Chapter 2

Valery

A puff of smoke and a high-pitched screech are the only warnings before my van loses all forward momentum. Considering my uphill ascent through the mountain pass, I barely make it to the scenic pull-off along the two-lane highway before rolling to a stop.

“No, no, no.” I moan as I shift the transmission into park and engage my emergency brake. Glancing at my phone playing a self-help audiobook, I confirm my worst fear—I have no reception.

Great. Just fucking great!

I knew I should’ve stuck to the interstate and forwent this picturesque mountain path where my favorite YouTube wildlife sightings are rumored to be filmed. Even if I had a signal, I don’t know exactly where I am. Somewhere near Glacier National Park, but nowhere near the St. Mary’s entrance I’m heading to.

Does AAA even service this area?

I pop the hood on the 2019 ProMaster conversion van I bought three weeks ago and jump out of the driver’s seat as the sun kisses the horizon in the distance. It won’t be long before I’m blanketed in darkness, consumed by nightfall, stranded on the side of the road with limited electricity and no heat.

What am I doing out here?

My therapist said this adventure is an ill-advised cry for help—a clear indication that I’m running away from my problems instead of staying rooted in place and working through my feelings of abandonment. To be fair, I suspect she’s thinking more about her bank account and less about my mental health, but I could be wrong. Everything happened so fast, and yet I feel like I’ve been waiting to start the next phase of my life for years.

Three months ago, my recently retired parents bought a class-C RV. They were so happy and intent on traveling the country and taking in all the sights.

I—a junior marketing executive for Altium—was consumed with climbing the corporate ladder, driven to obtaining the corner office, and negotiating the purchase of a tiny eight hundred-square-foot condo overlooking Pier 57 and the bay.

My parents had been on the road for four days when I got the call.

I’ll never forget it. I was in my office, on my work line with an irate client when my cell rang. Glancing at the screen, I sent the unknown number to voicemail. Ten-seconds later my line rang again, this time the caller ID registering with State of Montana .

A lead weight dropped in my stomach and I told my client I would call them back, their ranting no doubt continuing even after I disconnected the line. My hands shook as I picked up my cell and hit the big green button.

“Hello?”

“Is this Valery Canton?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Dave Athens with the Montana State Highway Patrol.”

I don’t know how I knew what he was going to say, but I did, and a sob ripped from my throat before he could utter another word.

“I’m sorry to inform you, Ms. Canton, but there was an accident eastbound on I-90 about twenty miles west of Missoula.”

White noise muted everything else he said after that, my brain disconnecting from my rapidly changing reality. The next two weeks flew by in a blur. It’s amazing the things you can accomplish when you’re looking at your life from the outside in.

They sent my parents’ remains home. Funeral arrangements were made, and we held a celebration of life in their home. As people left, I sat in my parent’s bathroom feeling their absence like a steel-woven shroud draped over my shoulders. The crushing weight on my chest was so overwhelming I couldn’t catch my breath, which is how I ended up in the hospital with stress cardiomyopathy—also known as broken heart syndrome.

It’s also when I thought through the next forty years of my life and asked myself the big question. Life is fragile and fleeting; did I really want to spend it chained to a desk placating unreasonable clients and sucking up to chauvinist bosses?

The answer came swiftly and loudly: No; I didn’t.

Two weeks later I quit my job, backed out of the condo, broke up with my on again / off again boy toy, and went about putting our most precious family heirlooms in storage before selling my parent’s house and settling all of their accounts.

Now I’m lifting the hood of my conversion van to look at… what? I have no idea how a vehicle works.

Gravel crunching under tires pulls my head up from the steaming puzzle before me. I grip my heavy Maglite tightly in my hand and make eye contact with a younger guy—maybe seventeen years old. Even though he appears youthful, he’s tall and wide for a teenager, so I don’t let down my guard.

“You okay?” he says with a friendly tone, his hands loose at his side. Beyond him is a tow truck that says “Perry’s Garage - Broken Falls” on the door, which gives me a small sense of relief. I mean, at least he’s not a random guy who saw a woman on the side of the road and thought to take advantage of the situation.

Not that a tow truck means he’s safe. But he is a guy in the business of car transportation and repair, which I obviously need.

“I’m not sure.” I take another step back from the hot engine, steam wafting up in the brisk evening air.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asks, even though he’s already bracing his hands on the front fender and peering down into the bits and pieces.

“There was a high-pitched squeal and then a puff of smoke before I lost power,” I offer to be helpful.

“Sounds like you snapped a belt.” He reaches in and touches something, and all I can think is how hot the metal must be.

“Be careful.”

He grins and pulls his hand out. “My cousins own a garage about ten miles from here. I’ll tow you there, if you like.”

“In Broken Falls?”

“No. That’s where I live, which is about fifty miles in the other direction. Fortune Falls is closer.”

“Fortune Falls.” I shake my head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s not on the map, but my cousins are damn good mechanics, and they could use the work. If I tow you back to my garage, you’ll be waiting a week or longer before we can look at it.” He shrugs. “It’s your choice.”

I sigh. “It doesn’t sound like I have a choice at all.”

“You always have a choice, but not a lot of good ones at the moment.” He chuckles.

Pursing my lips, I cast my eyes down to the ground, over my pity party. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s been a couple of shitty months.”

“Trust that the Fates have your back.” He gently closes the hood. “So, where am I taking you?”

“Let’s try Fortune Falls,” I say as a gust of wind blows past us and a full body shiver hits me.

“Good choice.” He takes a few steps toward his rig, giving me plenty of space. “Why don’t you grab your essentials? I’ll back up my truck and get you loaded before it’s dark.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I jump into my rig and grab my purse and phone, and then stand back as he loads my van on the flatbed of his tow truck. He opens the passenger door and waves me in while rounding the hood to jump into the driver's seat.

We’re driving up the pass, now cloaked in darkness, and I’m wondering if I am about to be the star of a true crime episode. Who jumps into the passenger seat of a stranger’s truck on the side of a secluded highway? Isn’t this how Kemper got all of his victims?

“Are you Perry?” I ask to break up the silence.

He shakes his head. “Nah, that’s my dad. I’m Peter. What’s your name?”

“Valery.” I glance down at my phone and note the lack of service. Turning on and off airplane mode, I sigh when no bars appear. “Do you have cell reception?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and shakes his head. “Not here, but we’ll have some once we round the corner in a few miles. Do you need to let your family know where you are?”

“Yeah,” I mutter the white lie. I have friends I check in with occasionally, and of course I post online daily when I have a signal, but I don’t have any family left that I’m close with.

Is that sad? Maybe. But my mom and dad were from different parts of the east coast when they met in college, and moved to the opposite end of the country to start their lives. Dad was a southerner, and as he often joked, Mom was a damned Yankee. Washington was a world away from both of their families, whom I’ve met but only saw every few years.

So… yeah. I’m not close with my aunts, uncles, or cousins.

We crest a hill and round a switchback in the road when Peter one-hand dials and says casually before lifting his phone to his ear, “You might have a signal now.”

I glance down at my screen—still bar-less—as Peter speaks into his phone.

“Hey, Kevin, I’m glad I caught you before you closed up for the night. I came across a conversion van about ten miles outside of town, so I loaded her up and am bringing her to you now.”

… I can’t hear Kevin’s reply.

“Yes, she is. I forgot about that.”

…

“Come on, man. She’s stranded without her wheels. If I take her back to Broken Falls, she’ll be waiting at least a week. I’m pretty sure it’s the serpentine belt. The boys could replace it in an afternoon.”

…

“There is that. We’re about ten minutes out. See you soon.”

Peter hangs up and sets his cell down in the center console.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“Huh?” He frowns and then shakes his head. “I forgot his sons were camping, and he’s at the shop alone. But he’s great, I promise. His daughter is there too.”

“Daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s probably close to your age—if you want to hang out.”

“That’s… nice.” I’m not sure what to say to that, but I’m guessing he thinks another female would make me more comfortable. And honestly, he’s right.

Signs for the national park reflect off the headlights when Peter slows down and turns off onto a dirt road hidden by bushes and trees. There’s an abandoned warehouse to the left, but no signs of a town. My heart rate quickens as I clutch my bag in one hand, my phone in the other. Dear god, he’s taking me to a secluded patch of forest and they will never find my remains. This idea—fueled by too many nights binging horror movies and murder shows—has me on the verge of unfastening my seat belt so I can jump while we’re still doing under ten miles per hour.

Sensing my unease, Peter speaks as the dirt path widens into a graded two-lane road. “This is Fortune Falls, a hidden town nestled in the shadows of Glacier National Park.”

I breathe a little easier as a diner and a general store appear, followed by one house and then another and another, most of which have a light on inside. Interestingly, there are no porch or street lights, which I suspect allows the night sky to shimmer with stars. I’m betting it’ll be even more beautiful in the upcoming hours.

We pull to a stop in front of a three-bay garage where a tall man with tousled brown hair and silver highlights walks out while wiping his hands on a red rag. Peter jumps out of the driver’s seat and slams his door shut.

I exit with less enthusiasm, the older man turning from their conversation to face me with his hand offered. “Hello. I’m Kevin.”

“Valery.”

“Rough day?” he says with a friendly smile.

“Not the best start of my trip,” I try to say with a lightness my heart doesn’t feel.

“We’ll do our absolute best to have you up and running as quickly as possible.”