Page 49 of Snowman

"Where are you?" he asked, his breathing quickening.

"Home," I said, my voice shaking. "We're in my room."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Twenty, tops," he said. "Will you two be okay until then?"

"Yes," I whispered, clutching the phone. "Thank you."

"Bree," he said softly, his voice steady, "please, just stay safe. Okay?"

"Okay," I replied. The line clicked, and the silence returned.

I lowered the phone, pulling Mel even closer to me.

"We'll be okay," I promised, though my voice quivered. "I promise."

Her tears fell harder, her bloodshot eyes meeting mine. "I can't take it if he touches me again," she whispered. "I pretended I was okay, but I'm not, Bree."

She rolled up her sleeves, revealing a patchwork of cuts and bruises. "He takes my blood," she said, her voice dropping into a broken whisper. "He drinks it... after." Her hands flew to her face, covering it as she sobbed. "I can't do it anymore. I can't."

I pulled her into my arms, holding her tighter than ever, our bodies sinking together onto the cold floor. My heart shattered as she shook in my hands, her pain pouring out in waves.

Suddenly, a loud knock at the door startled us. Our heads snapped up as Laura pushed the door open slowly.

"Dinner is ready."

SEVENTEEN

BREE

We stepped out ofthe bedroom, and there they were, two little girls sitting by the table, their feet barely touching the floor. They looked like ghosts from our past, dressed just as we had been at their age. The smaller one, maybe five, had blonde curls that framed her face, and a black bow tied neatly on top of her head. The older one, about eight, sat with her back straight, her pale skin almost the same as the snow outside.

Joe sat between them, his chair creaking as he leaned forward, his eyes locking onto ours. He smiled, his lips stretching too wide.

Laura stood nearby, her red dress tight around her body, red lipstick smeared slightly at the corner of her lips. Her ponytail swayed as she shifted her weight, her arms crossed loosely. To an outsider, this might have looked like a picture-perfect family, but something was deeply, horribly wrong.

"Bree, how is your dinner?" Joe asked the older girl before turning his gaze toward me.

"It's very delicious, Daddy," she said sweetly.

He kissed the forehead of the younger girl and asked her, "And yours, Mel?"

She nodded, looking up at him. "Perfect, Daddy."

Mel's grip on my hand tightened as she started shaking. Joe's eyes bore into us, making the world feel warped and surreal. Then he stood up, taking both girls by the hand and guiding them upstairs toward the bedroom. As we watched them disappear, we moved closer to Laura.

"Mom, what is going on?" I asked, my voice trembling.

She tilted her head. "Who are you?"

"Mom, it's me, Bree!" I said, stepping closer and pointing toward Mel. "And that's Mel!"

Then she laughed, "My daughters are five and eight. You're too old to be my daughter."

Faint footsteps sounded behind us, and as I turned, Joe was already there, standing just a few feet away. He held a knife in his hand, the blade catching the light, making my stomach drop.

"I'll give you a choice," he said, his voice calm. "One of you will get out alive," he continued, his dark eyes flicking between us. "And one of you will be dinner."

Laura began clapping her hands, her face lighting up. "Dinner time!" she sang out.

---