Prologue
eleven years ago
The rain came down heavy, blurring the highway, the only source of lights coming from the cars that passed. Evangeline sat in the backseat, her chin resting against the cold glass window. Her eyes tracked the raindrops as they fell against it, silently racing each one in her head. Her parents voice carried over the faint jazz music coming from the radio but quiet enough that it was more like a whisper over the thunder. She gazed out the window at the moon, only being able to see the snowy mountains with each flash of lightning.
It was supposed to be a quick drive home, but the leftover snow on the road mixed with the storm had turned their 30-minute drive into a longer one. This was their third time coming up to the ski lodge for Evangeline birthday, one of her favorite places. But this was the first time it had ever stormed this bad.
A loud wave of thunder rolled through the sky as a pair of headlights swerved into their lane —too fast on the slippery roads. Her father’s shouts of panic cut through the rain and sound of squealing tires. Her world shifted, glass shattered, and head rolled.
For a quick moment, there was nothing but silence, a moment of peace —before the car spun and slid before screeching to a stop.
Evangeline head hit the window, everything going black. When she opened her eyes, the world was upside down. Smoke came from the damaged hood, the dashboard lights slowly blinking before dying out. Her seat belt dug into her body as she tried to move, blood rushing to her head. She reached out for her release button, feeling around before she finally found it and her body dropped to the ground with a low thud and sound of shattered glass moving.
“Mom?”
Her voice was quiet, forced. No response. So, she tried calling out for her dad but was also met with silence.
She reached forward—hands shaking— touching her mother’s sleeve, her father’s wrist. They were both still. She tried shaking them with all her might, but they still didn’t move.
Outside the car, sirens started to fill the quiet air — still distant. But Evangeline couldn’t hear anything but her own breathing, sharp and shaky, gradually growing louder and the sound of thunder echoing through the night.
Something warm ran down her wrist—blood mixed with tears.
When the sirens grew louder and the red and blue lights came into view, she sat motionless, with tears streaming from her eyes, and silent screams of grief. Her eyes never moving from her parents who sat in the front seats, motionless. The world felt like it had stopped and would never start spinning again.
The last thing Evangeline saw before she was engulfed into darkness was a flash of light—lightening or first responders—she couldn’t tell.
