Snowball

by Gregory Bastianelli

  They could have dressed better for the storm, but both had figured they’d only have to go from their respective office buildings to the vehicle. He’d never expected to have to venture outside for any duration. Just the trip to the snowplow ahead had chilled him to the bone. By the time he had finally warmed back up in the vehicle, he decided to go back out to clear the snow away from the back end. Now he just wanted to stay comfortable.

  Joy muttered something.

  “What?” he asked, irritated that she hadn’t said it loud enough for him to hear.

  She glared at him, as if contemplating whether it was worth it to repeat her musings. “A stupid video game,” she said, and then rolled her eyes away from him.

  Did she really want to get into this again? His bones still ached from the cold and he gripped the steering wheel tight, debating in his head whether it was worth a response.

  “We can’t change what we already did,” he said, trying to tone down the frustration in his voice.

  “The kids had plenty of stuff for Christmas. They didn’t need anything extra.”

  It was all he could do not to snap at her. It was a pointless discussion, and he just wanted her to let it go. Mason was sure she’d had some drinks at her little office gathering before meeting him and his co-workers at the bar, so there was no doubt that played a part in her constant reminder of what got them into this situation.

  “Enough,” he said, hoping his tone made the message clear. He knew she was also worried about the kids at home and not being able to contact them, but they were teenagers and used to taking care of themselves. But still, it was Christmas Eve. Duncan and Daria must be wondering where their parents were.

  Chapter Ten

  Clark Brooks sat in the passenger seat of Graham Sawyer’s sedan, thinking about how much he hated winter. The snow had caked up on the windows of the vehicle so the outside was barely discernible. Not that it mattered. It had been impossible to see more than a few feet through the swirling snow anyway. Clark didn’t have to worry about snow in California. That was one of the reasons he ended up moving there.

  He’d been fine celebrating Christmas alone with a brief visit from a handful of friends. That was easier than deciding which of his parents to spend most of the holiday with. They had divorced ten years ago after forty years of marriage, and Clark had only come home for Christmas that first year. He felt he was in a tug-of-war between the two of them for the amount of time they wanted to spend with him. His parents seemed to get along all those years, but now they couldn’t stand to be in the same place together.

  That’s why Clark found it best to avoid the holiday, and stay home in Emeryville. That way they couldn’t fight over him. And he could avoid the winter months. But it didn’t matter anymore now that his dad had died this past summer. He was glad his father hadn’t died in the winter. That season was dreary enough without thinking of standing on the frozen ground in a frigid cemetery saying goodbye to the old man. No, summer was better for funerals. Sunshine and warmth somehow made death feel so much better.

  “I’m sorry,” Clark said.

  Graham turned toward him. “Sorry? For what?”

  “Dragging you out into this mess.” Clark rubbed the fog off the side window, but still couldn’t see much. “I should have just taken the bus.”

  “Nonsense,” Graham retorted. “They probably stopped running, and you would have been stuck in Boston on Christmas Eve.”

  Clark had to laugh. “As opposed to being stuck on the turnpike?”

  Graham chuckled too. A boyish laugh. “What are best friends for?” It was more a statement than a question.

  Clark and Graham had been friends since their days at Franklin Pierce Elementary School in Evergreen, and even though they were on opposite coasts now, the distance didn’t diminish their bond.

  “I took you away from your family.”

  “Yeah, I have to be honest, Natalie wasn’t too thrilled with me going out to get you. But she and the girls will be fine. Besides, I needed to get out of the house. It’s tough being the only guy in a household of five.”

  “Your wife never liked me anyway,” Clark jested, knowing full well that Natalie adored him and the friendship he had with her husband.

  “Nah, not too much.”

  Clark hoped Graham and Natalie lasted at least as long as his parents, but hell, even forty years wasn’t enough. What the hell had happened to his parents? Clark had been away too long to see the cracks that had dismantled their union. Maybe it was best he hadn’t, certainly not after what he had just been through in California. How ironic that he had chosen to become a divorce attorney. At least he didn’t have to suffer representing one of his parents. That in itself was a good reason to be on the opposite coast.

  During the course of his career, he saw the end result of a lot of marriages gone bad. But of course, nothing like this last one. Clark hadn’t seen that one coming at all.

  His client’s name was Benson Read, an older gentleman in his late sixties. His wife, Aubrey, was more than thirty years younger. There were plenty of marriages like that in California, but Clark never understood any of them. Typically the husband had money – lots of it – and the woman was always a knockout. This was no exception.

  The pattern Clark usually witnessed was that, when the man got beyond a certain age, the interest from the wife waned. Benson’s wife filed for a divorce, and Clark represented the older man. It was an acrimonious affair. Benson wanted to hold on to things Aubrey demanded, things that Clark felt were futile. He went back and forth with Aubrey’s lawyer, trying to reach some common ground.

  But common sense was what they really needed. As Benson got more and more agitated with his soon-to-be third ex-wife, his behavior and demands became erratic. At one point, Benson shouted to Clark that he wanted the immediate return of his garage-door opener that he claimed Aubrey was holding hostage. That didn’t make any sense, since Aubrey was the one in the house at the moment. Benson was residing in a condo he owned at the beach (probably scouting for wife number four). But Benson owned a lot of sports cars he kept in the four-car garage at the house, and wanted access to them. Clark managed to get the remote from Aubrey – a minor victory.

  That wasn’t even the most ridiculous claim. Oh no. Clark was dumbfounded when Benson demanded that his wife reimburse him for the cost of her breast implants. He had paid for them, he claimed, so that he could enjoy them, not other guys. Clark tried to talk the old man out of that request, but Benson was relentless and made him write it up in the paperwork. Of course the judge denied the reimbursement.

  About a week after the divorce was finalized, Clark received a call from Benson, asking him to stop by his house, that he needed some legal help. Clark was confused, since Aubrey got the house in the settlement, but he reluctantly agreed, wishing his dealings with Mr. Read were over. He figured he’d stop by the house, listen to the old man’s request, and refer him to someone else.

  After Clark arrived at the house, Benson let him in, his face ashen, his hands shaking, drops of sweat dotting his bald dome. Clark was led into the kitchen, where the old man had a half-finished glass of whiskey over ice on the counter. It wasn’t even noon yet.

  “What am I doing here?” Clark asked him, thinking maybe he needed some kind of help other than legal advice.

  “I got what I wanted,” was all Benson said.

  “What are you talking about?” Clark asked, not wanting to get too close to him, regretting even coming over, not thinking to ask how the man got in. Aubrey must have changed the locks. Of course she would have. A strange pallor had come over the old man.

  “Over there, on the kitchen table.” Benson pointed with a shaky finger. “I think I’m going to need another lawyer.”

  Clark walked over to the dining room table and stopped short. On the table was a bloody carving knife. Beside it were what looked like
two clear plastic balls, smeared and dripping red. It only took a second before he realized what they were: Aubrey’s breast implants.

  Clark stepped back in horror; his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

  “What have you done, Benson?” His immediate thought was to get out of this house, not even taking the time to call 911 until he got outside.

  “She’s in the bedroom,” Benson said. “She wasn’t willing to give them up easily.”

  Clark looked at the man, mouth agape. Benson’s eyes were glazed over. He took a sip of his drink. Clark knew he should leave immediately, but something kept him mired to his spot. He wondered about Aubrey and thought he should check, to see if she was really here. Maybe this wasn’t what he thought it was.

  “Where’s the bedroom?”

  Benson pointed down a hallway.

  Clark felt his body shaking, legs wanting to give out as he walked down the carpeted corridor to an open doorway. He peered inside.

  Aubrey lay on her back on top of the white comforter on the bed, naked from the waist up, arms splayed out to the edges of the mattress. Her eyes were closed, her chest cavity drenched in blood.

  Bile rose in Clark’s throat and he brought his hand up to suppress it. A sharp gasp startled him as Audrey’s eyes shot open, her chest heaved and her head tried to lift up off the pillow before settling back down.

  Oh my God, she’s still alive!

  Clark sprung into action, pulling out his phone and calling 911 while at the same time sprinting into the adjoining bathroom and grabbing a towel to try and staunch the bleeding. He straddled the delirious woman while he talked to the 911 operator, shouting what had happened and where they were.

  Aubrey lived. Benson killed himself about a week later. Clark’s boss made him take a leave of absence. Why not? Clark thought. It was Christmas time anyway.

  It gave him a chill just thinking about it and his body shivered.

  “Still cold?” Graham asked, turning up the fan on the heater.

  Clark tried to smile. “Still can’t get used to this climate,” he said, not wanting to tell Graham what had really given him the chills.

  “You spent most of your life here. The cold should still be in your blood.”

  Clark didn’t want to be here. But now that he only had one parent, he could endure going home for Christmas. Besides, he eventually had to settle his father’s estate, and the house that was left to him. Close it up and sell it most likely. Unless he wanted to keep the house and move back here, be closer to his aging mother. She was alone, just like his father had been. The two of them had spent all that time together, raising a family, only to end up alone at the end. What was the point? Couldn’t they have stuck it out together a little while longer?

  Clark didn’t like the thought of dying alone. He had no one special in his life back in California. Relationships never seemed to last more than a year, if even that long, before withering away. But who could blame him, considering what he saw in his day-to-day business life. Relationships and marriages crumbled. Or worse, they ended up going down a dark hole like Benson Read and his wife.

  And after what had happened back in California, he needed to get away. The head of the firm insisted he take some time off. A mental health vacation.

  Clark looked out through what little view he had of the outside. Some vacation spot.

  And that’s when he saw the naked man run by.

  Chapter Eleven

  After their lovemaking, Kirk and Sonya lay in each other’s arms, naked under the blanket in the back seat. Kirk wasn’t completely naked. He still had his socks on. In the heat of passion, it was always the one item he never managed to remove, as if the act of pulling off those two pieces of clothing interrupted the rhythm of the moment. There was no subtle way to reach down and pull off socks.

  Sonya had drifted off to sleep, after muttering something about how much she loved him. Kirk was tired as well, and could barely keep his eyes open. He kept thinking about the lives they were about to begin now that she had accepted his proposal. They both had jobs awaiting them in Boston after graduation, and they had already begun looking for a place in the city they could afford.

  He wanted to be close to Boylston Street, near Fenway Park. There were a lot of bars and restaurants in that area, a place a lot of young professionals congregated. Kirk couldn’t wait to go to Red Sox games at Fenway. Sonya looked forward to the Museum of Science. There were so many things they wanted to see and do in the city: the North End, Faneuil Hall, Quincy Market, the New England Aquarium, the Freedom Trail and the Theater District. The Boston Pops and Swan Boats in the summer; the Bruins and Celtics in the Garden in the winter.

  But first they needed to get out of this mess, and Kirk thought about what he should do. If he was going to be Sonya’s husband, he needed to be her protector. It was his fault they were stuck where they were. He had to wait for the ring because he wanted to propose on Christmas Day. Now that was out of the way, he needed to find a way out.

  Kirk thought again about the snowshoes in the back of the car. Sonya would never let him hike out alone, but maybe he could go while she slept. She would be mad when she awoke and found him gone, but would think him a hero if he came back with help.

  He would need to bundle up real good. The damn ski vest would leave his arms unprotected, but he could add another sweater to help. The rest of his gear would suffice. He was sure he could make it to the next exit, and then it couldn’t be far to find someone’s house. Maybe even a twenty-four-hour service station. The question would be whether he could find phone service even there. It would be pointless to walk all that way in the raging storm only to find someone’s house or a business without phone service. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. Then he would be in a nice warm place, while Sonya was still stranded here.

  At least it was still toasty in the car, and there was enough gas in the tank to keep it running for hours. Maybe it was best to just wait. Kirk ran all kinds of scenarios through his head, trying to find a logical resolution. Come on, Kirk, he said to himself. You’re supposed to be the smart college kid. Can’t you come up with something?

  He felt helpless. The one thing he didn’t want to feel. He wanted, no needed, to be in control. Sonya would expect that of him. She always looked to him for that kind of security, and he needed to provide it.

  Kirk’s head felt jumbled. So many thoughts bounced around inside, he couldn’t think straight. It was hard to concentrate. Maybe if he slept a little, he would awaken with a clearer mind. Maybe he just needed a little snooze. It would be easy to fall asleep like this, with Sonya’s naked body against his. This was how he wanted to fall asleep every night.

  But before he drifted off, before his thoughts unscrambled, Kirk still couldn’t help but think he was forgetting about something important.

  Chapter Twelve

  Graham Sawyer stared at the bloodstains drying on the fingers of his leather dress gloves from when he had climbed into the cab of the snowplow. He thought about the red drops dripping off the heating vents, pooling on the rubber floor mat. What had happened to the driver and what could have caused so much blood? Did he have an accident, maybe cut himself? Or had someone else done that to him? He might have been attacked by some lunatic in the storm, possibly someone driven snow-blind. Snow-mad? Was there even such a thing? But why? And where was the body? It could have been dumped out in the snow by the side of the highway, buried now, no doubt.

  Graham needed to get the blood off his gloves. He couldn’t go home to his girls on Christmas Eve with bloody gloves. If he was even going to make it home tonight. He rolled down the driver’s side window of his car and reached his left hand out, scooped up some snow from the side of the car and rubbed it on the fingers of his gloves, as if the wet sticky substance were soapsuds and he were washing his hands.

  That was when the naked man ran by.

 
; Graham caught a quick glimpse of the man and recognized him as the driver in the coupe stuck behind the tractor-trailer truck. The man hadn’t gotten out of his car when Graham and the others had gone to investigate what was going on up ahead, but he remembered talking to him. The guy had been wearing a suit then. Now he wore nothing.

  “Did you just see that?” Graham said, looking at Clark beside him, almost too stunned to speak.

  “Yes,” Clark said, staring in disbelief. “I’m glad you said something, because I thought I was imagining things.”

  “The guy must be crazy.”

  “He’ll be dead if we don’t stop him.”

  Graham zipped up his jacket as he and Clark got out of the car. The wind hit him the moment he stepped out, and he looked over the roof of his car at Clark, who was dipping his head and holding up one hand to shield his face. Clark yelled something as he came around to Graham’s side.

  “What?” Graham yelled back, though the words were shoved back into his mouth by the wind, almost gagging him.

  “Do you see him?” Clark repeated.

  Graham shook his head. It was hard to see anything in the mist created by the swirling snow. The man had been running straight down the middle of the highway in the opposite direction from the way they had come. Graham could barely see the outlines of snow-covered vehicles, including a large truck or something. He looked down at footprints the man had left behind, already being wiped away by the storm winds.

  “This way!” Graham yelled, pointing south, the direction the man had been running. Pulling the collar of his coat up around his chin to provide some protection, Graham led the way, Clark sticking close by, as they waded through the drifts. His feet were already chilled; he couldn’t imagine what the naked man felt like. Or was he so crazy he didn’t feel anything at all? Graham wondered what had compelled the man to strip and run outside, but insanity was the only explanation. He had seemed normal when Graham had spoken to him earlier, a little rude, but otherwise sane.