LANA
Lana Caldwell had faced down plenty of rough guys at school. She'd taken them down with the elegance of sarcasm and won every verbal showdown that came her way. She'd never been scared of any of them — not their empty threats thrown into the air, not the low blows when their wit ran dry, not the intimidation. But the truth was, she'd never felt as terrified as she did in that moment. In the middle of a deserted highway, under the closed sky of night, when a stranger's truck screeched to a halt with a bone-chilling squeal on the asphalt.
It didn't matter that she'd learned to take care of herself since she was ten, or that she wore her honor roll status with pride, or even that her family fortune surpassed the Cullens'. As soon as the guy stepped out of his truck and started walking toward her, all those certainties vanished like smoke in the wind — the only thing she could think was that she was alone. Completely alone, on a road forgotten by the world.
She felt panic crawling up her throat.
"I'm going to die here, and no one will ever find my body."
The thought hit her with brutal force.
"Who's going to take care of Gracie? Who's going to feed Prada? Lizzie lives in a bubble of smoke, and Mom and Kate are never home. I'm going to die without anyone even noticing."
A few moments earlier, when the truck had passed her car, she'd seen how the guy looked at her with deep interest, like he was selecting the best prey from the herd. Her first impression was that he was planning a murder. Lana constantly listened to the news around town; the most popular stories were about missing people who later turned up dead the next day. Maybe he was the one responsible. Maybe she was next.
A terrifying thought, but less horrifying than the sudden realization that she'd seen that face before. Ruddy skin, sharp cheekbones. Dark hair and eyes. The shadows of night barely let her see clearly.
"Please God, do something. Make him turn around and go back where he came from."
But why would God intervene in her fate? Instead, He had decided that the guy would stop. Then, lightning tore through the sky and briefly illuminated the scene. He wore a black t-shirt that accentuated his burly build, and worn jeans that spoke of roads traveled. The last thing Lana saw before the lightning faded was the tattoo on his right shoulder.
She recognized it almost immediately.
Jacob Black.
The classmate she hated most in the world. The only one she had to work twice as hard to win an argument against. That only fueled her hatred for him more. So when he was just a few steps away, Lana crossed her arms, looked at him with haughtiness, and fired:
—If you're looking for money, Black, I suggest you ask the Cullens. I don't have a charitable spirit.
Jacob sighed. Another lightning bolt streaked across the sky, announcing a storm. She noticed his expression of annoyance, like he deeply regretted being there. Lana prepared for a verbal battle. What she didn't expect was what came next.
—Do you need help?—he asked, without any inflection in his voice.
Lana blinked. The question threw her off. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten a flat tire, and Jacob Black had never offered to help her. Not with that, not with anything. And now he shows up like a Good Samaritan?
She looked at him with suspicion.
—What do you want from me?— she snapped, sharp. If this was a joke, she wasn't about to let it slide.
—I don't want anything— he replied, unperturbed.
Lana let out a short, incredulous laugh.
—Right, that's why you got out of your truck. Because you didn't want 'anything,'— she shot back, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.
Jacob took a deep breath, like he was trying to contain something boiling inside.
—I thought maybe you needed help with the tire—he told her, in a whining whisper.
She smiled at him with disdain.
—I can handle it myself. And anyway, I'd call a shop, not you.
—They don't work at this hour of the night—he reminded her, calmly.
Lana's eyes narrowed like blades.
—I already know that.
—And yet you plan to stay stranded in the middle of nowhere?
—I already told you, I can handle it myself. You understand?
Jacob looked at her, then looked at the trunk, and looked at her again. A lopsided smile, dark and mocking, crossed his face.
—In that case, I'm leaving.
He turned around and started walking away. Lana watched him slowly disappear into the darkness, like a threat withdrawing without explanation. His attitude had been so unexpected that she stood paralyzed. First he insisted on helping, and now he left without pressing further. So then... what? Was he trying to flirt with her? The thought seemed ridiculous, even offensive. She shook her head to banish it. In a way she felt relieved he was leaving; yes, the truth was she was delighted.
However, a part of her — one she didn't quite understand — wanted to yell something like "I can't get the tire out of the trunk! Could you at least do that, no?"
Jacob already had his hand on his truck door. But he didn't get in. Suddenly, he slammed it shut and, without a word, came back toward her. Lana shifted her weight from one leg to the other, confused.
"Now what?" she thought.
This time, he didn't stop in front of her. He went straight to the trunk, opened it, pulled out the spare tire, and set it down next to the flat one. Then he looked at her, annoyed.
—When you can, take the flat tire to the shop. Spares aren't made for permanent use—he said seriously.
And without giving her time to respond, he turned around, went back to his truck, and drove off.
Lana barely had time to hear the roar of the engine before she was alone again on the highway, with the wind whipping her hair and a jumble of disordered thoughts.
The only thing clear was that she hated him.
●●●
—I heard the phone ring, but I didn't recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail— Elizabeth excused herself, between sips of red wine.
She was sprawled on the couch with an almost artistic languor. Legs stretched out, face impeccably made up despite not leaving the house, and brown hair tied up in a studiedly careless way. Her wine-colored lips matched the glass she held between her fingers. On the TV screen, the cooking channel displayed an absurdly elaborate recipe, and Lizzie didn't take her eyes off it for a second.
Lana stood in front of her, arms crossed, purposely blocking the view of the culinary show her sister watched almost religiously. Outside, the backyard waterfall stayed on, spilling its constant murmur like a provocation.
Lana wondered, not without some resentment, if her mother, Susan, had ever imposed any kind of authority or discipline on Lizzie. But seeing her there, so comfortable in her indifference, she had her answer. No. Never.
—Next time, pick up—Lana said, dry.
—Don't ask me that—Elizabeth blinked, with feigned innocence, not looking away from the screen—What if it's someone who wants to ask me for a favor?
—That was the point! I was the one who needed a favor!
Lizzie's laugh was soft, musical, and dangerously condescending.
—In that case, good thing I didn't answer—she said, and took another sip —Could you move a little to the right? I can't see well what he's adding to the mixture.
Lana glared at her. She knew her sister was selfish, but was it that hard to answer a damn phone? She was sure that if Mary Kate- her other sister- had been home, she wouldn't have taken two seconds to respond. She lived glued to her phone with the same devotion that Lizzie gave to the TV... and to wine.
She didn't have the energy to dignify that contempt with a response, so she spun on her heels and stomped up the stairs, determined not to speak to her for the rest of the week.
Once in her room, she collapsed onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow, letting out a grunt of frustration. If only that were enough. But no. She grabbed the cushion and threw it hard against the window, imagining on the glass her sister's smug face... and next to it, stupid Black's.
It was a clean shot, dead center.
Much better.
Though the anger kept pulsing, stubborn. And she had plenty of reasons. She'd been stranded for almost three hours on a highway, wrestling with a spare tire like it was a chess piece on fire, all because her sister hadn't wanted to answer the phone, much less help her.
And then there was him. Jacob Black. With his sudden and inexplicable generosity. Lana felt disconcerted. Out of place. Was it part of some silent revenge? Some absurd comedy written by someone with very poor emotional aim? That would explain his recent transformation: the haircut, the worked-out body, even his facial features seemed to have changed, sharpening. But what had caught her attention most were his eyes. They no longer had the challenging light from before. Now they seemed dark, dense... loaded with a mystery that unsettled her more than she'd like to admit.
She sighed, defeated by exhaustion. She didn't have the energy to keep thinking about him. Besides, it was almost midnight and she had to wake up early. She pulled her pajamas from the dresser and headed to the bathroom, determined to treat herself to a hot shower before sleeping.
As she passed by the window, she thought to glance outside. From there, she could see the backyard, the grass path that led into the woods, wrapped in shadows. As she turned her gaze toward some nearby bushes, she noticed something. Movement.
She remembered again what the news kept repeating. But, despite the fear that began to invade her, she didn't look away. She kept her eyes fixed. Expectant.
What happened next wasn't exactly "seeing." It was something different. Something more primitive. Like an idea forming an image: dark fur rippling, eyes blinking and then staring fixed. Contained movement. Presence.
Someone. Or something.
Something that wasn't human. Something with a snout. With claws.
Lana blinked, disconcerted. She rubbed her eyes.
And everything disappeared.
The night returned. The moon returned. The silence returned.
"Definitely," she thought as she stepped away from the window, "I'm going crazy."