Page 11 of Snowman

"Fuck," I hissed, dropping down the wall until my ass hit the floor. My head dropped into my hands, my fingers digging deep into my scalp.

"Fuck," I whispered again.

I had always done this. Acted on impulse, and dug myself into holes without a second thought. But this was different. This wasn't one of those mistakes I could shrug off.

This man in his mask, his eerie calm, walking into my house as if he owned it as if he belonged here, and the worst of it, the way he made me feel, not just afraid, but deeper, more unsettled. I needed to stop this, whatever this was before it reached the point of no return.

I opened my eyes, and gray was the first color of morning. It filtered through the glass of the window down to me. The familiar outlines of my bedroom surrounded me, the faint smell of dust and wood settling into my senses. For a while, I thought I must have just dreamed it all— noise, Mel standing on the stairs, the stranger up in the attic. That all felt so distant, like any memory seen through frosted glass. But the chill that ran down my spine told me otherwise.

I pushed the blanket off and got up, turning to the woods beyond the window. The trees stood perfectly straight, their limbs bare and brittle against a winter sky. There was nothing to show he had ever been there, nothing to show anything existed. Just silence.

By the time I turned my head in the direction of Mel's bed, she was wide awake, staring in some direction.

"Mel," I whispered, crossing the room to kneel beside her. "You're awake." I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers trembling slightly.

Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but for a moment, I could have sworn I saw the faintest flicker of recognition in her gaze. I opened my mouth to continue, but the faint hum of voices from the other room caught my attention and drew it away.

I stood and, silently moved toward the door. The whispers were low but distinct enough to outline the edges of their conversation. My parents. There was tension in their voices that churned my stomach.

"She walked last night," my mother said, her voice strained with urgency. "Bree can't find out."

"If she knew." her voice quavered, with almost a begging note to the words.

"Stop it, Laura," my father snapped, his whisper sharp. "I won't let it happen. And stop fucking pretending. I'm sick of it."

There was a silence; then his voice came again, lower but no less harsh. "Bree's nineteen now. We should have gotten rid of her a long time ago."

I reeled back from the door, the words hit like a blow.

Rid of me?

The words cut clear in my head, sharp, cruel. My breath snagged in my throat, and before I knew it a tear slipped down my cheek. They wanted me gone. All this time secrets and hiding things;now this?The overwhelming urge to run grabbed at me, yet it was the thought of leaving Mel behind that glued my feet to the spot. She was the one I wouldn't leave. Not her.

I ran back to Mel's bed and fell onto my knees on the cold floor beside her, my hands clenching her thin shoulders. "Mel?" I whispered urgently. "Mel, can you hear me?"

Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, "blink twice if you can, please," I whispered.

My heart sank until, slowly, she blinked once. Then again.

Relief washed over me. She could hear me. She was still there.

"Can you walk?" I whispered, shaking.

Her eyes blinked once.

No?

The words were no sooner out of my mouth than the door flew open, and my head snapped back up. My father filled the frame, his expression neutral, almost too calm. His presence ran ice through my veins.

"Morning," he said, his eyes darting between us.

"Morning," I replied. My voice was flat, my body stiff.

"Laura made you breakfast. Get Mel ready and come eat," he said, his tone almost unnervingly casual. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, I turned back to Mel. Again her eyes moved, blinking twice this time.

"You can walk," I whispered, more statement than question.

---