Page 17 of Snowman

My lips parted, but no sound came out. For the first time in my life, I couldn't bring myself to say the automatic lie, to say that everything wasfine.My head was shaking weakly, and hot tears spilled over in rivulets against the cold air. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to beseen.

He knew. I could tell it from his face, in the softening of his eyes. He drew me into his arms gently and his warmth sliced through the chill that clung to me. I didn't protest. My fragile voice managed to break through with one cracked word, "No."

My head fell onto his shoulder, my body quivering, while I wept softly. It was the first time in so very long that I was wrapped in anyone's arms. The first time a man ever had taken me in such a way. There wasn't any judgment in his hug, no expectations, just safety.

"I'm not fine," I whispered, words caught in my throat, harder to admit than it should be, but a truth that felt like its own liberation.

"And that's okay," he said softly, his voice steady, grounding. "You don't have to be okay."

I nodded, clenching my fingers into my sleeves as I retreated a small step. I wiped a hand across my eyes until his gentle face blurred through my crying. His expression was staunch but patient in its kindness in giving me some time for myself.

He drew a small notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. "I really hate having to do this," he said with the slightest smile, trying to lighten the moment. "But I need to ask you a few questions, if that's alright."

I nodded again, my voice still caught somewhere in my chest. His eyes searched mine, not for answers, but for reassurance, like he wanted to be sure I wouldn't break under the weight of the moment.

"Did you see anyone else around?" he asked, poised pen in his hand.

My breath caught and the image of the snowman flashed in my mind. My throat constricted as I whispered, "No." The word felt brittle, breaking apart as it left my lips.

"You know those two?" he asked, tone low, steady. He moved a pen toward Josh and Vic; they stood a short ways off, shifting their weight while talking with another cop.

I hesitated, my throat tightening. "No," I whispered, hardly audible.

"They said you found the…" His voice trailed off as he cast a wary glance in my direction. His words were measured, carefully chosen to avoid further upsetting me. "The snowman?"

"Yes," I said. My voice broke. The memory was flooding back clearly now, as I'd squeezed my eyes shut. "I fell, and…" I tried to find the right words. My chest ached across, each breath jagged."He," I gagged out, "he somehow… does it make me sound crazy if I think he… completes them? By adding…" Again my voice failed me where the word got stuck in my throat over a hard swallow. "A head?"

The detective's jaw flexed. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying me through a gaze more like concern and less like suspicion. He said nothing right away.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" I said, my voice quivering; I brushed stray strands of hair behind my ears. My hands fidgeted nervously in my lap.

His eyes dropped briefly to my wrists, where faint scars traced stories I wished I could erase. My heart sank as I realized. I tugged my sleeves down quickly, pulling my hands into my lap, and pressing them tightly between my thighs.

"No," he said, his voice firm and clear. "You're not crazy."

He stood abruptly, his gaze sweeping around the scene in a slow arc. The snow swathed in blood, the quiet empty woods, the hush of unutterability lingering. He was gathering pieces of a puzzle seen by nobody else into a total picture.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stammered, "Can I go home?

Softness stirred within his eyes then turned back to me. "Sure," he said much more quietly, "I can take you home."

I nodded, my body trembling as I rose to my feet. He waited patiently, then led the way to his car. I glanced back at the scene one last time—the yellow tape, the distant officers, and the woods that now felt like they would never let me forget. My steps were shaky as I followed him.

The black car stood out against the snowy backdrop, its polished surface gleaming in the light. Somehow, its solid presence calmed me. He opened the passenger door and waited for me to get in before closing it gently behind me. I sank intothe seat, clutching the blanket tighter around me, the cold still gnawing at my bones.

Through the windscreen, I watched him wave at another officer—signal, most likely, letting them know he was taking me home. A moment later, he slid into the driver's seat, hands resting lightly on the wheel. He glanced at me briefly before turning the ignition.

"I'm Thor," he said, his voice even as the car burbled to life. "What's your name?"

"Bree," I answered, my voice barely audible, my eyes fixed through the windshield ahead on the snow-misted distance, a vague blur instead of that press in my chest.

"Word of advice," he said, the silence after his voice sounding loud, as he geared the car first. "Those two boys—Josh and Vic—they're trouble."

I nodded slowly, my eyes drifting back to where the two of them stood. Their posture was casual, but something about them felt wrong, like an itch I couldn't scratch.

"I know," I whispered, the words more to myself than to him.

"Good," he said quietly, the corners of his mouth pulling into a tight, approving smile.

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