Page 3 of The Stranger
He clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been standing here silently for a very long time. So long that there are now snowflakes clinging to his eyebrows. Even in the dim glow of the headlights, I can see how pink his cheeks are. How blue his lips are turning. I must be in worse shape than even that.
“Look, I get it, okay?” he says eventually. “Really, I do. I wouldn’t want my mom or sister-in-law riding in the car with some stranger, either. And I know you have no reason to trust me, and there’s nothing I can do to prove that I’m not dangerous, but I promise you I’m not.” He chews his bottom lip, thinking. “Where’s your phone?”
My brows draw down. “What? Why?”
“Do you have a phone?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets with a full-body shiver. His teeth have begun to chatter.
“Is there anyone out there who doesn’t?”
“Dial 9-1-1, and tell them you need a police officer to come and pick you up. Even if we don’t have service, an emergency call should go through. If you do that, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll drive away and leave you to it. I swear.” He puts his hands up in defeat. “I just need to know that I’m not leaving you to die. Can you do that for me?”
My stomach clenches at the idea of calling the police but also at the idea of being left alone in the dark again when I’m just becoming used to the light. “I’m not calling the police.”
“Okay, fine. Then I will.” He reaches into his pocket, retrieving his phone and setting to work.
“Wait! Stop!” I shout, lunging forward without thinking. My foot hits a patch of ice, and I’m thrown forward. My feet slide across the pavement as I brace myself for a fall. My arms swing in circles, trying to right myself. It happens both in painfully slow motion and all at once as I lose control entirely and fall forward. I squeeze my eyes shut as I slam into something much softer—and much closer—than the ground.
Him. When I open my eyes, my hands are on his chest, my face inches from his collarbone. I jerk back. “Sorry.”
“You okay?” he asks at the same time, extending a hand toward me.
“Don’t call the police.” I force the words out, the fear in my chest as cold as the frozen snow piling up at my feet.
He glances down at his phone, the screen’s blue glow illuminating his face. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t need them.” A lie. Not the first, and it certainly won’t be the last.
He sighs, running a shaking hand over his cheek. “Okay, look. I’m not going to stand out here and fight with you, nor am I going to risk getting frostbite over this. So, you have a few choices. You can get in the car and let me drive you somewhere while you warm up. I’ll drop you off at the first gas station or store that we see the instant we have cell service so you can call for a ride.” He pauses. “Or you can say no again, and I’ll get in that car and leave you alone, but I’m going to call the police and let them know you’re out here all by yourself in the cold and need help.”
“There’s no service,” I remind him, my last bit of hope.
“I already said I don’t think you need service to call 9-1-1.” I can’t tell if he’s certain, and I’m definitely not certain. I don’t think it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I look toward the woods, considering running into them, but I know what’s waiting for me if I do. The snow is deeper there, the wind colder and stronger as it winds through the narrow gaps between the trees.
“You have three seconds to?—”
“Fine,” I say, not bothering to hide my frustration. “Whatever.” I turn back toward his car, trudging across the wet pavement on my way to the passenger seat.
He doesn’t say anything as I open the door. I test the locks, making sure the button works, and when I lock it, the locks don’t completely disappear.
Maybe I’ve seen too many horror films. Can’t be sure.
The car smells of fast food and men’s cologne. I breathe through my mouth as I search for signs of danger. I open the glovebox but find nothing to worry about.
He sinks into the seat next to mine and cranks up the heat, rubbing his hands together and holding them out in front of the vents as if they were a campfire. He shivers, leaning over to grab the brown paper sack from my floorboard, and I stay as far away from him as I can, still standing just outside the door.
“Sorry about the mess. It’s a thirteen-hour road trip.” He tosses the bag in the back. “Oh shoot.” As he leans over again, this time reaching behind my seat, my stomach lurches, convinced he’s going for a weapon and that this is it, but instead, he picks up a men’s coat—heavier than the one he’s wearing. He holds it out to me. “I forgot I had this. Here. Come on, get in. It’s not much, but it’ll help you get warm faster.” He nudges it toward me again, and finally, I sit down, slamming my door shut and draping the coat over my legs.
It’s hard to maintain my anger as the first bit of heat hits my body, warming parts of me I thought I might never feel again. I turn my head toward the window, trying not to let him see me shiver. I’m too cold to argue. Too exhausted to say much of anything. As the heat fills the car, surrounding me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer, I rest my head against the seat.
My eyes are heavy and threatening sleep, which I absolutely can’t allow right now. If I let my guard down, even for a second, that could be all it takes. It could be what he’s counting on.
He puts the car in drive, and we crawl forward—slowly at first as he tries to maneuver us back onto the road. I feel the car rattling across the piles of snow, shimmying and shaking on the shoulder until we’re back out on the highway, though even there, it isn’t much smoother. There aren’t enough cars on the road to keep it clear, or any cars on the road for that matter.
The wipers move at full speed, a steady, rhythmic weep weep, weep weep, weep weep that could put me to sleep if the heat wasn’t already trying its hardest to.
“You never told me your name,” he says, filling the silence and reminding me I’m still in the car with a total stranger. A stranger that, for all I know, could be imagining how my skin will taste soon.