A Cold White Fear

by R. J. Harlick

  “Come here, kid, or I kill the bitch.”

  I heard Jid’s patter coming down the stairs.

  “Please, don’t hurt my auntie.” His voice wavered. He came up beside me. I wrapped my arm around his thin shoulders and held him close.

  He was alive. That was all that mattered.

  “You can do whatever you want with me, just let Jid go,” I said. “He’s only a boy. He can’t harm you.”

  “Shut fuck up. Get your ass over there.”

  He pushed me toward Larry. Maintaining a tight grip on Jid, I sandwiched him between his father and me. If Slobo fired his gun, Larry or I would be hit before his son.

  The man limped into the room and stood directly in front of us. “What I do with you?”

  “You give them to me,” came a familiar voice from the hall. Professor and his writhing snakes stepped into the room. Both arms ended in taper-thin stilettos.

  The Serbian didn’t turn around. He’d been waiting for him.

  “Not so fast, Mister Professor,” Slobo said, enunciating every letter of his name. “They belong to me. Where Jo?” He kept his gun aimed at us.

  “I hope you said your proper goodbyes. You won’t be seeing her anymore. She’s dead.”

  SIXTY

  While the two enemies jousted, Larry slumped over onto Jid and against me. For a brief moment, I felt his hand in my jacket pocket, and then he struggled to sit upright.

  “You bastard,” Slobo hissed, his face twisted in fury. “You kill her.” He raised his gun and started to turn around to face Professor.

  Larry lunged from the sofa, my gun in his hand. He fired at the same time as Slobo’s gun went off. With a quiet “Oomph,” the Serbian crumpled to the floor, almost on top of Larry. The silver hilt of a knife stuck out of his back, next to a tiny red bullet hole.

  Professor sauntered toward the dead man. “Actually, it was Bébé Jean who had the pleasure of getting rid of the bitch.” He extracted his knife and wiped it with a bloodstained cloth removed from an inner jacket pocket. “They cost too much to throw away.” He smiled and then leaned over his lover.

  I didn’t ask where Jean was. I figured the only way that Professor could be here was by killing the cop.

  He gently nudged his friend. “Larry, you can get up now. We have to leave.”

  “I think he’s dead.”

  “No, that can’t be. The bastard’s shot whizzed past my ear. It wasn’t anywhere near P’tit Chief.” He ran his hands gently over his friend, searching for the wound and found none. He slapped him on the face. “Come on, wake up. Don’t scare me like this.”

  I knelt down beside Larry, searched for a pulse, and found none. “I’m sorry, Professor, he’s gone. He’s not going to wake up.”

  “No, it can’t be. We were going to spend the rest of our lives together basking in the sun. I was going to teach him the best the world has to offer. Wake up, mon petit chou.”

  I noticed fresh blood at the site of Larry’s injury. “He died saving you. I think when he went after the Serbian, he tore something inside.”

  Professor moaned and collapsed onto his lover.

  For a few seconds I felt sorry for the man. Then, grabbing Jid’s hand, I pulled him off the sofa.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  I had no idea what Professor would do with us when he stopped his mourning, but I didn’t intend to wait around to find out.

  Jid pulled back. “I want to say goodbye to him.” His eyes were brimming with tears. “He’s my dad.”

  “I know. He died trying to save you. But we have to go.”

  “No. I want to help him on the way to the Creator.”

  “Okay, but be quick.”

  He pulled his amulet through the neck of his sweatshirt, loosened the drawstring, and shook some dried tobacco onto his palm. He knelt down beside his father, gently closed his eyes, and sprinkled the tobacco onto his eyelids and his forehead, while chanting softly in Algonquin. Professor stopped his moaning and joined the boy with his own chanting, which sounded vaguely Gregorian.

  Larry likely wasn’t the kind of man Jid had dreamed of for a father, but when he finally met him, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that for a few brief hours the two of them had been able to be father and son.

  I tensed at the faint sound of footsteps in the kitchen.

  “Jid,” I whispered. “Someone’s here. Come over by me.”

  Terrified that Freddie had somehow freed himself, I backed against the wall next to the door and placed Jid on the other side of me.

  “Do you want this?” He held a gun with the grip, waiting for me to grasp. It was the one his father had taken from me.

  I gripped it firmly. This time I knew I would shoot.

  I listened to the patter of footsteps slowly coming down the hall in our direction. They stopped and went into the dining room and then came back out and continued toward us.

  I placed my finger on the trigger and pointed the gun at the opening.

  A floorboard creaked. A male voice muttered.

  The footsteps stopped right at the opened doorway. I could hear the man breathing as I pressed farther against the wall.

  I steeled myself to make the killing shot.

  “Sacrebleu,” he muttered.

  I saw the gun barrel before I saw the man.

  “Stop!” I shouted. “Jean, it’s me.”

  As I slowly lowered my gun, he turned his away from me and pointed it at Professor. The cop motioned for Jid and me to move away.

  The tattooed man remained seated on the ground with the head of his dead lover on his lap. Without a single glance or sign indicating that he knew his freedom was about to end, he continued caressing the still face while chanting softly.

  “Guy Charbonneau, or should I call you Professor, raise your hands slowly in the air,” Jean ordered.

  Unlike guns, knives are much easier to tuck into unlikely spots. While I’d seen him remove the stiletto that had killed Slobo, I didn’t see where he had hidden it.

  Professor continued to ignore the cop.

  “Do it now!” Jean yelled. With his feet braced and his finger on the trigger, he pointed his pistol straight at the man’s snake-covered head.

  Professor brushed the hair from Larry’s unseeing eyes and kissed him full on the lips. Then he slowly lifted his head and stared at Jean. For what seemed like interminable minutes, he kept his unwavering amber gaze on the cop. Without shifting his eyes, he eased his hand down toward his waist. A gun roared. The snakes quivered and lay still as the tattooed man gradually slumped to the ground. His blood pumped out onto his lover.

  Jean waited for the body to stop twitching and then stepped over Slobo to reach Professor. He felt the pulse. “Dead.”

  He pulled out one of the man’s arms, expecting, as I did, to find a knife. The hand was empty. So too was his other hand, except for a slender brown feather that looked to be a match with Larry’s earring. We both saw the silver gleam of a hilt sticking out from his shirtsleeve.

  “I was so sure he was going to throw a knife,” he said.

  “I think he wanted it to end this way,” I replied.

  “Meg, Meg! Are you okay?” came a shout from the kitchen. “What in the hell is going on?”

  Eric! Eric was here. I ran.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Yesterday the sun came out for all of one hour and added a momentary sparkle to an otherwise depressing day. But it wasn’t enough to raise me from the dreary depths into which I had sunk. Today’s grey skies only made me more miserable.

  This morning Eric had had to remind me that today was Christmas Eve. But I merely shrugged and said, “So what.” I didn’t feel in the least Christmassy. Nor did I want to bother with the big day. We could skip it and head straight into the New Year without a stop at New Year’s Eve for all I cared.

  Thank God, my sister had let us know they wouldn’t be coming. With our phone service still out of commission, she’d contacted Will at the police
station via emergency channels. I guessed that, as a judge, she had privileged access. She told him that as a member of the judiciary, she couldn’t be seen having anything to do with a crime scene. Only as she was terminating the call did she remember to ask how I had fared. So much for sisterly love.

  The power was still out. When it did come back on, Eric and I would have one godawful mess to clean up. I fully expected to be greeted by burst pipes, flooded floors, carpets soaked in blood, police tape, chalk outlines, and boot prints smeared over the hardwood floors. As an added touch, I’d probably find a bullet hole or two in the cherry panelling.

  I wanted no part of it. I would rather stay here in Eric’s cozy bungalow and never go near Three Deer Point again. The den, where Eric and I relaxed from life’s ups and downs, would never be the same again. I would never be able to rid my mind of the images of the three bloody bodies splayed out on the carpet nor forget the never-ending night spent in hell trying to keep Jid and me alive.

  When the police kicked us out of Three Deer Point, we were lucky to have Eric’s house on the reserve to retreat to. Reluctant to sell, he’d been renting it out since moving in with me. Fortunately for us, the house was between renters. Though it was empty of furniture, thanks to Will we had a mattress, a couple of well-used armchairs, and a small table.

  Within an hour of our taking up residence, the police chief arrived with his van jammed with items from his basement, including a kettle and other cooking utensils and some groceries, which brought a smile to Eric. Will also brought his two brawny sons to clear a path through the deep drifts from the road to the front door and carry the furniture inside.

  In the interests of keeping warm, we set up house in the living room and placed everything close to the fireplace. Thanks to the firewood left behind by the renters, this room was bursting with heat, so much so that I finally felt warm enough to crawl out from under the duvet.

  Shoni was nestled in my lap. She hadn’t strayed far from us since Eric found her shivering and whimpering on the back porch. He figured she’d hidden under it until she smelt his familiar scent and knew safety was at hand. She seemed to have survived her ordeal with little outward effect other than a skittish reaction to sudden loud noises. It didn’t seem to have dampened her kisses, either. She was forever lathering both of us with wet, sloppy licks. I took this as her way of saying she was very glad her life had returned to normal.

  Jid, Eric, and I, along with the puppy, fled as the police overran the house. We were barely given enough time to gather clothes and other personal belongings before we were hustled into the back seat of Will’s official SUV. During the drive, I let Eric and Will do all the talking. I wasn’t up to speaking, nor was Jid. We simply sat in the back seat on either side of Eric, clinging to him as if we never wanted to let go, while we tried to come to terms with the last twenty hours. We probably would for the next while to come.

  Will drove us straight to the Health Centre to ensure we hadn’t suffered any serious health problems. Apart from bruises, a cut or two, and chafed wrists, we were both physically okay. Mentally was another matter, but the nurse didn’t attempt to explore the possible repercussions to our mental well-being. She merely suggested that if we needed counselling, it was available through the Health Centre.

  Eric had held me close and whispered that he would be there when I needed him, and always would be. But that was about all that was said between the two of us. I wasn’t yet up to discussing the nightmare, nor did I want to broach the events leading up to his door-slamming departure. So we kept our conversation to day-to-day banalities. It was fine by me, but I wasn’t so certain about Eric. Still, I knew him to be a very patient and understanding man. He would wait until I was ready.

  After the medical examination, Will, along with an SQ officer, interviewed Jid and me and took our statements. Jid’s interview was cut short when his aunt stormed into the room, demanding, as the boy’s official guardian, that he be released to her care immediately. She shouted that it was my fault her nephew was almost killed. If I hadn’t lured the boy to my house, if I hadn’t let those murderers in, her nephew would never have been exposed to such danger. Eric had tried to calm her down, but without success.

  It ended with her dragging a distraught Jid out of the Health Centre with a warning that she would never allow him to come to my house again. I was too stunned to try to dissuade her. Knowing how much he disliked his aunt, I was deeply worried about the effect this additional stress would have on him.

  Both Eric and Will tried to convince her not to be so rash, but legally there was nothing they could do to stop her. At least Eric was able to convince her that Jid should spend time with Summer Grass Woman. The highly respected elder had helped me at a difficult point in my life. I knew she would provide the kind of healing Jid needed.

  I already missed him, his impish grin and his joie de vivre. Even Shoni acted as if she missed him too when she ambled restlessly through the house, as if in search of him. When I got my energy back, when I felt like my old self, I would do what I could to bring him back into my life.

  After they left, the SQ cop and Will continued to drill me about the ordeal. I told them everything I knew. The only event I kept from them was the rape. The monster was dead. There seemed little need to bring it up.

  I hadn’t yet found the right moment to tell Eric. I didn’t know if I would. It made me feel dirty and ashamed. I blamed myself for winding the man up. It was better to keep it to myself, and maybe with time I could bury it so deep, I would convince myself it never happened.

  I heard stomping on the front porch. I tensed, knowing it couldn’t be my husband.

  It was too soon. He’d left less than an hour ago to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Ottawa to pick up his daughter at the airport. We’d debated whether she should come and in the end decided it was a time for family. Unlike my sister, Teht’aa wouldn’t mind camping out in her father’s empty house. I liked her. We had become good friends. It would be nice to focus on something other than the nightmare. Besides, she would be a good buffer between Eric and me should things become awkward.

  A loud knock rang through the house and with it the unwanted memory of the knock that started everything. I froze. Was I always going to react with fear whenever someone knocked at my door?

  The SQ officer had asked me several times why I’d opened the door to two such unsavoury strangers. It was as if he didn’t think my reason for wanting to help the injured man was good enough. Eric didn’t comment one way or the other. He’d merely kissed me on the forehead and said everything was going to be okay. But was it?

  The knock sounded again.

  SIXTY-TWO

  I relaxed when I saw the blond-framed visage of Bébé Jean through the door window. I was still having difficulties reconciling this man who looked the epitome of a Black Devil with the undercover cop he had turned out to be.

  “I’m on my way back to Montreal,” he said, rubbing his ungloved hands to keep them warm. “I wanted to let you know that we’ve finished the investigation at your house. It’s all yours.” His English sounded as if he was born to it. The French accent must’ve been part of his cover.

  “You look cold. Would you like to come in and have a cup of hot tea before you set out?”

  “Thanks. Sounds good.”

  Shoni scurried out of his way, despite his attempts to pat her. It was going to take some time before she would be used to strangers, particularly strange men.

  “I’m afraid we’ve left your house in a mess,” he said, enclosing his hands around the hot mug as he sat in the other chair. He angled it closer to the fire.

  “I’ve expected as much. Though given all that has happened, I may just sell it. I’m not sure I can live there again.” I sat down and rewrapped the duvet around me. The puppy resumed her place on my lap.

  “You have a beautiful house. It looks as if it has been in your family a long time. If you don’t mind my saying, don’t make any quick dec
isions. I find with crimes of this nature that time is a great healer. Often victims later regret decisions made in the heat of the moment. So wait until you’ve had a chance to mull things over.”

  “You sound like my husband. That’s what he said last night when I mentioned selling.”

  “Eric Odjik, isn’t it? I remember when he played hockey. Even though I’m a Canadiens fan, I’ll never forget the winning goal he scored against us in the Stanley Cup. That was some goal.”

  “You don’t look old enough.”

  He laughed. “It’s amazing what a bottle of peroxide can do.” He ran his fingers through his scraggly blond hair. “Tools of the trade. A nice man, your husband. We had a good chat yesterday when he dropped by the house.”

  “I didn’t know he’d gone.”

  “He came to pick up the Ski-Doo he left on Tuesday.”

  Something else I didn’t know. I’d assumed he’d arrived in his Grand Cherokee.

  “Apparently the SQ were blocking the entrance to your road and wouldn’t let him through because of the ongoing operation. So he came in by Ski-Doo via the lake.”

  “Probably one of the fishing-camp machines.”

  I thought back to the Ski-Doo I’d heard. I’d been so happy and relieved to see him that I never thought to ask how he’d managed to arrive at just the right moment.

  “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for saving Jid and me. If you hadn’t come when you did, I don’t think I would be talking to you today.”

  “Thanks. I will admit it was touch and go whether I’d reach you two in time. But from the way you were holding that Smith & Wesson when you almost shot me, I think you would have handled yourself very ably.” He chuckled in a way that so reminded me of Eric.

  He’d only been gone an hour, and already I was missing him.