Gateway

I

Hit and Run

1.

Take a Chance

JAZZ REALIZED SHE WAS lost just as the rain began.

It had been one of those ‘seemed like a good idea at the time’ decisions.

How it had happened, she was not quite sure. She'd left the party in a hurry, overwhelmed by jet-lag, culture shock, and the too-heavy hands of a guy she'd just met. It wasn't until she was out on the road, in the middle of the night, that Jazz remembered all those movies: the ones where the girl goes alone into the woods and meets variously messy ends.

She wasn't exactly in the woods, to be honest. She was on one of those madly twisting English roads with no sidewalks and no way of knowing what was coming around the next bend. The fact that she'd left her coat and her cell phone in her cousin's car back at the party only added to the adventure of it all. And that's why she'd asked for plane tickets for graduation, wasn't it? Adventure? Independence? A chance to do something without her over-protective father in the background?

Jazz had her hood up over her dark hair, arms crossed in front of her, and was walking back the way she'd come. It was important that she not look intoxicated. In a pathetic attempt to show off her international flare, she’d had too much to drink at the party. But the alcohol and the house full of strangers had done something weird to her head. She'd had to get out, so she’d gone. She'd walked right out the front door without even bothering to look for her cousin, Sarah. A stroll on a quiet English country lane had seemed the perfect sobering-up recipe. No big deal for the metropolitan grownup Jazz was trying on for size.

She'd walked down the lane-way and followed the road over the hill. She remembered a house dark in sleep; she remembered a gate. Then, she had smartened up, turned around, and come back the way she had come. But time had slipped on her somehow, as it can in those moments between not-sober and sober. The walk back was taking a lot longer than the walk out had. She knew she couldn't be lost. There were no other roads out here, for God's sake. She'd gone one way, turned around and come back. There was no possible way she could be lost.

The night was deep. For someone raised in a city, the dark was unfamiliar, unfamiliar like the narrow, curved road and the trees curling tunnel-like on either side. The asphalt was a pale unfurling through the woods. It was quieter than she thought it should be. The only sounds were the scuff of her shoes on the road and the occasional skitter of a stone. Once, a flutter of movement in the trees made her jump. Axe-murderer! Jazz thought, then: wolf, which was worse, because it was much more likely.

The house had to be just around the next bend. She couldn't see well enough to run, and she had a sense about her that running would send her well into the panic she was beginning to feel. She pushed it away, filled herself with anger instead. Anger was a much more useful emotion because it kept her thinking about what to do next. It kept her thinking about who she could blame when she knew there was only herself. She walked faster, straining to see a glimmer of light through the trees which would tell her she was close, that she'd not somehow passed the narrow driveway in the dark, that she'd not somehow taken a wrong turn and was hurrying farther and farther away from the only person she knew in Surrey.

Sarah would notice that Jazz was gone. It had to have been forty minutes by now. Cool, sensible Sarah had not been drinking because she had to drive. Calm, rational Sarah would not have let her younger cousin take a walk alone, had said younger cousin bothered saying she was going. Sarah was going to freak, Jazz thought, and she began composing an honest-to-God apology as she walked around the next curve of the road, anticipating finding the driveway, and the house, and her worried cousin.

Jazz stopped. Something landed cold and hard in her stomach. Ahead, the road straightened and dropped into darkness. A coolness came up, smelling green and damp. She had not come this way. This was new. She was lost.

It began to rain.

A slow stupidity settled over her. Jazz stood in the rain. Her hand crept to the V of her sweater. She pulled out a skin-warm necklace, silver, with a circular pendant. Holding her mother's necklace was a nervous gesture, one she wasn't aware of. Jazz shook once, reflexively, and took a deep breath. She was absolutely sure: this was not the road she had taken. All unknowing in the dark, she had taken a wrong turn and it had brought her here. Wherever here was.

Now what?

She was pathetic. Second night into her holiday and she was well and truly lost. If she had her phone, she could call Sarah and everything would be fine. But there were no lights behind her, no driveways, nothing to indicate anyone was alive anywhere else in the world. Jazz looked down the road ahead. Maybe someone lived that way. Jazz grabbed that thought hard, let go of her mother's necklace, and walked down the hill in the rain.

She heard the wind in the trees first. It came up unexpectedly and the rain was driven at her back. She was soon soaked to the skin, getting cold, and there was no sign of anyone out here but her. It was like her whole world had been syphoned away. Jazz turned a slow circle as she walked. A road sign would be helpful, she thought. Even a plastic bag floating in the ditch would be nice.

She smelled snow.

There was a shadow on the road, moving fast. Her heart jumped as a wind roared past. Something big and hard hit her left shoulder, spinning her around and knocking her off her feet. Jazz landed with her arms under her; the pavement came up and slapped her, hard, on the side of the head.

A red dark rose up. It would be very easy to go there, but there was a voice saying you're lying in the road and a car hit you. These were two very important things. Jazz moved her right leg and found that it worked. She pulled her right arm out from under her. It worked, too, although there was a feeling of damp along her forearm. Her left shoulder hurt horribly, but it moved, and Jazz was able to sort out her tangle of limbs and get to her knees. She raised her hand to her head. There was a large bump there, above and behind her ear. Jazz got to her feet. She wobbled, tipped, but caught her balance.

Shit, she said. An echo in her ears made her voice ricochet wildly in her sinuses. It couldn't have been a car that hit her. It had been big, certainly, but not as big as a car. A motorcycle? There had been a sound, but her memory was skipping and stopping. Perhaps that was what a motorcycle sounded like. A rush. A whine. Something knocking her over and something black, but it gave, and flapped like cloth. A sail in the night.

Jazz was looking at something lumpish in the rain, black and hunched. Still and wetly glinting. It made a sound.

Jazz took a step back. As she did, the rain let up a bit and she saw a man lying on his side in the road. His shoe scraped the asphalt. He flung his arm up and out, snatching at the ground, rolling to his back. He cried out. A sob, cut short, and Jazz was rushing forward.

You okay? she asked.

Her voice sounded too loud, too normal for the night and the bruises on her arms and on her shoulder. Too loud for the bump on her head.

Are you okay? His eyes were dark in the pale sheet of his face. She knelt by him, took his hand and asked again. Are you alright? Can you talk?

He blinked up at her. Is everyone okay? he said.

Jazz looked at him blankly.

The others, are they okay?

Jazz thought of shadows and wind. It's just me. She added stupidly, I'm lost.

He was quiet a while. Then they're dead, he said, as if to himself.

He reached for her hand and she flinched back. Help me up, he said. There was something in his voice, something which said he knew what he was about. She let him have her hand. His was like ice. She realized as he sat up that he was no grown man, like she'd first thought, but a boy not much older than she was. He was clean-shaven, dark hair long and curling damply over his forehead. She heard his breath hiss through his teeth.

Are you hurt? she said. Did you get hit, too?

He twisted to the side and threw up. Jazz watched, a helplessness rising up in her. If only Dad were here. If only Sarah were here. I don't know what to do.

I think it was a motorcycle, Jazz said when he'd finished retching. It knocked me flat.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, took her hand again, and together, they got to their feet. They stood in the middle of the road. The rain had stopped. There was the sound of water moving through ditches. There was the sob of the wind. There was the movement of their breath. His caught, now and again, and he gradually let go of her and stood on his own.

Are you hurt? she said again.

He took a step, yelped, and clutched at her. My ankle, he said. He leaned over, let out a low sigh.

Can you walk?

No, he said after a moment. I don't think so.

Only, I don't know where we are. I'm lost. Did I already tell you?

He straightened, looked at her thoughtfully and nodded. Yeah, I think you did.

Do you know it around here? Jazz said. She knew she was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop. I was at a party with my cousin. Only, I went for a walk. I got turned around somehow.

He wasn't paying attention. He was looking up, watching the clouds pull away from the sky. Here and there, the stars came out and the road was a light grey ribbon in the night. It rose gradually before them in a straight line and then disappeared over the next hill. With a start, Jazz found herself staring at him. She thought he looked more lost than she was.

He turned from the sky. His eyes flickered, took in her torn hoodie and bruised face, the rest of her wet with rain and blood. You're hurt.

Jazz inspected her right arm. Just a scrape, I think, she said. And I bumped my head and maybe need a doctor, she thought. And I wish I was home.

I'm sorry, he said. He rubbed at his face with his hand. He was shaking.

Do you have a cell?

He looked at her and away. Um, no, he said.

There must be someone living down here, Jazz said. I need to find a phone I can use. Except for that motorcycle, no one's been by in ages.

He looked up and down the road. Let me try walking, he said. Jazz took his arm in both her hands. His solidity rang through her like a bell. She'd been walking this road longer than she thought.

He managed two shuffling steps. Just as it became clear to Jazz that he was not going to be walking anywhere for a while, he let out another frustrated cry and fell into her. She caught his weight, barely, and held him up. It took all her strength to keep him from falling. You tried, she said. He swore. Jazz said, If I can call my cousin, she'll come get me. She'll help you, too. If you want.

You go, then, he said. His voice was weightless. Jazz thought he might be in shock.

I'll come back for you, she said. Promise.

Fine, he said after a moment of weighing options. Fine.

She took his arm and laid it over her shoulder. Together, they hobbled to the side of the road. Jazz was staring at him again. He was not much taller than she was, although he was hunched over and probably taller than he seemed. He was certainly close to her age, and his black clothes draped over him strangely as if they'd been meant for someone else. They reached the side of the road, and as he tried to sit, he swayed and grabbed hold of her injured shoulder. Jazz sucked in her breath in a pained gasp.

Sorry, he said, the word coming out in a grunt as his bum hit the road.

It's okay, she said, because what else could she say? and he was hurting, too. I'll hurry, she told him. She began backing away, but there was something about him that made her want to stay. She could still feel the pressure of his hand on her shoulder; she could still feel the warmth of him. She didn't want to go.

Hey, he called out to her. I don't even know your name.

She was about to tell him. She was standing there, and he was watching her with dark, pained eyes. There was something about him, Jazz thought. She opened her mouth to tell him her name, but all of a sudden the thought was stripped away, replaced by a sense of warning. Of taking care. You going to give your name to some guy you just met?

Sarah, she said, although that was the name of her cousin. Sarah Huisen.

Sarah Huisen, he repeated. "Nice to meet you. I'm David.

He actually reached out to shake her hand, and he held it longer than he needed to, as if he was memorizing her.

She couldn't help it. It was impossible, but she had to ask. Do I know you? she blurted out, and immediately her face went hot.

He tried to smile, but it was a shallow thing. No, he said. You don't know me.

Yeah, Jazz said. Of course not. She took her hand from his. I’d better go.

So Jazz found herself on the road again, and it was a very different thing, stepping into the unknown when there was someone counting on you. She walked quickly, arms wrapped around herself for warmth, very aware of the young man behind her, injured in the dark. She felt suddenly, almost overwhelmingly, homesick. She had her mother's necklace in her hand again. The metal was almost hot in her hand. She pushed it back under her shirt. She'd wanted to come to England on her own. She'd wanted an adventure. Watch what you wish for.

There was a driveway.

Not much of one, that was sure. Jazz actually walked past it at first before going back for a second look. It was narrow, muddy from the rain, and the centre strip was almost knee-deep in grasses. Jazz looked at it dubiously. There was a light down there, and it was the first sign of a house she'd seen since she left the damn party. She glanced back the way she'd come. Somewhere, back there, that David guy was injured. He was counting on her. It was time to take a chance.

Uncertainly, Jazz left the road. The drive led through a small clump of trees, which opened up and dropped away to open areas on either side. It was quiet and creepy, but Jazz was tired, in pain and she just wanted to find a phone.

She glanced back to make sure she could still see the road. There was a twisting behind her, a shadow, poised on the road behind her. All at once she felt she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have. Her hand touched her necklace. Its warmth was a comfort.  She glanced back once or twice again as she walked. The shadow was still there. It stared steadily down the drive after her as she went. Stared? Yet now she thought about it, it did seem to be looking at her. And when she moved to the side of the driveway, it followed her. And when she had looked back just now, hadn't it taken a step toward her?

It was important that she run.

Jazz found herself off the drive and into the field before she knew what she was doing. There was a blaze behind her and the wind rushed up, bringing with it a sense of winter and wide, empty spaces. A spray of water hit her from behind, pushing her forward. Jazz stumbled, regained her footing, and ran. She pushed through a clump of thorny bushes, and there was a house, a confusion of windows and rooftops slanting off one another in all directions. Then she was out of the field and on a smooth expanse of grass. Coming up from the road, the wintry wind moaned through the trees. The sound became a beat. A pattern. Jazz thought she heard words. The wind was singing behind her. Say that again, Jazz thought. I almost understand.

Something smacked her on the shins and she fell. Shadows poured over her, icy and vast. Jazz held up one hand, the other clutching at her mother's necklace. Wind slid through her fingers, and died.

Abruptly, it was quiet. Jazz lowered her hand. She was lying on her stomach on the grass, her feet propped up by a low stone wall. Above her, the sky was clear. The Milky Way wove through the dark. Jazz exhaled, only vaguely aware she'd been holding her breath. It misted in front of her face.

Jazz sat up. She was shivering again. The shadow, whatever it was, was gone, leaving her with a feeling like ice had got in under her skin. Jazz stood up. The wall she had tripped over stretched out to her left and right, curving gently away and around the back of the house standing behind her. Her first impression of the house, all windows and roofs and angles, had been accurate. It looked like it had been built in stages over many years, each new builder simply adding on what he or she needed, without any thought to the overall design.

Jazz found the door tucked under an overhang behind a tree growing too close to the wall. The door was short and wide, as if it had been built with one particular person in mind. Beside the frame, hidden under the remains of a bird's nest, was a doorbell. Jazz pushed it.

The door opened almost immediately. Jazz had a flashing impression of curly hair, some kind of voluminous dressing gown, and then a hand reached out and pulled her inside.

Thank goodness you're all right! Jazz heard. She fell to one side and was bundled into the house. Someone threw a large, very hairy, but very warm blanket around her. She was practically rolled down a hallway and into a larger room that was warm and glowing. She felt herself pushed into a chair. The person lifted her feet up onto a stool and that was when Jazz got a better look.

It was a woman. She had graying black hair curling wildly about her face, and dark eyes behind narrow glasses. She was wearing a quilted dressing gown, which seemed to be wrapped around her more times than was absolutely necessary.

You're all right? You're cut!

Jazz opened her mouth, but the woman was gone, sliding through a low, wide door to the side of the fireplace. Jazz looked after her and then around. She took in the fireplace, which was the source of the warmth and the glow. On the one side of it was the door the woman had gone through. On the other side were shelves built to the ceiling. The objects on the shelves reflected the light from the fire. Jazz realized that every shelf was stuffed with