The Crash

by Freida McFadden

I’ve never killed anyone before.

I’m not a murderer. I’m a good person. I don’t lie. I don’t cheat. I don’t steal. I hardly ever even raise my voice. There are very few things I’ve done in my life that I’m ashamed of.

Jackson and I have important business to discuss. Soon, I’m going to be rich beyond my wildest dreams. And it’s all because of the baby growing inside me.

I had big plans for my life, none of which involved getting pregnant at age twenty-two.

I have informally named my fetus Little Tuna.

Jackson does not come here for social reasons. This is his job.

sign a nondisclosure agreement, promising that nobody besides Simon and me (and Jackson) would know he was the father of my child.

I can’t help but think that I wish it had been Jackson I met that night at the bar by the ski lodge. I would happily give up the monster offer from Simon for a chance at starting a family with a great guy like Jackson.

Truth be told, most of my boyfriends were not good enough by his standards. He definitely does not approve of Simon. I wonder what he’d think of Jackson.

I try to grasp on to the memory, my mind straining to recall anything about the night I conceived my daughter. But no. It’s a blank. Almost like someone took an eraser to my brain.

The only thing I can remember are the nightmares of his face that have been haunting me with increasing frequency.

I see his face hovering over me like I do in my nightmares. But this time, it’s different. Instead of just seeing his face, I can also see his naked body. On top of me. And there’s a hungry look in his eyes that terrifies me.

No, I manage to say with a tongue that feels like dead weight. I don’t want to. No. No! Simon rolls his eyes. Didn’t you finish your beer? Go back to sleep, Tegan. No. I don’t want…

Simon slipped something into my drink. And then when we got back to my hotel room, he…

Sign the contract, or else you and your baby will get nothing.

I thought at least Jackson was a good guy, but I was so wrong. All this time, he was just “handling” me.

Using the word “father” to describe that man feels like a bastardization of the word. He isn’t Tuna’s father. He’s nothing to her.

I’m not stopping. I’m not even slowing down. And then a second later, the hood of my car smashes into the tree and crumples like a tin can.

My baby is okay. I didn’t lose her in this terrible accident.

I can’t get free from this car. I can’t walk. I have no food or water.

I’m going to die here.

He just keeps driving deeper and deeper into the woods, to a place where nobody will ever find me.

The giant yeti of a man stares at me, writhing on his sofa, before speaking. “We should put her in the basement.”

in spite of the innocuous contents of the room, there’s something disturbing about this basement.

Like someone died down here.

Hank insisted that I be brought down here and Polly reluctantly going along with it.

I wonder if the last person to occupy this bed made it out alive.

The man may have saved my life, but I don’t feel comfortable around him.

Just for tonight, I’m going to pretend I’m like everyone else. Married, with a loving husband who is excited to be having our first child together.

as I search the depth of my handbag, I notice one other thing that’s missing. My pepper spray.

I don’t know why he did it, but there’s no good reason he would have robbed me of both a means of communicating and defending myself.

“What did you bring me?” I ask. “It’s Dilaudid.”

I only question for a moment why this couple has powerful pain pills stocked in their medicine cabinet.

every time I dream, I dream of Simon.

I have no proof it wasn’t consensual sex.

I think back to the lunch Polly made for me. I had attributed the sour taste I had in my mouth to our conversation, but now I’m not so sure. Is it possible she slipped something into my lunch, and that’s why I slept so long?

What if the phone lines actually are working? What if the area around their cabin has already been plowed? Yet they still won’t let me go. He still won’t let me go.

a sudden terrible certainty goes through my head: I’m going to die here.

This is the kind of place where if you screamed, nobody would hear you.

Angela was the only person who could ask me how I’m doing without it sounding like she’s speaking to a mental patient.

I’m not interested in talking to Angela again.

Hank means well. He’s the best man I’ve ever met—there’s nobody better. And he would have been a great father. It’s all my fault he’ll never get to experience that.

despite how absolutely miserable she looks, I feel a sharp jab of envy.

I’m an old hat at plastering a smile on my face and pretending to be delighted about someone else having a baby, but it gets harder every time.

The next thing I find in her purse is her cell phone. I swipe at the screen, but it’s locked. I start to drop the phone back in her bag, but at the last second, for reasons I don’t quite understand, I power it down and slip it into my own pocket.

It’s pepper spray. I slip the pepper spray into my pocket as well, nestled next to the cell phone. Not that I think that girl would hurt us, but I don’t like the idea of a guest in our home having a weapon.

Hank and I have spent every penny we had to have a child, and what do we have to show for it? Absolutely nothing.

He’s worried about me being around a pregnant woman. He doesn’t say so, but ever since The Incident, he’s been waiting for me to crack again.

There’s a lot that I regret in my life. But I don’t regret asking Hank to dinner that night. Although sometimes I wonder if he regrets saying yes.

Tegan refused the two pills I offered her for pain. In actuality, they were not Dilaudid like I claimed they were. They weren’t pain medications at all.