Chapter 3
CASSIE
I couldn’t tell what time it was. Couldn’t even tell whether it was day or night.
I could hardly think beyond the panic filling my mind.
I’d been driven off the road, was blind and trapped in my car at the bottom of some cliff or ravine on the mountain.
And no one — not a single soul — knew where I was.
I thought about Daisy and Sarai, wondered how long it would take them to realize something was wrong. Daisy would call or text when I didn’t show for lunch, but how long would it take her to think I might be missing rather than caught up in something at the coffee shop or with the Hawks?
And what about the Hawks? They’d definitely expect me home (I couldn’t even think about the fact that I was calling the house where the Hawks lived home) by bedtime. Would they try to figure out what had happened to me? Or would they consider me an old toy gone astray?
Bram would tear the town apart looking for me, but how long would it take the Hawks to let him know I was missing? I had no food, no water, and I couldn’t see.
I had three days.
Max.
The possibilities swirled in the darkness behind my eyelids and I fought against a wave of mind-numbing panic.
Get it together, Cassie. Think.
I lifted my right arm, which seemed uninjured, and felt around the car, trying to get my bearings. I was still secured to the seat with my seat belt, a mass of fabric that must have been the deflated airbag pooling over the steering wheel in front of me.
My seat belt prevented me from reaching the windshield, but I thought it must be broken because a cool breeze touched my face, and when I moved I heard the clink of shattered glass around my body.
I contemplated unfastening my seat belt — or trying to — but I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t upside down in the car, couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t fall on my head without the seat belt securing me to the driver’s seat.
Still, I couldn’t count on someone else finding me, not for a while, and I obviously had a head injury, and who knew what else.
I needed to get out of here.
I felt for the roof of the car and found it right where I would expect it. I didn’t feel suspended in my seat belt: there was no feeling of gravity pulling at my head, no tension around my hips that made me think I was upside down.
I was pretty sure the car hadn’t landed upside down, although I did feel smashed against the driver’s side door. Beyond that, I had no idea where the car had come to rest.
What if I was hanging over another cliff? What if my descent had been slowed by a bunch of trees or something?
The possibilities meant moving at all was perilous, but staying still wasn’t an option either. Plus I hadn’t heard the car groan or shift when I’d reached for the windshield. I’d just have to hope I was secure enough to try for the door.
My left arm — wedged between my body and the door — throbbed, but I forced myself to try and wriggle it out. I gasped against the pain, stopping several times to catch my breath, then let out a cry of both pain and surprise when it finally came free.
My head swam and I held on to the steering wheel with my right hand, trying to catch my breath, willing myself not to pass out.
I’d done it. My arm was free.
Badly injured, but free.
I didn’t know how long it took the buzzing in my head to subside, but when it finally did, I fumbled for the door, feeling for the handle. The pain in my arm was breathtaking, but I refused to just sit there, waiting to die.
Waiting for Bram to come to my rescue. Again.
It took a minute to find the door handle — it was disorienting not being able to see, and nothing was exactly where I expected it to be — but my fingers finally brushed against the smooth metal handle.
Elated, I grasped it and pulled.
Nothing happened. The door didn’t open.
I tried again, then used my body weight — tricky with my injured arm holding the door handle — to try and press harder against it.
It didn’t budge.
Adrenaline flooded my body as I registered the danger I was in. My brain was in fight-or-flight mode, compelling me to run or do battle for my life.
Except I couldn’t run and there was no opponent on the battlefield, just my battered body trapped in the car at the edge of nowhere.
A sob — frustration and pain and fear — broke free from my throat. I let myself cry, taking big gulping breaths as tears ran down my face.
But no, they weren’t running down my face. They were running across my face: over the bridge of my nose, across my left cheek and temple, into the hair on the left side of my head.
I wasn’t upright in the car: I was lying on my side.
The car had come to rest on the driver’s side, the door against the cliff or ravine or wherever it was that I had landed. That was why I couldn’t open the door.
My tears stopped as I processed this new revelation. Could I unfasten my seat belt, climb toward the passenger seat with my injured arm, feel my way out of the passenger side door, maybe the passenger window if it was broken?
Maybe…. maybe.
I took a deep breath and used my uninjured right arm to press the seat-belt button, bracing myself to fall more firmly against the driver’s side door.
Nothing happened. The seat belt was stuck.
I really was trapped.
A wave of exhaustion washed through my body as I realized the futility of trying to escape. I suddenly wanted to sleep and sleep, to disappear into my dreams where none of this had happened, where I’d decided not to make my way up the mountain, where I’d continued on to Daisy’s house instead.
In that version of my life, I’d had lunch with Daisy and Sarai, had told them all about the Hawks, listened to updates about their lives, played with the baby.
Then I’d gotten back in my car and driven home to the Hawks.
In that version of my life I was in the beautiful rambling house right now, listening to Hawk and Vigo argue over what kind of food to order for dinner, anticipating the night when we might all be together again, their naked bodies bringing mine to life in ways I hadn’t even been able to imagine a month before.
In that version I lay between them after.
Surrounded. Safe.
Now that I’d stopped moving, I could hear the sounds of the forest around me: wind blowing through the trees, the scurry of small animals, the hoot of an owl in the distance.
It was almost peaceful. My eyelids grew heavier and I thought about my parents and Bram. Had my parents had even a moment of consciousness after their car had been driven off the road?
And what about Bram? Had he been able to hear the sound of the forest too? Had it given him a small measure of comfort when he’d been alone with our dead parents for twelve hours?
I hoped I’d get to ask him. I hoped he’d tell me.
It was the last thing I thought before I slipped into a different kind of darkness than the one I saw with my eyes open: the darkness of sleep.
I happily let it claim me.