As she left the shelter of the house, the wind buffeted her, slamming into her and worming through the jacket and dressing gown. She clenched her teeth until they ached. Even though the boots were up to her knees, snow still managed to sneak into them and freeze her legs.
The ground tended downwards. She guessed that must be the front steps. When she stepped in the drifts, the soft snow gave way. Already worn down, Clare couldn’t stay standing. She grunted as she hit the snow then tumbled, spreading her arms in an attempt to stop her descent. She came to rest on her back, gasping. Her face burned where the air cut at it, and her arm was on fire.
Get up. Get up, you idiot!
She rolled to her side, crawled forwards, and managed to gain her footing. The snow was thicker there. Every inch was a battle. She kept her eyes focussed on the forest ahead. Walking would be easier once she was inside. Just like while she was driving, the trees would protect her from the worst of the snow.
The memory came back. Driving. Entering the forest. Finally being able to see. There had been lights. Not straight ahead, like a car’s beams, but coming from above her. And a noise. She couldn’t remember what, though.
Her shoe jammed in something under the snow, and Clare had to wrench it free. She was walking between hedges. They were almost invisible, just gigantic white blocks on either side of her path, with sparse flecks of green peeking through. She had to be following the front path. That meant she would be clearly visible from all of the windows on that side of the house. She hoped her bedroom was on the building’s other side.
Clare drew in whooping, wheezing breaths. Each inhalation scorched her lungs and made her convulse. But she couldn’t help it. She was starved for oxygen. No matter how deeply she breathed, it never seemed to be enough. Her body shook. Her mind was turning numb. One more step, then her knees buckled, and she landed in the snow.
Get up! Keep moving! She tried. She got as far as placing one foot on the snow, but she couldn’t rise any farther.
You have to! For Beth and for Marnie. She tried again and got upright. She took half a step then tumbled. This time, she didn’t even have the energy to get to her knees.
Banksy Forest was straight ahead, fading in and out of sight as the storm tried to hide it. She thought she could see dark shapes darting around the forest’s edge. Clare guessed it was some kind of animal, probably frantic in the unseasonable snow.
The cold had gotten inside of her. It ran through her veins, turning her heart to lead. It froze inside her mouth and her throat. She coughed, but each new breath only made it worse. Her eyes stung when she tried to keep them open, so she let them drift shut.
Don’t do that. If you close your eyes, you’ll never open them again.
But it was already too late. They were shut. Ice stung around the lids where tears escaped. She tried to reach forwards, to drag herself closer to the forest, but her arm wouldn’t move. She was so cold… so incredibly, horribly cold.
The falling snow was coating her. Soon, she would be invisible, lost to the world, buried in a garden of white, her body perfectly preserved until the snow melted. The thought terrified her. She didn’t want to lie there all winter, unmoving and unchanging, forgotten. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even twitch a finger.
Through the muffling effects of the snow, she heard a deep, steady pounding. She thought it might be her heartbeat. But strangely, it was growing louder, nearer. A voice called to her. She tried to open her lips to answer, but she couldn’t.
The crunching noise was right on top of her. Hands pushed on her shoulder, rolling her, then picking her up. She was going back into the house. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Chapter Five
Clare felt as though she had been frozen solid, as if trying to move her arms would make them break off like icicles. The only things reassuring her that she wasn’t dead were the steady thump of her heartbeat in her ears and the feeling of warmth across her skin. She was lying in front of a fire. She could hear the wood crackling, even see the light dancing on the backs of her eyelids.
Someone was carefully untying the boots and pulling them off. Her feet were somehow aching and numb at once. Clare gasped as a warm blanket was wrapped around them.
One hand went under her head and lifted. A pillow slipped underneath, then the hand laid her head back down. Clare cracked her eyes open. She was back in the bedroom.
Dorran knelt over her, his eyebrows pulled low, and his mouth tight. “Do you have a death wish?” He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded frightened.
Clare tried to answer, but it came out as a mumble.
Dorran rose and disappeared from her field of vision. Clare tilted her head towards the fire. She wished she could move closer to it, even though the nearest bits of skin were already turning pink. She felt like she might never be properly warm again.
“Here.” Dorran knelt at her side then eased an arm under her back. He lifted her until she was sitting then let her rest against his shoulder. He was very close, closer than Clare would have liked. She could hear his breathing and even hear when he swallowed. His body heat spread across her back, cutting through the chill. He tossed a blanket over her lap, placed a bowl on it, and held a spoon out to her. “Eat. It is only tinned soup, nothing special, but you will feel better for it.”
She tried to take the spoon. Her fingers were too cold and stiff to bend right. Dorran dipped the spoon into the soup and lifted it to her lips.
Being fed by a stranger was one of the most surreal experiences of Clare’s life. But Dorran was patient. He didn’t complain about how long it took her to eat. When she dared glance up at his face, he looked almost serene.
Finally, when the bowl was empty, he laid her back down on the fireside rug and draped the blanket over her. Clare heard him moving through the room, carrying the bowl away and cleaning out the boots.
She no longer knew what to think. When she’d first woken up in Dorran’s house, it had been all too easy to imagine he was some kind of monster. But if he were a cruel man, he’d had plenty of chances to hurt her. He hadn’t taken advantage of any of them.
Bethany would have wanted her to keep her guard up. Beth had always been the cautious, nervous one out of them. She wouldn’t let Clare go swimming unless a lifeguard was on duty. She never stayed out past ten at night. Every single one of Clare’s childhood fevers and stomach bugs had sent them to the hospital waiting room.
Beth would want Clare to be careful, to be reserved about what she said around the man, to reject any friendliness, and to keep looking for a chance to escape. But that was Beth’s way of thinking.
Clare tried to clear it from her mind and reassess the situation. She was frightened. That was probably unavoidable, considering where she’d woken up. She tried to ground herself, to find some kind of rational bearing. The man had been kind to her so far. Except for the cuts, which she still couldn’t explain, there was no sign that she’d been abused.
And as long as she was trapped in the house, she was wholly reliant on the stranger. For food, for water, for everything. She had to take a chance and trust him. With the storm as bad as it was, she didn’t have much of a choice.