Page 154 of These Tears

Desperation twists until it’s no longer desperation. And… I start laughing. Like an idiot. Raw, breathless, slightly hysterical. It bubbles up before I can stop it.

Could be the adrenaline that still has its claws in me. Could be the near-death thrill of flying off a powerful machine and not cracking my skull.

Could be him.

It makes him pause – then I notice a faint crease in his balaclava. It might be a smirk.

‘I’ve lost my bloody mind… but, elskling, you have too.’

I ignore the sensation that nickname causes and focus on a more pressing matter.

My attention lunges towards the snowmobile under a dusting of frost and sun, a single green swirl winding down its white sides. ‘Let’s go again!’ I grin.

His shoulders square. ‘You want to try and kill us again?’

Oh absolutely not – he does not get to complain now.

Not after all the philosophy bollocks he’s been feeding me.

‘“Try. When you fail, try again. Until you get better.” Elias Crane, former prisoner, current psychopath, snowmobile accident survivor.’

He huffs a sound that might be a chuckle, might be disbelief. Might be the realisation that I am every bit as bloody cracked in the head as he is.

He stares at me from behind those mirrored goggles for what feels like an eternity.

When he finally shifts, it’s only to reach into the chest pocket of his jacket.

‘It’s time to go into town. We need a few things. I have to make a phone call from the landline.’

My attention snaps to him.

Phone?

I push back the adrenaline at the sound of that.

‘Why don’t you use a mobile?’

He shakes his head. ‘Mountains eat reception, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’ His face turns towards me just as unease takes over.

Does he know I’ve reclaimed the phone?

He must know – he probably looked for it and didn’t find it under the clothes.

‘You sure you’re not hurt?’ he asks offhandedly.

I wait for the rest. Where’s the phone, Leah? Give it to me or else I blow up the fjord.

Nothing comes.

I attempt a smile wide enough to feel the fabric stretch. Thank God for facial covers. ‘I’m okay.’

‘Good. Follow.’

He strides over to the machine. I watch him start to right it, expecting effort or at least a curse. But Elias plants his boots, grips the frame and heaves. His jaw locks. On the first push, the metal beast rolls and thuds heavily back onto its skis.

A coldness spiderwebs up my spine that has nothing to do with winter. My face falls. My fingers curl into my hands.

I knew he was strong. I had not understood just how strong he is.