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Get Away

A short story

By Chloë J.Published about a year ago 14 min read
3
Get Away
Photo by Blake Carpenter on Unsplash

Lois

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. I kept hoping that the car would take one of the treacherous curves of the mountain road too swiftly and send us careening into the small city of snow drifts below. No doubt it would liven up what was otherwise sure to be an incredibly dull weekend devoid of intelligent human conversation. Perhaps such a calamity would increase his appreciation of me, of all that I've done for him. You hear stories about such things all the time, a wife diagnosed with cancer, awakening her husband to the fact that he rather does love her after all, or a rich man robbed at gunpoint who survives the ordeal and subsequently donates large sums of money to charitable causes. Danger has a way of lending perspective to life. I fear Mark is in rather desperate need of perspective.

He sat in the back of the car, refusing to even speak to me the entirety of the drive. A glance back now and again revealed no change in his posture, leaning slightly against the window and staring sullenly out of it. He'd even gone as far as to cry at one point, albeit silently to himself, and briefly, but still. Endlessly ungrateful, that one. I would bet good money that he didn't even notice the ethereal beauty of the landscape as we continue to forge our way up the mountain. Every tree wearing blankets of velvety snow like a sea of dowager women in white mink coats, the faint icy blue ribbon of the frozen river barely visible through the snow-sleeping forest, flashes of blurry color here and there as animals late to hibernation brave the cold. It looks as if we have stepped into a postcard lauding the merits of the remote northern wild, much like the advert that drew me to the cabin in the first place. And Mark, no doubt, isn't appreciating a single minute of the breathtaking view. Sulking, most likely.

Though I can see the cabin through the trees, farther up the mountain, it is a laborious process to reach it. Switchbacks have us doubling back again and again, hindered by the snow that falls at an increasingly heavy rate. I have to remind myself that, while tempting, driving us off the mountainside would only bring a brief feeling of satisfaction before spiraling into something far too unpredictable. Though still tempting. If only just to shock the shell of a man behind me into some expression of feeling, anything reminiscent of the man I fell so madly in love with. I'd settle for fear, I really would. Better by far than this wretched emptiness. Absolutely infuriating. And selfish. Especially contrasted with the intelligent, suave man he had been. The man I'd chosen. Not this fairy changeling.

My restless fingers tap the steering wheel, foot inching towards the accelerator-but no, too many risks. And, I remind myself, it will all be put right this weekend. We both just need some time away, just the two of us, and it will all go back to how it is meant to be. When the road allows me to, I glance back once more. He still hasn't moved. I roll my eyes but restrain the sigh fighting to escape from my lips. For an engineer, a man of logic and reason, her certainly can be melodramatic.

I'd had two requirements for selecting a location for this weekend. Romantic, obviously, and remote. Especially remote. The last thing Mark needed was to have a village full of shopgirls and lonely mums to be tempted by. He's never been any good at resisting temptation, much to my indignation and shame. And he has the nerve to sit crying in the backseat as if he is the bloody victim, as if he hasn't made me look like a fool, time and again. Infuriating. But normal, I remind myself. Women have always been longsuffering and stronger than men. Men just get all the credit.

Mark

She hadn't tried making conversation for the last hour. Small mercies, and all that. Though he wasn't sure he'd define her various declarations throughout the drive to be attempts at conversation. She'd pointed out a few landmarks as they'd sped past, saying she found them a bit small. When they started driving into the snowstorm, she'd remarked "Lovely weather we're having, eh?" and then chortled to herself, as if she found herself extremely clever. He'd mustered no response, and she'd slowly lapsed into silence. Unthinkably, he'd allowed himself the indulgence of a few tears slipping down his face, hoping against hope that she didn't notice. He wasn't sure if his tears would enrage her or endear him to her, and he was in no rush to find out. He certainly knew what his late father would think at his complete lack of a stiff upper lip.

For hours now he'd stared out the window at the passing landscape. At first, he recognized the villages they passed through, the crumbling castles in the distance. After a while, he still had a decent guess at where they were, but over the past forty minutes their surroundings had become completely unfamiliar to him. She hadn't bothered to tell him where they were going, and he hadn't asked. Simply watched as villages became more and more scarce, and as the car began to groan its way up a mountainside. Perhaps that meant they were nearing their destination. Fo better or worse.

A few times, when he was sure she wasn't looking, he'd paused his vigil by the window to steal glances at her, always careful not to look too far to the left side of the car. He didn't know what, exactly, he was looking for. A glimpse of the woman he'd first met, he supposed. The talented, charming blonde who, while not exactly beautiful, had a way about her that was arresting. Her eyes were piercing blue, but small, her face somehow both striking and plain. At first, he'd found her utterly enchanting. Now he had absolutely no clue what he had seen in her to begin with. What he was quite certain of was that he hated her. He hadn't hated anyone before; he'd thought he had, but she had proven him wrong. Beneath the emptiness that the rage and pain of the past day had left, he let his hatred grow. He suspected he would need it for whatever came next.

Lois

As we drew ever closer to the cabin, my excitement grew. And, if I was being honest, my nervousness. If I had to guess, I'd say we were only one or two switchbacks away from reaching the cabin at last. Judging by the smoke chugging happily out of the chimney, the host had left a fire for us in the fireplace, as promised. She'd also left it well-stocked with food and drinks enough for the entire weekend, so we wouldn't need to go anywhere.

I tried to soothe the ragged edges of my nerves. I had put together a lovely weekend for us both; it was going to be perfect and romantic and everything I needed it to be. It had to. Still, I glanced back with increasing frequency to check that Mark was still there, as if he'd somehow managed to disappear into the snowy mountains.

Truth be told, as much as I knew he had no right to be cross with me, I worried still that he was. Even though I was the one who had gone round to his house to surprise him with this lovely trip and caught him very cozy indeed with his voluptuous brunette. I'd seen her before; usually just glimpses from a distance, here and there. As much as I hated to admit it, she was even prettier in person. Far prettier than me. I was the wronged party, I knew that, and yet I found a part of myself wishing we were still far from the cabin, as if I could prolong the confrontation to come. Yes, I had reacted rather poorly, but is there any proper way to react when you walk in on the man you love with someone else? I was such a pathetic creature, worried that he would be angry with me when I was the one who'd been cheated on. His fault, his fault, his fault, I chanted in my head, over and over. I may have even said it out loud. I hope I didn't. The last thing Mark needed was another reason to think me mad.

Mark

She started muttering to herself, though Mark couldn't quite make out what she was saying. He was quite sure he didn't want to know. They seemed to be reaching their destination, as they'd practically reached the top of the mountain and the only structure he'd spied was a cabin. There was nowhere else they could be going, unless she planned to go past the cabin itself and into the woods. As much as he wished to hold only to the hatred seething in his heart, Mark felt a creeping sense of dread start to accompany it. The journey had been a reprieve of sorts, and despite himself, he felt apprehensive. He tried to shove down his sense of foreboding, tried to muster only hatred and emptiness and the security that came with them. He also tried very hard not to think about the fact that he hadn't seen another living person, or evidence of civilization whatsoever, for the past hour or so. No doubt that had been intentional on her part. He focused instead with renewed vigor on the task he'd been trying to accomplish since they'd left, the task he had thus far successfully concealed with his morose demeanor. He'd managed to unbuckle himself fairly quickly after they'd left, but he'd ensured to keep the buckle itself wedged between his back and the seat so he would still look like he was secured. The buckle was no blade, but the dull metal was better than nothing. Slowly but consistently, he'd been sawing at his bound hands with the metal, and while progress was slow it was unmistakably working. She'd tied the knots brutally tightly, but rudimentarily, and he knew if he could just loosen either the knots or the rope itself, he'd stand a better chance at removing his binds entirely. That is, if he had enough time.

Lois

At last, after the better part of a day, we pull into the steep driveway of the cabin. I put the car into park but can't quite bring myself to shut the engine off. Mark doesn't move or speak, head still stubbornly fixated as far as it can possibly be from the left side of the car. As if that will do any good now. For a long while, we just sit there in silence. He gives no indication as to the direction of his thoughts. I wonder if we are thinking about the same thing. Likely not. I let my own mind wander.

"Do you mind?" he asked, startling me out of a reverie. At first, I only blinked at him, at the roguishly handsome man smiling disarmingly at me and gesturing towards the empty chair. I don't say anything; I can't. As terribly cliche as it is, he has completely taken my breath away. I watch, helplessly as his smile falters a bit and he stammers on, "It's just my mates were meant to come but they haven't, and it just looked like you might be a bit lonely is all...I swear I don't normally do this, I just, I've heard you sing here now a few times and I just thought we could, I dunno, have a drink together or something? Please send me off if I'm intruding, I didn't mean..." he trails off as I shake my head, smiling, having finally mastered myself. "Seats yours," I say, hoping I sound somehow beguiling and nonchalant. Thoughts start pinging around in my head. He's seen me before, he remembers me, I make him nervous. I am thrilled and I have no idea whatsoever what to do. He does though, and he soon puts me at ease. By the second round of drinks we are chatting like old school chums. After a while, he spots his mates and makes his apologies. He sets money on the table and promises to call, and I blush and smile prettily. I didn't realize until the next day he'd never asked for my number.

Mark

Mark doesn't know how long they've been sitting in the driveway for. She is staring out the window with an unfocused look on her face, much like the night he'd first met her when he'd startled her out of some sort of daydream. He had been thrilled at first to be speaking to her, but very quickly he'd come to the conclusion that she was not a woman he wanted to get to know more. Something had just been off, her manner forced and robotic, yet interwoven with a frenetic energy that he couldn't quite place. He'd made his excuses as quickly as he could and left. And as it turned out he had been completely, utterly right. Mark barely suppressed a hysterical laugh. Not for the fist time throughout the day, he closed his eyes, going willingly to the horrific memory that had been playing on repeat in his head. A fitting punishment.

Annie had wanted to stay in, so they had. He'd cooked dinner, she tidied up, and afterwards they'd watched a film, though neither had paid much attention. He'd told her often that she had him completely wrapped around her little finger, and she'd always laugh, but he was never joking. She made him happy. Happier than he'd ever been. She was beautiful and clever and though it was still so new, he was already surreptiously doing research on engagement rings.

They'd been on the couch when the front door opened. Lois had been there, in the doorway, looking stricken. It had taken him a few moments, precious moments to place her as the woman he'd briefly met in the pub months ago. For the life of him he couldn't understand what she was doing at his house. Annie looked at him, fear and confusion on her face. But Lois spoke first. "How could you?" she cried. And his brain, his stupid, slow, uncomprehending brain, had been utterly unable to process any of it in time. Not Lois, the odd woman he barely knew. Not Annie, starting to rise from the couch, backing away from him. Not the gun in Lois' hand, not the deafening crack as it had fired, not Annie crumpling to the floor, not the pain as Lois pistol whipped him before the blessed darkness.

Lois

I know I should cut the engine, get us inside, but I'm not quite sure how to. I still have the gun, and he's tied tightly enough, but I haven't the foggiest idea of how the logistics will actually work. In my head, when I'd planned everything, I wouldn't have needed to use the gun at all. Or the rope. They were backup measures; safety precautions I'd assumed I wouldn't have to use. I'd wanted him to want to come. But he'd been with her, and things had admittedly gotten rather out of hand. She certainly complicated matters. As did his disproportionate reaction. I squared my shoulders and shook my head to clear it. I may have overreacted, but the fact remains it was his fault. He was the one with another woman, and he was the one who kept his spare key underneath the planter like an absolute fool.

I raise my hand to adjust the rearview mirror, so I can see the left backseat, and what lies there. Mark stiffens, and though he refuses to look up, I know he is tracking my every move. Slumped over in the back, looking like she is sleeping (except for the bullet hole right through her once-pretty brown doe eye), is Mark's other woman. Anne. Though he calls her Annie. Called. I will have to deal with her at some point. We are remote enough that I should be able to get rid of the body without anyone seeing. For tonight, though, I think I'll leave her in the car. The frigid winter night should keep it cold enough so that she doesn't start rotting. She can wait. She will wait. Mark and I need to talk.

Mark

After some difficulty, Lois managed to march him inside the cabin. She checked the ropes binding his wrists, but only cursorily, failing to notice the progress he'd made on them. She still had the gun though, held tightly against his back. She'd left poor Annie in the car, in the cold, all alone. Mark doubted it would be too long before he joined Annie, and as much as he wished he could feel noble about going bravely to his death, even now, he simply did not want to die. Especially not at the hands of a madwoman.

Lois sat him down on a sofa in front of a merrily crackling fire. She set the gun on the table before her and heaved a great sigh before settling into a nearby armchair. Mark, hands still bound behind his back, worked as furiously as he could at the knots.

"You do know I didn't mean to hurt her, don't you darling? You just mean so much to me and when I saw you two together...oh I just couldn't bear it. I was only trying to show you how much I have done for you, for us-would it kill you to show a modicum of gratitude? I can forgive you, after all-"

Lois heard the rustling of untied ropes over the crackling of the fire right as Mark did. They both lunged for the gun.

Short Story
3

About the Creator

Chloë J.

Probably not as funny as I think I am

Insta @chloe_j_writes

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  • Jacquie Mayhornabout a year ago

    Love the suspense. At the beginning of this story I thought I was reading about a marriage unraveling. I was wrong. Dead wrong. Beautifully woven to keep the reader guessing. I wish the ending could have been drawn out. Poor Annie left in the cold. Kudos.

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