Page 182 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
No, the snow wasn’t all white. Next to him, it was rather red.
That couldn’t be good.
He looked beyond the stomach-turning stained snow to his car. Amelia’s car. Crumpled against the rock face of the mountain. Glass was shattered across the snow, metal twisted, a grisly scene.
And he was alone and bloody in said snow. But…how had he gotten here? He didn’t remember anything besides the initial skid of the crash.
He must have…done something to get over here. Even though it was the driver’s side that was crushed against the rock.
He had the strangest mist-tinted memory of being…pulled? By light? But there was no one here. Nothing but the mangled car, and his bruised and bloody and potentially broken body.
Well, he must have crawled across to the passenger side, climbed out and then walked a ways before…collapsing here in the snow.
He remembered none of it. Only the crash itself. A strange light and warmth, which didn’t make sense. None of this madesense.
Certainly not the marks in the snow that were not footprints, but just a long divot, making it look like he’d been dragged from the car. But there were no footprints of whoever had done the dragging, so…
He tried to move into a sitting position, get a better view of everything around him to make sense of things, but that only caused another wave of excruciating torment, so he didn’t try to move again.
But you must.
He looked around wildly, wondering why he kept hearing a voice that sounded alarmingly like his mother’s. Even as pain throbbed through him, he searched. The world was bright and peaceful now. No heavy snow, no howling winds, no incessant dark.
There was no one around him though. No evidence of anyone. He was just…alone. And likely dying. Completely and utterly alone.
Just as he deserved, he supposed, though that thought felt incredibly wrong instead of right or peaceful. Amelia would be upset. Even if she hated him, this would hurt her, and he’d already caused her so much pain.
So what was a little more?
Now you must find your phone.
It was a male voice this time.
His heart thundered in his chest, making him feel shakier than even the cold was doing. He looked around again, ignoring the way pain was seared into every second of every movement, but he saw nothing but endless white and the evidence of his car crash. How was he hearing voices? His mother’s voice.
His father’s voice.
I found it.
Aurora’s voice.
He was having some sort of psychotic episode. Hearing the voices of the dead all around him. Or maybe he was already dead. Maybe thiswasthe end.
Well, what are we supposed to do about it?Aurora’s voice demanded.He’s all the way over there.
Diego had the errant thought to roll over onto his stomach, crawl toward the voices. But they weren’t real voices. He was just…delusional from loss of blood. In the throes of death and hallucinating the dead before him.
A soft wind that almost felt warm, a direct contrast to the icy cold enveloping him, drifted over his face. And in that warmth were words.
You have more strength than you give yourself credit for. You always did.
“Bartolo?” his raspy, barely there voice sounded loud in the quiet all around him. What was happening to him?
Well, he was dying. Bleeding out.
He wanted to laugh, but no sound would come out of his body.
You will not leave my daughter alone as I did.
