Page 80 of Snowman

"Now!"

Erik stared at me for a moment, his chest heaving, then turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but silence.

They both turned to me, I could see a trace of hope in their eyes, but for nothing. I tilted my head toward the kitchen, and shouted, "Move."

Donna hesitated, but Jan was already shuffling toward the kitchen island, his knees trembling. As they sat down in the wooden chairs, I reached into Erik's bag and pulled out the duct tape. The ripping sound echoed the room as I taped their wrists and ankles to the chairs. It wasn't precise, but it held.

Jan looked up at me, his lip trembling. "Please," he started, but I cut him off.

I yanked his shirt, the fabric tearing easily in my hands, and I tied the strip across his mouth, muffling his voice. His breathing turned shallow, panicked.

I moved to the sink, filled a pot with water, and turned back to him.

"Where's the diary?" I asked, my voice flat.

Jan shook his head violently. "It burned on the farm!" he mumbled through the cloth.

I tipped the pot forward, water pouring over his face. He gasped and sputtered, his body jerking against the chair.

"Try again," I said, refilling the pot at the sink.

"I'm not lying!" he cried, struggling to breathe, his voice desperate.

"Sure," I muttered, dousing him again. His head snapped back as he choked, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts as he gasped for air.

I turned to Donna, her eyes wide as I approached, "You?" I asked.

She shook her head quickly, her voice shaking. "Did you… did you kill my son?"

The question hung in the air for a moment without answer, her eyes following mine, looking for truth.

Then words came through, "I did," I said finally.

Her sobs broke free, and she collapsed against the tape, her whole body shook. I just watched her for a moment, detached. Her grief didn't move me, I just simply didn't care.

I turned to the stove, twisting the knob, the soft hiss of gas filled the room.

"No!" Donna's cries grew frantic. "Please! No!" She thrashed against the chair, the tape straining but holding still.

I didn't answer.

I let the gas spread, walking away, and when the sharp smell reached the tip of my nose I dipped into my pocket and pulled out a matchbox.

I lit a single match, watching the flame flicker, walking further away.

Her sobs turned to screams. "Please, please—don't!"

I didn't look back.

I tossed the match inside, the flame catching instantly, and I closed the door and walked away.

The fire spread fast, licking up the walls and consuming the whole house. Their screams filled the air, together with the crackle of flames.

I walked, the heat at my back, their voices fading in the fire. They were burning, their life belonged to the flame now.

Some part of me felt lighter.

Justice wasn't perfect.

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