Page 9 of Wilde Secrets

“Seriously?”

She leaned across to the passenger side and grabbed the handle. This time the door opened with a creak. She climbed out of the driver’s seat, squeezing herself across the center console, and shoved open the passenger door.

It took some contorting, but she managed to get into the passenger seat, thankful to be wearing her favorite stretchy jeans and not the dress she'd considered putting on that morning.

A blast of cold air and rain hit her in the face, and she gasped in shock before gritting her teeth and pulling herself out of the car. Her foot got caught as she exited, and she dropped to her knees.

“Ugh,” she exclaimed. She pulled at her leg, and it freed with a jerk, sending her sprawling into the mud. “Oh, lovely.”

She stood, sliding in her converse sneakers on the wet ground and reached into the car to grab her handbag. Slinging it over one shoulder, she ignored the mud and made her way to the trunk.

The remote wouldn’t work, and the trunk wouldn’t open, so she shrugged. She could come back for it later. It wasn't as if the car was going anywhere anytime soon.

The slight slope was almost impossible for her to climb, but she managed to clamber up on her hands and knees. The rain eased slightly, but was still heavy, and Harper’s light sweater stuck to her like a second skin.

A second, cold and muddy skin.

She plucked at it with one hand and shivered.

She couldn’t just stay here. She needed to get help, so she had to walk. But in which direction? She squinted into the rain, imagining she could see lights from a distant house, but the trees were thick, and there was nothing. Lightning flashed, and she jumped.

She really shouldn’t walk around in a storm. Wasn’t there some rule for when to seek shelter in a lightning storm? Whatever it was, she knew she needed to get out of the weather, and soon.

She turned to look back at the car, but the thought of sliding back down the embankment to hide in the wreckage felt like defeat.

Maybe she could get phone reception up here? Harper dug her phone from her handbag and huddled over it, trying to keep it from getting wet. Still no reception. She sighed and, as she went to put it back in her handbag, it slipped out of her grasp and fell to the ground.

Right toward a muddy puddle.

“Oh shit! No!” she cried, trying to grab the device, but only managed to knock it further away.

Harper watched in horror as her phone tumbled through the air to land with a splat. She quickly bent to pick it up and pressed the button to turn the screen on. It briefly lit up and then went dark.

This had to be the worst twenty-four hours of Harper’s life.

She contemplated sitting in the mud, but there was still a beat of defiance in her, and she wouldn’t give up. The car was a wreck. She had no way of contacting her sister. She didn't have her guitar… So how was she going to get out of this mess, let alone write an entire album of hit songs in three weeks?

Not by standing in the rain, that’s for sure.

She took a guess and started walking in the direction she was traveling. She couldn’t be that far from West’s house, surely? She was on the right road, so it was only a matter of time until she found a house. She’d just stop and ask, or maybe she’d get lucky and his name would be on the mailbox. She’d seen a few of those on the drive, the last name of the owners painted on a little sign.

She was soaked to her skin, but Harper focused on putting one foot in front of the other. With every step, her sneakers made a squelching noise. The denim of her skinny jeans was slick with mud and uncomfortable, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to conserve warmth and focused on getting herself to West’s place. A hot shower, a mug of tea, and a warm bed sounded amazing right now.

Harper wasn’t paying attention to anything but her daydreams of what would hopefully be waiting for her, so she didn’t hear the sound of an approaching vehicle. When a truck passed her, its wheels hit a puddle, a sheet of muddy water drenching her from head to toe.

She shrieked in shock and stopped as the cold, dirty water connected with her already freezing skin.

The truck’s brake lights changed to reverse lights, and she quickly stepped out of the way to avoid getting splashed again.

Harper swallowed nervously and gripped the handle of her purse tightly.

Sudden thoughts of being murdered and buried in an unmarked grave ran through her head. Maine was where a lot of Stephen King novels were set, after all.

Would anyone know where she was?

Stop being dramatic.

---