Page 55 of Snowman

I reached for the door and pushed it open. She took a step back, serious. The cold air rushed into the car, and I forced myself to meet her eyes.

"Hello, Mother."

"You brought her here?" Her eyes darted to mine, questioning me.

"Yeah," I said quietly, meeting her gaze for a moment before turning back to the car. I leaned inside. "Bree, come on out."

The car door opened softly, and Bree stepped out, her shoulders hunched. She moved toward me, her fingers brushed against mine, tentative, before slipping into my hand. She clung to me, staying slightly behind, her body so fragile and small in comparison to mine.

"You," Lena said, her tone shifting as her eyes fixed on Bree.

Bree stepped further behind me, her grip on me tightening.

"Does she know?" Lena asked, looking at me.

I nodded, sliding my hand to Bree's back and pulling her closer. "She knows."

Lena's mouth pressed into a thin line, and then finally, she tilted her head toward the house and said,"Come inside."

We followed her down the path, the pig pens were alive with snorting, shuffling, and the occasional squeal. The smell hit like a wave, harsh and overwhelming.

Bree raised her sleeve and covered her face with her hands, muffling a soft gag. I reached for her hand again, gripping it as we continued walking.

The snow crunched with each step, the sound rhythmic, almost distracting. Up ahead, the house came into view. It sat low, its wooden walls stained dark from years of storms.

It looked smaller than I remembered, more worn, as if time had taken more from it than the paint itself.

Lena pushed the door open and let it swing wide. Inside, a soft breath of warmth, along with the faint smell of old wood and metal.

The space was cramped, with closed walls and worn furniture. A staircase in the middle led to the bedrooms, while the kitchen and living room took up one space. It was cluttered, not messy, but the whole place suggested that no one had cared for it for a long time.

The radio on the counter crackled, a buzz of static broadcasting the news. My gaze fell on a framed photograph on the far wall, the black-and-white image faded, the faces slightly blurred with age. Bree looked at it without saying a word. She paused before the picture, staring at it with wide eyes. Her breath misted the glass as she leaned closer, squinting as if she recognized someone.

I moved and stood behind her, my hands brushing her shoulders. She was stiff under my touch but didn't pull away. "I have to go," I said softly, leaning down. "You'll be safe with Lena."

She didn't speak, just nodded, her arms folding around herself. She sat down in the chair beneath the photo, her head tilted down.

I stepped back, turning toward Lena. I pulled my phone from my pocket and handed it to her. "Call me," I said simply.

She took it without a word, and the expression on her face was still unreadable.

I turned back toward the door, my boots scuffing against the floor. I didn't look at Bree. I couldn't. Her silence stayed with me as I walked away.

My hand gripped the doorknob, the radio went from humming to sound, and a sharp voice came out, reporting; "In the woods near Isla, police discovered a burned cottage containing the remains of a young woman in her twenties. Authorities have identified her as Ingrid Berg, missing since 2001. Detective Isak Skalsgard confirmed the case is being reopened, with new evidence suggesting a serial killer known as'Snowman,'believed to be a man in his fifties or sixties, may have accomplices."

I tilted my head toward them, frowning. "Fifty?" I said, the word coming out sharper than I meant. "And who the hell is Ingrid?"

Lena raised her eyebrows and let out a low laugh. "Oh, boy. You're in trouble," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe call Erik and get to work, Thor."

I sighed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.

"Yeah," I muttered.

I stepped out the door, hesitating. Bree was still there, watching me.

I hated I was leaving her behind, but I couldn't make this about her right now. I couldn't even look at her as I shut the door behind me.

The yard was the same disaster it always was, scraps scattered across the ground like no one had bothered to clean up in years. I shoved my hands in my pockets, moving through the mess as I headed for the car.

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