The details surrounding her wreck were fuzzy—the brutal force of the airbag, her rescuer, big and rawboned, driving a snowmobile, asking if she was okay. The last thing she remembered was drinking hot coffee from his thermos.
She’d awakened with a horrible headache in an unfamiliar bed—and still struggled with a persistent dull throbbing.
As she paced herself toward the trail, memories crowded in…
The view from the strange bedroom window had shown a snow-covered forest. What rural view in a Minnesota winter didn’t?
Kate struggled to sit up, but her head was pounding so hard she flopped back onto the pillows and glanced around the strange room. It was sparsely furnished and very clean. But where was her backpack? Her coat? Her phone?
“Hello?” she called. “Hello? Is anybody there?”
The door opened and a tall big-boned woman with gray streaks through her blond hair entered carrying a tray filled with food.
“You’re awake!”
“Where am I?”
“At my house, honey, and don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve brought good hot beef and vegetable soup, my specialty.” The woman set the tray on the bedside table then sank onto the mattress. It sagged under her weight. Up close her face still told the story that she’d once been a beautiful woman. “By the way, my son Jonathan’s the one found you. I sent him back to your car to get your belongings.”
“Do you have a phone I can use?”
“Phone lines are down and we have to go into Glen’s Crossing to get cell phone service.” The woman patted her hand. “I’m Betty, hon. What’s your name?”
“Kate. Kate Carter.”
“It’s lovely to have another female in the house. Somebody to talk to besides my son. I bet you’re a college girl.“
“I am.” Kate glanced at her watch. Already two o’clock? “Listen, I hate to be rude but my parents are going to be worried sick. I was supposed to be home two hours ago.”
“Don’t fret. As soon as Jonathan gets back with your things, he’ll take the snowmobile into Glen’s Crossing and call your parents. You just rest now. You had a nasty bump on that pretty head of yours.”
When Betty left, Kate dug into the food, astonished at how hungry she was. The soup was especially delicious.
A loud click stopped Kate’s spoon in mid-air. It was the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the door lock.
“No, no, no, no, no!” As Kate raced toward the door, pain exploded through her head. She caught the side of a dressing table and stood there a moment, swaying.
“What are you doing?” The voice beyond the door was male, loud and angry. Could it be Jonathan, the son?
“Cleaning up the mess you made.” That was definitely Betty.
Kate rushed to the door and tugged.
“Betty? The door’s locked!” No response. Kate started banging. “Is that Jonathan? Did he bring my things?” Still, nothing. “Betty! Open up!”
Why weren’t they answering? Kate pressed her ear to the door, but all she could hear was the echo of receding footsteps.
“Wait! Where are you going? Come back.”
Nothing. Not a single reply, not even another footfall.
Holding the side of her head, Kate explored the room, looking for any clues that would tell her more about Betty and her son. It was spacious but sparsely furnished, a double brass bed, a dressing table with a tarnished silver-handled comb, brush and mirror set. The bedside table held a copy of the King James edition of the Bible plus an outdated Farmer’s Almanac. Had the furnishings once belonged to a great-grandmother? Or did Betty simply have a fondness for browsing antique shops?
Two rocking chairs with crewel-work cushions faced each other in the window nook. Kate’s own grandmother liked to crochet, knit, and do embroidery and crewel work. Had Betty made the cushions? The question might start a conversation that would let the woman know she didn’t have to lock Kate in. She was from a good, normal family. She wasn’t about to go prowling around Betty’s house stealing things.
Kate’s head was pounding now. She nabbed a sandwich off the tray and sank into one of the rocking chairs.
And that’s when she saw it. The snow scene was not outside the window at all. It was an enlarged photograph of a snow scene taped over the window. And behind it were iron bars.
Kate was a prisoner.
Chapter Four
Now, standing in the safety of the woods, looking back at the dark house, Kate shivered and pulled the thin borrowed coat closer. That Betty had helped her escape was a miracle. That she might not survive was a strong possibility. It was far colder than when she’d left campus, clearly below freezing and maybe even sub-zero. Frigid air bit through the inadequate coat as the wind whipped around her.
She needed more protection, and she needed it fast. The shed, barely visible in Betty’s backyard, was Kate’s best bet. People kept all kinds of stuff in sheds.
Keeping to the deep shadows, she sneaked back into the yard. She hoped Betty had gone back to bed. And she for sure didn’t want to wake that monster son of hers.
Kate wasn’t planning to steal. Just do some stealthy borrowing. If she found something she could use, she’d made sure Betty got it back. Along with a thank you note.
If she got home. When she got home.
It seemed impossible that only yesterday Kate’s only serious thought had been whether Mom would insist she wear that hideous Christmas sweater Grandma Carter had knitted for her last year. Gran would be sure to notice. And though she had poor taste in clothes, she was a sweetheart. Kate couldn’t bear the idea of hurting her feelings.
She wondered if she’d ever see Gran again. If she’d ever see any of them.
“Buck up.” Kate said this aloud. It was a trick Mom had taught her.
She always said, “When things aren’t working out the way you think they should, Katie, give yourself a little pep talk. Out loud. Sometimes all it takes to make you believe in yourself is the sound of your own voice.”
Filled with a renewed self-confidence, Kate crept toward the door of the shed.
It was padlocked, but she found a window on the far side facing the woods. Without a second thought, she shucked her coat and wrapped it around a big rock to muffle the sound of breaking glass. Then she cleared away the jagged edges and hefted herself inside.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
It was still dark outside, but goose bumps rose at the possibility of the creepy Jonathan catching her. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she grabbed a penlight off a workbench and trained it around the walls.
Jackpot.
Three pairs of snowshoes. An ice ax and rope. A garbage bag filled with cast-offs, including winter gear. Feeling as if she’d just aced every one of her final exams, Kate selected snowshoes first. One pair was made for running, light weight titanium frames, fewer crampon teeth and bindings, and a narrow-waisted frame for better balance and maneuverability. She grabbed them and then dug into the garbage bag.
The ski suit she pulled out was pink—probably Betty’s—far too big but thankfully long enough to fit tightly around the ankles of her boots. She nabbed a handful of extra socks from the bag, mismatched woolens--it didn’t’ matter—and an extra sweater with a few moth holes. She cinched the suit by wrapping the stolen rope around her waist then pulled on a pair of mismatched gloves and a full-face ski cap she’d found. She dropped the rest of her supplies out the window.