Before I can formulate a response, the first flakes appear. A few lazy, wandering specks of white against the gray. Then a few more. Ellie makes a soft, captivated sound, turning fully to look out the window. A soft sound escapes her as she takes in the view. “Oh!”
I risk a longer glance her way. The last of her nervous tension seems to melt away, her posture softening as she watches the snow begin to dance. Her eyes, usually so bright and perceptive, go hazy with wonder.
We leave the weathered sign for Fairland behind us, the landscape opening into frosted fields and skeletal trees dressed in white. As the miles pass, the initial awkwardness dissolves, replaced by a tentative, easy flow of words. She asks about me. And once she starts, it’s like a dam has been opened.
I guess sheiscurious about me.
“So,” she continues, her voice tentative. “What have you been doing? I mean, really doing? All I ever hear are… rumors. Big business deals. Your name in headlines.”
I give her the polished, public version at first. The one that feels like wearing a suit two sizes too small. But her eyes are on me, seeing through the veneer, and the truth, the raw and ugly parts I never say aloud, begins to claw its way out.
Sitting at the top of a tech corp isn’t anything exciting. The lack of a life I live surrounding it isn’t any more interesting. So, I’m not surprised when the conversation starts to fall flat.
“Why did you never come back, Charles?” she asks next, her voice so quiet it’s almost lost under the soft Christmas music. “Not even once.”
The question hangs in the air, a topic I’ve been avoiding. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles bleaching white.
“They kept me on a short leash, Ellie,” I finally say, the words tasting like an excuse. “My family. Once it was decided I was taking over, every move was calculated. Every friendship was vetted. Every… attachment,” I say, the word loaded, “was deemed a distraction or a liability. Once I finally stepped into the role and acted the part given to me, it consumed everything. There was no time to breathe, let alone…”
See her again.
“Even now,” I add with a bitter chuckle, gesturing vaguely at the road ahead, “on a holiday, I have to go and make an appearance at some stuffy gala. Can’t just have a quiet Christmas.”
She nods like she wants to be able to understand, but her frown is undeniable. Leaving her behind has left some sore spots.
The snow begins to fall in earnest now, thick, heavy flakes that stick to the windshield, the world outside softening into a blur of white.
Ellie hugs herself, her earlier wonder shifting into a flicker of concern as she takes in the snow. “Are you sure we’re going to make it? It’s really coming down.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice steady, sure. “I’m not worried about it.”.
All because I wouldn’t mind the drive taking longer. Deep down, I wouldn’t mind missing the gala entirely. Staying away means avoiding the start of rumors or the world seeing the gorgeous woman at my side. Throw in having a plausible excuse, and I’m happy to let fate give me some relief.
As the view grows thick, so does the air in the car. Our nerves are back, but for a new reason. The cheerful Christmas tunes now feel like a stark contrast to the silent, white fury outside.The world has shrunk to the ten feet of road my high beams can claw back from the blanket of snow in front of us.
“In five hundred feet,” the navigation chimes, its voice unnervingly calm, “you will arrive at Hope Peak.”
Hope Peak. One of the scenic stops Francine had meticulously plotted.
I see the sign through the veil of snow—a rustic, wooden archway welcoming visitors to a place that currently feels anything but hopeful. While I’m tracing the print, I don’t notice our straight path changes shape in time.
The road begins a gentle upward curve, and for a split second, the tires lose their purchase on the hidden ice beneath the fresh powder as I try not to hit the brakes hard. My efforts are useless.
The back end of the vehicle swings out with a graceful, terrifying laziness. The world turns into a slow-motion carousel of white and gray.
The steering wheel goes dead and loose in my hands. My stomach lurches. Time stretches, slows to a horrifying crawl.
Then comes the sound—Ellie’s sharp, terrified gasp, a knife that cleaves straight through my heart.
The tires lose their grip completely. We are no longer driving. We are falling, sliding, a weightless, helpless dance into the blinding white.
4
Ellie
“Ouch.” The word leaves my lips in a groggy whisper, a pathetic sound filling the air. My eyes are pinched shut, clinging to the darkness that existed before the slide.
A sharp, hot throb radiates from my cheek where it smacked the cold window, and a deeper, bruising pain blooms across my chest from the seatbelt. My heart isn’t just beating; it’s trying to claw its way out.
