A Cold White Fear (11 page)

T
he
man wasn't human. While he padded back along the hall, leaving a bloody trail, he didn't emit a single groan or screw his face up in pain. He didn't even favour the sliced foot.

When we reached the window, he pointed to the pile of glass where he'd cut his foot and snarled, “Get rid of fuckin' glass. I cut my foot again, I hit more than face.”

With my cheek a stinging testament to the veracity of his threat, I obediently brushed the shards and splinters along the floor, using one of the broken pine branches as a broom. Jid joined me with another branch. We swept them into a nearby bedroom.

Though the thought of snatching up one of the larger splinters crossed my mind, I knew I didn't have it in me to stab anyone, not even this monster. But I noticed a familiar glint in Jid's eye when he slipped his hand into his pocket. It was the same reckless glint that would appear when he was weaving in and out of the other hockey players, intent on scoring a goal. But a twelve-year-old boy was no match for a man like Slobodan. Still, I didn't tell him to remove the shard from his pocket. Instead, I decided to go with the flow, so to speak, and let the gods determine the role it would play.

I whispered, “Watch out that it doesn't break.”

Denial started to spread across his face until he realized he'd been caught. His answer was the cocky smile he flashed when he scored.

“What you say, bitch?” Slobodan's light blinded us.

“Just telling Jid not to hurt himself on the broken glass.”

He shone his headlamp up and down the hall, exposing the dark holes of opened doors. “You got lots of bedrooms. How many?”

“Six.”

“Many places to fuck. This the room where you get rammed?” The man shone his light across the hall and into the large master bedroom Eric and I shared.

Trying to ignore the icy pit in my stomach, I pretended I hadn't heard. I returned to the smashed window and brushed off the snow covering it. “Jid, do you have the hammer and nails handy?”

“He's got them.” He pointed to my bedroom doorway. I could hear sounds of movement coming from inside.

The last place I wanted to be was in a bedroom with that man. “Do you mind giving us the nails and hammer?” I cried out with some trepidation. “We want to cover the window.”

“Come get them.”

Jid noticed my hesitation. “I'll get them.”

I shook my head. He wasn't going in there either. “Slobodan, we'd like you to nail the board into the window frame. We aren't tall enough to reach the top of the window.”

“Great big bed. Come, we try it out.” He punctuated it with the raucous laughter that had become the embodiment of the man for me. Loud, sneering, and rude. I heard the bedsprings creak in the one spot where they were weak, a spot Eric and I carefully avoided.

Cold, gnawing fear crept over me. I couldn't go in there. In fact, I couldn't move, even if I wanted to. I felt Jid's hand briefly in mine. When he let go, something remained. I could faintly feel its sharp edge through the Kleenex wrapping.

“Thanks,” I whispered, inserting the glass splinter carefully into the pocket of my fleece vest. It felt a good three or four inches long. Better than the scissors for stabbing.

With the wind from the broken window buffeting our backs, Jid and I waited for the next move.

“Slobo, get your ass out of there!” came a sudden shout from the other end of the hall, along with a beam of light. Professor walked toward us with an unwavering stride — no hint of the earlier stumbling gait. Amazingly, he was sober, stone cold sober.

The bed creaked again, followed by a thud on the floor and loud swearing. The biker limped out of my bedroom, almost colliding with Professor. “I cut fuckin' foot.”

“I don't care. We've got to get the damn window boarded up before we become blocks of ice.” He held out his hand. “Hand over the nails and hammer.”

Crossing his arms, the Serb jutted his jaw out in defiance.

Neither Jid nor I dared move.

The hand with the snakes slithering around the fingers remained open.

Not a single word was spoken between the two men.

Finally, Slobodan pulled the hammer out from his belt and swung it down toward the outstretched palm. But before it connected with flesh, Professor grasped the handle and pulled, forcing the other man to put his full weight on the injured foot.

He howled.

“Shut up and hold the plywood against the window for the lady,” Professor said with barely an inflection in his voice.

Jid and I quickly moved out of the way as Slobodan slammed its flatness against the window frame. At this point I didn't care if he damaged the wood or gouged the plaster, as long as it stopped the wind, snow, and cold from storming in. Within minutes, Professor had the two pieces of plywood firmly nailed to the frame. I felt only a whisper of icy air along the edges. But it wouldn't be long before the cold would start penetrating the thin wood.

“Look at the blood you've put on this nice antique pine floor,” Professor said. “You'll have to clean it up.”

Bloody footprints, some wetter than others, crisscrossed the worn planks.

Slobodan's pale eyes narrowed in hatred.

“I'll do it,” I broke in. The last thing I wanted was a fight between these two men. Mind you, if they killed each other, so much the better. But we could also die in the process.

“I want you to apologize for treating this lady so disrespectfully.” Professor brought his hand down onto the hilt of the knife at his waistband. “If you dare touch her, I'll kill you.”

The Serb narrowed his eyes further and planted his feet as if preparing for action. He rested his hand on the grip of his gun. I felt as if we'd been plunged into a B-movie Western. Normally a bullet fired from a gun should be faster than a flying knife, but in the hands of Professor I suspected it would be the opposite.

I backed up against the boarded window, pulling Jid with me.

Just when I thought it was going to end disastrously, the biker grunted and then slowly lifted both hands away from his body. “No problem.” But the smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes.

I then noticed a brown leather sheath attached to his belt. Sticking out of it was the bone hilt of the hunting knife from the night table. I waited to see if Professor would do anything about it, but he merely pointed at the man's bloody sock and said, “Get that cleaned up.”

I
couldn't make sense of the relationship between these two men. They could hardly be called friends — more like enemies, and yet they had escaped together. They seemed to have little in common other than being convicts. One was a full patch member of a notorious biker gang. The other had supposedly taught at university. I doubted their paths would've crossed before their incarceration.

But if they weren't friends, why did they escape together? Or did Professor and Larry just happen to be in the van when the Serbian's friends arrived to free him? If so, it was more likely the three of them would've gone their separate ways. Instead they came here, together.

That was the other unanswerable question. Why Three Deer Point?

Professor obviously had some sort of hold over the Serbian; otherwise the biker wouldn't have given in. It made more sense for the relationship to be the other way around. After all, the Serbian was the biker, the tough guy, the bully who was used to getting his own way.

Whatever the source of his power, I was very thankful Professor could keep him in check. Maybe I should become the stalker and go wherever he went just to avoid being alone with the biker.

Slobodan sat on the edge of my bed, smirking while I removed his bloody sock. Afraid of revealing how effective his intimidation tactics were, I steadied my shaking hands as best I could as I worked on his wound. I was terrified that if he knew how much he frightened me, he would come after me again when Professor wasn't around. Fortunately, for the moment the tattooed man was standing directly behind me.

Though deep, the cut appeared clean, with no remaining silvers of glass and little sign of bleeding. After disinfecting it with the ointment Jid retrieved from downstairs, I covered it with a large Band-Aid and several layers of gauze in case it bled again when he put his weight on it.

“You'll need a clean sock,” I said. “Jid, could you get one of Eric's from the drawer?”

“Viper, it very nice when woman caress your foot, especially when you sit on her bed?” He snickered. “But maybe you like more better man do it,
ne
?” He let out another burst of laughter.

Disgusted by his behaviour, I snatched the sock from Jid's hand and threw it at the man. “Put this on yourself.”

He roared. “I love woman with balls.”

“Come on, Jid, let's go downstairs.” The faster I got away from the man, the better.

I expected to be stopped, or at the very least followed, the way I'd been stalked before. But Professor remained in the room. I heard voices, along with shouting, as we headed down the stairs. Maybe they would kill each other this time.

“What are we going to do?” Jid asked.

“I don't know.” I should've been more optimistic, but I no longer had the energy to pretend.

“Guess I'm going to miss my game, eh?” He sighed.

Game? What game?
“You mean tomorrow night's hockey game.”

“Yeah, Coach said I did so well in the last couple of games, he was gonna put me on the first line with Randy and Steve. I'd sure hate to miss it.”

Nothing like a child to put priorities where they should be. I squeezed his arm. “We'll see what we can do to make it happen.”

“We gonna go now?”

Dumb me. I should've been thinking about making a dash for it, but I hadn't. And now that my mind was finally focusing on escaping, it was too late. Footsteps thudded down the stairs.

“You got soap to clean floor?” Slobodan growled as he limped up to me. I relaxed at the sight of Professor's bullet head looming behind him.

“I'll do it.” I didn't want him ruining the floor with too much water, as if it really mattered. The snow and broken glass had already done more than enough damage.

“Good. You my kind of woman,” the Serb replied. “Get me more fancy Scotch,” he yelled as I headed to the kitchen. “Viper want more too.”

“Don't get any more, Red,” Professor called out.

“What the fuck?” Slobodan rasped. “I need drink.”

“You've had enough, as have I. We need to keep our heads clear.”

So much for drinking until they passed out.

Shoni lay asleep, curled up in her blanket at the front of her crate. In the back corner were a couple of tiny brown sausages and a small puddle. Poor baby.

She yawned and stretched and wagged her tail and then gave Jid several sloppy licks when he opened the door. Picking her up, he nuzzled his face in her soft fur. “How ya doing, little one?” he whispered. “You've been a bad pup.” He kissed her on the end of her nose. Turning to me, he said, “I think I'd better put her out.”

“Good idea,” Professor said, startling me. I hadn't heard him slip into the kitchen. “I'll do it.” He pulled the puppy from Jid's arms. “Come to papa.”

I ached for Jid as he helplessly watched the man take the ball of fluff into the pantry and out the back door.

“I guess I'd better clean the cage,” he said.

“Don't worry.” I hugged him. “He likes dogs too much to hurt her. You'll have plenty of time to play with her after they leave.”

“When's that gonna be?”

“In time for your hockey game.” I planted the broadest smile I could muster on my face. I was back to pretending.

W
hile
the cursing biker hobbled back upstairs with the mop and pail, I retreated to the den, leaving Jid alone with the tattooed man in the kitchen. Dead tired and emotionally exhausted, I wanted a few minutes of solitude in which I didn't have to try to pretend I wasn't scared for Jid's sake.

After the way Professor had intervened with the Serbian on my behalf, I was less worried about leaving the boy alone with him. I could even hear the boy's laughter. Still, if he didn't join me within ten or so minutes, I would retrieve him, particularly after the biker returned to the main floor.

I was amazed to see from the mantel clock that it was barely nine. The four and a half hours since these guys had invaded my home felt more like four and a half days. With close to twelve hours before daylight, it was going to be one very long and nerve-wracking night.

Come morning, I was praying they'd be gone. But judging by the amount of snow that had spilled through the broken window, it wasn't likely. The storm wasn't close to letting up. Tomorrow there could easily be half again as much as the amount already on the ground, which must have half-buried my pickup by now. There was no way this Jo would be able to drive in to get them, unless she knew enough to bring a snowmobile.

But let's get realistic. Why was I so anxious for them to leave? When they finally did go, Jid and I would likely be dead. They weren't about to leave witnesses behind.

But why not? It wasn't as if we could tell the cops anything that they didn't already know. I doubt these thugs would broadcast their next destination, and I wasn't about to ask.

Escaping was our best option. But with Professor putting the lid on drinking, it was pretty well ruled out. And if they carried out their threat to tie me up, that was the end of it entirely. Still, if by some miracle an opportunity presented itself, we'd be gone in a flash. But miracles were scarce at the moment.

That left some other way to deal with Slobo and Professor. I didn't view Larry as a threat. Stabbing them with scissors or the glass shard wasn't going to do it. I supposed I could take one of the carving knives from the kitchen, but I wasn't certain if I had it in me to actually stab someone, no matter how threatening. The same went for trying to slit one of their throats with the razor blade. I had to face it — I was the one most likely to be killed.

On the other hand, I wouldn't hesitate to have them ingest something that would incapacitate or kill them. I had some noxious gardening pesticides, but they were out of reach in the garden shed. The only item of that nature in the house was mouse poison, and I wasn't certain it had the strength to kill a man. Besides, how would I get them to eat it?

All of which didn't leave me much choice other than to do what they asked of us in the hope that when they finally departed, they would feel agreeable enough to leave us unharmed.

Very disheartened, I threw a couple of logs onto the fire and increased the flame of the oil lamp before sinking into an armchair. I noticed that more fuel had been added, likely by Professor. It wasn't something the Serbian would do.

The tinsel sparkled in the renewed light, reminding me that it was the Christmas season. Christmas. Peace and joy on earth. It seemed as if it belonged to another world.

Larry appeared to be asleep, although his body twitched under the blanket. I wondered how much worse his withdrawal would get. From the little I'd read about heroin withdrawal, I gathered an addict could become quite agitated. I hoped Professor would be able to control him and keep him from making the bullet wound worse.

I must've been sighing, for Larry suddenly spoke up. “You okay, lady? Tiger didn't hurt you, did he?”

“No, Professor came to my aid.”

“Yeah, Professor's a good guy. He'll protect you the same way he protects me.” He raised himself carefully into an upright position. The sweat on his face gleamed in the light.

“It must be hard living in a prison,” I said.

“Yah, when you're a little guy, the big guys won't leave you alone, eh? But once you have a protector, no one comes near you.”

“Other than your protector.”

He raised his eyes to mine in alarm.

“Don't worry, I don't care if you're gay.”

“Yeah, but I wasn't always this way. Before I got sent up, I had a girlfriend, eh? Just inside, you gotta do it, eh? Guys get killed when they don't. Besides, Professor treats me real good.”

“What did you do to end up in there?” Though Slobodan had told me, I wanted to hear it from Larry.

“Fuckin' cops said I killed a man, but I didn't. Just 'cause my fingerprints were on the gun, they said I did it. I kept telling 'em I found it, but they called me a liar. Didn't like the colour of my skin, eh? And that Judge Meilleur screwed me royally, all because I was an Indian. So Professor says. He's gonna get me a good lawyer. He says it was harsement or some word like that.”

“Harassment.”

“Yup, that's it. Says it's against the law for the cops and a judge to do that. Says a good lawyer will get them to open up the case and get me off.”

I supposed he could be innocent, but he was hardly the first convict to insist he was, nor would he be the last. “How long have you been in prison?”

“Thirteen years. Twelve more to go before I get parole, eh? You see, I got the max. First degree murder, all on account I was an Indian.”

“You know, if you get caught now, you'll go back to jail for even longer.”

“Professor'll make sure I don't get caught. We're going some place nice, where the cops can't catch us. You see, this is Professor's last job. He promised.” A shiver ran through him, more like a convulsion. “I feel like shit. You sure you don't got any pills?”

“Only Tylenol.” And the ibuprofen Eric used when he had too many aches and pains from trying to pretend he was twenty years younger. But neither would solve Larry's problem. However, they could solve mine. I wondered if a liberal dose of either would put the two men to sleep.

Jid came running into the room with the puppy scampering after him. “You should see the cool trick Professor taught Shoni.”

He careened to a stop when he saw Larry sitting up.

“It's okay, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you or your auntie.”

“You feeling okay?” Jid asked. “What's it feel like to have a bullet go through you?”

“Now, Jid, it's not polite to ask such questions,” I said.

“It's okay. He's just a boy with a boy's curiosity. All I can say is it hurts like shit.”

“Do you have the bullet? You know, like you see on TV.”

Larry glanced over at me for the answer.

“It went right through him. So it's likely lying where he was shot.”

“Do you know who shot you?” the boy asked.

Again Larry looked at me.

But before I could say I didn't know, Slobodan limped into the room. “A hack shot him.”

“You mean one of the guards in the van?” the injured man asked.

“Yeah, before Jo shoot him dead. They kill other hack and driver too.”

Shit. Triple shit.

I supposed if there were a positive side to this horrific act, it would be that the hunt for these escaped convicts would have gone up many notches with the killing of the guards. The police wouldn't stop until they'd captured all three of them. But would they know to look in the middle of nowhere?

“Jo good woman. Like I tell you, I love woman with balls.” The leer that crept across the man's face made me shudder.

I'd been hoping that the arrival of this girlfriend would neutralize the killing instinct in these men. Instead, she was as cold-blooded a killer as her boyfriend.