The future was dictated by an infinite number of variables. You could never predict the future because of this. And that was why the future was exciting. That was why people went on living—went outside and just didn’t give up and stay in bed. No one could even start to list the variables that led her, Samantha Ferringham, to that winding road that night.
Who knew when it was decided that she’d be here? Firstly, it was her decision to walk to the hotel. Then, it was her decision to get the late train. Then, it was her decision to come to Huddersfield a day early. Before, it was her decision to take the job lecturing at Huddersfield Uni. Going further back, she had to travel to Huddersfield because of her decision to live in London. And that was because of her decision to say yes to marrying Robin. And she met Robin because she decided to go to Emma Ferringham’s party at her house. There, the celestial red thread split even more: What possessed Emma Ferringham—her GP—to invite her to that party? What drove her to that meeting with Emma in that hardware store, where they struck up an unlikely friendship?
These strands wove a tapestry of a life. A tapestry no one would see. It would hang in the Museum of the Higher-Ups, the destiny makers—if there was such a thing. She didn’t believe in that—of course she didn’t. She was a psychologist. But sometimes, when her mind wandered, and she was overworked, it was warm to feel that everything was mapped out.
She guided her flashlight down the road. The blue line of Google Maps said she was almost there, maybe one more hill and she’d be able to see the hotel. The road she was walking on was very remote—there were no signs of life anywhere. Looking back, she could see the sprawling lights of Huddersfield, but they were far enough away to feel like they were in a different world.
Variables. A game of dominoes. Not always a game you wanted to win. And as she started to see the failing light of her flashlight, she wondered which variable was responsible for her forgetting to charge her phone before she had embarked on her trip. If she knew which one it was, she would curse it until she ran out of curses. Because her phone died and she was plunged into darkness.
Obviously running the light and the Google Maps app at the same time was too much for her phone. The blue line had been following the road, so all she had to do was continue onward. Soon enough, she would be at the hotel, with light, comfortable beds and, most important, Wi-Fi and power outlets. She would be able to sleep, plan her lecture and charge her phone all at the same time. This was what compelled her forward. That and the fact that turning back now would take twice as long.
In the pitch black she felt comfort in feeling the road beneath her feet. The silence of the surroundings also. She heard some chirping of birds who should almost definitely be asleep by now, and some rustling of leaves as though the nighttime creatures were waking up.
She continued walking, with only the light of the moon to guide her, thinking that she had almost definitely walked as far as the Maps had told her it was to the hotel. And then she heard another sound. The sound of a motor growing louder and louder. She couldn’t tell if it was just some joyrider in Huddersfield gunning it way too hard, or if it was a vehicle actually approaching. A few seconds more and she decided it was the latter.
Okay, Google Maps screwed her over. She would flag down the car and ask if they knew where the hotel was and if she could get dropped off there. She stuck her thumb out in the direction she thought was the road, because she had only seen hitchhiking in films and that was how you did it, right?
The motor sound grew louder and she looked for the car’s lights, but there were no lights. Still the sound grew louder and louder. And eventually, she felt the presence of something—something coming at her fast and strong. She realized what was happening a second too late.
An indescribable pain in her side. She was whisked off her feet. And then her forehead crunched against something sharp and spiky. She felt her forehead glisten with running liquid.
And then she was flung. The world turned over like she was in a washing machine. Over and over and over and over. It was as if she was spiraling forever—and she wondered what was happening. What had hit her? And what was she doing? Where was she? Who was she? There was only one constant—the face of a kind and sheepish man, with dots of stubble and electric eyes, who had once come up to her at a party and asked her to dance. His name was—
The ground—which somehow was above her—came to meet her. And the last thing she heard was a phenomenal crunch before the pain sent her under.