive family alone in the woods, she knew nothing of the horrors and darkness the world could offer. She had never experienced suffering or evil except in the stories her grandmother would recite from heart. She was the stuff that fairy tales were made of.
Until one day evil came disguised in the shape of love.
But more of that later. Right now, I’ve got to tell you something else.
Be patient—this is my story.
* * *
I never would have met Kian if it hadn’t been for my father. Funny enough, if Dad could have foreseen the future that day, I’m certain he would have kept me at home locked in the cellar. But lucky for me Dad couldn’t tell the difference between a prophecy and a fortune cookie so I got stuck working the day of the storm. Not that I wanted to be working. I hated the shop. Girls my age are supposed to be getting part-time jobs selling clothes, jewellery or mochas in the local coffee shops. But no, I had to be the girl who was different. Dad owned a mechanic shop in Addison. Population: not nearly enough to be interesting. But because Dad loved cars and I was his only child, it meant I was supposed to love cars too. Being a girl never entered into the equation.
It was February and not the time of year for travelling through the mountains. In fact, it was pretty rare to see anyone going down the highway when there were weather warnings out all over the place. According to both the radio and the television, the sky was going to open up and cough up a whole lot of white powder. Even the young snowboarders from the university knew better than to try and brave the storms. Dad’s store was right on the highway and I hadn’t seen a single car drive by in the past two hours. Addison isn’t exactly on the main route, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and the road wasn’t as safe as some of the major highways. There were only two lanes and a whole lot of curves.
Not that town was always boring. The closest ski mountain was about twenty minutes away and Addison’s winter business came from there. Most of the people stayed on the resorts but we’d get them coming into town to do some shopping or stay at the hotels. We got a lot of out-of-towners during winter season. The summers had plenty of outdoor enthusiasts but we weren’t what you might consider a tourist town. We were just too far north for anything.
I was just getting ready to close up the shop for the day when the phone began to ring. It was after six so I almost didn’t answer it. I was over by the supply cabinet, on my hands and knees, trying to get some of the dust out from under the shelf. Dad may be great at fixing cars but cleaning is definitely one of his weak points. It was a good thing he had me with my girly ways, otherwise the store would probably be covered in two inches of engine grease. As it was, the dust bunnies I was hunting appeared to have fangs and were waging war against my damp cloth and environmental cleaner. I wasn’t in the mood to get up and answer but I thought it might be important. So I got up off the floor and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“It’s not hello. It’s Addison’s Auto Body, how may I help you.”
Not when it’s after six and I want to go home. “Hi, Dad,” I said. “Sorry. What’s up?”
“I need you to keep the shop open for a bit longer, Mai,” Dad said. “I’m out on Route Seven and I’ve picked up some people who just took a nasty header into the ditch. I’m going to give them a tow over.”
“OK,” I said. “How long are you going to be?"
“Half an hour at the most,” he said. “See you soon." He hung up before I had a chance to say goodbye.
I put the phone down and went back to cleaning. It was a Monday night and I wasn’t really in a rush to get home. I had an algebra test to study for. As far as I was concerned, numbers and letters should never be allowed to mix into unnatural equations. Algebra was my weakest subject. I’d rather do laps around the outside track in a freezing snowstorm than learn about how x is equal to y.
But cleaning in Dad’s shop is like having a battle of wits against a wall. There was just no escaping the fact that the dirt had settled in after many years of neglect. The only true way to get the place spotless would be to demolish the entire building and start fresh. After spending a few more minutes trying to get grime out of the tiled floors, I finally gave up. Dirt wins again. I had tried my best.
I thought about calling Connor but then I remembered that he was over at the school with basketball practice. He wouldn’t be home for at least another hour and he’d probably call me the second he walked through the door. Connor and I had been dating forever—or as he liked to tell it: since we were both in diapers. In reality it was four years although we’d grown up together. He was wonderful in every sort of way. I considered myself lucky to have found someone like him. My best friend. The one person I could tell anything and everything to. As boring as it may sound, I honestly believed I’d never want another person.
He was my soul mate.
Or so I thought.
Dad showed up just as I finished putting the cleaning supplies away. Behind his tow truck was the most pathetic looking car. Seriously, it must have been at least twenty years old, either a Toyota or a Honda, I couldn’t quite tell from so far away. The entire front end of the car was shoved in as if it had come up against a brick wall or a semi truck. If growing up in the mountains teaches one anything, it’s that people shouldn’t drive old, tiny cars during blizzards. Through the window I could see the look on my Dad’s face. Obviously he was agreeing with me. His lips were tightly pressed and his eyebrows were crunched down on his face in a big frown.
Putting on my jacket I stepped out into the cold. The wind hit my face, burning my skin and tearing up my eyes. I’d left my scarf and gloves inside on the counter but I wasn’t about to go back and get them. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I moved out towards the truck to see if I could get a glimpse of the people who had tried to brave the mountain in such a small car.
It was a father/son team and neither of them was dressed for winter driving. No gloves, scarves or hats. No warm puffy jackets or boots. Probably no survival kit in the trunk either. The father followed Dad out of the truck first. He was wearing a brown jacket and a pair of running shoes that must have been soaked through. His hair was long and pulled back into a pony tail t
hat ran halfway down his back.
The son stayed in the truck and I could see he was talking on a mobile phone. The windshield wipers were off and the window was quickly piling up with snow and ice so couldn’t see his face. I turned my attention back to Dad who was glaring at me because obviously I was spending too much time staring and not saying a word. Oh right, I had a job to do.
“Hi,” I said, stepping forward, pulled my hand out of the warm pocket and extended it to the stranger. “You look frozen. Would you like some coffee?”
The man looked me up and down in a way I wasn't entirely comfortable with. “Thank you,” he finally said with a thick accent.
“It’s a rough night indeed,” Dad said as he came around the side of the truck, knocking snow off his boots. “You’re lucky you hit that tree so close to the road. If you’d fallen anymore down into that gorge, we might never have found you. It would have been a rather nasty night to spend inside a small car—especially since you don’t have an kit. You really should carry a blanket and candles when you’re travelling through the mountains. Never hurts to have some food on hand either.”
The man nodded slightly as if such things didn’t really matter to him. He was oblivious to the anger in Dad’s voice but I picked it up right away. It happened at least once or twice each winter. Someone would drive off the road because they believed they could take on the snow. Or they thought their four wheel drive could stand up to the black ice. Some of the accidents were simple like this one. Others not so much. Often there were fatalities. It irked Dad a lot. Most of the accidents that came through his shop could have been avoided by using common sense. Of course most of these crashes kept him in good business and sometimes he’d joke about how these city folks were going to pay my way through university. I tried not to think of it much, it was too depressing.
“We appreciate you bringing us in,” the man said and he looked at me again for longer than necessary. “It is indeed a nasty night.”
I turned and headed back into the shop to try and see if there was any more coffee left. I managed to find some hidden behind a stack of invoices and went to work filling the pot with water. Outside I could hear the sounds of Dad's tow truck as the winch jerked to life.
It wasn’t until I turned around I realised that I wasn’t alone. The driver had come in and I hadn’t heard a sound. No scuffle of shoes, no noisy wind blowing. Not even the chimes that normally go off whenever the door opened.
I didn’t jump or anything. I think I was too startled. My vocal chords seemed to have stopped working too. I could feel the thumps as my heart pounded against my winter jacket.
Looking past him, I could see Dad working on lowering the damaged car from the winch, his back to the shop. He stood in front of the door, blocking it with his frame, all the while staring right at me.
"I've got the coffee on," I said. "It'll be ready in a few minutes."
He watched me intently, his eyes roaming up and down my body to the point where I stepped backwards and self-consciously crossed my arms in front of me.
“Cream or sugar?"
He didn’t say a word. All he did was stand there and glare.
I told myself that if he took a single step forward I’d scream so loud the windows would shatter. But even though I thought these words, I honestly wasn’t sure I’d be able to come through with the threat. My tongue was as dry as parchment paper and glued to the roof of my mouth. The lights above me flickered. It was a power surge and the thought of being alone with this man in the dark was enough to break the paralysis. I stepped away from the counter. He was blocking my path to the exit but there was no other way out except going further into the shop and I didn’t want to do that. If he grabbed me by the door there was an excellent chance that Dad would hear me scream. But if I retreated further inside, my chances of being heard were zilch. At least I could be proud of the fact that my mind was still working to some capacity.
I moved towards him, determined to be tough. His eyes followed me the entire time. He didn’t make a single motion, even as I put my hand on the handle. I shoved the door with all my might and stepped outside, running right smack into Dad.
"Everything ok?"
My mouth opened and closed. Snowflakes blew in from behind Dad and instantly melted on my cheeks and hair.
"It looks like we're going to have to spend the night," the man said. "Can you recommend a hotel?"
"Thelma's is just down the road," Dad said. "I'm sure she'll have an opening. Nothing fancy. Just four walls and a bed but she's clean and affordable."
"Sounds perfect," the man said. "How much for the tow?"
Dad and the man went over to the counter so that they could get the paperwork started.
I stood there, feeling about as foolish as humanly possible for a few more minutes before I finally turned and headed back into the cold. Outside the snow seemed to have fallen about ten more inches. The footsteps leading up to the door were all ready beginning to disappear under the fresh powder. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what had terrified me so much a few minutes ago. Glancing back through the window I could see them chatting away as if they were old friends. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his credit card. There was something relaxing about that. A crazed killer most likely wouldn’t give out his Visa number if he wasn’t planning on getting caught. Of course it could be a fake but I brushed that thought away. Killers didn’t bring their sons along with them.
The whole idea sounded absurd and I couldn’t help myself—I giggled. It wasn’t like me to overreact but I guess even the smoothest sailing person will sometimes jump the boat a little early. Normally I was quite well adjusted. I didn’t fall apart during a crisis (unless it involved Algebra) and I was usually the first to offer help when needed. I didn’t get scared easily either. I wasn’t the type to scream at horror movies or cover my eyes with my hands like some of the other girls I knew. My good friend Amber couldn’t watch a scary movie without spazzing at least ten times and I was usually the one who walked her home afterwards. But that was half the fun. A movie wasn’t nearly as good as the reaction it caused.
Outside, I could see that Dad had moved the busted car off to the side. The son was outside, pacing around and still talking on the phone.
He spun around and I got my first glance at Kian. I didn’t know his name at the time but there was something about his face that made me immediately think that I’d seen him before. Of course my second thought was that I had to be wrong. If I had met him, I most certainly would have remembered. There was no girl in the universe that could forget his face. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful looking guy I’d ever seen in my life.
He gave me a curt nod and then turned his back. He spoke into the phone in a language I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Spanish for French, I knew that much for I’d studied both in school. He didn’t sound very happy but that wasn’t surprising—he’d almost taken a ride off a cliff.
I just couldn't help myself. I watched him for a few minutes, admiring the way his jeans fit him perfectly. His head was covered in snowflakes and as they melted, his brown, shaggy hair became slick and shiny. Every time he turned towards me I averted my gaze but found myself staring out of the corner of my eye. I just couldn’t help myself. When he finally got off the phone I did everything in my power to pretend I hadn’t just spent the last few minutes gazing at him like he was the only guy on earth.
“Sorry,” he said in the same unique accent like his father. Placing the phone in his pocket, he gave me a smile, showing straight, white teeth.
"That's ok," I said.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said and he put his phone back in his pocket. “I needed to make a few calls. We were supposed to be somewhere. Now it looks like we’re not going to make it.”
“I’m sure people will understand,” I said. “It’s not every day that you come into such close contact with a tree.”
He smiled and stepped forward. His face came int
o the light and I got my first good glance at him. I’d never seen anyone with such a perfect face before. His skin was smooth, not a single blemish or pimple in sight. His hair was longish and naturally wavy. It wasn’t until he brushed the shaggy bangs back that I saw his eyes. They were bright blue.
My face burned. I pulled myself away and pretended to look off in the distance at nothing in particular.
“Where were you and your Dad going?” I asked. “Not that I'm nosy. You don't have to tell me.” His eyes followed my every move. With my luck he was the kind of guy who never missed a thing. The way he looked at me was embarrassing. I was beginning to feel like I had a booger on my face. It must have been some sort of family trait.
“My Dad?” he asked. There was a hint of amusement and sarcasm in his voice. “Yes, of course.”
“He's not your Dad? I'm sorry, I just assumed.”
"Yeah, he is," the boy said quickly.
"Oh. Ok."
“My name is Kian,” he said. “And you are...”
“Myra. But everyone calls me Mai.”
He took my hand and an electric shock exploded between us. I pulled back, giggling, rubbing my fingers.
“It’s the weather,” I said. “It gets dry because of the wind and everything becomes a static cling commercial. Even in the snow. Sorry about that.”
He was still holding out his hand so I took it and his fingers were cool and soft. Shaking my hand gently, his eyes started at my fingertips and worked their way back up to my face. Parting and closing his lips, he swallowed and smiled again.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mai. You look familiar. I feel like I’ve met you before.”
“Maybe I have one of those faces,” I said but I knew exactly what he meant because I was feeling the same thing. There was something recognizable but I was absolutely positive I’d never met him before. I just couldn’t shake the feeling. He was comfortable, like meeting up with an old friend after a prolonged absence.
“Have you lived here all your life?” he asked. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he studied it as if he didn’t really want the answer to the question he’d just asked.