Black is Beautiful

Chapter 1

Andrea

“Okay, kid. Load up. Time to get a move on.”

I lean back against our SUV, thoroughly worn out from the day. Melissa balks where she stands, desperate to get in one more good run. She bounces a few times in protest, but I shake my head in the firmest, capital ‘M,’ Mom way I can muster. Beaten, she trudges up to me and pitches her ski-pole into the snow.

“Can’t you do it?” Melissa says.

“Is that a whine I hear?”

“No,” she grumbles, grabbing the pole and shaking it dry. There’s an obvious attitude in her voice, and I laser in on her.

“By all means, keep grabbing it one piece at a time.” She groans, and starts loading her stuff into the back. I try not to smile at her display. Frustrating as it might be, Melissa’s attitude was something to be nourished. I know that it’s annoying right now, but it will be an asset when she gets older. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Really, kid, I’m hungry. Hurry it up.”

Melissa puts her last ski boot into the back of the SUV, making a point to look me in the eye as she slams the door. I know better than to react to her, especially when she’s tired and hungry.

Dark clouds above the mountain catch my eye. We need to hurry it up.

“Thanks. Now, hop in. We need to get moving.”

Melissa takes her damn sweet time walking to the passenger seat, getting her power anyway she can. For my part, I hurry around to the driver’s side and buckle in. It’s been a great day on the mountain, and I want to get back down before the storm shows up and spoils it.

“So,” I say to her, firing up the car and pulling out onto the road. “Did you have a good time?” It’s not lost on me that we’re the last car in the lot. Melissa had begged for one more run, and I’d caved. Of course, I did. 

Melissa loves to ski. She lives and breathes the sport off the mountain, watching videos of women on twin tips doing tricks all the time. So, when she asked, I had to said yes, right? Even though most of the other skiers were already packing up – that just meant the slopes would be clear and she could cut loose.

“Yeah, mom,” Melissa says, looking lazily out the window. “It was really fun.” Now that she’s sitting down, the day is catching up with her. 

“I’m so glad, sweetie.”

I catch a look of myself in the rear-view mirror. My curly brown hair is disheveled and matted down after a full day in a helmet and goggles. The bags under my eyes aren’t helping my look, either. Shrug off the vanity. Keep your eyes on the road. 

Pulling out onto the main road I start to meander the way down the mountain. Not like I’m going to meet anyone up here anyway. Not at this time of day. In the rearview, I can see the dark clouds overtaking us. The black of night looming in just a little too early. This storm is going to be something serious. 

Melissa’s head bobs against the window as she tries to fight sleep. That is something about skiing that I will never get tired of… the fact that it can make an eight-year-old enjoy nap time again. I’m about ready for a nap myself.

I push the throttle down, eager to pick up the pace a little. It isn’t safe to go too fast, but with a blizzard on our heels, I don’t have a whole lot of choice. I’ve barely got the SUV up to speed when the ground in front of me goes dark.

“Damn,” I swear under my breath. Yeah, there’s no traffic, but that’s not going to make much difference if it starts to…

The white flecks interrupt my thought. I just knew I was going to jinx myself.

It’s okay. Amanda, you’ve got this, I say to myself. Music always helps me concentrate, so I turn up the radio a bit.

Static is my answer. Lovely.

The snow picks up quickly. It always catches me by surprise how fast a storm can move in up here. Light flakes give way to a heavy snowfall, and I’m suddenly in a race against the darker clouds.

I need to get off this mountain. It’s not a far drive home, but if we’re going to get there tonight, I need to get back down to the surface roads.

“Come on, Amanda,” I mutter to myself. The car slues just a bit, and I slow right down. Not too slow, because I don’t want to get stuck – there’s plenty of blind turns on this road. A stopped car is a dead car. I manage a quick glance towards my sleeping daughter. Thank goodness she’s out. 

I can’t stop on this road. Not with her in the car.

The stress is mounting, but I keep my eyes riveted to the lane ahead. Usually I’m adept at staying calm under pressure, but the exhaustion of a whole day on the mountain is taking its toll. I turn on the windshield wipers, and switch my headlights over to the fog setting.

It helps the visibility, but not by much.

Snow is really starting to accumulate on the road, and my trusty SUV loses a bit of traction in the back end. Shit, I say under my breath, hoping that Melissa didn’t wake up and repeat what she heard in this car. That’s just what I need.

Thankfully, she’s fast asleep. She hates white-outs while driving.

Me too.

I kick the wipers up to full tilt, but it does precious little good as the storm gains in intensity. The Fear creeps up around every blind corner. No traffic, thank God. But if a semi-truck or something is making its way up the hill, I’m not sure if I can pull over enough. I’d either end up stuck, or worse, going over the side.

Just down the mountain, you can do this Amanda.

Positive self-talk. Sometimes it’s the only way not to freak out entirely. I look over to my Melissa, conked out beside me. I have to make it down for her.

Looking back at the road, I’m greeted by a pair of bright eyes.

Deer.

I slam on the brakes, but the back of the SUV skids over the snow. As if in slow motion, the whole mess unfolds in front of me. Letting off the brake slightly, I swerve my car hard to the left. There’s a horrible screech of metal grinding against rock as I hit the side of the mountain. It was a better option than going over the side.

The airbags deploy and I lurch into a white pillow. Hard. It hurts more than I thought it would.
The world goes still, and I do a mental inventory, making sure nothing is broken. Everything seems to be intact.

We crashed. I crashed. We’re on the mountain. It’s snowing. This is bad.

“Mommy?”

She sounds so mature so much of the time, but suddenly, Melissa is a child again.

“Honey,” I say, looking over towards the scared little girl next to me. “Honey are you okay?”

Her airbag didn’t blow, but fortunately the shattered glass seems to be concentrated on my side. That’s all I wanted.

“What’s happening?” She asks, wide-eyed and confused. “Mommy, what’s going on?
“It’s okay,” I say, reaching out to touch her face. “It’s okay, baby. I skidded in the snow and hit the wall on the way down from the ski hill. Are you hurt?”

“No,” she says in her small, scared voice. “No. I think I’m okay. Mommy, is that blood?”

Melissa points to my left hand. I look, and some glass has cut the top of my hand. My adrenaline must be cooking because I didn’t even feel it.

“Yeah, baby. But it’s just a little cut. I’ll be good.”

My airbag is out, so I know the car isn’t going to start. That cold feeling blossoms up in my chest. There’s no way we are driving out of here. 

“Baby, I’m going to crawl over top of you to see the damage on the car, okay?”

“Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not going to leave you, baby I promise.” I stroke her hair, keeping my cut hand out of her view. “I just need to see how bad it is, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” I’m reassuring her, but really I’m trying to reassure both of us. The snow is still coming down hard, and I need to make sure that Melissa is safe. “I’m going to go and check the car, then get some stuff out of the back. I’m not leaving you. I promise.”

She looks at me with steady eyes. 

“Okay.”

Suddenly, she seems remarkably calm. Lord, I wish I could have just a bit of that. I undo my seatbelt and lift myself over to the center console. I crawl into the back seat and leave out the back passenger side door.

Snow swirls and the cold air whips around my face. Pulling my scarf up over my nose, I inspect the door to make sure I can get back into the car if I close it. It isn’t damaged and closes smoothly. I give Melissa two thumbs up and make my way to the front of the car, using my cell phone as a light to see the damage.

Totaled. My car is totaled. I won’t be able to drive away. Hell, I’d be surprised if I can start it.

Just as I can feel true panic starting to eat at my stomach, a pair of lights cut through the snow. Headlights.

Someone is coming up behind us.

My heart leaps into my chest. It is either help or a serial killer.

And there is nothing I can do about it.