Page 3 of Holiday Grief

This was her little hidey-hole from the world, a place she’d made into a little cocoon that she could curl up in on those days when it felt like just functioning was too far beyond her.

Now this vile, despicable man was tearing at her panties, ripping the thin cotton, breaking the only barrier she had protecting her from what was to come.

Her body was uncooperative, but still, Jasmine lifted her heavy limbs and tried to swat at the man to dislodge his much larger frame.

Thanks to the concussion, her movements were clumsy and ineffectual, and she made zero progress in moving him.

Helplessness filled her as the man laughed at her feeble attempts to fight him off and shoved himself inside her.

Tearing pain made it feel like she was being ripped in two and she turned her head to the side so she didn't have to watch.

Instead, she stared out the window, watching as a lazy cloud rolled across the great blue expanse of sky.

She’d moved out here to get away from people and in a way, herself.

She’d needed something she could lose herself in so she didn't have to think about the terrible choices she’d made and the consequences they’d had not just for herself but for others.

If there was a way to undo the past, right the wrongs, untangle the mess, she’d jump all over it.

But there wasn’t.

She was doomed to pay for her sins for all eternity.

As her gaze landed on something on her nightstand, she managed a smile. She wouldn’t be the only one paying for her sins for all eternity.

Last night she’d gone to bed early, already anxious about the interview the following day. In fact, she’d been so anxious that she’d brought her dinner up to bed with her, needing to be in her safe place.

That decision might well save her life.

Grabbing the knife, she used every bit of strength she had and slammed it into the man’s neck.

* * * * *

May 12th

7:14 P.M.

“Do we know how bad she’s hurt?” Detective Adam Abram asked his partner as they drove toward the farm. The call had come in a few minutes ago, and since they happened to be in the area interviewing a suspect in a recent vehicular manslaughter case, they had called in to say they would take the case.

“Just that a woman called in saying she’d been attacked,” Jessica Spears replied. A year younger than him, they’d been partners for a couple of years and worked well together.

Both single parents of young children, they connected in a way a lot of people couldn’t. Raising a kid was hard, but raising one on your own was one of the toughest things you could ever do. Finding a way to be both mom and dad and juggle all the responsibilities of work, house, and child without a partner to back you up was almost impossible.

Flat out without the support of his family, Adam didn't think he’d be able to do it.

“You been out there?” he asked. Apparently, their victim was the owner of the Christmas Farm just outside of town.

Opening around three years ago, it had become an instant hit. The place was open year-round, but only on the weekends from January through October. After Halloween, it was open every day. There was a full-time Santa who you could visit with. There were reindeer, an elf workshop, orchards, vegetable gardens, horses, and huskies. In the winter you could go on sleigh and sled rides. There was an ice-skating rink, snowman-building contests, and snowball fights. The place was magical even for an adult.

“Oh yeah. Freddie loves the place,” Jessica replied.

“Claire too,” he said. His four-year-old daughter might not remember the mother who had died from cancer when she was only a few months old, but she had definitely inherited her love of all things Christmas.

Adam hoped the quiet woman who ran the farm was okay.

Jasmine Crane. An enigma. A few years younger than his own twenty-seven years, she had blonde hair that hung down past her backside and huge green eyes that always held a haunted gleam.

No one saw much of her, she rarely left her property, and when she did, she kept her head down and her distance from everyone. Although he knew she worked tirelessly to run the farm, the times he’d taken Claire there he hadn't seen her. She was more of a behind-the-scenes kind of woman.

---