Page 1 of Wrong Mail

Prologue

Two years ago

Oregon

I'm not sure I'll make it.

The rain claws at the glass like it means to get inside the car. The wipers thrash at full speed and still can't keep up. For half a second the road appears, black and streaming, then the water closes over it again and the world is gone. My headlights barely reach past the rain, catching silver needles and the pines crowding in on both sides.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I lean forward over the wheel. My knuckles have gone white. My palms are slick on the leather and I can hear myself breathing, quick and shallow, under the drum of the storm.

The phone is in the cupholder. The signal is gone again.

Of course it is.

I focus on the road, then tap the screen. One bar, then none. I've been trying to find stable reception for what feels like forever, but every time it flickers back, it's gone before I can use it.

I need to reach someone.

The thought is urgent, and underneath it is the reason I'm out here in the first place, the thing pushing me faster through the rain.

I glance down. My thumb slips off the glass.

The speedometer says I'm going too fast for this. I know I am, but I have no choice.

I press harder on the gas anyway.

The river runs beside me on the right, swollen and loud enough to hear through the closed windows. The guardrail flickers past in the corner of my eye, a broken silver stitch. I take the next curve and the back of the car floats, just slightly, the tires letting go of the road before they catch again.

For a second, I forget to breathe.

“What the…”

Something appears through the blur of rain. It’s a pale shape caught in the headlights. At first, my mind can’t make sense of it.

A woman is standing in my lane with both hands raised against the light, her mouth open. Rain has slicked her dark hair against her face, and her clothes cling to her body. Her skin looks almost white, like she’s already been pulled from the water.

Her eyes find mine through the windshield.

There's no time.

I jerk the wheel to avoid her. The car swings hard right. The tires scream on the wet road.

Then I hit her.

There’s a soft, terrible give against the front of the car. I feel it in my chest before I hear it.

A sound tears out of me that isn’t a word.

The guardrail rushes at me and doesn't hold. It buckles on impact, and the road disappears beneath the car.

The car pitches forward.

The headlights sweep across black water.

Then the river hits.