4. Rune
Chapter 4
Rune
I ’m stuck in a ditch and I might just die here.
It takes me a moment to locate my phone, but I finally find it wedged underneath my backpack.
There’s not a single bar of service.
I have no idea where I am or how to get help. I don’t dare keep the engine running for more than a minute or two at a time—the snow is so deep here that the carbon monoxide is a risk. Shivering, I pull two wool sweaters out of my bag and put them both on.
There’s nothing but darkness and snow outside. Very terrifying, not at all cozy. Before I can talk myself out of it, I force myself to go outside to assess the situation outside and see what my chances are for being rescued.
The deep snow makes it difficult to open my car door, but eventually I manage…and immediately regret every part of this decision as I tumble into waist-deep snow that I have to basically swim through to reach the road. Still no cell service.
The silence is eerie: there's no sound of anything besides my own heavy breathing and the almost audible deluge of thick flakes. There are no cars passing by. No one to help.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Last I checked, the temperature was sitting around fifteen degrees. I might not be a native Minnesotan, but I do know that I will freeze if I stay out here in the open for much longer. I’m wearing leggings and low-top boots, neither of which protects me at all from the wind or the deep snow that I have to fight my way back through to get into my car.
I’m well and thoroughly stuck until someone decides to take their chances and stop to help.
The minutes tick by. Then an hour. No one has driven by in the entire time I’ve been here. I guess I was the last idiot to risk driving these roads. I’m paying for it now.
Maybe if I had matches I could gather sticks from the forest and…I don’t know, build a fire?
Too bad I don’t have matches.
Trying not to think about the fact that I’m alone and thoroughly lost, I curl up and pull my jacket over me. I have no choice but to wait this out and hope that someone comes to help.
I must fall asleep, because I’m jolted awake by a mittened hand pounding on the driver’s side window, two inches from my face.
For a moment, panic takes over and I shriek, slamming down the lock on the door. The windows have frosted, but I can just make out a face with a gray beard on the other side of the frozen window. All my stranger danger instincts scream at me to keep the doors locked until they leave. But that’s ridiculous: I’m stuck in a ditch.
I take a deep breath. Undo the lock. The moment I open the door, a blast of icy wind and snow slams into my face.
Standing in the midst of it is an old man, hunched against the wind, an old flannel cap pulled low on his forehead.
“Hey, you alright, kid?”
I force myself to take a deep breath. He’s old. Non-threatening. I could outrun him if I had to. Maybe.
“Yeah, I’m stuck,” I say, gesturing with my hand. Like it isn’t horrifically obvious.
“Sure are. You got help coming, or?—?”
“No, I’m really stuck. My phone doesn’t have service. I haven’t been able to reach anyone.” I’m shivering so violently now, it’s hard to form the words. “I’ve been sitting here for hours.”
“There’s service about a mile down the road, but you probably won’t get anyone out here to pull you out until morning. You live around here?”
I shake my head. “Drove in from out of state to visit my aunt.”
“Come on. Let's get you someplace warm where you can make your phone calls.”
Thank fuck.
I grab my backpack with my toiletries and the bag with my pillow and book. The rest will have to stay in the car. I follow the old guy back through the deep snow. He's surprisingly nimble through the drifts, easily making it to where an expensive-looking SUV sits parked on the side of the road. Its headlights reflect against the bright white flakes of the snowstorm. It’s a testament to how worked up I’ve become over this whole thing that I don’t even think twice about getting into a car with a stranger, albeit an aged one, with no working cell phone for backup.
It's blessedly, mind-numbingly warm in his vehicle.
“Thank you so much for stopping,” I say, feeling emotional. “I thought I'd have to wait until morning.”
He gives a sympathetic grunt. “Not a lot of people out on the roads in this weather.”
“I'm glad you were, Mr. —?” I let the question hang.
“Most people just call me Bob,” he says.
“Rune,” I say in reply. I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering as Bob puts it in gear and slowly wheels onto the snow-covered road. I don’t know how he stays on the pavement at all, seeing as how it’s all one endless layer of white.
“So you live around here?” I ask, to distract myself from the sudden fear of going into the ditch a second time.
“Eh?”
I repeat the question, only to be met with a “You’ll have to speak louder, my hearing’s not what it was.”
“DO YOU LIVE AROUND HERE?” I half-scream the words, feeling like a fool. Thank goodness he can’t see my flaming face.
“Sure do. Born fourteen miles east of here. Used to be a hospital there, back in the day.”
“NICE,” I shout. “YOU MUST NOT MIND THE COLD?”
He shrugs. “Makes for good ice fishing.”
I suppose it does.
Despite the almost painful shivering, a heavy drowsiness starts to pull at me by the time Bob flips on his blinker and turns into a narrow driveway that’s lined with thick, snow-clad spruce trees.
I don’t know what kind of house I’m expecting to see. A modest mid-century home, perhaps. Or a rustic cabin like Aunt Mairi’s. Certainly not the woodland mansion that comes into view as we round a curve in the driveway. My eyes widen at the log-and-stone masterpiece, its massive timbers decked out with a myriad of twinkling white Christmas lights. There’s a truck, covered in snow, parked next to an exorbitant garage. That’s real luxury, I decide. To have not one but two working vehicles. Vehicles that you can trust to stay on the road and not eat oil like a kid eating candy at a parade.
Bob pulls up to the steps near the front door. “Go on in and get warm. Key should be under the tall planter if the door’s not unlocked. I’ll be back, just gotta turn on my heat tape.”
I don’t know what heat tape is, but that’s besides the point. I thank Bob profusely and scurry outside with my backpack. Halfway to the house, I realize that I should have asked if he has a wife or anyone else inside that I should be aware of, but he’s already backing up. Whatever heat tape is, it must be farther down that lengthy driveway.
Might as well face the awkwardness of walking inside and possibly having to introduce myself to his wife on my own. It’s definitely better than staying out in this cold a moment longer. I fumble for a moment at the door—which is locked—but quickly locate the key under the tall planter, just like Bob said.
Stepping into the house is like walking into another tax bracket entirely. The entryway opens to a massive open layout with log beams spanning the tall ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows at the opposite end, and a stunning stone floor. It’s absolutely incredible.
There’s a large mirror hanging above the bench in the entryway that captures my attention as I walk past. I wince at my reflection: dark circles sit under my eyes and a chunk of wet hair has escaped the ponytail I put it in this morning. I look like a sad, slightly traumatized, escaped convict. I take a moment to attempt putting myself in order, but it’s a lost cause. Good thing I’m not here to impress anyone.
“Hello?” I say awkwardly, announcing myself.
No answer.
“HELLO?” I shout, in case Bob has a wife who is also hard of hearing.
Still no response, so I take off my wet shoes and coat and make my way across the stone floor further into the house. I expect it to be cold because, well, stone, but the floor is warm and feels amazing on my feet.
I could live in a place like this.
Bob left the lights on, revealing a chef’s kitchen with dark granite countertops, an island, and stainless-steel appliances. The refrigerator alone probably costs more than my car. Past the kitchen is a living room with an even taller ceiling and a crackling fire in the stone fireplace. I snatch up a fluffy white throw that’s set artistically across the back of an armchair and wrap it around my shoulders as I sidle up to the heat of the fireplace. I shove my hands so close that I’m all but touching it. Finally— finally —it feels like I might have a chance of getting warm tonight.
The excitement of being in this beautiful house has me feeling more awake. Everything here is so clean. Orderly, like a house that no one actually lives in. Bob must be an absolute neat freak…either that or he’s rarely here. I recall that this is a popular area for vacationers looking to escape the city. Maybe Bob’s just come up north for a holiday getaway, like I am.
The sudden, sharp sound of a door closing upstairs jolts me out of my reflections. Shit, there is someone else in this house. Footsteps softly pad down the stairs and I open my mouth to say something—anything—to let the person know that I’m here, when a man rounds the corner at the bottom of the stairs and stops dead in his tracks.
A man.
Wearing nothing but a towel.