“I was wrong about everything, wrong about taking this route, everything. The whole time I was walking, I knew I was wrong to leave you. But you were already pissed at me, and you were going to be even more pissed no matter what I did. I was angry, too, at myself for getting us into this mess. I couldn’t think straight. I thought I could get gas and be back fast and make things right. But I was wrong again.”

“But if you woke me, at least we’d be together.”

“I didn’t think.”

“I just can’t believe you’d do such a thing.”

“Sam, we’re both stressed and anxious about this move. That’s what’s really scaring me, got me acting so stupid. I’m afraid of losing you.”

“Well, you got a dumbass way of showing it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just—look. This is what I propose. Near the exchange at the interstate, we saw a hamlet, or village. I think it’s called Spiritsburg. There’s a motel there. We’ll spend the night, and in the morning, we’ll gas up. I’ll fill the gas can, too. I’ll even buy a spare and fill it. Then we’ll get on the interstate to Canada. We should be able to get wireless service, and we can let Monique know we’ll be a little late getting to her place in Montreal. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

Soon, the road transformed from gravel to a paved highway, and the fog dissipated, lifting Sam’s spirits. She was happy the twilight zone was now behind them. Eventually, like a sign of hope, a church steeple came into view as they came upon Spiritsburg. They passed a cluster of old frame houses, storefronts, and a ball diamond, huddled against the eternal forests in the tranquil night.

“Good to be back in civilization,” Sam said.

They found the Green Rolling Hills Inn at the edge of town. It was a single-story, L-shaped motel, with about six rooms in each block, opening to a paved, dimly lit parking lot.

The lot was empty.

Kevin wheeled up to the front, under the neon sign which read Office. Transom bells jingled when they entered the reception area. Vistas of ski hills, forest streams, and mountain valleys hung in posters on the paneled walls. Standing at one side of the desk was the ever-present brochure display, inviting visitors to Zip Line Adventures or Fall Foliage Tours. On the other side was a small kiosk of travel items—toothbrushes, combs, razors, headache pills, snacks—and a cooler with sandwiches, cheese, fruit, and yogurt.

It was around 1 a.m. The office was still and silent.

Sam reached down, retrieved her bracelet from her shoe, and put it on.

“Hello?” Kevin called to the doorway behind the counter leading to a residence.