Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) (15 page)

That's when he heard the explosive sound of shattering glass and a shriek that broke the silent night.

“Vanessa?”

His thoughts suddenly dissipated into the ether, he ran into the kitchen just in time to see the back door clacking once, twice, a lazy third time before finally resting against its frame. A broken jelly glass lay in sharp, dangerous pieces on the floor. Alongside a smear of blood that trailed down the door.

Adam ran out into the night.

Impulse driving him, possessed with determination and the power to make everything right, for once, he screamed into the wind, “Venture!” and then felt a strange, unnamed emotion wash over him. The name swirled in the air around him, like it was a boomerang, launched, only to return to him an echo. She had to have heard it.

Still, the response he got was the voice of the mute.

She'd run out on him, yet again.

Damn if she didn't have a penchant for disappearing.

Like she acted first, thought later.

“Vanessa?” he called out once more.

Neither woman was responding to him.

One minute the jelly glass was secure in her hands, bubbles washing off its surface with the force of the water from the faucet. The next thing she knew, the glass had slipped from her hands, hit the counter, and then smashed on the hardwood floor. A wayward shard of glass imbedded itself in her bare foot, blood bubbling out of the cut immediately. It wasn't pain or embarrassment that made her run, but rather, an overwhelming, newly unleashed frustration that had been building inside her since her fainting spell took hold of her. What had that been about? Had it really been the heat, the lack of food, or had something . . . spooked her? What was it about the name Venture that so chilled her, startled her? And then to revisit her life with Dominick, sharing it with, of all people . . . Adam. It had been necessary, part of her plan . . . still, having gone there was different from thinking of going there. All she knew now was that she had run, again, out into the wet, dark night, her breath becoming labored the harder she pushed herself. At last her feet came to a sudden stop, her lungs seemingly ready to burst from lack of oxygen. She had to admit, looking around at the enveloping darkness, she had no idea where she was.

Clouds had moved in again, making the moonlight slip away from view. She had to hope a trace of light would return soon and act as her guide. All around her blackness continued to move in on her, so much so that she blinked and then blinked and still she was lost. Her breathing became labored, like she was having an anxiety attack. Suddenly shapes and forms emerged, her night vision kicking in and offering up the comfort of the familiar. Cornstalks loomed before her. She was lost among the endless rows of cornstalks, and worst of all, with her beating heart and fear of something she didn't understand, she couldn't help but think about that Stephen King story they'd made too many sequels of, most of which she and Danny had watched at the Danton Hill Quad. She needed his hand now, his comforting touch, to see her through the flickering glow of this new form of evil.

Danny wasn't there for her. Neither, at the moment, was Adam.

Adam.

What the hell was she going to do about Adam?

She knew what she needed to do, and that's probably why she had run. She'd already confessed to him her marriage to Dominick and the disaster born from that—or not born, for that matter, she thought with a taste of gallows humor on her tongue. There was so much more to her story gone unrevealed. She had tried to tell him, before he shut her down with a request to eat, get some strength and nourishment into her system, and he'd been right. Her current frame of mind was still too fragile to tell the rest of the story. She was a jumble of emotions, ricocheting between past and present and some other plane she couldn't quite put her finger on. She had planned on telling him, on revealing all, that was the point of this entire stupid journey home. As though her body had left Danton Hill, but her spirit had remained locked here, the past unsettled. The reunion. Ha, what a foolish venture. But she had hoped to tell him the whole truth after a night when the entire class had laughed and reminisced, grown sad over those they had lost and looked to tomorrow for hope and the promise that they would reunite again five years down the road. Vanessa had even contemplated taking Adam back to the lake and to Danton's Hill, the scene of the alleged . . . incident. To Mercer Pier.

But she knew the farmhouse was located nowhere near the Hill. Even though she'd run off into the night, her instincts said she hadn't traveled that far, perhaps only in circles. She was still near Route 20, within shouting distance of the old farmhouse, her body as turned around in these damn cornstalks as her mind was. One looked just like the other, each of them bending in the currents of the wind. Which was the only sound she could hear, that cool, rustling wind and nothing more—no howling wolves or dogs or whatever nocturnal creature had pierced the night. And, surprisingly, no Adam. Not that she wanted him to come to her rescue, she just sort of expected it. What she knew about him from high school and that unfortunate encounter in New York, and then now, today, when he was tender and loving and gentle and amazingly in tune with her needs . . . she knew Adam Blackburn was honorable to a fault. As though no matter what mistakes she made, he was always lurking in the shadows of her life. She didn't expect him to land right before her dressed like Superman, but at this moment with her arms wrapped around her body to fend off the chill and the loose, muddy dirt staining her cut foot and bare legs, well, it would be nice to feel his strong arms envelop her.

This was stupid. Why did she keep running away from him? Why couldn't she face the choices she had made in her life? She was as much responsible for her actions as he was.

And why was she in the middle of Nowhere, New York, home in the distance but yet unreachable, dressed only in a ratty old bathrobe? What made her keep running?

Her foot absently kicked at a loose rock in the field. Bending down to massage her hurt toe, she made contact with the offending stone and grabbed it, hurling it through the air with a fierce and loud grunt, her anger and frustration finally unleashed.

“Dammit, why is this happening?”

Her voice echoed, followed by a thunk and the tinkle of breaking glass. Her ears perked up as her eyes sought the direction from which the sound had come. Focusing, locking on to the scent of smoke wafting up from the farmhouse's chimney, she suddenly knew where she was. She started off through the cornstalks, her bare feet oblivious to the pain of rocks and dirt and fallen stalks the sun had burned stale. Running again, laughing uncontrollably, she finally let go of the tight control she'd clung to all day, and damn if it didn't feel good, liberating, like she was Alice and she had found the hole that would relieve her of the craziness that was Wonderland and return her to the normal, natural world.

At last she broke through the clearing and very nearly tripped when her feet hit cement.

She'd found it, the highway.

Her car. It was nearby, wasn't it?

Maybe she'd been wrong, maybe her phone did work. Maybe right now Jana and Tiffany were calling, leaving their ninety-ninth message of the night, asking where she was and what she was doing, and why wasn't she trying to force down the overcooked salmon like the rest of their classmates. Oh, how she wanted to hear those messages, her friends' voices that seemed so unchanged after twenty years, or better yet answer those questions directly, eat the inedible fish. She wanted to be at the reunion. She wanted to dance and feel like a kid again, to be that happy girl she hadn't been since that damn prom had reared its haunting promise. “Forever Yours”—that had been the ridiculous, time-defying theme—and to Vanessa it was more than just another banner from high school she'd helped decorate with glitter and bunting; it was a lifelong taunt.

The road was dark and the moon hadn't yet reemerged from the fast-moving clouds; the shoulders devoid of street lamps on these quiet, rural roads. At the moment no bright shadows emerged, no encroaching headlights caught her in their glow. The night still belonged to her, she was alone with no stars and no moon and no future. Just herself, wandering unseen, as though she'd been doing it for years . . . for forever. Forever yours . . . more like forever mine. She sought out objects other than tarmac and field greens and at last she scoped out a rectangular shape in the near distance. Edging forward, bravery winning out over foolishness, she was careful of each step, knowing that if she were to stumble upon the scene of the accident there was bound to be broken glass and random pieces of metal that could inflict far worse damage than a thin shard from a jelly glass she had used to drink wine.

At last she came to the field where her car had gone off the road. She saw no skid marks and quite frankly couldn't remember ever hitting the brakes. Though she must have, there was no way even those hearty stalks were strong enough to stop a car hurtling out of control. As she approached the darkened car, her heart began to beat fast again. Whether anxious memories of the crash or tasting hope at the idea of ending this strange, lingering night, she didn't know. Still, she forged ahead, newly unafraid of what she might find. Telling herself that anything was possible when you swallowed your fears.

Luckily her car hadn't flipped over like Adam's. She was able to try her hand at the driver's side door. It opened easily, but of course it did, she hadn't experienced a problem getting out after the crash. The air bag lay deflated, like a sad Big Top left by a decamped circus. She began to forage around the interior, a raccoon digging through a Dumpster. She found gum wrappers and a half-empty bottle of Diet Coke. What she didn't find was her cell phone. Her fingers searched beneath seats, cushions . . . finally she felt something small and plastic, under the mud flap. She ripped it up to unveil the wayward phone. There was no glow from the screen, no blinking light announcing a message. The phone was dead. Still, she fingered the red button and waited for the sound and the light associated with the phone powering up. Nothing happened. The sheer plastic window was cracked, the inside wet and muddied. As she had known but somehow had hoped differently, the thing was useless.

“Dammit, dammit,” she said, throwing the phone into the air and listening as it shattered into pieces, microchips reduced to granules of sand. Dust to dust, a lifeline reduced to silence. She sobbed as she stared at the broken pieces. Her hair fell over her face, covering it, hiding her. She wanted to be swallowed up alive, right now.
Just end this night or let me go.
The smell of the lake wafted over the flatland, and for a second she imagined the cold water washing over, claiming her. Yes, please . . . no more of this middle ground, this land without answers.

“Is that what you did with the glass?”

She spun around at the sound of a voice sneaking up from behind her, shoulders raised, defenses up. She very nearly screamed out, but her rational self seemed to return as she recognized the only person who could possibly have made such a comment. Who else knew about the broken glass? Adam, who had come to her aid.

“How did you find me?”

“I followed your laughter. You sounded like a mental patient who'd just been released.”

“You know me so well.”

He attempted a smile that the darkness claimed. “You okay?”

“Beats me.”

“Let's start with physically.”

“I'm fine. I think running around in the mud has been good for my cut foot.”

“We should get you back to the house. Get it cleaned up just in case.”

“I don't know where it is.”

“I do.”

“Of course you do. My hero, home from the sea.”

“Why did you say that?”

“I don't know . . . I just thought it . . . no, not even. I felt it wash over me. Before you arrived, all I could smell was the lake. Like it was calling to me. And then there you were.”

“Is that what you want? To venture up to the lake?”

“Don't say . . .”

“What . . . venture?”

“Adam . . .”

“Sorry. I don't mean to tease you. Do you want to stay here?”

Vanessa looked around at the dark sky and the dismantled car whose tires had sunk into the mud, and the shattered cell phone and the lack of any signs of life on the open road. All that existed was them, this time, and somewhere in the distance, the crashing waves of the lake. She let out a small giggle born of nervousness, tiredness. “Kind of foolish to remain here.”

“Come on, let's go back home,” Adam said.

“Home?”

“For lack of a better word.”

“Fine.” She paused, thinking. “If we go back there, we're going back for a reason.”