Page 14 of Snowman

At last, Karlsson snapped the folder shut and stood. "Thank you for your time."

Dad followed them to the door, his movements stiff, his mind elsewhere. "Thank you," he mumbled.

As Karlsson opened the door, the winter wind whistled through the gap. Before stepping out, he turned back, his eyes narrowing.

"One last thing," he said, his voice quieter now. "What happened to your wife’s eye?"

Mom straightened beside me. Her answer came too fast, too quick.

"I fell," she said, her voice too bright. "Slipped, actually."

Karlsson didn't say a word at first. He was clenching his teeth and the tendons of his neck stood out.

"Accidents would seem to occur quite a lot here," he finally said, his tone dripping with unsaid meaning.

"Yes, yes," Dad cut in, waving it off. "Thank you again. Good luck with the investigation."

Karlsson's eyes lingered a beat longer before he nodded and stepped out into the cold. His partner followed him and tucked the file back under his arm.

Dad shut the door, the latch clicked, and then it wasthe perfect silence. A moment he had stood there, still, his back to us, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy sigh. When he turned, his face calmer than it was.

"Bree," he said, his voice even. "Take Mel to the bedroom. Breakfast is over."

A small, shaky breath escaped my chest as I rose to my feet, moving toward Mel. My fingers wrapped around the cold, metallic handles of her wheelchair. And without a word, I pushed her down the living room floor, my eyes fixed ahead, refusing to glance back—couldn't. The weight in my chest pressed heavier with each step.

We were finally at the room, I shut the door behind us, making sure it clicked softly in the still, quiet air. Mel sat sideways in her wheelchair, her frame seeming even smaller in dim light, hereyes set only on one spot on the wall. I couldn't hold it anymore, it was too much inside.

Kneeling beside her, I closed my eyes. Tears fell in cascades, soaking her jeans as I buried my face in her lap. My shoulders shook hard, the only sound in that room was my cry. Mel's hand slowly moved to rest on the crown of my head. But she didn't speak. Her head didn't turn, her expression was empty, as though she were lost in some place far away from here.

I closed my eyes, and darkness behind my eyelids swallowed me in. Shapes danced in the dark; white, circular flashes, like distant stars.

I was six years old again. My birthday. I could see Mom in the kitchen, smiling as she set a strawberry cake in front of me. Its pink glaze sparkled under the warm kitchen lights. I reached for it in a hurry, pushing a bit into my mouth before Mom could reach me.

Then, everything changed.

My throat constricted while the world seemed to spin into panic, and the muffled sounds of Mom's voice trying to be frantic. The memory suddenly blurred into the fading rush of sirens. And just as I opened my eyes I was already in a car with an unknown world passed by my window."We're moving,"Dad had said simply, his hands clutched to the steering wheel.

He said later that was because Mom was afraid of losing me, but in this bedroom, back with Mel, that sounded wrong.

What was she afraid of?

My eyes flickered open, drawing me back into thehereandnow. I straightened up in my chair, blinking through welling tears. The sight of Mel's empty stare was right on the edge of my vision, yet my mind would not settle. It gnawed on some strange and hollow feeling inside. I looked down at my hands and then at Mel.

I couldn't remember her birth, not the day, not the moment Mom and Dad brought her home, not even a single hazy image. We were three years apart, but it was like the memory didn't exist at all.

What was wrong with me? Was I starting to forget or was I beginning to remember things I was never supposed to remember?

I couldn't breathe. I needed air, space, clarity.

"I'll be back," I muttered, jumping up and out of the room.

My feet took me into the living room to Mom and Dad on that worn, faded sofa. Whatever conversation they were having stopped mid-sentence as I appeared.

"Can I go out?" My voice was softer than I meant. "I just... need to go out."

Mom's eyes flickered, but she nodded. "Don't go far, okay?"

"Okay," I said, already heading on my way.

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