Aiden and Tristan

Chapter 1: Slush and SnowdriftAiden Evans leaned forward as much as he could, his face close enough to the windscreen that the cold seeped into his skin. The snowflakes were coming down at a rapid pace, making it impossible to see the road in front of him. The windscreen wipers swished back and forth, back and forth, on top speed, but it didn’t help. His was the only vehicle on the road. No sane person would drive in this weather. Aiden didn’t have a choice. Or he guessed he could have waited until the morning, but the walls in his rooms had been closing in at the same rate as his lungs had contracted—he’d had to leave. He couldn’t stand his tiny white flat, couldn’t stand sitting there all alone, when the rest of the world was preparing for Christmas. The heater spluttered again. It had done so a few times during the drive, but now a smell of burned plastic followed. Aiden turned it off. It hadn’t helped much anyway; the small car cabin was still cold enough for his breath to mist. He squinted at the road. Where did it go? Aiden slowed down even more. His hands cramped from his hard grip on the steering wheel. The thick snow drifting over the road made it impossible to see where the paved surface ended and the shoulder began. He glanced at the lampposts and tried to guess the road’s angle. Steering slowly, he took aim at the lamppost after the one closest to him. The sound of the snow rasping against the underseal was worrying. A Smart car wasn’t built for this kind of weather. Aiden was used to the brightly lit city, with its ploughed streets and gritted surfaces. The wheels spun, the engine revved, and Aiden yelped. Then, after an excruciating moment, the car miraculously started to move forward again. Aiden sighed in relief. For a moment there, he thought he’d be stuck. He had no idea where he was, and he hadn’t seen anyone in ages, so how he would get help if something happened, he didn’t know. For a few hundred metres, everything went well. The forest was thick on both sides of the road. The light from the lampposts hardly reached the ground—not even the white from the snow helped the visibility. Snowflakes the size of biscuits continued to fall on the windscreen, smearing as the wipers struggled to get through the slush piling up. Aiden could kill for a large latte with amaretto syrup at this point. He was starting to get tired, not to mention cold, and the ball of nerves in his stomach grew tighter with each mile he travelled. He’d tried to call his mother several times since he’d left Whiteport, but she hadn’t picked up. He didn’t think she knew his number even though he’d had it for a couple of years now. She couldn’t be ignoring his calls—what mother ignored her son’s calls a few days before Christmas? Sure, it had been five years since he’d last spoken to her, and he probably should have made sure he was welcome before he’d packed his bag, carried it out to his car and started driving, but he simply couldn’t stay in his flat any longer. Knowing he would have to leave it in a few days made it impossible to spend another minute in the confined space. Mother would understand. Though there were several things she wasn’t willing to understand. He tried to shut down the hurt that wanted to take hold of him. Even if she couldn’t accept his lifestyle—he scoffed and tried to blink away the tears that threatened to spill—she wouldn’t let him become homeless. He could bet his life his room looked the same as when he’d left it five years ago. He’d borrow her car and go back after Christmas to fetch his things. He didn’t have much, but he needed his massage table and his clothes, and his coffee machine, of course. He’d spent a fortune on it, but it was worth every penny. Maybe he should keep his TV, too, and his books. He sighed. He shouldn’t have left so hastily, but he couldn’t spend the holiday there, it simply wasn’t an option. If his stupid boss hadn’t decided to close down the spa section of the hotel, he wouldn’t have lost his job. And if he hadn’t lost his job, he would still be able to pay his rent. And if he still had his flat, however small it might be, then he wouldn’t be driving around in a f*****g snowstorm in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn’t have been trying to get a hold of his mother. He put on the hands-free and tried her number again. His cold hands suddenly turned sweaty. Surely, she wouldn’t turn him away, not in as dire a situation as this. Replaying their last conversation made him doubt his welcome, but she was his mother, after all. The call went through, and he held his breath as he waited. He reached the point where he should hang up, but he waited a bit longer. With a sigh, he took off the headset and threw it on the passenger seat, not daring to take his eyes off the road, or what should’ve been a road. When his vision started to blur, he cursed his own stupidity. What grown man cried because his mother didn’t pick up the phone? In a swift movement he wiped his cheeks, tried to blink away any new tears threatening to spill. The car slid a little to the side, Aiden tried to compensate by turning the steering wheel. The car lost traction, and without thinking he hit the brakes. The car spun. The dark of the night, the snowflakes, and the dull light from the lamppost melted together. Aiden didn’t know where he was going or where he’d come from. It all happened so fast, and before he knew it, he crashed into something solid. The seat belt locked, cutting into his shoulder before it threw him back against the headrest. Panting, he looked at the white in front of him. His hands shook, and new tears flowed down his cheeks as he tried to start the car again. The engine crackled and hissed before dying completely. Aiden stared in disbelief. Hitting the steering wheel didn’t help; neither did screaming. Out of breath, he leaned forward and rested his head against the cold plastic of the wheel. He reached for his phone—no signal. This can’t be happening. Nausea rolled over him. All he could see was darkness and snow-covered pine trees. He put his phone in his pocket and zipped his jacket all the way up. Somewhat hesitantly, he reached for the door handle, pushed the door against the whipping wind, and stepped out into the swirling flakes. His new sneakers disappeared into the snow, and cold immediately surrounded his ankles. The tracks of his car were already filling as one snowflake after another heaped up in them. Aiden reached for his backpack, closed the door, and started trudging through the cold white mass, away from the rapidly disappearing tracks and his sun-yellow car. He hoped no one crashed into it while he was away. He also hoped there would be a town just around the next turn, not that there were any turns. The lampposts stood in a straight line as far as he could see. * * * * Aiden couldn’t feel his feet; they’d gone from hurting to numb. His fingers burned from the cold, and the snow kept coming down at the same pace it had all evening. He had no idea where he was. Trees, trees, and more trees. But what there was even more of was snow. He looked up into the sky and went dizzy from watching the flakes fall down. They seemed to fall so fast, and yet some of them looked as if they weren’t moving at all. His phone had beeped its battery warning twice, which meant the next one would be a double beep, and then it would die. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a signal anyway, but maybe they could use it to track him when he’d been buried in the snow. He feared that was where he was heading—towards a slow, cold death. If he didn’t find somewhere he could ask for help, soon it would be over. Who would have thought there’d be so many trees between Whiteport and Courtland, or that the distance between the small villages scattered between the two cities was so great? Aiden didn’t know how long he had been walking, or rather plodding through the snow. An eternity. He was becoming unsteady, his muscles ached, and he shivered heavily. He couldn’t decide if he was nauseated or hungry, maybe both. What he did know, though, was that he needed to sit down, if only for a little while. He stopped. His breathing was coming in rapid pants, and they didn’t slow even though he was standing still. His fingers were shockingly red. The snowflakes landing on his hands took longer to melt now than they had at the beginning of his march, or maybe it just looked that way. The muted light from the lampposts blurred together, but Aiden believed there was a turn ahead. He would rest there. Slowly, he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. It was hard to know where to place his feet since he couldn’t feel them, and he sunk down to his knees in the deep snow with each step, but he kept his gaze locked on the turn. He didn’t know if he was on the road or if he was walking next to it. Snowflakes caught in his eyelashes; no matter how many times he blinked them away, new ones kept on coming. He took one more step, noticing that this time he didn’t sink down as low into the snow. Giggling, he looked at the tracks that had magically appeared on the ground. They looked like railroad tracks though narrower. He turned around to look behind him and almost fell over as the ground shifted under his feet. It didn’t really shift; he was standing in the same spot he had a few seconds earlier only looking in another direction. He gazed at the turning tracks, disappearing into the forest a few metres from where he was standing. Aiden recognised those kinds of tracks. You didn’t grow up in Courtland without knowing what snowmobile tracks looked like. Going off the main road wasn’t smart, but maybe it was a shortcut. Maybe there was a cosy little town on the other side of the woods. He peered between the trees, but there was only inky darkness, icy trunks, and the never-ending snow. What do I have to lose? Apart from his life, not a single thing. And at the moment he’d gladly trade his life for someplace warm. The tracks went in between the lines of pine trees, and Aiden followed them. Every step was a struggle, but at least he wasn’t sinking down as much as he had on the road. Either the snow didn’t drift as much in here, or it had been packed by the snowmobile. It didn’t matter why…Come to think of it, not much did matter. Aiden swayed and staggered, forcing himself onwards, one step after another. Dizziness came in waves, and the waves were longer and deeper with each tide. When he stumbled and stepped on the other side of the tracks, the snow gave way under him. The trees spun, and he found himself buried to the waist in the white cold. He sighed and let his body go limp, leaning back to rest, still half covered in snow. The snowflakes came down towards him, the sky infinite, and the snow limitless. He closed his eyes. He needed to rest. The snow was soft, and the silence peaceful. He could go to sleep… * * * * Soft approaching footfalls interrupted his slumber. Were they footfalls? They were closing in rapidly, and they didn’t sound…human. Aiden didn’t have the energy to open his eyes and look. It was probably all in his imagination anyway. But he couldn’t ignore when something wet and cold touched his face. Aiden grunted and turned away, squinting in exhaustion at his would-be attacker. Through the blur of icy lashes, he saw a brown face and honey-coloured eyes watching him with interest. The light-brown snout came towards him again, but Aiden managed to put up an arm before the wet whiskers made contact with his skin. What was a dog doing in the middle of the forest? The bark startled him. “Og! Get back here!” The voice was human. Aiden tried to speak, but not a sound passed his lips. The last of his energy seeped out in the snow. He reached up and grabbed a hold of the dog’s collar, not wanting it to leave him. Then he closed his eyes.