Free Hearts Unfold by Karen Welch Page B

developing an intense dislike for this man.   He wished Betsy would hurry, so this
conversation could end.   “No,” he said
sternly, “we're friends, that's all.”
    Mark had
lowered the volume on the radio.   Now he
turned the dial as the music was interrupted by a weather bulletin.   They listened as the announcer read a winter
weather advisory, urging holiday travelers to use caution or postpone travel
until the storm had passed.   Mark muttered
an oath.   “Just what I need, a
snowstorm.”
    Betsy returned,
crawling across the seat to snuggle at Mark's side.   He shrugged her away angrily.   “What took you so long?   I've got to get back to New York before the
snow hits.   The last thing I need is to
get stuck here.   I'm supposed to do the
whole family thing on Christmas Eve.   How’d I explain to my father why I'm down here in the first place?”   He was rapidly working himself up to a
tantrum.
    Betsy tried to
calm him, stroking his shoulder, pointing out that they should be in DC in an
hour or so.   They would be miles away
from the storm before it started.   He
pulled out of the truck stop with a squeal of tires, bringing the car up to
highway speed so rapidly that Stani had to brace himself against the door.
    He was
exhausted now.   He hated any kind of
discord, and he felt sorry for Betsy.   There would be rough going ahead if she tried to continue a relationship
with Mark Stevenson.   He was spoiled and
vulgar, and would always find someone to blame for his own mistakes.   Not, he suspected, that anyone would ever
convince her of that.
    Stretching his
legs across the seat, Stani leaned back on the door and tried to fall asleep.   He could hear Betsy carrying on a one-sided
conversation, her voice artificially bright.   They should be nearing the outskirts of Washington, but through the
window opposite, he saw nothing but the blackest of night skies.   He heard Mark curse again, and saw the
spatter of rain on the glass.
    He must have
drifted off.   He woke with a start to
Mark shouting, “You let me go the wrong way!”
    “Just find a
place to turn around.   We haven't gone
far out of our way.”   The sound of the
wipers scraping the windshield drowned out Mark's reply.   Opening his eyes, Stani could see that
streaks of ice had formed on the glass.   Up ahead, the road glistened ominously.   Without warning, Mark slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel sharply
to the right.   Thrown headlong across the
seat, Stani struck his forehead hard on the window.   He reached blindly for something to stop
himself as he was pulled back again.   The
car seemed to be rocking wildly, side to side.   Once again, he hit his head, this time on the frame of the door behind
him.   Bright points of light sprang
before his eyes.   Somewhere beyond the
roaring in his ears, he thought he heard Mark's voice, swearing in terror now
rather than anger.   Betsy screamed his
own name in warning.   At the front of the
car, something exploded, sending yellow fragments flying past the window.
    A fierce blast
of wind seemed to rush in from all sides, lifting him and tossing him
about.   Frantically, he grasped for some
anchor, his head striking first one and then another unyielding object, his
hair snagging on some sharpened edge.   Just when he thought he’d found a hand hold, the wind tore him free with
a vicious twist, hurtling him into blackness.
    He lost
consciousness then.   Later, he
remembered, or perhaps he merely dreamed, that he had fallen, drifting slowly
through darkness, at last coming to rest in a nest of soft, sweet-smelling
branches.   Engulfed by purest white,
earth and sky, a distant light seemed to beckon him and for a time he floated
toward its ever-shifting beacon.   Somewhere
nearby, a soft voice spoke to him, pleading, calling his name over and
over.   He tried to answer, but found he
was too tired to force the words from his lips.   Gliding in and out of cold and