Snowstorm From Hell

As I paced the mansion's driveway, I saw headlights approaching me rapidly, a vehicle clearly speeding away from the building. It took me a second to realize that I was about to be run over, so I dove out of the way. Landing in the shallow snow, I banged up my knee and elbow pretty good. Standing and shaking myself off, I noticed the driver hadn't even bothered to stop and check if I was okay. My impression of the couple that lived in the mansion soured considerably as I stomped the rest of the way home, too angry to care how cold I was.

After getting home, I went to bed and tried to go to sleep, but I ended up just stewing over everything that had happened. Finally, I cursed, got up, and went downstairs to write a note of my own.

"Bored, so went out with the guys," I wrote. "Don't know when I'll be back. May crash as Mike's place if I have too many and can't drive home."

I called my buddy Mike and Wells too, for good measure, and met them at "The Watering Hole", a great dive bar on the outskirts of Brewerton. Wells and I filled Mike in on some of what had been going on, leaving out the more embarrassing details. We commiserated for a bit but ended up having a good time, even dancing with a few ladies which bolstered my wounded confidence more than I thought it could. It got late and I got drunk, deciding to do exactly what I had written in the note, staying over at Mike's place. He only lived a couple of blocks from the bar, so I could sleep off my drunk and drive back home in the morning.

When I finally arrived home, I could hear the shower running. Heading upstairs, I waited for Les to get out so I could get in. After last night, I needed a shower and a change of clothes. Then, I needed to find something useful to do.

Five minutes later, my wife walked out of the master bathroom in her towel. A mixture of relief and then irritation crossed her face as she dropped the towel and started getting dressed. She was ignoring me, so I took that as a blessing and headed into the bathroom.

I shaved the stubble from my face first, looking at myself in the mirror. I thought I was better looking than Paul and had a firmer, tanner, and younger body. I just didn't understand why my wife was making the choices that she was.

Sighing, I jumped in the shower and turned up the heat. The hot shower felt great. I must have spent twenty minutes in there, partly to enjoy the hot water and partly to avoid my wife. Drying off, I cleaned up, brushed my teeth and hair, rolled on some deodorant, and got dressed in some of my nicer work clothes. I planned on finding something distracting to do on this lazy Sunday.

For starters, I decided to take care of something that I had been putting off for the last couple of weeks. I drove over to my mechanic's shop and had my tires swapped out for the winter. My current ones were about spent anyhow. That chewed up an hour and a half of my day.

I decided to drive down to New York City for the rest of the day. That always turned into an interesting experience, and I figured that was just what I needed. Anything to get my mind off the problems with my home life. So, I got into my car and drove, making good time. I could tell my car was handling better with the new tires.

As parking was always an adventure and not of the good variety, I decided to use the city's infamous mass transit system. People always liked to complain, but I never had a problem. There were always interesting characters that came and went from the subway or buses and I often passed the time wondering what their lives were like.

After parking in a lot near the outskirts of the city, I purchased a day pass and walked down the steps to catch the next subway train. Five minutes later and I was taking the mass transit into the city. A couple of hours of wandering around the tall building and taking in the sights found me at a tattoo shop. I had always wanted a tattoo, and on a lark, I decided to get one. Because it was a same-day appointment, I had to pick one of their prefabs out. Luckily, the place, The Colored Pencil, had a good selection. I found a cool Celtic knot tattoo with a band's logo in it, a flaming bat skull with skeletal wings. I knew I had seen it somewhere before and I had always loved the style. The band name was familiar too, so that was a plus. So, four hundred dollars and three hours of burning pain, and I had a brand-new tattoo across my forearm, no wifely permission required.

Feeling like a new man, I stopped into a strip club to drink and ogle a few sexy women. Three hundred more dollars, three lap dances by Misty, and seven shots of Jager later; I found myself stumbling back to the subway. Luckily, I sobered up enough to walk straight before any cops saw me. The last thing I wanted was a public intoxication charge. Luck was with me and I made it back to my car an hour later. Still feeling tipsy, I walked across the parking lot where I had left my car and found a truck stop where I sat down to have dinner and sober up.

A couple more hours and I headed out, taking my car home. By the time I arrived, my wife had already gone to bed. It was late. I decided to crash in the guest bedroom, not wanting to wake Les and risk a confrontation. I was exhausted and in no mood to fight. My head barely hit the pillow before I was out.

By Monday morning, things went back to normal, at least on the surface. I didn't ask her about her weekend, and she didn't ask her about mine. My new tattoo did raise an eyebrow, but she didn't say a word about it, and I didn't offer any. We worked, had lunch together, and ate dinner at home together. We even slept in the same bed together, usually after watching some television or discussing work and other non-incendiary topics. I hadn't forgiven her, and I certainly hadn't forgotten. I was simply biding my time, waiting for her to slip up and say or do something that she couldn't take back or make excuses for. By the time the next weekend rolled around, we appeared as an almost happy couple again. The only thing missing was the sex. I hadn't touched her since that day.

So, it was Friday night, and I was just getting off work when we heard about a freak snowstorm rolling in. The weather report had called for a few inches of snow, nothing unexpected for this time of year, but the deluge that greeted me when I left the building and walked out to my car was insane. There were already a couple of inches more snow on the ground than that morning and it felt like it was just getting started. The guy on the radio was calling it the snowstorm from hell, and from what I could tell, I had to agree with him.

I quickly called my boss.

"Hey Mark," I said when he picked up. "This blizzard is getting bad. You may want to cut everyone loose and get out yourself. I doubt anyone wants to get snowed in there."

I heard him get up from his desk and shuffle around. The sound of the blinds being pulled up told me he was looking out the window. I could hear his sigh of resignation over the phone. There wouldn't be any more work getting done in the office today.

"Damn," he spat. "You weren't kidding. Thanks for the heads-up and drive safe. It looks like a complete white-out out there."

"Anytime," I replied. "It looks like there's already a couple of fresh inches on the ground."

"Okay," he said. "I need to let you go and get everyone out of here and you need to get home right now. That Challenger isn't going to be any good on snowy roads."

"Good point," I said. "I'll see you Monday. Take care."

"You too," said Mark as he hung up.

I knew he was right and took off as quickly as was safe. I needed to get my real-wheel drive muscle car home while I still could. Challengers were fun to drive but awful in inclement weather. My window for getting home safely was swiftly closing. Luckily, I had just had my tires changed and felt confident I would make it home in one piece.

Well, half an hour into the drive home and I was starting to regret my choice. The snow was blowing so hard that I could barely see. The only thing saving me was following the taillights of the semi-truck in front of me, looking like little more than red blurs in a sea of white. We couldn't have been going much more than twenty miles per hour and that still felt fast to me. However, if I lost that semi-truck, I'd be even worse off.

I got lucky and the storm settled for a minute, the blowing snow all but ceasing completely. That allowed me to spot my turn. I was only a mile from home now. Without the wind, I could now see just how much snow was falling and I swallowed hard. It was the thickest snowfall I could ever remember seeing, even as a kid. As soon as I made the turn, the wind picked back up and I lost sight of the road again. I drove another two-hundred feet before slowing down to about five miles per hour. The last three-quarters of a mile took me ten more minutes.

I had to keep stopping and waiting for a view of the road. During this time, my phone rang. It was my wife. I answered it with my car's sound system so I could concentrate on the road.

"Hey hon, now's not a great time," I said.

"Are you on the road?" asked my wife.

"Yeah, but I'm almost home," I answered.

"My God, sweetie. Call me when you get home," she said. "I'm stuck at Paul and Gabby's until this blows over.

"What are you doing over there?" I asked, my voice rising with anger.

When she didn't reply, I assumed she had hung up on me. I decided to wait to call back once I was safely at home. I took several deep breaths to calm down. Losing my cool right now could end badly. I wouldn't be killed or probably even hurt at this speed, but I'd have to leave my car and walk the rest of the way home. In this weather, that didn't sound pleasant. So, for five minutes, I just concentrated on getting home through the white-out freezing conditions. I don't think I'd ever been so happy to see my driveway. A minute later and I was in my garage, trying to get it to shut before it filled with blowing snow.

Once the door was shut and my car was off, I took a deep breath and just sat there. My left hand had been gripping the steering wheel throughout the ordeal and it took a second for me to release my death grip on it. I grabbed my phone and headed into the house, immediately noticing that I didn't have any cell service. Either the snowstorm was blocking the signal completely or the local cell tower had been rendered inoperable. Cursing, I threw the useless phone on the couch. A couple of deep breaths and I gave thanks that I still had power at the house.

Then I started to get even angrier. There was no good reason that I could come up with why my wife, even if she had been visiting Paul and Gabby, hadn't made it back home before things got too bad. They only lived a couple of miles as the crow flies, maybe three miles down the road. It was then that I realized that I hadn't completely given up on her. No, I needed definitive proof that she was moving on from me. Then I started wishing that I had stopped and checked on her last week during my walk when I saw her car at their place.

That's when I started to go a little crazy. I needed to know what she was up to and to do that, I needed to walk over there. I may have been crazy, but I wasn't stupid. I quickly bundled up in full cold-weather gear: snow pants, boots, a heavy jacket, thick gloves, and a ski mask and hat. Feeling suitably prepared, I left the house and made my way directly to their house, crossing through the rock couple's property on the way there. I doubted they had any security that wouldn't have already been shut off by the blizzard, so I didn't worry about it.

Two miles doesn't sound like much, but when you're trudging through two to three feet of snow the entire way, it feels like a hundred miles. Even though I was in good shape, I started to get tired by about the time I made it across the rock couple's property and onto Paul and Gabby's. Another couple hundred feet and I could look through their side window, with a good view of the living room. I noticed as I had walked up that there were several snow-covered cars in their drive. It seemed like they were hosting another party.

What I saw when I looked in the window confirmed my worst suspicions. There were at least seven people in view; drinking, chatting, and laughing. I could hear music playing from inside. My wife was sitting on Paul's lap and he had his hand down the front of her unbuttoned jeans. Paul's wife, Gabby was sitting in between two men and alternating kissing them, even as her hands were busy rubbing their crotches.

"Yeah, she's a real saint," I thought.

It was clear my wife wasn't worried about me in the least. No, I had no partner there. She wasn't someone I could count on anymore. With those thoughts, I turned and left. Confronting them would have served no purpose. I'm sure they just would have lied about it and made me out to be the bad guy again. Well, fuck them. My seething anger kept me warm on the way back to our house. It was just a house now, not a home. I had no home, not anymore.

I considered sitting down in the snow and just letting it cover me up. I considered burning our house down around me once I got home. Neither was something I seriously considered, but I was just so hurt and mad. Blinded by anger, I wandered off the pathway back to my house.

By the time I realized I was walking across the rock couple's pond, it was too late. After a few warm days, the ice covering the pond wasn't thick enough to hold my weight. When the cracking sounds started, I only had a second to take one more step before I went through and plunged into the icy blackness of the water. With the wind howling through the trees, no one would hear me, let alone see me. It would be up to me to save myself.

The clothes that had just been keeping me warm were now dragging me down. Every time I tried to pull myself out of the freezing wet hole, I broke through more ice. Desperately, I just kept trying to make my way to the edge. My anger over my wife was forgotten, I was now fighting for my life. Each time I lifted myself and what felt like a hundred pounds of wet clothing out of the pond, I broke through another section of ice. This went on for what felt like several minutes but couldn't have been more than a few seconds as I thrashed and fought against the growing cold and numbness that began to envelop my body.

Finally, when my strength started to give out, I was able to pull myself out of the water. I must have reached the edge because the ice finally held my weight. Now drenched, I stumbled towards the dark shape that loomed in the distance just behind a curtain of blow snow. Carrying an extra fifty pounds of water, I trudged forward, towards the dark shape that could have only been the mansion. I prayed someone was home because I knew I was going to need help very soon.

I pulled off my gloves and jacket, my hat having already come off in the water. That lightened my load a bit and allowed me to move a bit faster. I would need that speed and a bit of luck if I was going to make it out of the alive, not to mention with my fingers and toes all still attached.

I felt the cold squish of each step, the weight of the water-logged snow pants threatening to pull me down into the soft snow just above my knees. Necessity pushed me on, and I finally felt the bottom step of the patio behind the mammoth home. Again, I hoped that someone was at home in the place. By this time, my legs were on fire and each step was a triumph of will. One, then two, then three steps. I had reached the top of the patio stairs. Four more steps across the wooden structure saw me to the glass-paned door that led into the mansion and the heat within.

Slapping my hand on the cold glass several times, I could feel my body slide down the smooth cold surface and I gradually fell against it. By the time my vision beheld a pair of female legs through the glass, my consciousness started leaving me. I noticed that the legs were long and shapely with a nice tan. I wondered who they belonged to and if they had come to warm me up. Apparently, my body and mind had decided that they had had enough, and it was now up to the woman who belonged to those legs to save me. I really couldn't argue as my vision went dark and my addled mind went blank.

My dreams were like madness and cotton candy. Auburn hair and mocha eyes commanded them, and I knew they weren't my wife's. I saw them in the dark water as I went under. I saw them again through a blizzard of pink snow. Then once more wreathed in a ring of a warming fire, melting the chill and ice from my trials away before burning all thoughts of my old life. The life I no longer had with my soon-to-be-ex-wife if I cared enough to divorce her. No, these eyes made promises of things to come.

I awoke in a sweat, which I immediately took to be a good thing. There was a crackling fire to the left of me, lighting up a massive rock fireplace. I was laid out on a fluffy couch and had several blankets tucked around me or simply draped over me. As the dream faded off, I recalled what had happened to me and checked to make sure I still had all my fingers and toes. I did. As I wiggled them, I examined the ceiling since I was still lying down. Vaulted and wooden with gorgeous beams, it must have cost a fortune to build. It was at that point that I heard a soft yet insistent feminine clearing of the throat. Intrigued and somewhat shamed, I glanced over to my left and beheld the auburn hair and mocha eyes from my dream.

Or rather, the stupidly attractive woman those features belonged to. She gazed at me with her eyes narrowed in suspicion but with a healthy dose of curiosity there as well. It seemed like her full lips unconsciously formed a half-smile, as if her lack of trust was losing a battle against her sense of intrigue. I took that as a good sign and tried to sit up. My muscled told me that wasn't going to happen, at least not for a while. I had truly exhausted myself in my fight for survival.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," said the woman, a slight angry edge to her voice. "Care to explain what you were doing at my backdoor?"

I tried to speak but only a dry cough came out. That's when I heard movement off to the right of the pretty lady who had attempted to engage me in conversation. I saw a bearded middle-aged man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair carrying a clear glass of water to me. Helping me lean forward, he held the glass to my lips and I drank half of it down.

"He's probably severely dehydrated," said the man over his shoulder. "Give him a minute."

"All things considered," said the woman. "I've given him more than enough already."

"Hey, you don't know he's a stalker," replied another woman's voice from behind me.

"Well, maybe," said the first woman softly. "I certainly hope not, but between the tattoo and him lurking around my property, I can't imagine another explanation."

Now I was getting both confused and a bit irritated. I swallowed the rest of the water from the glass and tried speaking again.

"What about my new tattoo?" I asked, deciding to start with the odd reference. I had no idea what my tattoo had to do with anything.

"You have a tattoo of my band's logo and you don't think that's relevant?" asked the lady testily.

"You're shitting me?" I asked, my shocked confusion overcoming my propriety.

The woman pointed up above the fireplace and gave me a rather unamused look. Glancing up, I saw a large version of my tattoo's focal point etched out of dark grey metal. My mind insisted that there must be a connection. Then it hit me.

"You gave us all gift baskets when you moved in, complete with CDs, wine, and T-shirts, right?" I asked, believing I had figured out where the familiarity lay.

"What do you mean, us?" asked the woman.