Cruel Winter

by Anthony Izzo

  “Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome, I guess. They’ll probably kick Vinnie out of school for this.”

  “Would you like that?”

  “It would make my school day easier, but he’d probably still be gunning for us because we got him kicked out of school.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack said.

  “Best left unanswered, Jack.” She patted him on the hand and flashed him a toothy grin.

  “What did you do to Vinnie?”

  “Nothing he didn’t deserve. You’re not feeling sorry for him, are you?”

  “Hell no. But you didn’t, did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  The big smile faded and he realized he was treading onto the part of the ice where fisherman didn’t dare tread. If he wasn’t careful, the icy depths awaited him.

  “Nothing.”

  “Those boys won’t be bothering you anymore. That’s all I’ll say, and that’s all you need to know.”

  “Can I go back with the other kids?”

  “Of course.”

  He got up and left the foyer, feeling her gaze on the back of his neck the whole time. Paul had hid the gun in his bag, and for that he was grateful.

  They played Foosball, darts, and video games and for a little while Jack forgot about all the problems that went along with knowing Ronnie Winter.

  Chris took a break from the Foosball table to get a can of pop from behind the bar, and Jack slipped away. He wanted to ask Chris something.

  “What did she do to you?”

  “What do you mean?” He took a Pepsi from the fridge and pulled the tab.

  “Your ribs. She healed you, didn’t she? I saw the way you looked last night and that’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  “She did something. Whatever it was, I feel great.”

  “Do you believe me and Paul now?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Chris was a typical thickheaded jock sometimes. “Just be careful.”

  They joined the other kids at the Foosball table, where Ronnie was taking on Paul and Emma.

  “C’mon, Fussel, he’s killing us,” Emma said.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder,” she said.

  Ronnie scored on them and threw his arms in the air. “Yes!”

  He took his Dr Pepper off the table and raised it. “I’d like to propose a toast. To the best set of friends anyone could have. Cheers.” He chugged it down and burped.

  “Gross,” Emma said.

  “Ronnie, sometimes you’re all right,” Jack said. And he meant it. Despite all the crap they had been through, it was hard not to like the kid.

  Cassie hurried into the room and told them all to stay put. She jogged back out of the great room, muttering under her breath.

  “What’s going on?” Paul said.

  Ronnie shrugged his shoulders.

  CHAPTER 40

  As the kids had settled in playing Foosball, George Kempf and his backup slogged through the snow, one officer with him in the unmarked and the other two in a squad car. Snow piled in gobs on the windshield and the wipers beat it away as fast as it fell.

  They needed to contain the Wraith to the tunnels, which he felt they could do. A second call to the librarian confirmed there were no entrances or exits to the grounds other than through the mansion. If it got loose in a snowstorm, the game was over. You couldn’t find a goddamn purple elephant in this snow, let alone a person that didn’t want to be found.

  He had called John ten minutes ago and asked him to open the gates before they arrived so they wouldn’t alert Cassie to their presence there. John had taken care of business, because they rolled right through the open gate.

  They pulled up in front of the wide steps and all got out. Stavros had ridden with him and carried a Colt AR-15. The other two carried Mossberg twelve-gauges, like Kempf. They all had sidearms, too. Just in case.

  “Listen to me. What I’m about to tell you sounds nutty. You might think I’m crazy or an idiot, but at this point I really don’t give a shit. I’m retiring after this little adventure is over. We’re looking for a guy in blue coveralls with a face full of gauze bandages. He doesn’t have any eyes and he’s a fucking zombie. How’s that?”

  “Zombie?” Stavros said.

  “The living dead. I don’t even know if these will work on him. Believe what you want but be careful. We’re not really going in here to make an arrest, understand?”

  He made a point of looking each one of them in the eyes, and when they all nodded at him, he started up the steps.

  He rang the bell, thinking the door should have one of those huge iron gates you see guarding castle drawbridges. John opened the door.

  “Hello, Detective.”

  “We have a warrant to make an arrest, John. Can you show us to the tunnels?”

  He opened the door and they entered the cathedral-like foyer.

  “Some place,” Stavros said.

  “Admire it later. We’ve got work to do.”

  Cassie Winter entered the foyer, a bit out of breath and scowling. “What’s this about?”

  “We have a warrant for the arrest of the man responsible for four murders in Brampton.”

  “How can I help?”

  That tone changed in a hurry, Kempf thought.

  “We think our suspect is hiding in the tunnels under your estate. If you would show us the way so we can start looking for him please.”

  “Did John tell you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “He did, didn’t he? Don’t lie to me, Detective.”

  “He assisted us.”

  “I see.”

  In a heartbeat she lunged at John, leaving her feet and seeming to cling to the big man’s chest. She cocked her head and got under his chin, biting the neck and exploding his jugular vein in a gush of scarlet fluid. She lowered herself off him and John staggered into a corner, knocking over a table and a pink vase.

  “Oh, dear Jesus!” MacKenzie said.

  Cassie turned and hissed, her pale skin smeared around the mouth with blood, looking strangely like someone who had smeared beets all over her face.

  “You wouldn’t stay away,” she said.

  In an instant, Kempf felt pain in his head he didn’t know was possible, and he went to his knees. The shotgun slipped out of his hand. The other officers must have felt the same agony, for they went down, clutching at their heads and shrieking from the pain.

  Cassie turned and ran, leaving them writhing on the floor.

  It took Jack a moment to realize what he was seeing, Cassie Winter storming into the room with red fluid smeared across her lips and chin, a wild look in her eyes.

  “What the hell?” Jack said.

  “Go.” She was on top of him, grabbing his shirt and pushing him toward the butler’s pantry off the great room. “All of you go.” There was something in her voice combined with the red stuff on her mouth (was it really blood?) that told him he’d better listen. That meant she had killed someone, or been around someone who had bled like there was no tomorrow. All of a sudden he wanted to go home.

  “The rest of you, let’s go.”

  She gave Jack another hard shove and grabbed Emma, dragging her along. Ronnie stood with mouth agape. The can of Dr Pepper fell from his hand and the soda dribbled out onto the floor. He looked at Jack as if Jack had an answer, then at the others before turning to his mother and saying, “Mom, what’s going on?”

  “Get to the tunnels. Some very bad men are here.”

  Jack got the feeling he didn’t disobey his mother often. This time was no exception, as Ronnie turned and ran into the butler’s pantry.

  “Come on, guys.” He waved them on, oblivious of the red streaks painted on his mother’s face.

  Ronnie was willing to delve into those dark caverns once again without giving it a second thought. But Jack guessed he didn’t know what
lurked down there. On the day Ronnie had left them in the dark, Jack doubted if he saw the Wraith or even knew of his existence. He certainly didn’t know it was the animated corpse of his dead father.

  Jack tried to pull away, but she dug into his arm and her strength was almost machinelike. She did the same to Emma, dragging them both as if they were small dogs on a leash.

  Chris and Paul stood by the bar, both of them looking dazed.

  “Run!” Jack yelled.

  Paul took off first and Chris followed suit, sprinting from the great room.

  “They won’t last long,” Cassie said.

  As she said this, a peculiar thing happened. The lights went out in the mansion. But that wasn’t entirely correct, for there was a great whooshing sound as if they had been sucked through cracks in the walls. The light was removed, and the entire room grew dim.

  “Come out. Come up,” Cassie murmured as they reached the butler’s pantry.

  The refrigerator guarding the entrance to the tunnel rocked as something bumped it. It leaned forward hard, then rocked back. Once. Twice. Then something hit it hard enough to knock it forward so it tipped, the door opening and cans of Pepsi and root beer falling out like paratroopers from a plane. They rolled across the floor and a few burst, showering the cupboards with sticky fluid.

  The door banged open and the bandaged face appeared in the opening. The one with the bottomless black eyes usually reserved for nightmares.

  Jack and Emma screamed. The Wraith darted past them. Ronnie pressed against the cupboards. “What was that? What was that?” he said.

  “Ronald, stay up here,” Cassie said. “I have business with Jack and Emma in the tunnels.”

  The agony in Kempf’s head began to subside and he staggered to his feet. His vision was blurred and he felt dizzy, but his head didn’t feel as if there were razor blades swimming around inside. John’s body lay in the corner, chin to his chest, looking at Kempf as if to say, I told you this would happen. Kempf felt sick with guilt and had no idea the bitch would do something like this.

  Stavros and the others got up shaking their heads.

  Kempf turned to them. “You guys all right?”

  They nodded.

  “What the fuck was that?” MacKenzie said.

  “Some sort of psychic attack is my guess. Let’s go find her.”

  “Did she cut the lights out?” Stavros asked.

  “Probably. I have no damn idea how to get into the tunnels.”

  John was supposed to be their tour guide, but since he was dead, Kempf had to rely on instincts. That wouldn’t be easy, given that this place was roughly the size of Versailles. Voices echoed in the distance, and they sounded like kids’. It clicked in his mind that it was probably the Harding kid and his friends, but he couldn’t imagine why they’d want to set foot in this place. Especially after being chased by the thing with the bandages on its face. Maybe they didn’t have a choice.

  “Watch your fire. There’s kids running around here.”

  They started down the main corridor.

  Chris and Paul wound their way around to the front door, missing Detective Kempf and the other cops in the expanse of the mansion. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, and the large wooden doors loomed in front of them, the gateway to freedom and getting help for their friends.

  Paul set the bag down, unzipped it, and fished out the revolver.

  “Holy shit! Where did you get that?”

  “We stole it from my dad’s closet. Me and Jack thought we might need it.”

  “What’s going on, Paul? What was that red stuff on her face?” And as if he answered his own question, Chris slapped a hand over his mouth and pointed at something over Paul’s shoulder.

  Paul turned and what he saw made him jump back.

  John was dead and he saw where the blood on Cassie’s mouth had come from. It didn’t seem right, the man who had been so kind to them, so friendly, buying them milk shakes and calling them “mister” was dead. And killed in a horrible fashion. Paul wanted to cry. His stomach fluttered and he felt like he might piss his pants.

  “We need to get help,” Paul said.

  Chris opened the front doors and they stepped out between the lions. The limousine was a black smear in the snow and it was at most ten feet away. A curtain of flakes whipped past them and Paul realized finding their way down to the road would be impossible. If they didn’t get lost or freeze to death before reaching the road, a passing car would hit them. The drivers couldn’t see worth squat, either.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Paul said.

  “This snow’s nasty.”

  “We’ll have to call from inside the mansion. I hope the phones aren’t out too, bucko.”

  Chris closed the doors and immediately Paul felt the hairs on his neck prickle. Someone was behind them. Paul turned around. Chris did the same and said, “It is real.”

  The Wraith stood at the end of the main hallway. One of the bandages hung from its face, dangling over the shoulder and reminding Paul of the mummy from one of those old black-and-white movies. The smell of rot and dirt cascaded down the hallway.

  “I’m scared, Paulie!”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Use the gun!”

  They ducked under the small doorway, Cassie prodding them along down the steps. She had rummaged in the drawer of the butler’s pantry and taken out a flashlight. It lit up the cracked concrete steps and Emma wondered if they wouldn’t go ass over tin cups down the steps in the darkness. This whole thing was like a movie being fast-forwarded, everything happening too fast for her to digest. Cassie had shown up at her door and within five minutes had Emma’s mother convinced she should go to the party. Emma didn’t really want to go, but if the other kids were going (especially Jack), it might be okay.

  They reached the bottom of the steps. Cassie came down behind them. She looked even paler in the light of the beam, the blood caked on her pasty face. Emma wondered where the Wraith had gone, and if it would follow them back into the tunnels. The air was cold and stale down here, enough to give you the chills even without a bandaged monster running around.

  “Hold my hand. Jack, you hold hers. You do not want to be separated from me down here.”

  They hurried ahead, Emma almost dragging Jack behind her. She got glimpses of rough stone walls, the occasional rat. They came to several forks and Cassie turned left, right, then left until they came to the end of a tunnel.

  “Sit down,” she said. The ground felt hard and cold against her butt.

  In the cone of the flashlight beam, she saw four thick wooden beams propping up the ceiling. Every few moments, dust dribbled down from the ceiling and with it small pebbles.

  “Don’t move around too much. You might knock one of the beams loose and bring the whole roof down on your head. I’m going to wait at the head of the tunnel for the detective. Don’t make a noise, either.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I wanted to be left alone, Jack. The police wanted things differently. I warned that detective to stay away from me, but he didn’t listen. It’s unfortunate things had to be this way, but I tried to stop it.”

  “Did you make it kill those people?” Emma asked.

  “No. I can’t control it anymore. It kills when it wants to, as much as I hate to admit that. I’m sorry it had to frighten you and Paul, but I felt you needed a warning. Now if you cooperate with me and keep quiet like good kids, you’ll go home after this.”

  “What about Ronnie?”

  “He’ll be fine. It won’t harm him.”

  “This is too weird,” Emma said.

  “That’s enough.”

  Emma didn’t believe for a second that she would let them go. If that were true, they wouldn’t be in the tunnels right now, but going home.

  Cassie left them the flashlight, then slipped into the darkness, presumably feeling her way along the wall.

  “Jack, I’m scared.”

  “
Hold my hand.”

  She gripped his hand.

  “What do you think she’s doing?” Emma asked.

  “I think she’s going to kill someone else.”

  “Who do you think she killed?”

  “Maybe it was John.”

  She hated to think of John as dead. He seemed so nice, taking them all to a restaurant and driving them around as if they were movie stars.

  “How did she get you to come here?” Jack asked.

  “Tricked my mother into letting me go. I didn’t really want to, but she looked like she meant business and I remembered what you and Paul said about her, that she could get mean. So I came along.” She swallowed. “What do you think will happen?”

  “I just don’t know,” Jack said.

  They sat together in the darkness, waiting.

  CHAPTER 41

  Kempf and the others searched the mansion. They found a billiard room with velvet paintings on the wall, the gleaming stainless steel kitchen, a sunroom full of ferns, and five different bathrooms, all with smooth marble floors and gold fixtures. But no tunnel entrance. There were about a hundred other rooms in this place to search, and the longer it took them, the more time Cassie had to get away. Kempf was about to suggest splitting into two teams when something bowled into him.

  He looked down at the kid, pudgy with freckles and a clump of sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He smelled sweet, like root beer and bubblegum. The kid looked up at him in surprise, then tried to bolt. Kempf grabbed him by the back of his T-shirt and he skidded to a halt.

  “Hold on. Where you going?”

  His chest heaved and between breaths he said, “What?”

  Kempf managed to turn him around and realized he was Cassie Winter’s son. The resemblance was slight, but the tint in the reddish brown hair gave it away.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me. This is important.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Detective George Kempf. Do you know how to get into the tunnels?”