Frozen Footprints

by Therese Heckenkamp

  But his being here had to mean something. Maybe Grandfather was finally coming through for us. I strained my neck to look to the road, hoping for a swarm of cop cars—FBI would be nice, as well—to come fishtailing to a halt, armed men leaping out to surround the place.

  Max’s eyes met mine. His grave expression warned, Don’t get your hopes up.

  But they were already up. My heart thundered against the ropes. My focus turned back to the officer, who now stood at the cabin door, knocking politely.

  No! At least pull out your gun!

  The door opened, spilling a meager puddle of light over the officer. I couldn’t see who stood in the doorway, but of course it would be Abner.

  The officer showed his badge and appeared to be conversing calmly, courteously, with no sense of urgency. My teeth chomped on the material in my mouth. How can he look at that barbaric thug and not know the truth?

  Maybe it was Clay at the door, but that made no sense. Abner would never allow it, and there was no way Clay had overpowered him. Still, he was in there somewhere. Now would be the perfect time to try something, make a racket, call out—he could save us all. But nothing happened. The officer talked some more, nodded, then turned and hiked back to his squad car. Half expecting Abner to plug the man in the back, I braced myself for a gunshot, but that didn’t happen, either.

  I watched the officer climb into his car, start it up, and snap on the headlights. As he pulled around, I willed the lights to hit us, to find us through the crowd of trees, but the illuminating beams merely bounced off other trees before focusing on the driveway.

  Crimson taillights soon became a blotch of red in the corner of my eye. When even that vanished, my shoulders slumped—or tried to. The ropes still had no give. But my pain was no longer so acute. The combination of cold and lack of circulation was numbing my body, bringing me one step closer to my destiny of becoming a frozen corpse. I let out a sigh through my nose.

  Wearily, my eyes wavered over the cabin. How nonthreatening it looked. A cozy cabin snuggled in snow, its tiny windows emitting a lemon-butter glow while warm wisps of smoke curled from the black stove pipe. The scene was straight off a Christmas card.

  No wonder the officer had been fooled.

  That’s the way of evil. It’s crafty. It takes on all forms, particularly the most appealing.

  My eyelids fell heavily, and I let my tear-iced lashes rest on my cheeks. But once the evil has you in its clutches, it drops the façade. It unleashes claws and fangs. It strikes. And nothing and no one is strong enough to stop it.

  It destroys.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In my near-frozen state, I was barely aware of being released from my bonds. My fogged mind conjured up a rescuer bathed in holy light, but this immaculate image was shattered, plunged into muck by the brutal touch and rough handling of very real, cruel mortal hands. When the gag was yanked free across my cheek, the icy material sliced like a knife.

  My body was bent and twisted, my neck pressed into a clamp, my wounded throat smarting rawly. I gulped wintry air, and awareness swept over me. Abner held me in a head-lock, squeezing with one thick arm; his other arm imprisoned Max. Half my face was squished into Abner’s scratchy coat, but I could see enough to know that we were being dragged toward the cabin. He pulled us up the few steps, which tripped my blundering feet. Cursing, he yanked me all the more viciously.

  Then we were inside the cabin, but before I could begin to appreciate the warmth, Abner kicked open the cellar door and shoved us down the steps. Max and I fell, bumping and bruising our limbs on each other and on the wooden steps, until we thudded onto the dirt floor in an injured heap. More darkness. A sound to my left, a human groan, but it didn’t come from Max.

  Light glimmered from behind, sending beams of pain flashing through my head. Blinking, I turned to see Abner pounding down the stairs with the LED lantern in one hand. Setting it on a middle step, he descended to stand at the foot of the stairs, blocking our escape route, brandishing his gun.

  Hearing another groan, I turned back to see the cellar swathed in gray shadowed tones. Clay, trussed awkwardly with his wrists tied to his ankles, sat uncomfortably against the wall—the wall with the hole that led to our previous prison, through which Max and I had broken through with such delight mere hours ago. A couple of fresh red and purple lesions marked Clay’s face, evidence of further trauma courtesy of Abner, and I winced. You do keep trying, I thought before lightheadedness took over. My knees pulsed with pain.

  Max, beside me, began to haul himself to his feet.

  “No, don’t stand,” Abner said. “Not yet. Not till I tell you.”

  Max dropped back down beside me, mute, his fight and fire gone, beaten away by too many cruelties. Seeing him this way ignited a spark somewhere deep within me, but I wondered how long it could survive. How long we could survive. This dank cellar emitted a musty sense of finality, like a crypt or a coffin.

  Desperately, I scanned our silvery-brown surroundings. The shelves were bare now, the cans removed, as if Abner thought we might use them to bombard him. Perhaps we would have, given the chance, though they would have been futile against a gun.

  Lydia’s red roses were gone, too, as if I’d only imagined the morbidly striking scene earlier. All that remained in this bare dirt cellar was a shovel, propped in the far corner. A nice weapon for someone with the strength to hoist it. Attacking Abner without the gun going off would be a problem. But then, what about our situation was not a problem? I eyed the shovel, its wooden handle and battered rusty blade. It might be worth a shot. My lips twitched stupidly at the unintentional pun.

  “Your time is up.” Abner pronounced the words like a death sentence, as indeed they were. The lantern glowed behind him, hooding his face in shadow. He looked as menacing as when cloaked in his black robe. He was the Grim Reaper, a Demon of Death, come to collect our souls.

  “You’re scared,” I countered boldly, “scared because the cops were here, and you know they’ll be back. Any moment. If you kill us, it will only be worse for you.”

  He chuckled heartily. “You know very well that it was only one meager cop who came snooping. Yes, he asked nosy questions. I could have finished him off, but it wasn’t worth it. He had nothing to go on. A vague report of a car seen miles from here, days ago. Might have been yours, might not. They’ll never know, because that car is long gone; and soon, I’ll be long gone, as well. Once I’m finished disposing of you.”

  “No, Abner,” Clay spoke up, “you don’t mean that. You aren’t going to kill them. You’re not that evil—”

  “How stupid are you?” Abner cut in. “How did you think this was going to end? Even these two knew; that’s why they kept trying so foolishly to escape.”

  “You could leave them somewhere, in a field or a parking lot,” Clay argued. “You could be gone from the country before they’re found. Please, Abner—brother—” His voice almost broke. “They’ve suffered enough.”

  “Not possible,” Abner replied darkly. “No one has suffered the way I have, and they have to pay. The old man has to pay. So yes, Clay, I am going to kill them. And yes, I am that evil.”

  Clay shook his head. “You were a hero once. More than once. You saved me from the fire. You—”

  “The fire,” breathed Abner, his tongue caressing the word. “How very well I remember the fire. You’ve been in the dark about that all these years, carrying the guilt like only you can . . .” He thrust back his shoulders and puffed out his broad chest. “I’ll tell you what, boy. For you, because you’re my brother, I’ll give these good-for-nothing rich brats a choice. One choice,” he eyed me, his pupils like flint, “and one choice only.”

  He directed his words at both me and Max. Words hard with hate. “Deny your God, get on your knees, and cower before me,” he rasped. “Ask the Prince of Darkness to save you. Do that, and I’ll let you live. You can join me in revenge against that so-called grandfather of yours. You know you hate him. You know h
e deserves death.” Abner bared his teeth. “So what will it be? Life and Satan, or death and your feeble Jesus?”

  With no hesitation, I replied, “I choose Jesus Christ.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Max answered at the same moment.

  A righteous fury fueled my blood, warming my body as I added, “Christ conquered death. He’s the only one Who can give life. What you have—what you propose—that’s death. But you can’t kill our souls.”

  “How eloquent,” Abner said. “You’ve been studying your catechism.”

  My gaze crept to the shovel. If I could only reach it without being shot.

  “I see you eyeing that shovel, girl,” Abner said. “Go ahead, pick it up.”

  When I didn’t move, he barked, “I mean it.”

  Slowly, I rose to my feet, my arms and legs tingling with a pins and needles sensation. Pain pressed into my temples.

  “That’s right. Grab ahold of it. See, I have a plan. You thought if you chose death, that I’d use this gun, and it would come swift and painless, but what I have planned is so much more slow and torturous. Give me the shovel.”

  Trying not to tremble, I did so. Then he surprised me by backing up the stairs with the shovel and lantern in hand. “You’ve got five minutes. Then I return with this shovel, and if you haven’t changed your answer, you get to see just how this shovel fits into my plan for your last moments. I promise it won’t be pleasant.”

  We were left in utter darkness. And the zealous bravery I’d felt flare up mere moments ago, was snuffed out.

  “He’s just torturing us more, dragging this out.” I gulped. “Five minutes left to live.”

  “Untie me,” came Clay’s voice through the dark. “It will be three against one. And if you go down, we’ll all go down—but at least we’ll do it fighting.”

  I expected a caustic remark from Max in response. Instead, I heard him move to Clay’s side. I joined him, and without a word we both began working blindly at the ropes. I had no anger left against Clay, only dim sadness that he was in this nightmare with us, and even an appreciation that now that we were obviously defeated, he was willing to stand by us and take one last beating.

  It meant something, and I sensed Max thought so, too. So we tried our best, fingers working the ropes frantically in the dark, fingernails practically ripping with the effort.

  “It’s no good,” I said at last. “Abner knew we wouldn’t be able to untie you in this short amount of time. The five minutes must be almost up, and we haven’t made any progress.” A sob surged its way from my throat. “Dear God, I can’t take any more torture!” My hands dropped from the ropes and I covered my face, shuddering and weeping.

  An arm came around me, firm and comforting, and held me while I cried. I thought it was Max’s, but then I heard him mutter, “These ropes are tough, but at least I got one of your arms free.”

  And that, I realized, was the arm that held me. Clay’s arm. It felt good, very good.

  “I wish I could do more,” Clay said. “I admire you both for your faith. I wish I shared it, I really do.” He touched my cheek briefly. “And I wish I could truly protect you. I wish I could take all your pain and suffering. God, I’m sorry I ever brought you here.”

  And for once, I had no biting comeback. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore. Why had I ever thought I did? I rested my head on his shoulder, like I’d done once before in the fog of sleep after our dark “wedding” night.

  “I’m sorry we can’t do more for you,” I whispered, “and I’m sorry we were so hard on you. Thanks for everything that you did do for us.”

  “She’s right,” Max put in. “No hard feelings, man. I wish I could get you loose.” He stopped working the ropes and rested a hand on my shoulder, and I took a deep breath, savoring both Clay’s and Max’s comfort. In some odd way, although this was one of the worst moments of my life, it was also one of the best.

  When we heard Abner open the cellar door, none of us panicked or screamed. We waited calmly, hearts beating heavily, to be sure, and yet, if we must die this way, a whisper in my soul told me we would all meet again, free of the suffering and pain. And it would all be worth it.

  “Well?” Abner boomed. “Have you come to your senses? Or are you sticking with your Jesus?” Lantern light bounced off the crusty old shovel in his hand.

  “Christ sticks by us.” I straightened. “We’ll stick by Him.”

  “Same goes for me,” Max said.

  “So be it.” Abner spoke in Clay’s direction. “They’ve made their choice. Now break it up, you fools!” He stomped to the bottom stair, brandishing the shovel.

  Suddenly, he threw the shovel at me. “Take it, girl. Now step over there—” He motioned for me to move to the left side of the room—“and start digging.”

  I felt the weight of the shovel in my grip, assessed my chances of smacking the gun from Abner’s hand. But he was too far away.

  “You heard me.” He trained his gun at Max’s head. “Dig, or your brother gets his brains blown out.”

  I swallowed and thrust the shovel into the ground. The packed dirt was hard, and I had to stamp on the narrow top of the shovel to pierce the earth. My muscles felt like old rubber bands, brittle and ready to snap. After several minutes, sweat trickled down my forehead, and I voiced the question that infested my mind. “Am I digging my own grave?”

  “Smart girl.”

  Clay, who was twisting futilely with his ropes, began struggling frantically.

  “Calm down over there,” Abner told him. “You won’t be getting free till I let you. Even if you weren’t tied up, you really think you could stop this? Don’t forget, this is your doing, too. You signed on with Satan from the start, when you agreed to be on my side. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

  “You’re a fiend, a devil,” Clay fumed. “I never wanted this. You know that!”

  Abner shrugged. “It’s what you get for compromising. If you’d remained pure and untainted like your dear friends here, you would have the privilege of soon becoming a martyr.” He twiddled the fingers of his left hand in a fluttery motion. “You’d be strumming a harp up in heaven before this night is done.”

  At last, once the hole was large enough to fit me sufficiently, Abner ordered me to stop digging. “Drop the shovel.”

  I did.

  “Now lie down in the hole.”

  By this time I was so weak and trembly, I couldn’t help melting down into the trench, as if it were a warm soft bed, instead of a cold hard grave from which I’d never rise. But I will rise, soothed my mind. “I believe in . . . the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.” I crossed my hands over my heart and closed my eyes.

  “Okay, kid, your turn. Dig yourself a nice grave, or I shoot your sister between the eyes.”

  I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to peer up and have my last view of this world be Abner’s wicked face. Calmly, my mind danced over my life, my relatively short eighteen years, and I prayed for forgiveness for all the times—so glaringly clear now—that I had done my will over God’s.

  I listened to the rhythmic sluice, sluice of the shovel, the patter, patter of loose dirt until, all too soon, Abner said, “That’ll do, boy. Now lie down and make yourself comfy. You’re going to be in there for a long time.”

  Max cursed. “You’re nothing but a coward. Let my sister go. She doesn’t have to die, too. You don’t need her. She never should have been a part of any of this.”

  “But she is; she’s a Perigard,” Abner said mockingly. Changing to a brutal tone, he commanded, “Now do as I say and lie down.”

  “You’ll burn in hell,” Max continued. “You’ll burn in—”

  Whack. My eyes flew open just in time to see Max fall into his gaping grave. The position of Abner’s gun hand told me he’d cracked Max on the head. I’ll never hear Max’s voice again, I realized, not in this world.

  Abner’s sparking eyes turned to me, and I shrank back down in my grave. He stood above me, an
d I saw his free hand produce the switchblade knife. I heard him stalk over to Clay. “Here’s where you prove yourself, boy. I’m cutting you free so you can finish this job.”

  As I was about to leap up and dash for the steps, Abner returned to his strategic location at the base of the stairs. From my low position, I could just see his upper half, but he loomed larger than ever.

  “That’s right, Clay. Start with the girl. As her husband, it’s your duty to bury her.”

  “No, it’s my duty to save her.”

  “Pick up the shovel and bury her,” Abner said smoothly. “Otherwise, you’re next.” He ran a finger over the barrel of his pistol. “I’ll kill you. Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think blood ties will protect you. I’ll kill you just as surely as I killed dear ol’ Dad all those years ago.”

  Clay gasped. “What?”

  “You heard me. You may be stupid, but you’re not deaf. I killed him, not you. And I had the pleasure of doing it on purpose. Well, not from the start, but it came to me quickly as I lit the holy cards. You see, as I stood there watching you praying while Dad lay stinking drunk, passed out on the bed, I wanted nothing more than to destroy those useless religious pieces. But first I waited for you to leave.

  “You did blow out the vigil candle, by the way. I saw you do it. Then I went in and relit it. I’d had enough of it all: Enough of Dad, enough of the useless religion, and I grabbed those holy cards on the altar and burned them. It felt good.” He heaved a deep breath. “Real good. When the cards dropped to the carpet and the fire got out of control, I didn’t care.

  “I watched it for a little while, watched it creep up the bed, catch on Dad’s clothes. Then I went outside and waited. I assumed you were sulking in your tree fort, like usual. But when you didn’t come out to watch the smoke and flames, I discovered you weren’t in there. That’s when I ran back inside for you. I had no reason back then to want to kill you. You were just a pesky kid brother.” Abner grinned. “It all worked out real well for something that wasn’t even planned. No one suspected a hero of starting the fire. And we were all free of Dad’s oppressive hand.”