Page 16

FIFTEEN

SNOWMAN

12 YEARS OLD

I sat on a green bench in the park, my eyes fixed on the playground. It was late 1994, and I had just turned twelve. Mom had gone to pick up medicine for my younger brother, Erik, leaving me to wait out front. The city had changed so much since the last time we were here; more people, more noise, and more strangers I didn't want to meet. I watched other kids play, their laughter and shrieks ringing through the crisp autumn air as they ran and pulled on each other, lost in their games. None of them came near me. If any of them had, I would've said no, but, it would have been nice to be asked.

I saw Mom come out through the glass doors of the pharmacy, brown paper bag in hand. She was wearing her blue coat and matching hat, her other hand tightly clutched to Erik's as she led him toward the car. She waved at me, calling for me to join them. I stood ready to go, but then a little girl appeared beside me.

"Hey," she said, her voice bright. "Wanna play?

I turned to her. She couldn't have been more than six, her blonde pigtails tied up with red ribbons matching her dress. Her wide blue eyes stared up at me, searching my face for an answer. For a moment, I hesitated. I wanted to stay. I wanted to play. But I couldn't. If I didn't go straight to the car, we would all pay the price later.

I shook my head and turned to run, leaving her standing by the green bench staring at me hopefully as if expecting me to turn backward.

By the time I reached the car, Mom was waiting with a knowing smile, her arms across her chest. "If you keep running away from girls like that, you'll never have a girlfriend," she teased, chuckling.

"I don't want a girlfriend," I hastened to say, plunging into the back seat.

Erik was already there, leaning against the window, his face pale and drawn. His head leaned limply against the glass, where his breath fogged it. I reached over and touched his hand; it was warm, too warm. My stomach twisted as I turned to Mom.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes," she said. "It's just frostbite ," the words sounded thin, like a tarp too small to make anyone warm.

Frostbite , that was what she called it, when we got sick afterward from one of Dad's "lessons." Last night, he had left us in the woods once more, wanting to "toughen us up." The cold had seeped into our bones while the woods, with all their whispers and shadows, crept into our minds. Erik had felt it worst of all.

The drive back to the farm took half an hour. The silence in the car was thick, with only the soft hum of the engine and Erik's shallow breathing breaking the stillness. Finally, we pulled up, and Mom turned to us, her voice hushed. "If your father asks where you were, just say you went to visit Aunt Ilda."

We nodded, knowing full well that we didn't have to be told twice. We knew what Dad was capable of, how quickly his anger could turn violent. We'd learned to lie, to play the game. It was the only way to keep Mom safe.

As Mom got out to unlock the garage, Erik turned to me, his hand reaching for mine. His grasp was weak but urgent, and his wide, feverish eyes searched mine, and he whispered, "It's not frostbite."

"What do you mean?" I whispered back.

"I saw something," he said, his voice shaking. "Something they didn't want me to see."

"What did you see?" I asked, a tinge of fear creeping into my chest.

"They take them," he said, all the while his hand tightening mine. "Dad and Joe—they take them to the river and..."

He didn't finish, but then again he didn't need to. His words seemed to hang in the air, the unsaid saying it all. It grew colder in the car, darker, as though some of the shadows of the woods had followed us home.

But just as Mom came back into the car, Erik suddenly clammed up, bringing a finger to his lips. He turned back toward the window to stare out, as though nothing had been said.

"If you want to play with that little girl, we can ask Dad to bring her home," Mom said, looking at me through the rearview mirror light, almost teasing.

Erik shook his head, fast, his face unreadable. I did not understand why. All I knew was that she was so beautiful, that little girl. I wanted her near me, to play with me, to build snowmen in the yard. And so I nodded enthusiastically, a grin spreading across my face. This strange idea filled me with an even weirder feeling of happiness, like getting a forbidden toy that I had always wished for but never dared to ask for.

For the first time in a long time, something good may happen, I thought.

PRESENT DAY

I stood for two hours in the shade of the forest and saw the cottage burn. The fire roared and hissed, swallowing wood, memories, and evidence until nothing remained but ash and smoke curling into the cold night air. The silence afterward was almost holy.

Hiding behind the trees, I watched Jan Johansson arrive; his headlights cut through the smoke. He'd tracked his son's phone, thinking he was closing in on answers. But what Jan did not know was that his son's grave lay far from here, deep, buried beneath frozen earth. His lungs would fill with nothing but dirt and frost by the time he found him.

I promised myself a long time ago that no one would stop me. Not from doing what I had to do. My father's sins shaped and molded me into what I am, and in that darkness, I found a purpose. The thirst for blood had settled in me long ago, but I kept it focused: only on those who truly deserved harm.

Deep down, I knew this was wrong; everything I did was wrong. But it would have been worse if I'd let myself take anyone, killing without reason. Then I wouldn't just be a villain. I'd be a monster. But villains can be good, right? If someone cared to hear their side of the story.

I stepped into the hospital, my footsteps sounding inaudibly on cold tiles. In the corner of the lobby stood a man clutching a bouquet of red roses. He set them softly down on a bench and leaned against the coffee machine, fiddling with some change.

I moved quietly, slipping close enough to pluck a single rose from the bouquet. I thought of taking the whole thing but then noticed the teddy bear tucked beside it with a handmade note: You did it, Mommy. My conscience got in the way, and I didn't have the heart to take all of it. All I needed was one rose, one for Bree.

She deserved a thousand, but for now, this single one would have to speak for all the days ahead when she'd be free of those monsters who stole her choices, her safety, her innocence.

Even if I couldn't see her, even if she didn't want me there, I needed to leave her this one small gift.

I stood in the hall, holding onto the rose for dear life, and just waited for that perfect moment. It wasn't until she finally shuffled out of her room, wrapped up in those hospital pajamas, making her slow way to the bathroom, that I had my chance. As the door clicked shut behind her, I slipped inside and gently laid the rose on her bed.

"Birdie," I whispered into the stillness. "From now on, you’ll be safe with me."

Every step away from her room was like a knife twisting inside my chest, digging a void that only she could fill. Every step reminded me of the stories that would never be told, the future that was never meant to be.

By the time I got to the hall, my phone vibrated in my pocket, drawing me out of the pain of a silent goodbye. Erik's name flashed across the screen.

Call me as soon as you get this.

His urgency chilled me through more than the winter air did outside. I slipped out of the hospital as fast as I could, making sure nobody was watching. The cold nibbled at my face, the only warmth was my breath against the frozen night. Outside, under the pale streetlights, I hit number two on my speed dial and put the phone to my ear. Erik's voice answered almost at once.

"Hey," I said into the phone, my voice low, my hand shoved deep into my pocket, trying to keep the cold from seeping further into my bones. "What is it?"

"I found her," Erik said, his voice steady, almost grave. "I found the girl."

"Speak," I snapped, the urgency in my tone sharper than I intended.

"Lower your damn tone," he barked back, "or the only thing you’ll hear is the slap I’ll give you when I see you."

I couldn’t help but chuckle despite myself. "Yeah, sorry. It’s been... a day."

"I heard," he replied. "The chief even called me in."

I exhaled, my breath visible in the freezing air. "What did you find?"

"Both girls Joe had in that house? They’ve been missing since 2001," he said. "And they weren’t the only ones."

"Why am I not surprised?" I muttered. "Is the case still open?"

"Yes," Erik said. "But they’re tying it to another cold case."

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear, staring blankly ahead, frustration brewing inside me. "Yeah?" I finally said, my voice taut.

"Remember the little blonde girl? The one you wanted to play with at the park in ’94?" His voice carried a note of hesitation like he wasn’t sure he should say the words. "She’s been missing since then. They think it’s connected."

His words hit me like a punch to the chest. I sank to the cold ground, my head in my hands, my chest tightening with an ache I couldn’t name. My voice broke when I spoke. "I want to see what you found."

"Julia and the little one just went to sleep," Erik said, his tone softening. "Come over. We can go over it in my office."

I managed a small, tired smile. "Sure," I said. "How are they?"

"Do you really want to know?" he asked with a chuckle in his voice.

"Not really," I replied, chuckling faintly in return.

He paused. "How’s Bree?" Then, after a beat, "And does Mom know?"

"She doesn’t know," I said. "And Bree... she’ll be okay."

"Okay," he murmured. "See you soon."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Soon."

I hung up, still sitting in front of the hospital, staring at the empty stretch of sidewalk ahead of me. For a moment, fleeting thoughts of normalcy rushed through my mind—what life could’ve been if things were different? But the illusion shattered as soon as I closed my eyes.

All I could see was my reflection in a cracked mirror, staring back at me through the hollow eyes of a white plastic mask. The sins of my father were so heavy on me, but I bore them willingly. Not for myself, but so Erik wouldn’t have to.

We grew up together, but we came from different worlds. Even though I was the youngest, I always felt the need to protect him. He was the fragile one, the one who cracked under the pain Dad tried to place on us. Our father had big plans, the Family, as he called it, but there was never anything familial about it. Joe, the oldest from his first marriage, was the favorite. The golden child. Erik was stuck in the middle, and I was an afterthought, the youngest.

He refused to let us have sisters. He said daughters would make him weak, and that women brought softness and vulnerability to the family. I never understood why then. But now, as I see Erik fiercely protective of Julia, and I want nothing more than to do the same to Bree, I understand. He never wanted us to go against him, to worry about anyone else. Control was his only goal, and for a time he succeeded.

Joe... Joe was Dad's shadow, his mirror image, but without any of his stability. When I think of Joe now, it's like I'm looking at a reflection of everything I could have been if I'd followed in their footsteps. And as I sit here, in the cold, staring out at the empty streets, I understand why Mom did what she did when I turned sixteen.

She didn't want us to be his pawns. She didn't want us to become any more broken than we already were.