Chapter 7
"Where'd you come from?" Mara and I wait patiently in the car for Phoebe's return.
Mara is in the passenger chair, relinquishing the driver's seat and letting me take the wheel on the final stretch of dangerous roads ahead.
"I was talking to Aiden," Phoebe reveals as she gets comfy.
Interesting. While she was "talking to Aiden," I was texting him, and he's always been honest about not being able to juggle conversations with both of us at once.
It's a messy situation where he could easily slip up, say the wrong thing to the wrong person, or call us by the wrong name.
He definitely doesn't want Phoebe finding out he's been sleeping with both of us.
Oh, right. Oops.
Phoebe has no idea about that little detail. It started one night when the three of us were out celebrating our biggest episode yet—the one that gained new listeners and finally set us apart from the copycats.
We drank well past the point of making good decisions, letting our inhibitions drop.
I got ridiculously drunk, didn't want to Uber home, and Phoebe asked Aiden to walk me back to my condo around the corner.
No hesitation—she trusted her boyfriend with her good friend because I'd never given her a reason not to.
What started as two idiots drunk enough to make a bad decision but aware enough we would regret it later, spiraled into something worse. An obsession. A craving I couldn't satisfy with anyone else. It wasn't even the act itself, but the forbidden nature of it that kept me coming back for more.
I'm not proud of it. I never meant for it to go this far. I swore I wouldn't get emotionally involved, especially knowing Aiden was committed to someone else.
But deep down, I know I care about him more than he cares about me, and I hate myself for it.
And Phoebe? If she ever finds out, she'll kill me.
We're at the base of the mountain, a huge sign threatening over its fellow travelers, "Last Chance for Gas."
I glance at the girls. "I might stop one last time just in case."
Mara nods. "Good idea, a full tank will weigh the car down and maybe give better traction."
"I'm going to take a power nap in the backseat." Phoebe yawns, already curling into herself.
The gas station looks like it's been sitting there since the seventies—an old-school setup with a bell that dings when you roll over the black cord. The clouds hang low and unmoving, with the kind of weight that means snow is coming.
"We better hurry." I rub my hands together, feeling the cold creep in through the windows now that the car is turned off.
"You're on the wrong side," Mara points out, nodding toward the pump.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter.
"You've owned this car for how long?"
"Shut up, I never get gas! You always do it for me!"
"There's literally an arrow on your dash indicating which side." She taps the screen, and I wave her off.
"Okay, okay. Let me change sides."
Without even glancing at the reverse-angled camera, I hit the gas, only to spot someone lingering a few feet behind the car, just standing there, waiting to be run over.
"Jesus!" I shriek, slamming the brake. The sudden jolt jerks Phoebe from her attempt at sleep.
"What happened?" Phoebe blinks hard, scanning the windows like she's expecting an ambush.
"Nothing," I mutter, blowing a strand of hair out of my face, heart jackhammering. The figure steps into view, moving toward my window.
He taps the glass with two fingers, eyes unreadable. "Gas?"
"Yes, sorry, let me change sides." I scramble to reposition the car, finally landing on the correct side.
"What gas does this car take?" I ask Mara.
She rolls her eyes. "Premium."
"Premium, please!" I call out.
He removes the gas pump while I pop the latch from inside. The pumps look like they haven't been replaced since I was born. They creak when he inserts the nozzle.
"I'm a little jumpy," I admit.
"It's okay," Mara says. "Me, too. I really don't want to be here."
As if on cue, the attendant glances at us. "You gals visiting for business or pleasure?"
He looks normal enough—clean flannel, gray stubble, nothing off. Still, I hesitate before lowering my window a crack.
"Just hoping to get some skiing in."
"The slopes haven't been too great lately," he admits while scratching his jaw. "The snow has been so heavy and wet. Are you familiar with those kinds of conditions?"
"Oh yes," I lie. "We're from Big Bear. Wanted to try something new for the holidays."
He chuckles to himself. "Thank goodness. I thought you were going to say you were coming to see what all the fuss was about a year ago."
"Oh?" Mara's single word is an invitation for him to continue, but he doesn't say much.
He nods absently, still watching the pump. "You'd be surprised how many visitors have come and gone since then."
The question is burning on my tongue. "What did you think of all the… killings?"
It's not exactly breaking news—anyone with a television knew what happened to Romee that godforsaken night. Frosthaven Falls had been a forgotten dot on the map, barely worth a Google search. But secrets don't stay buried forever. And neither did the bodies.
The man doesn't blink.
"If you dig far enough," he says, "You'll find things you wish you hadn't. Every town has secrets. We are no different."
The pump clicks loudly, indicating we have a full tank.
The total is way less than what I'd pay back in L.A. I hand him cash and slide a few extra bills into his palm.
"Be safe up there," he says, shutting the fuel cap. "Snowstorms have a way of turning small problems into big ones… especially when no one's around to help."
The visibility is steadily becoming worse, like a thick white sheet constantly blocking my windshield, no matter how fast the wipers swipe back and forth. It's as if the snow has taken over, swallowing everything in sight.
We've been sliding with every turn, but somehow Phoebe fell back asleep in the back seat, completely oblivious. That girl can sleep through anything, even my little shrieks of concern as we drift precariously.
I'm going as slow as I can, and luckily there's no one else around to worry about. The few cars that went ahead of us are long gone with their snow chains, and anyone else on the road must have either stayed home or decided it wasn't worth the risk to drive in these conditions.
We passed a sign that said chains were mandatory beyond a certain point, but there's no one here to enforce it. Are we one wrong move away from sliding off the mountain and joining the growing list of innocent victims who've had similar accidents in these treacherous conditions?
"That full tank B.S. is an old wives' tale. You might need to pull over. I don't think we can go much farther." Mara grips the handle near the roof like it's the only thing stopping us from careening to our deaths.
"I can't stop! What if we get stuck in this storm?" I squeal, panic rising in my chest. I did not drive halfway up this mountain just to end up stranded on the side of the road.
"Do you want to die before we even get to the top? Maybe we should turn around."
Mara and I both turn to look behind us, peering out the back window. All I can see is a swirling, white wonderland of who-knows-what, the road lost in a haze of snow. Oh, and Phoebe, still snoring in the backseat, completely unaware of the disaster unfolding around her.
"I don't think I can pull over," I admit with caution.
"I can barely even see the lines, what if a car comes behind us and hits us?
Can you keep an eye out for any houses? The last thing I want is turning around and letting gravity and the wet snow bypass my brakes and send us skidding all the way down.
We should be hitting civilization soon. A house? Barn? Maybe they can help us."
My Range Rover inches forward, and it feels like we're not making any progress at all. Mara scans the dense blizzard for any sign of help.
It's been an agonizing ten minutes before she points to a cluster of colorful lights cutting through the storm, standing out like a beacon calling us home.
"There!"
"Hallelujah, a Christmas miracle." I steer toward a narrow entryway, like it's a one-way street, but even the road doesn't feel paved with asphalt. It's probably dirt underneath all this snow.
A string of half-burnt-out Christmas lights glimmer weakly. A truck dusted with fresh snow sits parked out front, as if it's returned from an errand, not abandoned for days.
"Should I honk?" I ask, realizing how rude that might be to whoever is inside.
"No, maybe I'll… get out and knock on the door?" Mara looks apprehensive, and there's no way in hell I'm volunteering to do that.
Before we can decide who's leaving the warmth and safety of my car, a dark figure emerges from the storm, jolting us both. Mara and I jump in our seats, the scream on the tip of my tongue silenced due to pure shock and terror.
I look out my window right as a face materializes in the frame, one that is the poster of childhood nightmares.
An elderly man with sagging cheeks and a wrinkled forehead speaks up.
"You broads lost?" he hisses, sucking air through his rotting teeth.
His jacket hangs off him, barely clinging to his thin frame.
The wind releases a quick burst against his body, and the odor seeps into my car.
"Not lost, but stuck. Do you have any extra snow chains?
" I ask, keeping my seatbelt fastened like it'll protect me from this creep.
I want to roll up the window, leaving only an inch to lessen the likelihood of him sticking his face inside, but I hesitate.
The last thing I need is to offend the one man standing between us and help.
I'm sure plenty of women have had this exact thought—right before they were killed.