Page 23 of Snowman

I pivoted on a dime, walking away toward the window in silence. My hands clutched the edges of the glass, preparing to pull it out of its frame, but before I stepped through, she rose. Barely, but she stood. Her legs trembled under her weight, her ribs rising visibly under every shallow breath.

"Can you kill me?" she whispered, her voice breaking as the words slipped out.

A moment, and I stiffened, my fingers tightening on the sill. The air in the room seemed to thicken, my chest aching, anger and sorrow battling within a storm I couldn't contain. My heart thundered, the heat of my fury threatening to spill over.

He hurt her, and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him—not yet.

I just pushed the words out through my teeth, my voice low and heavy. "Tomorrow," I said. "I can kill you tomorrow."

"Walk to the woods at five. I'll find you."

Her broken figure shook, staring at me, but she said nothing. She didn't need to.

I climbed onto the windowsill, pulling the sliding glass back into its crooked frame. Cold night wind smacked my face once I swung my feet to the ladder and started lowering myself. Every step I took down felt heavier than the last; my mind rewound her whispered plea with every step.

As my boots hit the snow below, I glanced back up at the attic. A dim light seeped through the crack in the window, casting faint shadows inside. My body screamed to go back, to tear the place apart, to take her with me. But I couldn't stay. If I stayed, I would do something I'd regret. Something that wouldn't make her safe but would only make things worse.

So I walked away.

Each step crunching through the snow felt like a fight against myself. My fists clenched with every step I took from that house, my chest constricting as though the air had turned to ice.

Then I saw it.

In the kitchen window, the light was on; the dim light focused on the man, with no shirt, the broad shoulders hunched over. He was plunging into a woman underneath him across a kitchen table, her body arced. The thrusts of the two movements were raw, like two animals.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My hands fisted at my sides, the blood roaring in my ears.

It wasn't just any man. It was him. The man raised by my father.

And then the woman turned, just enough for me to see her face. Blonde hair spilling across the table, her lips parted, moaning. It was her, the girl in the wheelchair.

He did it, he did what Father always did.

My stomach twisted in knots as the truth clawed its way to the surface. The taint of my father's sins had spread, like a disease passed down. He had taught this man and shaped him into the monster now inside that house. The same monster now takingher, holding her captive, using her, just like Father had done to my mother, to the others, to the ones who disappeared, one by one.

A part of me, of course, wanted to rush back inside, to rip him off her, to carve into his face the same sort of ruin I had managed with others before. To make him feel the agony he created. But a wiser part of me, a part of me that had learned to play the long game, stood back.

Watched. Learned just how deep the sickness ran before I struck. Because when I did strike, it would not be quick. It would not be merciful. This was far from over.

1. Soup can be served in both soup plates and soup bowls, and the choice between them depends upon different factors, including the type of soup you serve, the thickness of the soup, the size of the plates, and the presentation you want to display for your guest.

EIGHT

BREE

Night bled into aday, shadows softening to light, yet I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't let myself. Every time I closed my eyes, the snowman came back. That image, her head perched on top, the blood staining white snow like a crimson halo. And her eyes. Wide, glassy, unseeing yet somehow always watching me.Just me.

Sleep was supposed to be the only place of escape for most, not mine, not anymore. The moment my eyelids shut, the flashes returned, memories I'd tried so hard to bury clawing their way back to the surface. The pain, the shame, all of it circled like vultures. So I kept awake, holding onto hope that as long as I kept my eyes open, they might leave me alone. But they always came back.

I saw him through the faint gray light.Snowman. He moved stealthily, carefully sealing the crack of the attic window with glass and putty. I watched him, my body still, my heartpounding. I knew how to escape if I wanted to. But I also knew that once I did, there would be no coming back.

The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, startled, to see Mel standing behind me. She looked small, and fragile in the light, her hands twisting nervously together.

"Bree," she whispered, shaking. "Can we talk?"

Her words caught me by surprise. For a while, I'd resented her silence, the way she'd appeared to pretend everything was all right, locking me out when I could have helped. Yet a part of me was just as relieved she'd stayed silent herself, looking after herself in what little way she knew of. And part of me hated myself for making her go to that place in the first place.

"Yeah," I said softly, turning my gaze back to the window. The glass was cold, fogging slightly with my breath as I tried to calm my racing thoughts.

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