Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge Page 2

  “Laura is with David Farley. She's not actually one of our employees.” Adell was still cheerful as she continued the introduction. “What is it you do, Laura?”

  Abashed, she quietly responded, “Nothing at the moment.”

  That wiped the smile off Adell's face momentarily, and drew her son's dark gaze back to Laura's flushed face. Naturally, she glanced back before she could catch herself. He instantly looked away. Taken aback, she forced herself to concentrate on what his mother was saying at present.

  “Then what was it you did before?” Seemingly, unperturbed by Laura's admission.

  “I have a degree in Psychology.”

  “How interesting. Do you plan on following that career?”

  “I-I'm not sure yet.” The truth being, since her father's death, she had been in a kind of limbo; not sure where her future lay and honestly where she wanted to see it go. She just needed more time to decide. “My father left me enough money from his life insurance to allow me to live comfortly for the time being.”

  “Having a psychology degree must help the process of healing after your father’s death?”

  Adell’s question wasn’t uncommon. Most people assumed that because she studied the subject in school, she was equipped to deal with the loss. The truth was, there was no amount of preparation for a tragedy such as the death of a loved one, and in Laura’s particular case, the loss of her last family member, leaving her entirely alone.

  “It's one thing to study it in school, another to actually experience it.” She was unable to catch the revealing crack at the end of her voice.

  On their own accord, her eyes shifted to the face of Adell’s son. His expression had altered slightly, however it was enough to catch Laura’s attention. He stared down at her in his usual dark manner, though now there was sincerity to the depth of his astute gaze, catching Laura unaware. Then in a staggering split second, a powerful awareness surged between them, and nearly knocked her off her feet. It was if they shared a very intense, if not brief, sense of raw grief. The feeling left her acutely uneasy. The loss of her parent was a personal and painful experience. One, she was certain, nobody could fully understand.

  Then, just as sudden, the moment was gone and he was pulling his mother aside, leaving Laura to wonder if the moment actually passed between them. “Excuse us.”

  Adell appeared horrified by her son’s rude behavior, if not overly surprised. She allowed him to lead her away, causing Laura to feel utterly foolish. An unwanted headache began to throb in her temple and she wanted nothing more than to be alone. Funny, not more than two hours before, the thought of it appalled her.

  Glancing at David's table where she evidently wasn't being missed, she put her drink down on the nearest table and made her exit. Quickly, she fled from the lodge, snatching up her coat from the cloakroom before she left. Outside, the snow began to fall silently again. The Sprucewood Lodge was a popular ski resort located deep in the woods of the Muskoka district. Winter hit early and heavy in this northern region of Ontario. Already the thicket surrounding the city of Bracebridge, where Laura lived some twenty kilometers west, was well covered in a thick layer of snow.

  The gravel road leading out of the lodge was completely covered in a sheet of fresh snow when Laura pulled her vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Her windshield wipers swished back and forth attempting to clear her vision. Ruefully, she discovered the route back down to town wasn't as easy as it had been earlier when she followed David's directions up to the lodge.

  Coming across a fork in the road, she brought her car to a halt. No signs pointed out directions. Towns were few and far between, wildlife outnumbered civilization. Not to mention somewhere out in the dark night ran the deadly chasm of Hungry Hollow, a corroded fifty-foot drop carved out of the wilderness along the Muskoka River. During the summer months it was a popular tourist attraction with its Suicide Point, a breathtaking view of the gorge and its magnificent waterfalls. But in winter, a death trap just waiting to happen.

  Laura bit her lip and wondered if she should turn back and wait for David after all. A quick reminder of his so-called friends had her taking a chance and turning her vehicle left down the dark road.

  The night was very black without the aid of the moon's glow. The only cast of light came from the car's headlight. With the snow swirling fast toward her tiny vehicle, it reminded Laura of a glass snowball she had as a child. Only now, she was placed in the core of the ball rather than on the outside.

  She had driven only a few kilometers when, suddenly, the wheels from under her car had a mind of their own. Pulling the steering column as hard as she could all the way to the right, the vehicle however, swerved to the left. The next thing Laura knew, her car was airborne. Fear gripped her throat at the realization that she had, indeed, just driven off Suicide Point.

  Trees and bush came up fast to meet her windshield as she felt herself dropping. Throwing her arms over her face, she closed her eyes and awaited death. A surprising calm settled over her.

  * * *

  Dexter O'Reilly wanted nothing more than to be out of this hall of partygoers. He hadn't even wanted to come in the first place. But his mother's grating persistence eventually irked him enough to agree with a short visit. He thought about the unfinished papers waiting for him back on his desk at the office. Impatiently, he glanced at his watch and wondered if he put in a sufficient length of appearance.

  Swallowing the last of his drink, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall. He was in the cloakroom slipping on his tweed overcoat, when his mother exited the noisy doors from the banquet.

  “You're not leaving so soon, Dexter?” She frowned heavily at him. “You didn't get anything to eat—”

  “I'll get something on the way to the office.” He cut her short.

  “But the dancing hasn't even begun yet—”

  “I don't like to dance.” He finished buttoning his coat then began to slide his hands into a pair of warm leather gloves.

  Adell Cameron's eyes narrowed in concern. “You used to.”

  Dexter paused, took note of the disquiet expression on her face, and sighed heavily. “I have a lot of work to do. Goodnight mother.”

  She followed him to the exit. “Will you be coming over tomorrow for turkey dinner?”

  Again he sighed. She certainly made things difficult for him. “I don't think so. I don't like turkey.”

  “I can make ham.” She smiled, encouraged, but it soon disappeared as he shook his head.

  “As I said, I have a lot of work to do.” He stopped at the door and looked down at his mother. A fleeting spurt of emotion softened his heart at her expression. Quickly he smothered it, before dropping a light kiss on her cheek and making a hasty exit.

  Adell watched her son go. Her usually smiling aplomb face bore the sadness that weighed her heart. It had been fourteen years, fourteen years since she lost her jovial and loving son to this stranger now occupying his body.

  “Adell?” Norton Cameron came up behind her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  She forced herself to smile, turning away from the exit doors. “Let's get back to that party of ours, shall we?”

  * * *

  Dex's black Volvo easily maneuvered the freshly fallen snow now covering the dark country roads. He turned out of the parking lot and as he did, he noticed the imprint of tire tracks. Someone had left the party earlier than him, leaving him a slightly plowed path. Turning his attention to the CD player in his car, he slid a popular disc into the drive then sat back to listen to the music.

  Eyes back on the silent road, he eventually reached the fork in the highway where he would have turned right. However, frowning, he slowed the Volvo until it came to a halt. The other vehicle, the one which owned the tracks he had been following, had taken the road to the left.

  “What idiot would have taken that road on such a night?” he muttered to himself.

  The road ran parallel to the deep valley n
icknamed Hungry Hollow. Admittedly, the chasm was worthy of its name. Over the centuries since it appeared in the earth's surface, it maimed many, while consuming the lives of others. When the north road had been built, the foundation was difficult to lay because of the hard minerals beneath the rocky surface, so the result was a very winding, and at points, steep decline along the gorge. A popular spot for sightseers in the summer with its spectacular view, but only a fool would attempt the road in the winter. Especially an icy night as this.

  Dex found himself swinging his vehicle around and heading down the north road, shaking his head at his own stupidity as he went. What dim-witted notion forced him to follow those tracks, he had no idea. All he knew was he continually told himself to turn back, but discovered his instincts were completely ignoring that practical portion of his brain.

  He had not gone far when the tracks suddenly veered to the left and disappeared. Dex pulled his vehicle to a stop and hastily jumped out. Running over to the shoulder of the road, he peered out into the darkness. Shock, mingled with immense horror, swept over his stunned form as he stared down into what could only be the black and deadly abyss of the Hungry Hollow gorge.

  Then he saw it. Barely visible through the thick descending bush and the black of the night, was a tiny glow of red light.

  A nightmare he had long repressed into the back of his memory suddenly resurfaced. A night, very similar to this one, fourteen years earlier where he stood frozen in fear, unable to command his frightened limbs into action.

  Dex stared down at the small red light. The night around him seemed to go completely still. The only sound was the low rustle of bare branches. A chill crept up his spine and it wasn't from the below zero temperatures.

  Then he heard it, a cry for help. And the nightmare came back to horrific life, transporting him fourteen years back when he was an eighteen year-old boy. He could hear his father calling out for help as he desperately clung to the cold jagged ridge of a gully. His car had just plunged off a bridge and while his son had miraculously thrown himself free before going over, Wallace O'Reilly had not been so lucky.

  The vehicle nose-dived into the hard surface of the rock, tossing the remaining occupant out, before disappearing into the dark brush below. Dex ran over to the steep edge of the incline to find his father clinging fiercely for his life. He called for his son, his hand stretched out begging for help, but to Dex's horror he found his feet incapable of moving, gripped with fear. Instead, he stood and watched as his father, no longer having the strength to hold, disappear. The night around him had gone deathly silent.

  A second cry for help pierced his conscious, drawing him back to the present. A force greater than any he experienced before, told him he had to go down that ravine. A descent, fourteen years before, he was unable to make. In an instant, he knew he could not make that mistake twice. Someone was still alive down there and in desperate need of help. Gingerly, he plunged downward.

  * * *

  Laura pushed her hands hard against the dashboard, while at the same time tried to give herself enough leeway to reach over and undo her seat belt. To no avail. She grunted in frustration before lifting her hair to peek outside her car window. The last of her dying headlights left just enough light for Laura to survey her surroundings. Her vehicle had landed in an awkward position, a near ninety-degree angle, wedged between two trees. The hood had been forced to a grounded halt down a steep embankment overlooking the gorge. The gorge itself was blocked from view by a wall of bush and trees and the night itself, which Laura figured she should be grateful for. She was already horribly terrified.

  When the vehicle finally came to a complete stop, to her amazement, she was still alive. But her feet, she discovered were trapped under the crushed area of the floorboards. She was incapable of freeing them due to the seat belt having her securely strapped in, and because she was basically hanging from it like a wilted plant, she was powerless to reach behind to unfasten the latch. She pushed again on the dashboard and tried to pull herself back into the seat. With both hands occupied, she could not free herself at the same time. She would need an extra pair of hands. With a frustrated cry, she allowed herself to drop back against her restraints once again.

  The only alternative for her at that moment was to cry for help. Which she had been doing with no success. She wondered how long she had been down there. At least forty minutes she figured but, with a resigned sob, she knew no one would be leaving the party for another three hours. The snow had begun to fall steadily. No doubt what was left of her tracks would be completely covered within the next hour. And the fact remained, no one would be missing her.

  Her situation appeared resolute. The thought of dying a slow and agonizing death in her seat belt had her attempting her efforts once more. She refused to give up. Pushing as hard as her tired arms allowed, she pulled with all her effort to free her feet. With no luck. Frustrated, she cried out in anger, slamming her steering wheel with her fist.

  “Hello? Are you in the car?” A male voice broke through the still night.

  Completely taken by surprise, Laura remained speechless, until it registered in her brain. She was being rescued. With a sob of relief, she responded, “Yes, yes. I'm in here.”

  She heard someone moving about outside and then a huge form loomed out of the dark beside her driver side window. She gasped in alarm before she realized it was her rescuer.

  He bent down and peered into the darkened vehicle. Even in the blackness, Laura could make out the thick mat of dark hair, the square jaw, and the cold steel of his narrowed eyes. Recognition was swift.

  Dexter O’Reilly. Of all people to save her life, it had to be him.

  Through the glass window, he squinted his eyes to get a better glimpse of the car’s occupant. It was a woman. And, non-too-gracefully, she hung like a fern from her seat belt. She turned her head in his direction, raised a hand and swept a curtain of chestnut hair from her face.

  Something hit him hard in the pit of his stomach. It was the woman from the party. He noticed her right away, the moment he walked in the hall. It had been a long time since he registered the beauty of a woman, but it only took seconds where she was concerned. Actually it surprised him, and admittedly, scared him.

  Quickly, he buried those hazardous thoughts, not wishing to explore them. “Are you all right? Have you been injured?”

  She shook her head. “No, but my legs are trapped.”

  Surveying the situation, he began pulling on the door handle. It didn't give. Glancing at the vehicle's front end, it was impossible to see the extent of damage due to the dark of night. “I'm going to have to break the window. Turn your head in the opposite direction.”

  She did as was told. In the next instant, she heard a loud smash before a cascade of broken glass rained down on her. He quickly reached inside and began brushing the broken pieces away. Then leaning through the broken window, he examined the extent of injury to her legs. He could see that they were bare and scratched, coated in blood, with only tattered pieces left of her torn nylons covering them. As she had said, her feet were trapped, disappearing under the crushed portion of the hood of the car.

  “Didn't you wear boots?” He began tugging at her legs, trying to free her feet.

  Startled by the irrelevant question, she mumbled, “I didn't give it much thought.”

  He turned to give her a look of disapproval. “They could have saved you some deep cuts.”

  Nerves already pulled taut, she began to feel the aches in her legs and the sores in her trapped feet, and simply wanted to start crying all over again. She had successfully ignored the pain in her feet since the imminent danger of death was more pressing, however now he only reminded her of their aches and pains.

  Stepping back from the vehicle, he began to talk to no one in particular when he said, “I can't get you free from this angle. I'm going to have to come in there.”

  “How? The door is stuck—” she broke off as she realized he already had a plan
.

  He leaned forward and suddenly began squeezing his body through the broken window. Since there was only so much space in the tiny opening, she was crushed as far back as her seat would allow, permitting sufficient room for him to enter. His broad shoulders crushed her chest and cut off her circulation momentarily as he propelled his body forward. At last he gathered his body into the passenger seat then turned to study her closer.

  “Can you feel your feet?”

  She wiggled her toes, then quickly nodded her head unnecessarily fast. “Yes.”

  Glancing into her face he noticed her eyes beginning to glisten with distress and her voice was coming alarmingly close to hysteria. He knew he should say something to help calm her nerves but he was coming up empty. Instead he turned his attention back to her feet.

  Laura heard the shaking in her voice and felt the onslaught of convulsions. She bit her lip hard in an endeavor to quail her fears. Post terror was making its ugly appearance. The reality of what she barely escaped and the terrifying predicament she found herself in now, was becoming alarmingly clear. She recognized the symptoms and attempted to suppress them.

  However, it was his hands that were having a calming effect. Oddly, for a man who appeared to be so harsh and uncaring, his hands were strangely gentle as they reached under and unbuckled the straps of her sandals. He tossed them carelessly behind him and returned to her feet where he startled her completely by gently massaged them back and forth.

  “Wh-what are you d-doing?” Her voice stuttered both on the lingering hysteria and the unexpected intimate touch.

  He ignored her, continuing in an attentive manner until without warning her feet slipped freely from their trap. Feeling utterly disorientated, she muttered a thank you before reaching down to rub them gingerly. Indeed, what she surprisingly wanted was the continual touch of his soothing hands.