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  A guardrail ran along the two-lane highway, separating it from a steep bank sloping sharply down to the Orenda River. Better lighting for this strip of road known as Falls Way had been a main topic of the seemingly endless city council meeting Marissa had covered for the Aurora Falls Gazette two nights ago. One man in his eighties had declared in a strong voice that more lights would be too expensive and they would create a teenage hangout where teenagers did what teenagers did. When a sneering young man around thirty asked him what teenagers did, the elderly man replied snappily, “It’s a shame a fella your age needs to ask,” bringing on loud laughter from the crowd.

  On the opposing side, a woman who looked like a rainbow in a fuchshia and turquoise suit, her dyed red hair upswept, declared she wouldn’t have had her second wreck on Falls Way last summer if the city provided adequate lighting in that area. Someone else suggested she might have been able to keep better control of her car if she’d called a taxi instead of driving home after a long evening spent in the Lonesome Me Tavern, a remark she had ignored with dignity so rigid Marissa had thought the woman’s neck might break.

  Finally, the wife of the town’s sheriff, Jean Farrell, with her dowdy clothes, humble manner, and meek voice, sent the meeting into near pandemonium by politely stating that not only did Falls Way definitely need improved lighting, but also the first order of business must be to replace the old, weak guardrail between the highway and the Orenda River. She acknowledged the project’s cost would eliminate the money the city had set aside to build a new baseball diamond in the park. However, if the city didn’t begin work on the lights and the guardrail soon, Jean said pleasantly but firmly, she would take the matter to the governor, who everyone knew was not only her friend but also her cousin.

  Almost laughing aloud at the memory of what the elderly man later called “one firecracker of a meeting,” Marissa met another car going in the opposite direction and absently noted it was the first vehicle she’d seen in a couple of minutes. The car following her had turned left, and without the shine of its headlights in her rear window she realized exactly how dark this stretch of road was at night.

  The snow fell harder. The car chilled quickly. She’d forgotten her gloves and her fingers stiffened. On such a bad night, fewer people were traveling on Falls Way than usual and the highway rapidly grew slicker. Marissa was an exceptionally good driver, with quick reflexes and twenty-fifteen vision, but driving in this weather was nerve-wracking and Marissa decided that as soon as she reached the party she’d promptly ask for a drink. A double. She’d accept anything alcoholic and stimulating except fattening eggnog. Evelyn Addison would probably be annoyed that the party wasn’t Marissa’s immediate concern, but Marissa didn’t care. Evelyn wouldn’t have been driving in the slippery snow.

  Or rather, ice. Both the defroster and the wipers were on high. Marissa leaned forward, squinting through her windshield. She’d turned her headlights on low beam, knowing high-beam light would refract off the snow and ice and create a blinding glare, but her range of vision was still alarmingly small.

  Marissa glanced at the speedometer. Forty. She certainly wasn’t driving too fast. She usually traveled Falls Way at sixty. Still, she slowed her speed another five miles per hour. Thank goodness the Addison house was less than two miles away, she thought, beginning to feel less certain of her ability to handle bad road conditions. Maybe Catherine had been right to expect—

  Suddenly, only about fifteen feet ahead of Marissa, her headlights caught a blur of movement near the guardrail. A deer? she wondered. Then, to her shock, the form began to climb over the guardrail, although climb didn’t seem to be the right word. As Marissa watched through her continually slush-splattered windshield, the figure looked as if it was slithering over the ice-covered rail, moving with smooth, sinuous, frighteningly unnatural ease. Once clear of the guardrail, the figure stood up tall in a long, dark coat, seemed to glide into Marissa’s lane, and stopped directly in front of her.

  Marissa gasped and pushed on her horn at the same moment. The figure didn’t move. In the gleam of Marissa’s headlights, she could see a pallid human-shaped face surrounded by a hood. In spite of the weather, she saw enormous black-rimmed eye sockets and, inside of them, the gleam of dark, almost inhuman eyes staring steadily at her. Her own hands trembled, but the figure never flinched as once again Marissa hit the horn, long and hard.

  Marissa fought the urge to slam on the brakes, knowing doing so would throw her into a spin. Instead, she steered to the left, intending to go around the person who was obviously drunk or crazy. On her cell phone she would report the incident as soon as she’d eased back into her own lane—

  Except a semitruck bore down on her in the left lane. The truck driver’s horn blared. The truck was so close Marissa could see the driver’s horrified expression. Now she had no time for deft maneuvers on ice. Immediately Marissa hit her brakes, simultaneously jerking the steering wheel to the right.

  In a moment, she realized she’d dodged both the truck and the pedestrian, but her car was spinning out of control on the ice. Back in the correct lane, she fought the wheel, but the car had a life of its own, slewing rapidly to the right.

  A thousand thoughts seemed to scramble through part of Marissa’s brain while at the same time another part maintained an odd tranquility. The tranquility shattered when her Mustang smashed into the guardrail. Sparks of metal grating against metal flashed in the darkness before she heard the groan-snap of the old, weakened guardrail bending and splitting. Marissa finally screamed when the guardrail gave way and her car plunged down the steep, rough bank toward the Orenda River.

  2

  “This weather will discourage some of the guests.” Catherine looked with concern at the cascade of snow on the windshield.

  “Not if they know what’s good for them. Evelyn Addison keeps very close track of her R.S.V.P. list. Only God knows what kind of social disasters might befall someone who misses her Christmas party.”

  Catherine stole a look at James Eastman sitting behind the steering wheel of the silver Lincoln. Even in the dim light of the instrument panel, she could clearly see the sharp angles of his profile, the sturdy chin, the straight nose, the strong forehead. He wore his black hair short at the sides with a sharp part and the top combed neatly to the side. Years ago, Catherine decided he had the physical perfection of a young Sean Connery. Still, she’d been shocked when at twenty-one she’d acknowledged her powerful attraction to the son of the Gray family’s lawyer. She’d told no one except her mother.

  Catherine had idolized her lovely, youthful, joyous mother and confided almost everything to her. No matter how startling or embarrassing Catherine considered the information, Annemarie Gray had never gotten angry, lectured, laughed, or, most important, betrayed a secret. At this moment, Catherine knew her mother would be overjoyed she was on a date with James. Annemarie had always said someday he would open his eyes and see Catherine as a woman, not just one of Bernard Gray’s daughters.

  Someday and an ex-wife later, Catherine still recalled the pain of her devastation when James had married a woman he’d met while attending law school at Tulane in New Orleans. Because her friendship with James had seemed so casual, Catherine had thought only her mother had known the unhappiness she hid beneath her smile the day the family attended James’s wedding at the beautiful New Orleans home of the bride’s family. Annemarie had squeezed Catherine’s hand when the beautiful dark-haired bride, Renée, walked down the aisle, and Annemarie had stayed close to her daughter during the reception, helping her keep up her façade of cheerfulness that the entire Gray family was not only attending the wedding but also spending a few days in one of their favorite cities.

  The first year of the marriage had seemed peaceful. The next year had been a bit bumpy, according to the local gossips. At the beginning of the third year, Renée told anyone who would listen she was miserable with workaholic James, she couldn’t stand his overbearing parents, she hated the dullness of l
ife in Aurora Falls, and she would not bear the three children James wanted. In October, Renée had left town so fast she seemed to vanish in a puff of smoke.

  Afterward, a stony-faced James wouldn’t talk about Renée at all, but his mother told friends she had gotten in touch with Renée’s parents, who claimed she had not returned to her home in New Orleans—she’d merely called them a week before her departure from Aurora Falls and told them she was getting a divorce. Her behavior infuriated her staunch Catholic parents, who had told her she would not be welcomed back to their home. Apparently, in a fit of pique Renée had claimed she would never speak to them again.

  When the news reached Annemarie, she’d hugged Catherine in unashamed jubilation. “James will be hurt for a while, but mostly he’ll be humiliated,” Annemarie had told Catherine. “When he emerges from his fog of misery, he’ll see who has been right under his nose for years!” She’d paused. “Honestly, I think Renée must have cast some magic spell on him. When I looked in her eyes at the reception, I knew she was wrong for him. James has intelligence, depth, and a warm, kind soul. She was pretty but predatory and cold to her bones.”

  “Are you cold?” James asked.

  Catherine’s gaze flashed to him. “What did that mean?”

  James tossed Catherine a startled look. “I’m comfortable, but is the car warm enough for you? What did you think I meant?”

  “I thought…oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking about you.” Catherine closed her eyes and wondered if she could have said anything ruder. “I’m sorry, James. That came out wrong. I’m jumpy tonight. Marissa is covering the party for the newspaper and she was running late, as usual, so she took off in her little convertible sports car, which she’ll drive too fast. The weather is getting worse and I’m worried to death about her.”

  “It’s sweet of you to care so much,” James said softly, then more heartily, “Don’t worry about her, Catherine. She’ll be fine.” He smiled ruefully at Catherine. “I thought you were already wondering how you’d get through a whole evening with me.”

  Are you crazy? Going to this party with you is my dream come true, Catherine almost burst out, but took a breath. “I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time, James. I’m pleased you invited me to join you.” I sounded like a character from a Victorian novel, Catherine thought in frustration. She tried again: “James, I’m sorry I seem so strange tonight. I’m a worrier by nature and maybe because Mom died such a short time ago I’m especially overprotective of my sister now. She’s impetuous, the risk taker, the live wire in the family.”

  James grinned at Catherine and she thought she saw a shade of relief in his dark eyes. “Then she’ll fit right in at the party. Last year’s turned out to be a bash. Evelyn Addison had a bit too much eggnog and did her rendition of My Heart Will Go On at the grand piano. Twice. And Evelyn put her heart in the song. If Céline Dion had heard her, she would have dropped dead in horror.”

  Catherine giggled, picturing Evelyn, whose grande dame act fell to pieces after too many drinks. Her husband usually kept an eagle eye on her to prevent such scenes, but someone must have cornered Wilfred. James went on, “As a dramatic conclusion to the party, Wilfred Addison the Fourth, Evelyn’s pride and joy, put his very drunk twenty-seven-year-old self behind the wheel of his car, pushed hard on the accelerator, and rammed into the rear of Harmon Siders’s Ford—his first new car in fifteen years.

  “Harmon had been bidding his host good night at the door, but when he saw what had happened he came roaring down the porch steps threatening to beat the living daylights out of young Will. The way he moved, you would have never guessed Harmon is in his eighties. He bashed his cane twice on Will’s door before anyone could stop him. Young Master Will just sat cowering in the car looking like a little boy waiting for his mother to rescue him.”

  By now, Catherine had bent forward, lost in laughter and completely free of her self-consciousness, which she knew had been James’s intention. “My God,” she gasped. “Mom wanted to spend last Christmas in Baltimore with her only sister and I’m glad we did that for her, but I’m sorry I missed all the fun at the annual Addison party!”

  “I noticed you weren’t there,” James said casually. “I only came because Dad insisted. I didn’t even bring a date. I was sort of hoping I might happen to meet up with you. Of course, you would have had a date, but maybe you would have taken pity on a poor, lonely guy who had to come to a party with his parents. I felt like a fifteen-year-old….” James’s voice trailed off. He gently lifted his foot from the accelerator, carefully slowing the car on the icy road, and leaned forward, peering grimly through the snow-smeared windshield.

  Catherine frowned, seeing the blurry flash of lights. She asked in a small voice full of dread, “What’s wrong?”

  “Damn this weather!” James swore softly. “There’s been a wreck.”

  Chapter 2

  1

  Wake up, sleepyhead. I’ve made blueberry pancakes. Your father and Catherine will eat all of them if you don’t get out of bed and run to the kitchen.

  “Run…run to kitchen. Pancakes. Have to run—”

  Marissa tried to roll off the bed, but something held her tightly at the waist. When she struggled, the pressure increased. Slowly she opened her eyes to a strange world where white confetti fell all around her. She blinked several times and peered through the confetti. Beams of blurry light revealed tall columns with thin white arms reaching into the night. She let out a whimper of rising hysteria as she saw what seemed to be strings circling around her, moving swiftly, scraping against the windows, wrapping her in an icy cobweb cage.

  “No! No! No!”

  Marissa slapped her hands over her mouth, cutting off what she somehow knew were useless screams. Quiet. She must be quiet, she told herself. She must be quiet and think. Her father’s words came back to her: Reason is always more useful than panic. How many times had he repeated that wisdom to her and Catherine? Enough for Marissa to remember it now.

  She closed her eyes and tried to draw deep breaths, but she could only take in small breaths of the cold, stinging air. After a few moments, Marissa opened her eyes and forced herself to stare at the strings she’d thought were entwining her in a cage of ice. They weren’t strings—they were long, skinny tree twigs and lengthy bare vines. A strong gust of wind set them wildly flaying her car and lashing at the windows as if they wanted entrance. The noise was unsettling, but Marissa managed to keep her nerves somewhat steady, although she still didn’t know where she was or what had happened.

  Marissa dropped her hands from her face to her lap, where they landed on a piece of limp but strong white nylon or plastic. Several spots of dark liquid splattered the material, one drop falling as she watched. She ran a sore tongue around the inside of her mouth and tasted coppery liquid. It had also spread warm and plentiful on her upper lip before more dripped onto her lap. She gingerly touched her face. Blood spreading from a sore tongue, blood running from her painful nose. Marissa decided she’d bitten her tongue and the discharge of an air bag, now lying deflated in her lap, had broken her nose. At last her mind cleared and she realized she’d had a car wreck.

  Her body slanted hard to the right. Marissa forced herself to make another calm measurement and decided the car must be tilted about ninety degrees. She ran the palm of her cold, bare hand over her abdomen to find a length of sturdy nylon webbing holding her in place and another crossing her chest. Seat belts. They had saved her life. Now she needed her cell phone to call for help….

  Except she’d put the phone in her gold clutch purse, which lay on the backseat, its rhinestone clasp winking faintly in the glow her headlights cast around the car. Marissa stretched her arm toward the backseat but couldn’t reach her purse. Tears rose in her eyes. The seat belts had locked.

  The car let out an ominous creak and she stopped moving, even breathing. Her tears dried as her panic flared. Certainly the truck driver would call in the incident, Marissa thought, trying to calm
down. He would. He definitely would—

  If he’d seen it. She’d already passed the front of his truck when she went into a spin. But what if he was the type who was more interested in meeting a deadline than getting into a mess with the police over some woman driving erratically? What if he was the kind who just didn’t care? What if he only wanted to get to a warm motel room, kick off his shoes, and watch television?

  “Stop it!” Marissa told herself aloud. Her headlights were on. The highway wasn’t deserted. Someone driving on Falls Way would look down the riverbank and see the lights. Help would come. She must believe that or she’d start screaming and kicking and completely lose what good wits she had left.

  I’ll think about what happened, she told herself. I’ll concentrate on every detail of what caused this…situation. I won’t think about how I’ll get out of it; I’ll think about how I got in it. That’s what Dad—ever-sensible Dad—would tell me to do.

  First, what had caused her to wreck? Had she slid into another car? Turning as far to the left as her neck would allow her, she saw no car. Had she lost control and crashed into that useless piece of guardrail? She shut her eyes tightly, trying to remember. No, she’d been driving slowly, so slowly….

  Her eyes snapped open. I saw something on the road and I tried to dodge it by…by how? I pulled into the other lane, but there was a semitruck, for God’s sake, and I swerved back to my lane and slid into the guardrail and then—

  Tap. Tap. Tap!

  Marissa jerked her head to the right and struggled for breath. A white blur at the window sharpened into the long face Marissa had seen on the highway. Gaping black eyes dominated inhumanly pallid skin—eyes seemingly sunken too far back into the eye sockets to belong to anyone alive. Three painted black tears trailed down the right side of the face, the third one beside the gray lips. Marissa was clearheaded enough to know it was a mask with long dark and white hair escaping from beneath the hood—hair rough, tangled, and dry, the hair of a long-dead corpse.