Fatal Secrets

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  And then something that made her heart stop.

  “Oh, no,” Ryan whispered, “oh, no, oh, no—” and she began to run, painfully slow motion in the suffocating snow, gasping, trying to scream “Charles! Charles!” over and over again, her cries swallowed in a swirling white fog.…

  It wasn’t the dog she heard … that whining sound growing fainter and fainter in the distance …

  It was the van as it drove away into the snowy night.

  Chapter 8

  My God, he’s left me here.…

  In slow realization Ryan reached out and anchored herself against a sturdy tree.

  I don’t believe this … he’s left me here to freeze to death.

  She had no idea where she was. As her frightened eyes tried to see past the thickening snow, she searched desperately for a light … a sign of chimney smoke against the pale sky … some small sign of hope. The tire tracks … I’ll just follow the tracks—

  Her legs took over then, mechanically, steering her along. Someone will miss me and worry about me and come looking for me and—She suddenly remembered that no one would even notice her absence till morning—Phoebe thought she’d gone home for the night, and Mom thought she’d be at Phoebe’s and what will Charles be doing in the meantime, what story will he be making up about how he managed to lose me out in the middle of nowhere …?

  Ryan stopped, staring helplessly at the white terrain stretching ahead of her, the van’s tire tracks covered in fresh snow as if they had never existed. “Damn you, Charles Eastman!” she sobbed. “Damn you!”

  For a split second she was so consumed by panic that she had to forcibly restrain herself from just dashing off into the whirling white oblivion. Try to think, Ryan, try to think … think and keep walking … don’t stop moving … She remembered reading somewhere that snow could actually keep you warm, and as she kept doggedly on, she tried to concentrate on the millions of tiny flakes, imagining them as little white coals, surrounding her with heat. She thought of Phoebe’s kitchen … the Evanses’ Christmas tree … her own room safe at home—No, Charles is there—and Mr. Partini’s toy shop—Someone was watching at the window, someone tried to scare me with the dollhouse—and suddenly she was thinking of Marissa and that last day—

  “Ryan,” a voice called softly, “Ryaaaan … come to me …”

  Ryan stopped so suddenly that she nearly fell. A shiver went up her spine, far more chilling than the cold.

  “Hello?” she called shakily. “Is someone there?”

  The wind gusted through the bare trees, sending a flurry into her eyes. Ryan’s hand went slowly to her face, and she tried to blink the snow away.

  “Ryaaan …” And there it was again, that strange, lifeless voice, calling …

  Ryan’s lips moved but made no sound. As she stared off into the swirling darkness, a white, filmy shape began to gather itself from the snow.…

  It was floating toward her.

  She saw the long, flowing hair … the fluttering clothes … the arms lifting … reaching out …

  “Ryaaan,” the voice wept, “why did you let me drown?”

  And even from this distance Ryan could see the flickering light it gave out, the dying light that surrounded it—

  “I can’t come home for Christmas, Ryan … I’m dead …”

  “No!” Ryan shrieked. “Marissa! No!”

  She ran in a directionless frenzy until her body refused to run anymore. Without warning she slid headfirst down an embankment into shallow, icy water and lay there, stunned, as the snow covered her.

  She didn’t hear the heavy boots stirring the drifts around her, stopping beside her face.

  She didn’t even try to look up.

  She only knew she was warm now.

  Chapter 9

  The first things Ryan saw were orange and red shadows flickering in quiet patterns up a wall. Then she heard a soft crackle of firewood … a sputter of flame … and the hiss of falling ashes. She felt layers of thick blankets upon her and soft pillows beneath her head, and she realized she was lying in a bed she didn’t recognize, in a room she didn’t know. She also realized her clothes were gone.

  “So you’re awake.”

  A soft voice startled her from the shadows, and she clutched the blankets tightly to her chin.

  “You need to rest,” the voice said again. “You should sleep as much as you can.”

  It was someone she knew but couldn’t quite place. She stared apprehensively toward the sound and at last was able to pick out a figure kneeling in front of a fireplace. Shadowy hands snapped twigs and fed them into the flames, and a face turned into the light.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Winchester said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Ryan felt numb. All she could do was stare.

  “Do you remember anything?” he asked softly. “I found you outside about half a mile from here. You were soaking wet and practically frozen. Pretty cut up, too.”

  “My … clothes,” she mumbled.

  “They’ll be dry by morning.” He nodded toward the fireplace, where her things were draped neatly over a screen. “Are you warm enough?”

  Ryan continued to stare at him in disbelief, and he went on.

  “My dog came home hurt—looked like he might have been hit by a car. We don’t get much traffic back here—mostly people who end up lost and can’t find their way to the main road. Anyway, I went out to see if anyone might be in trouble.”

  “A … car?” Ryan finally said. “Your dog?”

  “Oh, he’s okay,” Winchester assured her. “Just a few scratches. Better than I can say for you.” As if to reassure her, he gestured to a corner near the fire. Ryan hadn’t noticed the dog before, but now the big shepherd thumped his tail amicably and regarded her with sleepy eyes.

  “Then … he really did hit a dog,” she whispered.

  “What?” Winchester moved closer. “What is it?”

  Ryan lowered her eyes, shaking her head slowly. “I hurt all over. I don’t understand.… How did you—”

  “Then you do remember me.” His smile was shy and slow, like his voice. He stopped several feet from the bed, as if afraid of frightening her.

  “Of course I remember you.” Ryan chanced a quick look at him. “But I still don’t—”

  “I live here,” he said quietly. “We live here. My dad, my brothers and sisters—and—” He nodded to the dog.

  “Your dad has the garage in town,” Ryan said stupidly.

  “That’s right.”

  “And you … live here?”

  “We’re so far out from town—on nights like this, Dad usually just sleeps at the station.”

  “So … he’s not here?”

  Winchester shook his head, firelight gleaming on his hair, black as ravens’ wings. “I have to watch the kids tonight,” he said after a moment. “They’re upstairs asleep.”

  “And your mom … she’s not home, either?”

  He glanced away. “She died two years ago.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry.”

  Ryan scanned the dimly lit room and noticed several closed doors. “How old are the kids?”

  “All of them?” He squinted, doing a tabulation in his head. “Three to ten. They don’t mind staying alone when I have to help Dad, but a couple of them came down sick tonight.”

  Again Ryan took a quick inventory of the room. It looked like a big log cabin, with wood walls and Indian rugs and old comfortable chairs around the hearth. She could hear the wind whining outside, and a stray gust whooshed down the chimney, scattering sparks. Winchester bent over and crushed them calmly beneath the toe of his boot.

  “I’m sorry about your brothers and sisters,” Ryan said.

  He shrugged philosophically. “Probably the flu. I just hope you don’t catch it.”

  “I … I guess you’re wondering what I was doing out here.” Ryan watched as Winchester came closer and put one hand gently to her forehead. “I know this is going to sound really crazy.”
>
  His hand slid away. He straightened the covers around her shoulders. “All that matters is that you’re okay.”

  Ryan regarded him for a long time, but he kept his eyes on the blankets. “I’d like to go home,” she said and was surprised when he shook his head.

  “I wish I could take you, but I’m stranded here without a car. And I can’t call anyone for you because the line’s out.” He looked softly troubled. “Your mom’s going to have a sleepless night worrying about you.”

  “She doesn’t even know …” Ryan began, and suddenly tears filled her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She felt the bed move slightly as Winchester sat down on the edge.

  “Don’t cry,” he said gently. “I promise you’ll be safe here. And I’ll take you home in the morning as soon as my dad gets back with the truck.”

  “It’s not that,” Ryan choked. “It doesn’t matter about that … only …”

  “Only what?”

  “I saw my sister out there tonight. I saw Marissa.”

  For a long moment there was silence.

  “Your sister,” Winchester said at last, and he stared hard into the flames.

  “I know it sounds crazy. But she was there in the woods—before you found me—” She broke off as his eyes fell full upon her face.

  “Come sit by the fire,” he said quietly. He wiped her tears with one corner of the blanket. “Pull these tight around you—I’ll carry you.”

  Before she could protest, Ryan felt herself being lifted into his arms, being carried across the floor as if she were weightless. Winchester lowered her gently onto the rug beside the hearth and put pillows at her back so she could rest but still see the fire.

  “Are you comfortable?” He tucked the covers around her once more, and when she nodded, he stretched out on his side, crossing his long legs. “Now. Tell me what happened.”

  “I saw Marissa tonight. In the woods.” Ryan hesitated. “The guy I was riding with drove off and left me after he hit your dog.”

  Winchester’s eyes were calm, intent on the fire. He roused himself slightly but didn’t look at her.

  “Then you weren’t alone?”

  “No. We’d been to a party, and I got sick, and he was supposed to take me home. He just left me! And then Marissa came.…”

  There was an uneasy silence. Finally Winchester shook his head.

  “There’s no way Marissa could have survived in that river under the ice. The current’s too strong … the water’s too cold.” He leaned forward so slowly that she didn’t actually see him move at all, just felt the sudden warmth of his body against hers. “You’ll never see her again, Ryan. She’s gone.”

  Ryan ducked her head but immediately felt his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were compassionate, and they seemed to peer into her soul.

  “I thought I saw her in my garage today.” Ryan forced a laugh. “Can you imagine? It’s like I can’t get away from her. Like she won’t stay out of my mind.”

  “Then maybe you should talk about her,” Winchester said slowly. “Maybe there’s something bothering you that you need to let go of.”

  Ryan swallowed tears. “I just wish that last day had been different, you know? I was mad at her.” She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories. “She was so upset—”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know! She never told me! I thought she was joking, so I walked away and left her, and she—she started screaming.…” Ryan twisted her face from his grasp. “Oh, what does it matter anyway? I wish I could forget about it—but I can’t!”

  Winchester pulled away … stared into the fire. “So … you really believe now that something was bothering her?”

  “Maybe if I’d taken her seriously, she would have told me. I swore I’d keep it a secret, but I never knew what it was.” Ryan leaned back and closed her eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

  A log fell in the fireplace with a muffled thud. Golden light danced over Winchester’s hair.

  Ryan sighed. “I’m so tired.”

  She felt Winchester’s arms go around her once more, lifting her, carrying her across the room, placing her carefully back into bed. She held the covers close as he stood back.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “for finding me.”

  “Sleep now.”

  She watched him, wanting to say more, not knowing how. She glanced over at her clothes on the fireguard and felt a blush spread over her cheeks.

  Winchester followed the direction of her stare, and a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.

  “I kept my eyes closed,” he said quietly. “Good night.”

  Chapter 10

  Ryan awoke to pale gray light and the smell of bacon and coffee. Rubbing her eyes, she started to sit up, then dived back under the covers as the door opened and Winchester appeared with his arms full of firewood, stamping snow off his boots. He nodded and kicked the door shut.

  “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Is your father home?”

  “He’s out in the shed.”

  “I guess he must be thinking who-knows-what—”

  “He thinks I rescued you from the snowstorm.” Winchester dropped the logs into the woodbox by the hearth. “Which is exactly what happened, isn’t it?”

  Ryan stared at him as he knelt on the rug and busied himself stirring the fire. He shrugged out of his denim jacket and shook his windblown hair from his eyes.

  “I’d really like to go home now,” she said.

  “Sure. As soon as you eat something.”

  “Could you hand me my clothes?”

  He tossed her jeans and sweater onto the bed, hardly looking at her. Without a word he got up and went outside again, leaving Ryan in a brief moment of privacy.

  Pain swept through her body the moment her feet touched the floor. She dressed as quickly as she could, then limped over and knelt in front of the fireplace. She held her hands to the coals, savoring their delicious warmth, and was startled when Winchester leaned in beside her to pitch in another log.

  “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in!”

  “You’re still cold.” He sounded concerned and in a moment had coaxed the flames to a crackling inferno. “Stay right here. I’ll bring your food.”

  Ryan made a face as she examined the scrapes on her hands and arms, as she gingerly touched the scratches on her cheeks. “I really am a mess, aren’t I?” she grumbled.

  Winchester gave a half smile. “Not to me, you’re not.” As he began buttering toast, one of the doors opened, and a child’s tousled head poked through.

  “Hi,” the little girl said, her huge eyes on Ryan.

  “Hi, yourself.” Ryan smiled back.

  “I’m Katy,” the child said, looking from Ryan to Winchester, then back again.

  “Go back to bed,” Winchester said softly.

  Katy looked at him as if trying to decide how much leeway she had with his instructions. She stared at Ryan. “Did you sleep here last night?”

  “Yes.” Ryan nodded.

  “Where?”

  “There.” Ryan pointed, and the child giggled.

  “With Winchester?”

  “No!” Ryan’s face reddened, and Winchester’s voice sounded again.

  “Bed, Katy. Now.” This time there was no mistaking the orders. Katy waved and promptly disappeared.

  Ryan sighed as Winchester handed her a plate. “I guess … there’s some explaining to do.”

  Winchester seemed amused. “That is my bed.”

  “Your bed!”

  “Well, we’re pretty cramped for space here.” He sat on the floor and balanced a cup of coffee on one knee. “Her comment was perfectly innocent.”

  Smiling, Ryan tackled her food. There were muffled thumps from the ceiling, and Winchester went to the door where Katy had been, his voice firm but calm.

  “I better not have to come up there! Stay in bed!”

  Ryan chuck
led. “How are they this morning?”

  “Bored.” Winchester closed the door again and shook his head. “When you’re finished, we can go.”

  The snow had stopped, but the sky threatened more. As Ryan followed Winchester out to the shed, she sank up to her knees several times in deep drifts and had to be rescued. The last time Winchester pulled her out, she ended up against his chest with his arms around her to keep her from falling. She didn’t pull back right away, and he didn’t let her go until a cheery voice boomed out from the shed.

  “Well! Hello, there, young lady! I hear you need yourself a lift home!”

  Flustered, Ryan disentangled herself from Winchester’s arms and saw Mr. Stone grinning at them.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” she began, but he pumped both her hands easily in one big paw.

  “No bother at all! Just as soon as I finish up here, we’ll be ready to hit the road. I brought Mrs. Larsen to look after the kids”—he winked—“but don’t worry—I sent her in the back way, and she’ll never know you’ve been here!”

  “As if Katy will keep her mouth shut,” Winchester said in mock seriousness, and Ryan looked away, flustered.

  Ten minutes later, with the three of them squeezed tightly into the tow truck, Ryan tried to ignore Winchester’s arm resting along the top of the seat over her shoulders.

  “I hope you fed this pretty little thing some breakfast.” Mr. Stone chuckled, glancing at his son.

  Winchester nodded and stared out the window.

  “I went back down to the field and had me a look around,” Mr. Stone went on, smiling broadly out the windshield. “Damn, it’s a beautiful morning! Didn’t see a thing out there—no tire tracks, nothing busted. ‘Course, wouldn’t expect to find anything after a snow like this.” He took a deep breath of crisp morning air. “Still, doesn’t hurt to check it out.”

  Ryan glanced sharply at Winchester.

  “What’s he talking about?”

  “And if you had a car, I sure couldn’t find it.” Mr. Stone glanced over, his smile widening, and covered one of her hands with his huge one. “You know, sometimes when we’ve had a little too much to handle, we can dream all kinds of things—”