Page 40 of Snowman

I made a circle of fire, the flames popping and spitting as they heated the ground. Then I dug the hole deep enough for them both. Now they were underground together under the pile of earth and snow, above them snowmen with their parts marking the grave, and beneath that earth, they took their last breaths.

I scrolled through Josh's phone until I found the number I needed. Jan, the chief of police. My finger hovered for a moment, then I dialed, the line connecting with a sharp click.

"Josh, what is it?" Jan's gruff voice was barking on the other end.

I spoke, my voice low and cold, "I have eyes that cannot see, hands that cannot touch or plea. A frozen soul, a fleeting grace. In warmth, I disappear without a trace. What am I?"

There was silence, heavy. Then I heard his breathing—sharp, ragged, and close.

"Snowman," he hissed, simmering with rage. "Where is my son?"

I laughed quietly, letting it hang in the air like frost. "I stand above his grave. Silent, still, the frost his slave. His hands instead of branches, his eyes served as coal. But soon he'll melt. and lose his soul."

"WHERE IS MY SON?!" Jan roared; it crackled through the receiver like static.

"Tick tock, tick tock," I whispered, my voice plunging to a high, mocking tone. Then I disconnected the call and let silence swallow his anger.

I tucked the phone into my pocket, turning my back on the snow grave and moving toward the cottage.

Jan would tear through the forest looking for his boy, searching everywhere. I could see the search teams, the hounds, and the radios crackling with orders. They would rake over every inch of that forest. I could leave nothing to chance.

I hurried to the cabin. The walls reeked of the crimes we had committed here, and I was not going to let their sins leave a trail that led back to me.

I staged a fire, stacking wood and dousing it with accelerant until the air was thick with a sharp, acrid smell. Then I lit a match. The flames rose, consuming everything in their path: evidence, memories, all of it.

I had left enough false trails to lead them in circles, far from where I would be.

He had failed me when I needed it most, leaving me to fend for myself in a world without justice. Now it was my turn to fail thesystem—to strip it of its power, piece by piece.

I watched the fire burn, feeling no regret—no guilt. Just a cold pleasure.

In the distance, a snowman stood, his smile frozen in time, marking the grave of a new beginning.

FOURTEEN

BREE

17 YEARS OLD

Last month, I turnedseventeen. Just one more year, I thought, and I could finally leave home. The only thing that got me through it was the thought of escaping and building something better. I dreamed of coming back for Mel, of giving us both the life we'd always talked about, a life that often felt impossibly far away.

Days dragged like molasses, every second heavier than the last. Time appeared to freeze, keeping me imprisoned in a home where hope was never in reach.

Homemade pasta steamed the kitchen as I stepped inside, where the rich warm, comforting aroma mingled with the crispautumnal cool air that slid through the window and opened a crack. Mother stood by the counter, nimbly working with the dough, gentle white flour was dusted over her fingers.

Her hands moved with a gentle sway, almost hypnotic as if she were at peace. She looked up and caught me watching her, her lips curving into a small smile.

"Bree?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

I hesitated, my feet shifting on the worn tiles. "Uhm, nothing much," I mumbled out, my voice hardly a whisper.

She turned to me, smiling, her hands wiping across the apron. "What is it?" she pressed again, this time facing me.

I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting nervously. "I dreamed about her, the woman I met last year in Greece," I said, my voice catching in my throat slightly.

Her face hardened and the warmth in her eyes cooled to something much icier. "That crazy lady?" she asked, with a bitter tone. She stepped closer and ran her hands over her apron again, though it had been clean, and landed with palms on my shoulders. "Bree, we've talked about that."

"But it felt so real," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I was only four in the dream, and she was younger too, and—"

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