Page 4 of Snowman

Her dark blonde hair framed her face, soft curls falling to either side like a halo. Her pale skin was flecked with freckles, dancing across the bridge of her nose. Her lips were delicate and bow-shaped, giving her an uncanny perfection, like a porcelain doll. Yet, it was her eyes that held me, deep brown, almost the color of cognac, too wise for someone only sixteen. Even now, stuck in that state, she seemed more mature than me. I wiped away the tears welling up in my eyes and leaned forward, speaking softly, pretending she could hear.

"Maybe we'll get you a room with a view of the lake," I said, forcing a smile. "Or the mountains. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Behind us, Dad scoffed, the sound sharp, slicing the air. "Why does she keep pretending Mel can hear a damn thing she says?"

I kept my eyes ahead, fingers tightening on the handles of the wheelchair, knuckles white to the black rubber. The air froze thick between us, the kind of silence nobody wanted to break.

I just didn't get the hate. Never did. Even more so, I didn't understand why Mom let it happen, why she never spoke up, never told him to stop, why her silence made her complicit in this quiet erosion of everything we were supposed to be. But I knew one thing, as I pushed Mel toward the old house, snow crunching under the wheels: for her and for me, I wouldn't stay silent.

We reached the front door, and as I pushed Mel inside, I leaned in toward her and whispered, "We don't deserve you, Mel."

The house wrapped itself around us like a heavy blanket, in extreme contrast to the icy grasp of the world outside. There was a roaring fireplace, alive with life; it cast flickering shadows around the walls.

The chill clinging to my skin seemed to recede slowly, melting in the heat. There was a faint scent of wood smoke in the room and of something old, faintly musty as if the house had stood silent for years, waiting.

I looked around, trying to find a place to retreat into and hide in. The house's structure was strange, though, and with one hand still on the cold iron of the wheelchair and the other lightly resting on Mel's shoulder, I just felt kind of exposed, standing here.

Mom stood beside the older woman; her voice was soft, questioning. "Is there anything else we should know?"

The woman nodded.

She spoke, her hands slightly trembling. "Yes. There's a lockdown in the town. Two weeks, starting in December." Her voice was even but had a hint of unease in it. "Dark times. No one goes out."

"Interesting," Dad muttered, a grin tugging the corner of his lip sideways as he turned to Mom.

The woman's eyes flickered in his direction before she looked back at Mom.

"A lot of police patrols," she said, as if sharing a secret, her voice going low. "Ever since that poor woman disappeared. They're everywhere."

"What woman?" I replied, breaking the tension because I had to face her directly.

She stiffened, her gaze avoiding mine as she brushed past me, her lips moving in a near whisper. "You're just his type."

These few incoherent words sent a cold chill down my spine. Frozen, I turned towards Mom and Dad. It went so silent in the room that the sound of the door clicking shut behind her sounded deafening.

"Don't you guys wanna know what's going on?" I asked.

"No," Dad barked, his tone final.

"Joe, please," Mom said softly, trying to temper the sharpness in his tone. Then she turned to me, her eyes calm but weary.

"Every family has secrets," she said. "Maybe that woman has her own. Let's not rush to conclusions."

"Ridiculous," Dad muttered, turning right into the kitchen, his heavy boots making a lot of noise on the wooden floorboards. I watched him cast a sideways glance out the kitchen window and the frozen fields beyond it.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice low so that Dad wouldn't hear me, "I don't like this place." I wrapped my arms around myself as goosebumps prickled along my skin. "It gives me chills."

"Every place we go gives you chills," she replied with a sigh. "We're spending a year here, and we have to adjust," she said, sharp before softening slightly as her eyes flicked to Mel. "Please, for once, just try."

"Fine," I muttered, brushing her off. "Where's the bedroom?"

"Yours and Mel's is through the living room, on the left." Her fingers pointed to the only open door. "Dad and I will be upstairs." The hand motion indicated back in the general direction of battered stairs with scratches etching lines into the wooden handrail. "The bathroom's next to the kitchen.

I nodded wordlessly and reached for the grips of Mel's wheelchair, wheeling her toward the bedroom door. One more backward glance, then I pushed her inside.

It was a basic room, but it was much larger than I'd imagined. At the far end of the room stood a huge window, stretching from floor to ceiling. It overlooked the woods; their branches dusted with snow, dancing in the soft breeze, and behind them, a hill draped in white. I wheeled Mel closer to the window so she could see the snowflakes falling softly against the glass.

"Oh, Mel," I said, dropping down beside her, my voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry."

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