The jagged snow-covered rocks stood out against the fading sun. Normally, they would take her breath away. She had never been to this area of Canada before, and it was awe inspiring. Any normal person would be entranced with the idyllic scene she was being exposed to. Instead, she wondered if her driver was taking her out to the woods to kill her. She glanced at the man in question. Harold. It was the only name he gave her. He was probably in his late forties, with long gray hair, a large and very crooked nose, and eyes so small she couldn’t quite discern their color. That was one thing she thought she should know—the color of her killer’s eyes. She shook that thought away. Her imagination always did get her into trouble. There was no music or talking in the car, and that was another thing that bothered her. Long uncomfortable silences reminded her a little too much of her childhood. She cleared her throat to gain his attention. Harold said nothing.
