Claire’s illness changed everything. She knew I was writing a story for her and I knew I could not run with the plot as it stood. So, my beautiful ghostly tragedy became a fight to save my character from the destructive path she’d set herself upon … and the plot did thicken!
In the Limbo
of Luxury
IT WAS THE COLD that woke her. An icy film prevented her eyelids from opening and only with a concerted effort did they part to a squint.
The sun was up and its light reflected off the surrounding thick, white blanket with blinding intensity. The windscreen was shattered and snow from the rockface she’d careered into had cascaded down on to the smashed bonnet of her vehicle. The build-up of ice had piled in through the void in the shattered glass and was tumbling into her lap. Fortunately, the rockface had held firm on impact — she could have had worse than ice piled in her lap.
‘Oh Christ … I’m alive,’ Riane mumbled, as flashes of the accident replayed themselves with disturbing clarity.
It had been her fault. She shouldn’t have had those drinks with lunch, or at the least she could have considered staying the night at the little hotel, instead of pushing on into the highlands as evening fell, and in such dreadful weather. Listening to the locals tell ghost stories, time had got away with her. Intent on sticking to her holiday schedule, Riane wanted to make it to the coast this night and that meant braving the winding highland road.
‘Young women go missing on that road at night,’ the barman had told her, straight-faced and sombre.
‘And have done since before this village even existed.’ The local historian added his two cents’ worth. ‘Some bodies have been found in pieces at the base of mountain cliffs, or frozen stiff at ruins and sacred sites … others have never been found at all.’
‘And men have never gone missing, I suppose?’ Riane had scoffed at their obvious attempt to frighten her into taking a room for the night. When all the old blokes at the bar shook their heads in unison, perplexed by the mystery, Riane had been forced to restrain her laughter.
‘There are ghosts a-plenty wandering about out there and the mist plays tricks in the dark.’ The barman took a final stab at a night’s rental, and although his claim had, admittedly, sent a shiver up Riane’s spine, she had decided to press on. The old men had been more creepy than any old road at night, in her opinion.
If she had not allowed herself to be so drawn into their yarn spinning, she probably wouldn’t have imagined herself into this mess. Riane had been fiddling around trying to light a cigarette, when she’d glanced up to see the oncoming headlights. She’d swerved and got into this dire predicament to avoid hitting the oncoming car, which had swerved off into the rockface on the other side of the road and burst into flames.
‘What friggin’ car?’ she cursed, pushing down on the handle of her door, and with a great shove, it creaked open.
There was no debris on the other side of the road. Had she imagined the whole thing? Or had she crossed paths with one of the local ghosts?
Riane did her best not to panic when her legs wouldn’t move of their own accord. There was the hope that they were only numb from the blanket of snow that covered them. Using both her hands, she moved her legs one at a time by lifting them around into position. Her woollen gloves were soaked through and movement of her frozen limbs sent waves of pins and needles through the disturbed body parts. When her legs emerged from their burial free of mutilations, Riane was most relieved. Using the car as leverage, she pulled herself up to a standing position and was doubly pleased to discover that her spine hadn’t been damaged either, just chilled.
‘Yahoo!’ She jumped into the air to be sure everything was functioning correctly and was heartened to discover she was A-okay. ‘Dry clothes,’ she stammered aloud, in the hope of defrosting her face and stopping her teeth from chattering.
Her suitcase was in the undamaged boot of the car. The hatch door provided shelter from the falling snow while Riane stripped off her wet attire and pulled on as many layers as she could find and still move. The sandshoes she used while driving were replaced by her dry hiking boots and several pairs of woollen socks, which did wonders for defrosting her frozen feet and ankles; adding a woollen scarf, balaclava, beanie and dry leather gloves, Riane felt herself ready to go find some help.
These roads were not well used in the heart of the cold season. In fact, Riane hadn’t passed a single vehicle since she’d left the village yesterday before sunset. This made her encounter with the phantom car doubly strange, now that she was sober enough to consider it. In the split-second view she’d had of the vehicle, it had appeared to be some sort of vintage sports car.
‘Now who would take an old sports car out on these roads at this time of year?’ She found it hard to believe her own recollection.
According to her informants, everyone in these parts would be well dug in for winter, and if they weren’t going to find her, then Riane thought she’d best go and find them.
The contents of her bag had been scattered in the crash and then covered in snow, but Riane managed to dig out her purse, her passport, her cigarettes and lighter. She gave up hunting for her mobile phone and returned her frozen fingers to the warmth of her glove. ‘Damn thing’s probably dead or out of range anyway,’ she justified, managing to control her growing anxiety at not being able to locate her lifeline to civilisation. ‘If I just stick to the road, I’m bound to get where I’m going.’ She persuaded herself to ignore the ghost stories of the locals, which were replaying over and over in her mind as she set off on her trek.
Walking along the highland road was pleasant enough whilst the sun shone in the sky, and the views were spectacular.
Great mountains of white rose and fell all around her for as far as the eye could see. Riane could have been the one person alive on earth, for not a hint of civilisation intruded on the landscape — even the road could only be defined by the piles of snow that lined each side of it.
In the afternoon, storm clouds gathered, and the wind whipped up with an icy vengeance to make the journey more challenging. Neither a car nor another being had been spied all day, and there had been no sign to say that she was nearing the coast.
‘I should have stayed with the car … dug out my phone …’ She stammered out the words through her chattering teeth. ‘What the hell was I thinking!’ she screamed, hoping her anger might warm her and speed up her freezing limbs.
Thankfully, the open moorland of the high mountains had given way to a forest-lined road and the trees served to give her some shelter from the brewing storm. The day was fast becoming as dark as night; when night did descend it would be as black as pitch. Suddenly it wasn’t so hard to imagine how all those young women had gone missing — with no light to see by, Riane felt she could easily lose the road and wander off a cliff. If she stood still, she’d freeze to death!
‘Some great options you’ve left yourself. If someone doesn’t come along before nightfall, you’re stuffed!’ Riane forced herself to walk faster, although her legs were becoming less and less responsive. Her tears warmed her face momentarily before the wind chill factor froze them to ice. ‘I’m not ready to die yet,’ she mumbled. ‘I haven’t fathomed the meaning of life … or found true love, or figured out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing with my life! So what was it all for, if I never discover these things?’ She spoke aloud as if reasoning with God — whom she’d not contacted in many a year. ‘I’m a good person,’ she appealed, not sounding quite as positive about the statement as she would have liked. ‘Okay, so I’m a bit self-centred,’ she admitted. ‘And I’ve slept around a bit … so what? Can I help it that you gave me a weakness for tall, dark, foreign men?’
If the truth be known it was this weakness that had ultimately landed Riane in this predicament, because the reason she was so eager to stick to her holiday schedule was that, if she did, she would cross paths with a charming love interest that she’d met back in Edinburgh. Geoff was a tour gu
ide and in two days time they could be reunited for a romantic highland interlude; or at least that’s how he’d described it.
‘No dirty weekend is worth this,’ she puffed, sickened by her own desire to be desired. ‘Goddamn it all!’ she hollered as she came to a standstill, for she could barely see the road in front of her any more — the sun was setting. ‘How many times do I have to have this same pathetic talk with myself … I do not need a man in my life to be complete!’ Riane ventured to pull her hand out of her glove for just long enough to retrieve a cigarette from her packet and light it. Sucking back the smoke and icy air through the woollen balaclava that almost covered her mouth was not as pleasing as expected. So, this is it … my last meaningful experience, she thought. ‘Don’t listen to me God, I’m full of shit … what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath, a good man and a bottle of port.’ Her request inspired a groan of delight as she pictured the scenario in her mind, although the warmth of her vision was but a haunting and fleeting tease to her in this grim reality. As she dragged on the cigarette again, Riane noted what appeared to be a parting in the trees across the way. ‘Is that a road, or a driveway even?’ Riane’s heart began beating madly in her chest as she scampered over to investigate. The daylight was nearly gone and the sky had begun rumbling.
There was most definitely a road cut through the trees. It has to lead somewhere, she reasoned in her mind, as her mouth was nearly frozen shut. What if it leads to a lookout? she cautioned herself. But the truth was, she just didn’t care any more. Rescue or death; whichever brought relief from the cold would be welcome.
Darkness descended and Riane whimpered quietly as she shuffled along the snow-covered track in the forest. Fortunately, the snow piled along each side of the clearway let her know when she was heading off course.
‘I think I’m headed the right way to becoming another ghost story in these parts.’ She attempted to amuse herself, but she was getting beyond hope, and was literally freezing to death. Her bleary eyes caught sight of a flicker of light, which quickly vanished again into darkness. ‘What was that?’ She moved back to check and found her eyes had not deceived her.
There was a light in the distance. The road she was following must not have been entirely straight, and thus the forest had blocked her view of the light source. ‘Oh, God, please make that light be coming from any form of shelter.’ Riane sped up her shuffle, hoping she wouldn’t die before she reached the only beacon in the harsh, black landscape.
Around a bend in the road, Riane was relieved of the worry of falling off a cliff, for lit up before her was a manor fit for a queen. ‘Oh, thank you, God,’ she cried when she found the gate unlocked.
‘Must be somebody home.’ She encouraged herself to keep going, although her legs were beginning to fail her. Next thing Riane knew, she was face down in the snow. ‘Get up!’ she cried. The rest was blissful and her body longed to take its repose. She raised her head to find the front door was within her sight. ‘Come on,’ she whimpered, when her body would not respond to her command and the wild winds whipped over her, covering her with icy flakes. ‘Fuck this,’ she hollered in the face of death and managed to roll on to her back. ‘I will not die here.’ Riane rolled on to all fours and staggered upright. ‘All right,’ she clapped her hands once to acknowledge her efforts, and then stumbled on all fours up the manor stairs. ‘I made it,’ she mumbled. She clung to the large doorknocker, exhausted from the effort. Her head was spinning as she began pounding the knocker against the solid timber doors, her enthusiasm waning after a couple of minutes.
She turned and leaned against the barrier, admiring how pretty the snow looked dancing around the gas lanterns that lit the pathway to the house. Riane didn’t notice that she’d slid to a seat on the ground and was only vaguely aware when the door opened and she dropped completely to the ground with a thud.
‘Good heavens … are you lost, girl?’ a blurry figure asked.
He was male, she could tell from the voice, which was rich with a Scottish accent. But Riane’s eyes would not focus; they wanted to sleep. ‘Save me,’ she appealed, as her mind seized control of her suffering and she blanked out.
Out through the windshield the night is dark and the falling snow looks like sparkling stars during a jump into hyper-space as the flakes lit by the headlights speed toward the vehicle.
Her hand rummages through her bag; she glances aside only for a moment.
Then, returning her eyes to the icy roadway, the headlights of the oncoming car blind her.
Both cars swerve violently and headlights illuminate the rockface for a second before impact.
After the deafening jolt, many minutes pass before the windscreen shatters.
A woman, as pale as the snow around her and dressed in a tattered wedding gown, is perched on the bonnet, peering inside at Riane. Her dark hair and hollow eyes command attention. ‘Men are deceivers,’ she hisses. ‘Cursed is the woman who trusts her heart to a man’s safekeeping.’
‘Huh!’ Riane woke with a start to find herself submerged in a warm tub and still dressed in her innermost layer of clothes. Her opulent surroundings were like something out of a fairytale. She’d never imagined a bath, or a bathroom, so grand or beautiful as the one she currently occupied.
‘Rest easy now.’
A hand touched one of her arms and she followed it up to discover a tall, dark-haired man, who was smiling broadly at her. ‘My name is Marcus MacCloud. It was my doorstep you stumbled upon and I have your welfare safe in hand.’
He was young and handsome, with the fresh, intelligent face of a member of the gentry. He was attired in warm, casual clothes of good quality, that were not too dressy, not too flash.
Riane smiled, amused that her greatest wish had been granted. She had the bath and a gorgeous man. ‘Now all I need is a glass of port,’ she joked to herself, half-delirious and believing she must have died and gone to heaven.
‘We have everything here.’ Marcus placed a port glass in her hand and filled it. ‘Go on. It will warm you on the inside.’ He encouraged Riane to drink, but all she could manage was to giggle hysterically.
However, a few sips did wonders in bringing Riane back to reality, and she relaxed upon realising that the fairytale was all true. ‘I’m sorry to have collapsed on your doorstep … I realise, in retrospect, that I should have stayed with my car until help came.’
‘I don’t know if you would have fared any better. Hereabouts, people don’t do a whole lot of travelling in the heart of winter,’ he explained, although Riane thought he was just trying to make her feel a little less like an idiot. ‘You’d be a tourist, I gather?’
Riane nodded, ashamed that it was so obvious. ‘Only a tourist could be so daft …’ She guessed what he was thinking.
‘Nay,’ he was amused by her view. ‘I can tell by the accent. What is it? American?’
‘It’s Australian, actually,’ she informed him, and Marcus gave a nod, sporting a vague expression of comprehension. ‘My name is Riane Wolfe and I’m greatly obliged to you Marcus, for dragging me back from death’s door.’ She held out a hand to him and he shook it.
‘My pleasure, Riane,’ he conceded. ‘After all, it’s not every day that death drops a beautiful woman at my door.’
Riane could hardly believe it — she was blushing like a schoolgirl. She knew she was attractive and, being well versed in the game of love, such a comment could usually have been easily brushed off or twisted to her best advantage, but in this instance she was too deeply flattered to play games and couldn’t think of a single witty response. His deep blue eyes were like magnets that seemed to stare right into her soul and she shivered violently.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marcus stood up, ‘that water must be rather cool by now. There are some dry clothes in the dressing room.’ He pointed through an archway, then backed up to the door. ‘The fire is on,’ he advised her, after a pause. ‘I’ll be back within the hour to see how you’re faring.’
‘Thank you!’ S
he stressed her appreciation, wanting to say more, but before the words would come he had gone.
Naked and submerged in a fresh hot bath, Riane felt one hundred percent improved, although a chill clung to her bones. All her digits seemed to be in working order and, surprisingly, free of frostbite. A bump on her head had bled streaks into her long, auburn hair, freshly dyed a deep shade only days before. Riane’s hair was naturally deep brown, but she liked a little more colour than God had granted. Nevertheless, Riane decided blood red was a tad outrageous and rubbed it out.
Though she was constantly told she was too skinny and that she ate like a bird, her lack of appetite had served her well today, as she was used to running on empty and a pack of cigarettes. A rumble from her stomach let her know that she was really hungry now though.
Dried and robed, Riane entered the dressing room where the fire was roaring in the fireplace and a tray of tea, sandwiches and cake awaited.
‘Make a wish,’ Riane muttered in quiet delight, and planted herself in front of the tray to partake of its bounty.
As she ate and took in the elegance of her saviour’s home, Riane began to fancy that perhaps destiny had led her to Marcus. After all, if she hadn’t crashed, she wouldn’t be in this fine predicament. Her good mood dissipated as the thought of the crash brought to mind the strange waif-like woman from her sleep who had warned her away from all men.
A shiver ran through Riane’s being and she wriggled her body as if shaking off the unwanted memory, for it clashed with the wonderful ‘Lady of the Manor’ visions she was having.
The door opening startled her.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Marcus chuckled softly and immediately Riane felt safe and assured.