She passed a handful of smaller evergreens that had been broken in two as the car crashed through them, the smell of splintered wood and fresh sap mixing in with the gas.
Sophie stopped twenty feet away.
She was shivering, her hands numb, legs burning with cold.
The engine hissed.
Through the driver-side window, she could see Jim Moreton. Because of the angle of the car, he was lying back in his seat, still strapped in, his head resting unnaturally against his left shoulder.
“Mr. Moreton.”
He didn’t move.
She stepped closer to the car, now peering in through the rear passenger window. The backseat was empty, the seats soaked with blood. She looked at the windshield—a gaping hole, exploded from within.
Sophie turned and studied the hillside. The twisted guardrail seemed a thousand miles away.
From this perspective, she could see the path the CR-V had taken, punching through the guardrail, then plunging a hundred feet before it hit.
At the second point of impact, she glimpsed a smaller path that branched off and carved down the slope.
It appeared to terminate fifty yards from where she stood at the forest’s edge.
She waded through the snow, using the saplings and branches in proximity to keep her upright. Every step was a struggle, and she was sweating after only a minute.
Ten feet out, she spotted the gray of Paige’s coat.
She was lying facedown in the snow and there was blood all around her. Sophie bent over and dug two fingers into her carotid.
Twenty feet deeper in the woods, she found Grant.
He was lying on his back.
Eyes open. Not breathing.
Sophie sat down beside him in the snow.
“Look at you,” she whispered.
She took his left hand into hers and leaned over and cried.
There would be times in the coming weeks when the numbness would subside and Sophie would remember a cool night in June when she had driven a slightly-too-drunk Grant home from the Stumbling Monk. It was an office party, someone’s birthday, and they had spent the evening talking with their knees nearly touching and sometimes touching underneath the bar while the rest of the precinct roared at each other in the booths behind them. This was the night she had surprised herself with her own feelings. After everyone left, she drove him home and they sat in the car outside of Grant’s house, their hands so close that the summer breeze coming in through the open windows could have blown them together. She had wanted nothing more than to slide her fingers into his. To hold them. Let them take her inside. But she didn’t. And neither did he. That would be the ritual they shared. Two years of walking right up to the door that held everything they wanted, but never opening it. So there would be times in the coming weeks when she would think back to that first moment in the car and how she had been too scared to reach for his hand, and then remember this last one, sitting beside him on a cold foggy morning, when she did.
She had put her job before her love. Before her happiness. Betrayed Grant and herself. She saw it now. Saw it with the kind of scorching clarity that comes like a storm when it’s too late to take cover. When there’s nothing to be done but face your failing, take the pain, and push on.
Sirens pulled her back into the moment.
They were still miles away, and wailing through the mountains like a tragic anthem.
Sophie started to rise.
At first, she thought it was the light from the rescue party, but it couldn’t be with the sirens still too far out, and besides, this light was coming from the sky. From straight overhead. A blinding luminescence hovering just above the trees. Brighter than anything she’d ever witnessed and yet there was no pain, no urge to look away.
As it descended toward her, she lay back in the snow, still holding Grant’s hand.
Closer and closer, but no fear.
Only mystery and peace as it finally enveloped her in a sphere of pure light which held some component of familiarity that broke her heart.
Where are you going, Grant?
I don’t know yet.
I want to come with you.
It’s not your time.
I want to be with you. I always wanted it, but I was too afraid.
I know. I was too.
I’m so sorry.
Have no regret.
Please. I see now. I see everything.
There’s still time for us. This is not the end.
She blinked and the light was gone.
Sophie sat up.
She was alone in the forest and her heart was pounding.
That rush of euphoric joy was fading, and she was still holding her partner’s cold hand. Time had passed—more than felt right. Up the mountainside, she could see the schizophrenic flashing of the light bars, and there were EMTs and lawmen halfway down the hill.
Already she could feel Sophie-the-skeptic muscling in to discredit what she had just experienced, to undermine it, to subject it to the rigid empiricist that had governed her life up to this moment.
And her first instinct was to listen, to carry on as before.
What has your lack of faith ever done but cause you pain and keep you from the man you love?
No.
Something had happened in these trees.
Something beyond her experience.
Something magic.
She could choose to believe.
Epilogue
Paige is dying.
Paige is five, chewing a piece of spearmint gum.
He’s in the CR-V.
His father’s ’74 Impala.
It’s day.
Night.
“Pay attention, guys, you’ll remember this game one day.”
The guardrail rushes toward them through the fog.
The play-by-play announcer says, “The crowd will tell you what happens.”
Paige says, “Daddy?”
Paige moans, “Daddy?”
“Oh shit.”
The engine revving.
Grant bracing, realizing neither he nor Paige is buckled in and wondering does it even matter at this point.
Jim says, “Everything will be—”
Straight through.
The engine redlines, goes silent.
Grant can hear the tires spinning underneath him. He and Paige lift off the seat and his head bangs into the ceiling as they plummet. The urge to hold onto something is overpowering, but he just squeezes Paige, her eyes gone wide.
Don’t be scared, Paige.
But I am.
I won’t let anything happen to you.
You promise?
I promise.
Swear.
I swear to you, Paige. I’ll protect you.
Through the windshield, the white mountainside is screaming toward the front of the car which is now pitched earthward, nothing but g-force pinning Grant to his seat.
He looks down into his sister’s eyes a half second before they hit.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Paige.
Just like me?
Just like you. And she had an older brother named Grant.
Just like you.
Yes, just like me.
Did they have parents?
No. Paige and Grant lived in a beautiful house all by themselves, and they were very brave.
The sound of metal crumpling.
The shock of snow tearing into the car.
Grant, still clutching Paige, accelerating through the windshield.
And then he is outside, the car flipping beneath him down the hillside in a spray of snow and safety glass.
Paige no longer in his arms and still he’s climbing skyward, as high as the tree tops now, the forest falling away beneath him.