"Hi, baby."

I furrowed my brows at the sound of that warm voice that had been my backbone for by far the majority of my sixteen years of life. Deep down I knew that, although it had an immediate soothing effect on me, I shouldn't have heard it.

And that was because it belonged to my long-dead mother. When I realized this, I quickly opened my eyes. I was lying on my back, covered up to my chin with a thick quilt, which was like a cover and a prison at the same time, because I felt that for some reason I was not able to move even my little finger. I completely lost control over my body. I could only lie and stare as if in a vegetative state.

The only reason I hadn't had a proper panic attack yet was the presence of my longing parent, who was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at me with an exasperated expression. Only a small wrinkle between her eyebrows betrayed that she was worried.

"Mom," I sighed softly, eagerly absorbing her figure.

A storm of red curls was pinned up at the back, probably with a buckle, the way she liked it. Her glazed eyes gazed at me with unabashed maternal love, and her pale pink lips stretched in a gentle smile. On her ears she wore her beloved emerald earrings, whose small stones dangled just below her earlobes. She was dressed in a tight brown turtleneck, which I also remembered well was one of the favorites in her closet. The woman even smelled like my mother, because, apart from the delicate, floral scent of perfume, there was also the pleasant scent of fruit tea around her, probably the kind with raspberries.

"You're cold," she said, and the worry on her face slowly began to outweigh the tenderness.

I shook my head. First of all, I was almost too warm and I was suffocating a little wrapped up in this quilt like a cocoon, and secondly, this was not what I wanted to talk about with someone very close to me, whom I had lost and now suddenly out of nowhere I had regained.

"Yes, Hailie, you need to warm up," she insisted.

"I'm fine," I replied impatiently. "Mom, what's going on, what are you doing here?"

I wanted to raise my hand and touch her to find out that this person is actually my mother in flesh and blood, but my limbs were like those of a rag doll, useless.

Instead, she raised her hand and stroked my cheek. For some reason I expected the touch to be cool, but on the contrary, I would say that it almost burned me.

"My Hailie," she muttered under her breath in a soft, monotone tone.

"Where are we?" I asked, but at the same time I looked around myself and immediately knew the answer.

A small room with a two-door oak closet was nothing compared to my current walk-in closet. A simple, tidy desk stood perfectly under the window where the purple blinds were now drawn. A lamp with a tissue paper shade standing in the corner gave off a soft, yellowish light. It made the room feel semi-dark. It was enough for me to cast a confused look at my mother.

"My bedroom," I whispered to myself and a little to her too.

She nodded.

"Why? How?"

This time she shrugged her shoulders.

"I think it's your brain's defense mechanism," she confessed and again lightly stroked my hair, not my cheek, this time.

"Defense against what?"

There were more wrinkles on her forehead.

"Hailie, you should warm up," she said, this time more emphatically.

"I'm warm," I dismissed her impatiently and tried to move again. I wanted to touch her, to hug her. But my body still didn't listen to me, so I just sighed with frustration. "Tell me what's going on."

The woman smiled at me gently.

"There's a lot going on, baby, so you have to act. You can do it. I know you can. You're incredibly strong. And so good." She shook her head in awe, and her gaze almost hypnotized me. "Amazing. I couldn't be more proud of you."

"I am not strong," I protested automatically, and then I added, as if unconsciously: "I'm dying."

Mom's red curls flared as she shook her head vigorously.

"No. Today you are a little closer to death, yes, but there is no question of dying. Can you hear me? You just need to warm up. And wake up."

"Then you'll be gone, right?" I asked, though I guessed the answer. "I don't want to. Mom, I don't want you to disappear."

She sighed heavily and closed her eyelids. There was nothing on her face now but suffering. I stared at her expectantly for her to let me finally disentangle myself from this quilt and cuddle me. Maybe we could make some tea, talk. Make up for lost time. Explain some things. Oh, we had so much to explain!

"Some other time, Hailie. Some other time, not now. There is no time now," she began, and as she said this, she finally opened her eyes again. They had changed. They were firmer, her gaze hardened and became less forgiving. Her tone was not steady either. She spoke louder and louder, almost shouting at the end. "Now open your eyes and get warm. You have to fight, open your eyes. Hailie, come on, open them, now! Open-..."

I opened them.

I opened them.

I took a deep, rapid breath in and immediately let the air out, my chest vibrating like moved strings of a harp. I blinked. Mom was gone. My room, too. I felt like crying because I felt like I wouldn't see her again so soon. And I wanted to hug her so much.

But before the tears had time to accumulate in the corners of my eyes in sufficient quantity to run down my cheeks with grief, something distracted me from my desire to give in to this inexorable despair. For I realized what a strange position I had just found myself in, and for a moment I thought about what it was all about.

A white haze was now forming just in front of my face and slowly fading. With each exhalation I made, it renewed itself and it took me several long seconds to solve the mystery of its existence. My mouth was centimeters away from the glass, on which the warm steam condensed every time I breathed out.

Well, I guess that's good evidence that I'm alive. I am breathing.

My next conundrum was how on earth that glass had gotten so close. I furrowed my eyebrows a moment, still unable to move. I did all my inspection by just moving my knobs and I really didn't like what I saw.

For one thing, it was dark. What I was able to determine was that I was apparently lying (on my stomach this time) on the dashboard, so that my head and torso were pressed between it and the windshield. I think my forehead was pressed against the glass, and the view of a dark forest stretched out before me. The sky had managed to turn an ink color. The twisted figures of trees were haunting in the darkness. I was only able to see something thanks to the white snow, which covered the mulch quite abundantly and slightly brightened the blackness prevailing around.

About that time, a tape of memories of the events before my loss of consciousness rewound in my head like a movie. Ryder picked me up from school, right before my exams. He abducted me in a car. He was drugged. We struggled. I shot him. I left him on the road. I drove off. I got into a skid.

"Oh fuck," I whispered in a thin voice.

My throat seemed swollen as if it had been stung by a wasp. I tried to grunt, which resulted in a nauseating coughing fit.

My eyes grew moist with the effort it took me to calm down. As I did so, I pushed my forehead away from the glass, which was met with an unpleasant sensation of detachment, as if someone had stuck it there with glue. I hissed quietly and automatically raised my hand to apply it to the sore spot, but only inadvertently banged it against the windshield. Goddamn cramped space.

"You have to move. Hailie," I growled to myself. "Come on."

My voice was still reassuring, especially now that it was so dark and deafening around me.

I experienced a mini heart attack when I couldn't get my legs to work for a long while. I already thought I had lost feeling in them, but then I began to panically kick them and swing them in all directions. I got a few new bruises (which were insignificant compared to how many I already had) and made a lot of noise, but at least I could finally move them, so I was quickly relieved.

At a turtle's pace and gasping like I was a hundred and twenty years old, I lifted myself up and gently slid off the board. At some point my leg came off and I bumped my hip against something, but like I said, I was so battered that I just clenched my jaw tighter and continued picking myself up.

Absolutely every single bone in my body was stiffened to the point that I wouldn't be surprised if they suddenly started to creak and crackle with any movement. My muscles, meanwhile, had lost their elasticity and were reluctant to listen to the commands sent from my brain, also actively protesting at even the slightest of my efforts.

When I finally took back the driver's seat and gained more space and better conditions to look around, the first thing my eyes fell on was the watch on the dashboard. It indicated the late evening hour. Ryder had kidnapped me up before noon, so I had to be there for a bit.

For some reason, the lights (neither front nor back) weren't on, though at first glance, the hood wasn't too badly damaged. I suspected it might be the fault of an outdated battery that couldn't handle so many hours on the go. And that's where my speculation ended, because with my limited automotive understanding, I couldn't come up with any particular explanation. Not that it's the most important thing right now.

So the front end looked not too bad and I already thought that it was nothing at all, this whole accident. I even tried to turn the keys, still persistent in the ignition. Of course, the car didn't even snort. That's when I turned around and gasped for air. In the place where the back seats were, a huge tree branch was stuck. It was as if the car, while slaloming, had impaled itself on it like a damn meat on a skewer.

I blocked my mouth with the palm of my hand. Jesus Mary, if someone had occupied the back seat, they would have been dead. How did this even happen?

On top of that, the damage to that part of the car was so extensive that the vehicle was definitely losing its function of a shelter. There was a hole there, through which any heat that that car had been able to hold within it while it was still an enclosed space, that is, before the accident, had certainly already escaped. It had even dumped some snow through it. And I was still surprised that of all the inconveniences and aches and pains I had suffered, feeling cold was not one of them.

Then I remembered my mom's words that I needed to warm up.

"But I am warm after all," I muttered to myself, blowing the steam in front of my nose.

And then my gaze fell on my terribly reddened hands. And my eyes went out of their orbits. I lifted them up. My fingers were trembling. I could hardly feel them. I looked at them carefully from all sides. They were almost bruised. Compared to them, Granny Blanche's hands were as smooth as a young woman's. Then I realized that mom was right. I really need to warm up.

With the same stiff fingers, I reached for the rearview mirror. I adjusted it to see my face in it and immediately regretted it. I don't think I've ever looked this bad before. Even in the prevailing darkness, I couldn't look at myself.

I ignored my cherry-red cheeks and almost bruised nose, both effects caused by the cold. I also ignored the bruise on my jaw where Ryder had kicked me with his shoe. What bothered me most was the wound on my forehead, from which blood must have oozed for quite a long time, because (even though it had long since clotted), it flooded the entire left side of my face. From my temple to my neck and shoulder, where it soaked into the fabric of my jacket and the collar of my shirt.

"What the hell," I muttered, watching my injured forehead in the mirror. I wanted to touch it, but I gave up. Instead, I turned my gaze to the windshield, which was indeed also covered with blood where I must have smashed my own skull against it. I only just noticed it.

No, no. I have to get out of here and as soon as possible. I can't stay in this car another minute.

I combed my hair with my fingers to cover my forehead with bangs and to hide my face as much as possible. If someone sees me now, they will run away from me with a scream. I also looked around for possible items to take with me and which I could use.

The first thing I thought of, like a professional killer, was a gun. After a moment of consternation I discovered it wedged somewhere under the pedals. I immediately retrieved it from there, carefully secured it and hid it in the inside of my jacket. A trick I had seen at Ryder's. I have to admit, it really fit in there like a glove. It was as if the kids had these pockets sewn into their uniforms on purpose, so that they would have somewhere to store their weapons in case of emergency.

Speaking of the devil. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ryder's jacket, which the guy had thrown into the back seat as soon as we drove off the school grounds. Well, a puffer jacket it isn't, but I wasn't in a position suitable for fussing, so, gasping with exertion, I reached out for the garment. I tugged at the hem of the material, but it caught on something and wouldn't let go. Since there was a massive tree root stuck in the back of the car and it was apparently blocking me from getting my hands on the precious thing, I finally gave up. I didn't have time to play tug-of-war. Instead, I was reminded that there should still be a fleece blanket under the passenger seat. And I was right, because it lay there politely, and I, for lack of better options, reached for it, automatically wrinkling my nose, even though, after all, no stench should be a real inconvenience to me at this point.

Rolling the blanket in my ossified hands, I took a quick look around the car. In fact, I had a faint hope of spotting a cell phone, or maybe even a laptop with, I don't know, a portable Internet connection plugged into the USB port. How many opportunities I would have then to contact my brothers!

"Get a grip on yourself," I reprimanded myself out loud with a really sincere dislike for my own brain, which right now was sending me such unlikely visions. "You better focus."

I wanted to get out of here, but at the same time I was afraid of the lonely trip ahead of me, so before opening the door I sat for a while and gloomily stared at the windscreen. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking out for wolves.

And what about bears? The Pennsylvanian woods were full of them.

I would have trembled if my body hadn't been frozen.

"Calm down," I admonished myself. "You're a crazy idiot!"

I became even more of an idiot when I felt remorse for having spoken so badly to myself.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I muttered after a moment. "You're not a crazy idiot. Just try to pull yourself together, huh? Just a little bit."

Finally, I got up the courage and, having wrapped myself up tightly in my jacket, I went outside. I expected that I would have to struggle with opening the door, but it opened without any problem. This car was definitely scrapworthy at best.

The snow crunched as I took my first tentative steps on it. My legs were trembling and apparently they did not expect that I would make them walk, because they almost immediately bent under me so that I had to lean on the car to avoid falling.

I sighed. Having such a clumsy body was extremely annoying.

My next move (as soon as I was able to stand on both feet) was to pull up my skirt, which would have come down to my ankles. Then I threw the blanket over myself, which I was holding half under my arm. I spread it out and hastily covered my back with it. I didn't think it would warm me up even a little bit, but it was always an extra cover that could at least buy me a few more minutes of life.

I shivered. Out of terror, not cold.

I held the blanket with my palms fused together from the inside and pulled it up to my nose to protect most of my face as well. Thus camouflaged, I finally began to look around for the direction I should go. I planned to go back to the road and along it to the town, hoping that some car would pass me earlier. Maybe with some nice family? Preferably one with small children. They would surely help me.

Unfortunately, I needed a long moment to assess my position. All traces of the accident were skilfully covered by snow, as if it was teasing me, and therefore my task was difficult, but finally, after straining my eyes and grey matter, I figured out where to go.

I moved slowly, croaking as my socks quickly began to get wet. Great, that's exactly what I need now. I felt so bad, so sick. What I would give to be in the Monet mansion right now. I would sit on the couch, curl my legs up, lean back against the soft cushion, turn on the TV show, and Eugenie would bring me warm cocoa.

My mouth curved into a pout as I thought about the trivial things I wasn't exactly used to appreciating, and for which I would now give my life.

At some point I tripped over something (probably a root, though through the layer of white fluff I couldn't be one hundred percent sure) and toppled over. I groaned loudly and pitifully as I bruised my knees. I propped myself up on the ground with my hands and all my meager attempts to warm them up under a blanket, now that they had fallen back into the snow and froze again, went for nothing.

"Why is no one saving me!" I wailed to myself, hungry, tired, and a little cold, as I was beginning to feel the cold.

I didn't care how melodramatic and embarrassing I sounded. I just couldn't do it anymore. I didn't have the strength. I wasn't a brave bad girl. No warrior, so if someone expected me to start a fire, hunt a deer, and jump on trees right now, I would laugh in that person's face. And then I would punch them and yell something like "go ahead!" and tell them to stand in my shoes and show me what how they would deal with my situation. That's what I would do, and then...

Something rustled.

I quickly stopped my absurd thoughts to focus on this unwelcome sound. I immediately looked around, but I saw nothing suspicious. Just trees, darkness and shit.

"Watch your mouth," I hissed to myself, like Vincent, disappointed with the choice of my own vocabulary.

I think I was losing my mind. I have to move, I have to save myself before I go completely insane.

I got up on my feet, shrugged off the snow vaguely, wrapped the blanket around me again and moved forward, a little faster this time. Fear gave energy to my ossified limbs.

Finally I reached the road. It was not so far, on the contrary, but because of the snow, and also my clumsiness and weakness, it took me a while to cover even such a small distance.

Unfortunately, the roadway was just as empty as last time. Even there were not many visible tire tracks, which meant that I had little chance to meet a living soul here. And I was not wrong. Slowly, I moved along the road in the direction where I remembered I should reach the city. I was wading in the snow up to my ankles and every now and then I would turn around hoping to see some car coming. Well, hope is the mother of fools.