Frigid Affair Read online

  Frigid Affair

  Jennifer Foor

  Copyright

  © JMF PUBLISHING INC 2016

  This book is a written act of fiction. Any places, characters, or similarities are purely coincidence. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is not allowed to be offered for sale, discounted, or free on any sites not authorized by the author. This book may only be distributed by Jennifer Foor, the owner and Author of this series.

  Sharing this book is illegal, and doing so will grant you the guilt of forever being a douchebag to society. Don’t be THAT person everyone hates. Purchase a copy and feel good about your choices.

  Beta readers: Kristy, Kayla, David, Emma, Catherine – Thanks tons! xoxo

  Chapter 1

  Down the mountain, about a quarter mile from where I stood, a lone wolf crossed over the frozen lake. I wondered if it somehow represented me, and what my life was amounting to. Then another part of me contemplated that I’d just been alone for way too long.

  Winter. It made the wind whip and the air too cool to withstand. It’s what kept the city folk away. In such a tranquil location I was able to look out amongst the picturesque landscape, admiring a part of nature, which had been untouched by man. During the day, when the sun peeked through the cloudy sky, I’d sit out on the large deck and enjoy the scenery, with a steamy hot cup of something to keep my body temperature raised.

  At night, the surrounding woods filled with the sounds of every creature who wasn’t hibernating, out searching for whatever they could find to keep them nourished through the long, frigidly harsh weather conditions. Suffice to say, I preferred being indoors, where a nice sweltering fire left me comfortable and protected from hypothermia. It wasn’t like I was a hop, skip and jump away from civilization or a hospital if something were to happen. Even in the best of weather conditions, it would take emergency crews quite some time to make it to me.

  This was obviously not everyone’s cup of tea. Most people would assume me to be a recluse, or maybe that I’d become some wilderness guru preferring to live in the bush than fit in with society. I suppose if I were to be diagnosed with anything it would be a broken heart. I’d come here for that reason; to be able to bury the pain in several feet of snow, at least nine months out of the year. It was also to get away from the people I used to surround myself with. My friends and extended family. My co-workers and neighbors; anyone who knew who I was before. I required a clean slate; a new life to start over without scrutiny from anyone who’d like to judge how I’d chosen to handle the horrifying circumstances surrounding the tragedy.

  It’s why I picked this peaceful place to settle in. I knew people wouldn’t come looking. They’d forget about the girl who once lived at forty five Camden Street; the woman who used to be a friendly face around town.

  Even if someone remembered, visitors in my neck of the woods were rare. Living in Alaska had its perks. I rarely considered having company; at least the human kind. There were occasional unwanted critters every now and again, including wolves and bears. I’d learned pretty quickly what I could and couldn’t leave outside. Bears can smell for miles. Wolves hunt in packs. Case in point, it’s necessary to keep my garbage indoors until it’s ready to be burned , driven to a dumpster, or buried; another thing people in towns would never even consider. I didn’t have a garbage truck that showed up on my front sidewalk each week to take away my waste. There were no sidewalks, and I certainly didn’t live within city limits of anywhere.

  I didn’t always aspire to be alone; to shut down and refuse to communicate with others.

  Who does that?

  I know what you’re thinking.

  Why would someone want to lock herself up and throw away the key?

  In my younger years I was fun and outgoing, maybe even a bit promiscuous at times. I liked adventure, going to parties, and enjoying the company of the people I was close to. I had a ton of friends; some I liked spending time with more than others. I was popular, high maintenance, and sometimes a bit conceited. I prided myself in looking my best before stepping out the door each morning. There was a time when I had the potential to be something other than ordinary and absurd.

  Aside from all that, there was a different side of me many people didn’t know about. Growing up with a father who was avid in hunting, camping and fishing, I’d been taken on trips and taught how to survive off the land. My dad was a bit of a survivalist. He watched shows on the apocalypse and started making plans just in case the worst would happen.

  Maybe he was crazy. To me, he was just my dad, a business savvy man during the day, and a kind gentlemen with superb knowledge at night. Since I was raised on it, nothing seemed weird to me. I was accustomed to always finding a way to make things easier. My friends called my dad The General. They told me when the zombies attacked they were all coming over to stay at our house, because we’d be able to survive when everything turned to shit. The funny part of it was that I believed them too.

  We’d canned food for the winter, grew our own vegetables in the summer, and at the age of six he’d taught me how to fire a rifle. When my brother was old enough he was shown the same things. It was also something my parents enjoyed doing together. They wanted to go back to basics, and to teach us kids we could do the same. Video games, television, and all the other technical accessories people rely on weren’t important in the big spectrum of things. Having each other was everything.

  My mom, bless her heart, had always worked hard to take care of us. She was overemotional, and a worrywart, but she also had a tough side to her. If anyone looked at us the wrong way she’d come out of her shell and threaten their livelihood to defend us. It happened so rarely that it was quite comical.

  Having remained living at home as an adult, I was grateful to have had the time with them, since their lives were cut short. When I decided to move to Alaska I knew it was a place my father would approve of. It was sudden, but so were their deaths.

  Everything changed in the blink of an eye. All that I’d ever dreamed of being, a future so hopeful, was gone. There were no goodbyes. I didn’t have closure. Justice wasn’t served. My family was gone. My father, mother and little brother were all taken from me prematurely. It wasn’t their time to leave this earth, at least not in my opinion. I know a few religious people who would beg to differ, but I wasn’t crazy about believing, not anymore. God had failed my family, at least that’s how I felt.

  A train derailment.

  Their bodies were too burned to be identified without forensic investigation, or the verification of personal effects. I was taken to the police station to meet with the morgue assistant to go through items they’d recovered, one being my mother’s wedding set. I remember flipping through rings, watches, necklaces, and cell phones, even some items that weren’t too damaged. The moment I saw that ring, the one my mother got from her mom, my stomach churned, and I had to rush to a wastebasket to vomit. I was offered counseling, but refused. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially about the incident. It was plastered in my mind. Every time I went in public and saw a woman, I’d think of my mom. If I saw a man in a suit I was reminded of my father. Don’t get me started on a kid. I couldn’t look at a child without losing it. Constant reminders are what made it worse. I simply couldn’t stop imagining them burning alive, yet my mind wouldn’t stop picturing it. I thought the worst, like it was all some act of terrorism. I started blogging about conspiracy theories, so m
uch that I got a visit from the FBI. Not only did they scare the crap out of me, but they also explained how a train that size could erupt into flames.

  Apparently, if a train is traveling at a certain speed and comes upon a disabled vehicle on the tracks, they only have a few seconds to slow down the cars before an inevitable impact that will ensure a derailment. The particular train my family had been on was going around a large curve. The crash sent the rear cars into a jackknife formation. They collided, driving right through the small truck, immediately causing the gas tank to burst. The dry conditions of the grasses around ignited the flames that eventually took the lives of anyone who would have initially survived the terrible crash.

  By the time medical workers arrived it was too late to save anyone.

  What remained of the train were mangled metal cars facing in every direction, some upside down, while others were too damaged to tell how they’d originally been. They looked like crushed cans. It was documented as one of the worst train wrecks Pennsylvania has ever experienced. Emergency crews were called from far and wide to help with the wreckage and recovery. They had to use giant machines to cut through the metal to extract the deceased.

  The footage was featured on all the local and national news channels. The day it happened would be forever remembered in history, and most importantly, in my heart.

  For my small town it was catastrophic, as many people used the train to travel to and from the city to work. It was their only means of transportation. Most didn’t have places to park once in New York. The truth was, there were too many people and not enough jobs where we lived. The only way to make a decent living was to travel out of town.

  I felt bad for some people. Some weren’t as lucky as I’d been. Police were using dental records, belongings recovered, and even surveillance at the train station to determine who was in each car. They asked for the help from the public to identify the missing. The person who’d been responsible for driving the small truck on the tracks was a young woman a few years older than me. I overheard the morgue attendant talking about a suicide over the phone, followed by the victim’s name. Alice Weatherly. I’d never heard of her, yet known she’d killed my family, giving me every reason to hate her forever. I didn’t care about her problems, or why she’d been on those tracks. She’d never pay for her crimes. She’d never be able to stand trial for taking the lives of so many.

  Following the commotion of the aftermath, I refused to watch the news footage, and I didn’t have to deal with the slew of television reporters beating down my door, not at first. I didn’t want the attention. I mean, it’s one thing to want to kill yourself, but to risk taking the lives of others was murder. What kind of decent person does that?

  In the following days I went to stay with a friend, who helped me plan a funeral for three people, whose bodies may never fill the caskets. Sadly, they were recovered, what was left of them. I’d never been allowed to see. The body bags were taken straight to the mortuary, where I assumed they were prepared and put right in the closed caskets.

  What hurt worse was how my brother had insisted on going with them that day. He whined and pitched a fit, telling them they didn’t spend enough time with him. Had he not gone, I wouldn’t have been left to pick of the pieces alone – the only living survivor.

  The funeral. It was an unimaginable scene. People I didn’t even know showed up to support me, which only made it worse. Even the governor and his wife made an appearance. Spectators were taking pictures outside the funeral home, and news crews were waiting to get statements.

  I didn’t have a wake. Neither one of my parents had brothers or sisters. My mom’s parents passed away when I was in my teens, and the other set had been gone before I was born. There were distant great aunts and uncles, but I didn’t know them. If they’d come to pay their respects, I didn’t stick around to reconnect.

  The building was so full they had to open another area to house all the visitors. After the service ended, I was in the spotlight, each person coming up and telling me how sorry they were; once again reminding why I knew I needed a fresh start. I’d always be the girl who lost her whole family in the crash.

  The images in my head made it impossible to go on with living a normal life. I tried to forget; to put it past me. It was evident the loss of my whole family was just too much for me to handle. I lost myself. I gave up. For a while I wanted to die. I wished I’d been on that train with them.

  A few days later, I opened my front door to find a very famous national reporter almost pleading to do a story on me. Knowing they weren’t going to back down, I agreed to an exclusive. The interview was gut-wrenching. It was obvious she wanted the nation to tear at their heartstrings. She wanted them to pity what remained of my life, and they did. I began receiving letters, gifts, and even money – all of which reminded me again of the one thing I’d never be able to get back. Money wouldn’t buy my family a second chance.

  After the interview I couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. It was inexplicable torture, seeing the looks, hearing the whispers. In my job I dealt with the public. It took me two weeks to return to my position, and only a few days after that for me to put in my resignation.

  I spent the next month like I was agoraphobic, never once stepping out of the confines of my house.

  I think what else made everyday life excruciating was the amount of time I had to wait for the insurance claims to be settled. Let’s face it, I had to bury my whole family. It came with a thirty thousand dollar price tag. I’m in my twenties. We weren’t wealthy. The moment the life insurance money came in for both of my parents, it went to the funeral home. Then I still had bills out the ass. Property taxes, mortgage costs, vehicle payments, all went unpaid for two months. I didn’t know the first thing about filing claims. It took me forever to locate all the paperwork my unorganized mother had around the house. Luckily, my father had taken out a large policy with his firm. During a visit, a month after the funeral, the secretary from the company he worked for presented me documentation regarding the insurance. I was in shock. Not only would it cover the past due bills, but also pay them all off and leave me enough to start a life somewhere else.

  The decision was a no-brainer. I had to get out of there.

  Chapter 2

  When the estate was finally closed, I took the remainder of the money from the life insurance and bought a piece of property in Alaska. Yep, as far north as the United States would allow.

  Moving there wasn’t a difficult decision. It wasn’t like I woke up one morning with an epiphany. I’d been interested in the state since we’d visited years back, and researched the laws and areas, even before my family was killed. Back then I’d done it as a joke, teasing my parents that I was going to up and leave one day without notice.

  I knew I was going to move to Alaska, I just wasn’t exactly sure where, so I planned a trip there to see if I’d be able to manage on my own.

  I fell in love, and shortly after the financial aspects of my parents’ estate were transferred to me, I was picking out where I wanted to spend the rest of my life – on forty acres of wilderness atop a mountain, a picturesque landscape.

  It was a new beginning; a way for me to bury all the pain and excruciating facts I’d never be able to change.

  My little cabin I had built was enough space for me. It was a total of seven hundred square feet. In the center of the A-framed home was a woodstove. The loft where I slept was right above it, making for very cozy nights. I had steps built that also had drawers inside for storage. The kitchen was open to the main living area and a table sat in between.

  I chose to live in a remote location; somewhere I didn’t have to explain my past, or dwell on things I’d never be able to change. I didn’t have electricity, but relied on solar panels and a generator only when I needed to use it. For the most part, I lived on battery-operated devices, in and out of the bedroom. I had push lights all around the cabin, and only used the electricity at night when needed to sho
wer or take hot baths for long periods of time.

  It sounds like it would be hard to transition, but I enjoyed the challenge. I also appreciated not having utility bills.

  I happened to believe someday I’d find a man to share my life with. In earlier years I’d been promiscuous, getting a lot of experience before I knew how to appreciate it. I knew I’d be giving up my social life – my nights of familiar hook-ups, and most importantly my ability to date. For now, I was content, and if some mountain man happened upon me in the woods, maybe we could make lumberjack babies and live happily ever after. Until then, I had my Great Pyrenees, Ava to keep me company.

  A girl can have aspirations.

  Modern day amenities weren’t at my fingertips. High maintenance was no longer a word anyone would use for me. I had to make do with what I had at my disposal.

  I was roughing it, living off the land, some would say.

  If I wanted to heat something up, other than the neglected spot between my legs, I used the cooktop located on the woodstove. I’d keep large containers of water in the house that I’d collected during the day from the outside well pump. Since it was only me and the dog, we didn’t require much. I’d managed to figure out how much I’d need for showers, and even the dishes. It wasn’t as hard as it seems. People think they can’t survive without cell phones and television. After a while you stop missing those kind of pleasures. For the most part, I enjoyed reading.

  A collection of my father’s favorite books lined one whole wall of the cabin, while the other side held my mother’s precious sugar bowls. Together they’d traveled all over the world to get them, and it was something I treasured being able to have. I spent a lot of my time lounging on my deck with a good story, even in cold weather. I found it invigorating to be bundled up and feel the chilled air smacking against my thick coat, in the winter, but also the bright sun when the temperatures finally melted the snow.