On motorway A1, 23:27
Dan opens her eyes wide in shock, just to close them against the glaring whiteness of the tunnel lighting. After a few flickering moments, it settles and remains as stable as it is meant to be.
She takes her gaze from the lights and looks around. Her car stands diagonal on the empty lane, an obstruction to the traffic. At least she is still alone, but for how long? It takes all her willpower to make her fingers turn the key in the ignition. The engine cuts in without delay and as if nothing spectacular had happened.
With trembling hands, Dan engages the bottom gear and pulls the car back into the lane. She doesn't dare to pick up speed, too shaken by her strange experience, whatever it was. The harder she tries to remember, the blurrier the pictures dancing through her memory. This reminds her of trying to make sense of a nightmare after waking up, bathed in sweat but unable to recall the frightening events of the dream. In vain, she tries to hold onto the fleeting shards of memories.
As soon as the pictures have dissolved, she realises her body shakes with cold. A glance at the dashboard thermometer tells her it's fourteen centigrade outside. That's far from freezing—she should be fine even though the car's heater stopped working two seasons ago. Her mind wanders while she drives on at a snails speed.
During summer, the malfunction of the heater is not a problem. But the memory of last winter sends a twisted smile to her face. When temperatures dropped below zero, she rose to the challenge to drive to work by wearing a woollen hat, scarf, and gloves. When she left the office in her outfit one day, a coworker asked her if she was heading for a ski holiday. An additional shiver runs down her spine. Her numb fingers can hardly hold onto the steering wheel, and her teeth chatter.
After an almost-eternity, Dan spots the tunnel's end, a black semicircle above the wet tarmac. She pulls her car into the service lane and up the maintenance exit outside of the tunnel's portal. In front of the red and withe barrier, she stops. What happened? Did she blackout for a moment? Anyway, the priority is to get warm again.
Still breathing hard, she switches on the hazard lights and opens the door. The soft drizzle covers her face, hair, and clothes with a moist film within instants, tiny droplets reflecting the yellow sheen of her warning flashers.
Dan heaves herself out of the car and opens the boot to search for spare clothes. A worn duffle bag contains her sportswear, and she hopes to find something warm inside. Throwing aside a pair of flimsy running tights, she decides on old gardening jeans she must have forgotten in the trunk. The heavy fabric is clammy at first, but better than her short skirt, despite the rip over her left knee. She discards the stylish garment into the bag and picks up a black fleece sweater, an old favourite. It feels good to pull it over her thin blouse.
Ready to climb back into the driver's seat, Dan remembers another thing. Quickly, she changes from her flats into comfortable running shoes. She keeps them in the car just in case the rare opportunity arises to put them to use between meetings, to clear her mind during a lunch break.
Before the rain gets the chance to soak her new outfit, she slams the trunk and slips back into the driver's seat. The thicker clothing eases her shivers. However, Dan longs for a cup of coffee, or better, hot chocolate and a bath, scented with her favourite lavender lotion.
What's wrong with her today? Is she feverish? With the back of her hand pressed against her forehead, she checks her temperature. Her skin is ice cold—as if she'd spent too much time in wind and snow. How is this possible in early May?
The only time she remembers freezing to this degree was as a student, during her internship in the DNA-lab. Her job included packing samples in cold storage. Later, strict regulations against prolonged exposure to this artificial, harsh environment were set in place. Dan doesn't regret she left those days far behind, together with DNA-work. Not so cold storage, unfortunately.
Why does my brain insist dwelling on cold stores? She massages her numb temples with number fingertips and tries to remember.
The power failed while she drove through the tunnel. She braked hard and stalled the engine. Probably forgot to engage the clutch in time. Such a stupid beginners' mistake.
Dan likes to see herself as an experienced driver. She shakes her head, but the cobwebs shrouding her memory don't dissolve. It's high time she gets a grip and drives home—she needs sleep.
While she fumbles for her keys, another thought nags her. The car's lights failed during the tunnel incident. In her ancient model, the headlights are independent of the ignition. And there is no possible connection to the tunnel lighting.
Desperate, she tries to rub warmth into her cheeks. Why do pictures of a strange laboratory and a cold store keep flashing in her mind? And who's the good-looking guy in dark clothing haunting her thoughts? Dan isn't sure she didn't fall asleep while driving, a frightening thought. Maybe everything was just a crazy dream. She snorts. Weird kind of dream, where a sick guy pulls a girl into a freezer.
Then memory sets in like a flash, and Dan gasps. The walk-in freezer, and the arm around her shoulder. Ric's arm. With the name, everything else comes back, the veil over her memories torn to shreds. Now, they seem sharp and fresh like a landscape after the sun dissolved the morning mists. She presses the heels of her hands into her weary eyes. If she wasn't dreaming, the only other reasonable explanation is that she's hallucinating.
"This shit only happens to me." Her own words sound shaky, her voice hollow. She swallows, lips pressed together. Dan hates the habit of talking to herself. Somewhere she read this might be a sign of stress, social isolation, or beginning senility. It's not an option to consider senility at her age. She's not that much past thirty, after all. And she doesn't want to dwell on the other possibilities.
Leaning back into the driver's seat, she starts the engine and switches off the hazard flashers. Determined, she puts the car into gear. Time to get home and cross this day from my list of valued experiences.
For the second time tonight, the engine stalls without reason. The car's interior lights flicker and engulf a startled Dan in impenetrable darkness.