Sharon was cold, colder than she’d ever been. Her watch was on her wrist below her sweater. She would have liked to check the time, to see how long it had been, but she didn’t want to raise the sleeve on her arm even an inch and risk losing any of the warmth that might be captured there.
Her car had just stopped. She had no clue why. From the beginning she had decided it was best to wait in the car and hope for help. It was after midnight on a two lane country road in Minnesota, just west of Minneapolis. The snow was banked high beside the passenger side of the car. There was no way to open either of the doors on that side. The temperature was way below zero and the wind was blowing. And there she sat in her nurse’s uniform with only a sweater over it. No coat, no hat, no sense, she told herself.
Her cell phone was in her purse, the battery dead. Chuck, her husband, was going to be really pissed. How can you be so stupid, so careless, she could imagine him saying. She dreaded seeing him but hoped, wished more nearly, that he would soon realize she was late coming home from work, too late for any good reason, and begin to look for her. That was her only chance, she realized. Chuck had to come for her. She had to wait.
Sharon didn’t want to die. She had been a nurse for almost ten years, working in ER for most of that time. She had seen unnumbered car wrecks, shootings, stabbings, suicides, and even those who had died of exposure. She knew death and didn’t fear it, but she definitely didn’t want to die. It was so goddamn frustrating, she told herself, to have spent her life doing things, acting, making things happen, and now not be able to do a damned thing to save herself but sit and hope someone would help her, save her. If she believed in a god she would have prayed but she gave that up years ago. Watching babies die painful deaths from wounds inflicted by their god-given parents had taken prayer away from her. To hell, she had told herself, with any god that let that happen.
The snow blew across the road in sheets of blue. The full moon was radiant in a stark threatening blue-cold sort of light. She wondered how long Chuck might take to miss her. She hoped beyond hope that he had not fallen asleep watching the Timberwolves game. He could sleep in his recliner until morning and she would die. It was somehow ironic, she told herself, Chuck might be asleep and she might go to sleep as well, but if she did, she would die, and he would only just wake up and go to the bathroom. He would miss her then, she realized, when he went to the bedroom and she wasn’t in the bed alone as he found her most every night.
The bright lights from the vehicle behind her startled her. She realized that she had begun to doze off. The vehicle appeared to be a truck, probably a four wheel drive. It sat high in the road, its lights on bright shining into her car. She knew it wasn’t Chuck, his Explorer had a different grill. This truck looked like a Chevy. No matter to her, it was someone and no one meant death.
The truck and its passenger or passengers, whoever they were, just sat there. No one got out. She was prepared to be patient but the waiting was killing her almost as much as the cold. Finally the driver’s side door open and a large man got out. In her mirror she could see that he was wearing a heavy parka with the hood up. The moon’s blue light would not show his face as he began to walk slowly to her car.
The window was frozen so she opened the door just a crack. “Damn,” she almost shouted, “I am so glad to see you.”
“I’ll be right back,” was all he said and pushed her door shut.
He went back to the truck and pulled something from inside. She could tell it was a coat or a blanket. He came back to her car and opened her door. He handed a large camouflaged parka through the door and said, “Put this on and zip is up good,” before shutting the door again.
She did as he said and waited. He looked in the window and for the first time she saw he was wearing a dark blue ski mask. He opened the door and merely said, “Come on.”
She grabbed her purse and scrambled out of her car, heading toward the warm truck. She was safe, she told herself.
The man watched her open the passenger side door on his truck and get in before he walked to the driver’s door. He got in without saying anything and backed the truck up to pull past her dark abandoned car. Sharon began to chatter about all that had happened to her, how long she had waited, how cold she had been, how frightened she was, how much she appreciated his help, how thankful she was that he came along. He said nothing as she talked on. He just continued to stare at the road from inside the ski mask.
The cab of the truck grew silent. Sharon didn’t mind. She concentrated on the warmth coming back to her feet and hands.
“There’s a thermos of coffee under your seat,” he said in a low steady voice.
He had startled her, rousing her out of the beginning of sleep. “No, thank you,” was all she said. Her head felt so heavy, the warmth of the parka and the truck so good. In minutes she had fallen asleep.
She woke slowly and had to press herself to remember where she was. Her eyes felt heavy and her first thought was how grateful she was to be alive. The truck cab was empty, the driver gone. She pulled herself up, trying to right herself only to find she was bound by plastic ties wrapped tight around her wrists and ankles. What the hell, she thought, what the goddamn hell is this? The bindings were tight and restricted how much she could move but she turned to sit up and look out of the truck. She and the truck were in some kind of garage. The door was closed, a bare light bulb burning over a workbench along the wall. Oh, shit, what is this, was all she could keep saying to herself.
She sat in the truck for what seemed to be hours. She alternated between being frightened, being angry, being furious, being sure she was going to die at the hands of some kind of serial killer.
An overhead light came on in the garage and a door opened. The man stepped into the garage. He was wearing jeans, a heavy gray military sweater, and the same dark blue ski mask. He walked straight to the side of the truck and opened her door. She decided to say nothing. She stared at him, wondering, hoping that not angering him was the smart thing to do. He reached into the cab and lifted her in his arms like she was nothing. She had always considered herself a strong woman, 5’5” around 135 lbs, but she saw quickly she was no match for him.
He carried her straight to and through the door into a large sparsely furnished room. He sat her down on the rug in front of a couch and chair. A woodstove burned warmly off to the side. A simple kitchen was behind the chair. This must be some kind of hunting lodge or cabin, she told herself.
He sat down in the chair beside the rug and looked at her. She could see his eyes beneath the mask. They were dark, almost black, and very intense.
“How bad do you want to go home?” he asked in his low firm voice.
“Very bad,” she said firmly and simply.
“You want to go home bad enough that you will do as I say for a spell?” he asked.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t grasp what she was being asked.
