[CHAPTER TWO]

Three Years Later

"Mom!" Sloane pounded on the front door, "Let me in! It's snowing!"

Sloane's Mother had commanded her to run the trash out before going to bed. It was late, and she was only wearing her pajamas and a pair of house slippers.

Her mother looked at her through the living room window. "You are eighteen now. You no longer live here." Her voice was muffled by the closed window and rising wind but Sloane heard her. Her stomach dropped to her feet in dread as she realized her mother would under no circumstances let her back in the house.

"You've got to be kidding me," she grumbled as she turned away, arms tucked tight against her chest, shoulders hunched, "There is a blizzard warning and she chooses the day I turn eighteen to throw me out."

Sloane pinched the bridge of her nose and considered her options. She had built a shelter and cache on the property over the last few years, however she wouldn't be able to get to it in this weather, and these shoes. Her other option was to head out to the road and hope to flag down a neighbor, but that was a very slim chance. The last option remaining was to cut through the woods to her closest neighbor, going by road it would be a three mile trek, but through the woods was approximately half a mile to three quarters of a mile.

She sighed heavily. "Allright, let's do this."

Sloane checked under the short bench on the porch, her spare flashlight was still there. Resolved, she headed for the woods, cutting through was not safe, but it was the decision she had made. Her siblings were all spending the night elsewhere, which was also a factor in why her mother had chosen tonight to throw her out.

"I don't get it," Sloane grumbled as she carefully stepped from stone to stone crossing the creek between properties. "It's not my fault Dad left. He's not even my bio-dad."

What had started as a thin dusting of snow was now over an inch thick. Just deep enough to obscure tripping hazards, Sloane stepped cautiously onto the opposite bank and scrambled up. She looked up to the black expanse above her, the tiny keychain light was her only source of illumination, and she wasn't sure how long this battery would last.

"It's a small town," Sloane continued talking to herself, "did she think her affair would never be talked about? I mean, she didn't even do that much to hide it."

Sloane paused to check her bearings. This wasn't a route she had taken often, but she had been all over these woods for the past few years searching for a good place to stash things. There was maybe a quarter mile to go, if she went due east from here, even if she missed the house she wouldn't miss the driveway. Her feet were numb and her hands were stiff. She fought the desire to stop and just curl up. She pressed on, increasing her speed as much as she dared.

"One foot in front of the other," she told herself, "just keep moving."

Sloane trained the light on the ground in front of her and focused on just moving forward. She fell into an almost trancelight state, and without fully realizing how she found herself on her neighbor's porch. The father and son that lived here had a reputation for… unfriendliness. But they were also Sloane's only hope. She lifted her hand to knock, and slumped forward. Leaning against the door she brought her fist up to knock. The sound was weak in her own ears. The door cracked open, and then swung wide. Sloane fell into a pair of arms. She was vaguely aware of being hauled up into those arms and plopped roughly into a chair.

A rough towel was draped around her shoulders and over her head, drying her snow sodden hair. Distantly she processed what was happening in the room.

"She's only got one slipper," a young but deep voice spoke, "How should I know where she lost the other one?"

A long pause.

"Yes," the voice spoke again, "warm not hot, got it.' Another pause, Sloane realized he was on the phone, "Oh God, that's going to be awkward." Another long pause, "Yeah Dad, I understand. I'll keep you posted if I can. Bye."

Sloane heard him approaching and looked up. He held a basin and had a towel draped over his shoulder. He knelt in front of her and pulled her ankle, bringing her foot toward him, gently he removed the sodden sock and lowered her foot into the warm water after examining it, and repeated the process with the other. Then he took her hands and while rubbing them gently examined them.

"Lucky girl," he mumbled half to himself, "no frostbite."

"It wasn't as bad when I had the trees to shield me." Sloane mumbled back.

"Quiz time," He looked up from her hands, his brown eyes met her slate gray, "What is your name and address?"

"Sloane Anderson," she paused, "I don't know what address to give you."

He leaned in, "Can't remember?"

"Mom threw me out," Sloane replied, averting her gaze.

"Different question then." He paused for a long moment, "What is my name?"

"Charles Finley," She replied quickly, "son of Charles Finley."

"Extra credit question," he spoke with a nervous laugh, "which numerical follows my name?"

"You are Charles Finley the fourth, and you were two years ahead of me in school."

Charles smirked, "So you do remember me."

He stood before Sloane could respond and started rummaging in a set of drawers by the window. He returned with a change of clothes.

"Here," he extended them awkwardly, "change into these. The bathroom is over there."

Sloane accepted the clothes and shuffled to the indicated room. Her body still felt stiff from the cold, but she no longer felt the stinging bite of it. Despite the father and son's reputation the cabin was clean and tidy.

Her wet clothes felt heavy and clung to her body. She peeled the layers away and pulled the dry, clean clothes on gratefully.

When she emerged from the bathroom Charles was digging through a box. Triumphantly he lifted a hair dryer and turned to face Sloane. He grabbed the closest chair and dragged it over to an outlet.

"Have a seat," he said as he plugged in the dryer, "this should help a bit."

Obediently she sat. If she'd had a bit more energy she might have insisted on drying her own hair. Charles combed her hair with his fingers as he dried it. It felt quite nice and the thought struck her that she couldn't remember the last time someone had dried her hair like this.

"Is it too hot?" Charles asked, observing the change in expressions.

"No," she replied, fighting back tears, "its perfect actually. "

"I'm out of practice," he said as he turned his focus back to drying her hair, "I used to do this all the time for my mom."

"I miss her cinnamon rolls," Sloane spoke then froze.

His mother had passed six years prior due to an unknown disease. She had been a very kind and lovely woman with a laugh always on her lips. Everywhere she went she brought a light and happy energy with her. Even as her body had failed her, she remained positive and bright.

"Done," he stepped back and unplugged the hair dryer. "Do you want a hair tie?"

"I'm ok, thank you. I really hate to impose on you any further than this." Sloane looked at her fingers, hands clenched in her lap.

Charles was silent for a long moment. He sighed in annoyance, "look," he moved around so that he stood in front of her, "I wouldn't offer anything I couldn't stand to part with. It doesn't hurt me at all to do any of these things for you."

"I just-" Sloane cut herself off and averted her gaze.

"Don't know what to do with positive attention?" Charles finished her thought.

Sloane flinched, then nodded.

He knelt in front of her. And covered her hands with his. "You're still freezing. Go sit by the fire, I'm going to make you some food. And don't you dare tell me not to bother."

"Thank you," Sloane replied weakly. Annoyance rose in her. This wasn't like her. She was always firm, strong. But she felt so lost and weak right now.

"How long can I stay?" Sloane asked, staring determinedly into the fire.

"How about we get through this storm, and then we can discuss that. It's not like you could get a place on your own during this blizzard anyway."

"I won't need a place after the storm." Sloane turned her eyes to the window and the black expanse beyond.

"Why not?" His hands froze in place mid prep.

"I'm going to spend the last of my savings on equipment and I'm going through the migration portal."

"Have you been thinking about that for a long time?"

"Ever since Danny took my place."

Charles resumed cooking. The soft whisper of flames and crackle of the fire in the wood stove filled the silence between them. Soon the sizzle of butter in a pan joined the chorus. The smell of toasting bread and cheese filled the room. Sloane's stomach growled.

"I know some people like to dip their grilled cheese in tomato soup, but I'm all out. So I hope a warm sandwich will suffice."

"I eat the majority of my meals at Reed's, any variety is appreciated."

"Wait," he laughed as he handed her the plate, "are you the reason they added salads to the menu?"

Sloane shrugged.

"So," Charles sat on the couch facing Sloane and stretched out his long legs, "tell me about your plan."