She crossed the foyer, turning in a slow circle as she hunted through the furniture. Cabinets and bookcases were recessed into the walls. Side tables held items she couldn’t even name but were probably worth more than her car. Then a glimmer of bronze near the stairs caught her eye. Clare hurried to it. An old rotary phone sat on a small table, alongside a pen stand and stack of thick card paper.
She picked up the receiver and listened for a dial tone. There wasn’t one. She tried entering Beth’s number, dragging the dial around like she’d seen in movies, without any success. Then, acutely aware that her time was running out, she tried the emergency helpline. There was no ringing and no answer. Dorran might have been telling the truth… or he might have deliberately disconnected the phone. She had no choice except to brave the snow.
The house’s entrance stood at the opposite end of the foyer. Just like the one to her bedroom, the door was tall, dark, and seemed threatening. Clare had no time to waste on hesitation, though. She crossed the entryway in a dozen stumbling, unsteady steps, pulled the bolt free, and yanked on one of the oversized rings.
The door opened smoothly. Its hinges didn’t creak, but the door’s weight made it unwieldy. Almost as soon as its seal was broken, freezing air hit Clare. She sucked in a pained breath and squeezed her eyes closed.
It was horrendously, achingly cold, the kind of cold that slapped the breath out of her and made her double over. She didn’t know how low the temperatures had dropped, but it was significantly worse than it had been when she’d left her home.
But she couldn’t turn back. She stepped over the threshold and stumbled on a drift of snow. That side of the house faced away from the wind, and the snowbanks hadn’t built up too high against the door. Even so, there was more than a foot of snow outside.
Clare pulled on her strength reserves and leapt onto the pile of white. She staggered forwards, fighting against the chill spreading through her limbs. Walking was hard enough. Struggling through the snow was a thousand times worse.
Still, it was her best chance to reach safety. Hell, it was her only chance. She focussed on the dark line visible through the driving snow: the forest’s edge. She thought Dorran might have told the truth about that at least. She was looking at Banksy Forest, and it was no more than ten minutes away. She could make it that far then find the road and her car. Her nightmare would be over.
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.”