Ice and Blood

by Oliver Altair

  Doc Tucker crouched by his side. He wrapped the loose ends of his scarf around his neck. “You said you found the killer.”

  “No. I said I might have found the killer.”

  The doctor sighed. “I should’ve stayed in bed.” He drew a flask from his coat. “It’s coffee.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  They avoided each other’s eyes, lonely among the lonely in the loneliest of the emptiest of streets.

  Doc Tucker took a gulp and put the flask away. “You look terrible.”

  “You don’t say.” Tiberius yawned. “Lack of sleep. Mostly.”

  “Why are you stalking Miss Chipman? Hard to picture her gutting a minister.”

  “Not her.”

  The doctor stirred, unable to find a comfortable position. “Ah, of course. I forgot Miss Chipman has a guest. You think the murderer has a pending beef with the reverend’s woman?”

  “Not exactly. Let me show you something.”

  Tiberius grabbed the photograph pieces from his pocket and handed them to the doctor. He lit a match, holding it above Doc Tucker’s palm while cupping the flare with his other hand. “Do you recognize any of these men?”

  Doc Tucker squinted. “This one on the left is Hank Albers.”

  “The carpenter? Are you sure?”

  “Quite. Henry’s features are easy to spot. High brow, nose as bulbous as a tuber, and a jaw so square it’s almost a brick. He looks younger, but it’s definitely him.”

  Tiberius stared at the man in the photograph. His features came together as if the doctor had sharpened the faded image with his touch. That man was, no doubt, Henry Albers. How had he missed a resemblance so easy to discern?

  Doc Tucker pointed to the second man. “That one I’m not so certain. But I could swear I’ve seen him before. Where did you find these?”

  “Inside the ribcages of the victims. Right where their hearts should’ve been.”

  The doctor returned the photographs with a shudder. “A message?”

  Tiberius pocketed them inside his duster. “Maybe. How well do you know your neighbors?”

  “After all these years? I’d say fairly well. Although the truth is, no one knows anybody.” Doc Tucker’s answer oozed with reproach.

  “Do you remember when Henry moved to town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where he was coming from?”

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t.”

  “I think no one does. Nor what he was up to before he arrived. Maybe he’s always been just a carpenter, maybe not. What if he rubbed some people the wrong way before settling in Souls Well? Same story with Owen O’Leary, the trapper.”

  “The Irishman? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “They both received a letter on the same day. Whatever the message was, Henry lost his mind. O’Leary’s reaction was less dramatic, but just as bizarre. He read his letter and burned it right after, using the flame to light his pipe. I saw him do it.”

  Snow accumulated on the brim of the doctor’s bowler hat. His eyes fluttered between Tiberius, the starry sky, and the surrounding darkness. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Albers and O’Leary came to Souls Well around the same time. Everybody assumed they met here, but what if they didn’t? Maybe they got into some trouble together in the past. And one day someone comes to town, ready to open an old can of worms.”

  “Reverend Conn?”

  Tiberius nodded. “I believe Elmer Conn was as much of a reverend as you or me. He sure liked to blab. Until someone shut him up for good.”

  “What about Henry?”

  “Anyone who cracks under pressure becomes a liability to his partner.”

  Doc Tucker lowered his voice. “Owen O’Leary is rough around the edges, but a cold-blooded murderer?”

  “Well, he sure is skillful with a knife. I also found speckles of pipe tobacco by Henry’s body and in the reverend’s room. We’ve all seen O’Leary puffing that stinky pipe of his. But what is most damning: he’s been in the wind since after Henry died.”

  “Still, the killing was beyond mere brutality. Few men can stomach such bloodshed. Unless…” Doc Tucker’s lips quivered. “What if he has returned?”

  Tiberius turned to him, clenching every muscle. “No.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Garrett Drake’s gone. Forever. The silver mine collapsed. He was inside when it did. End of story.”

  “Jonathan was inside too,” the doctor replied curtly. He stood up, brushing his coat. “I’m leaving.”

  A windowpane squeaked in the nearby distance. Tiberius grabbed the lapel of the doctor’s coat and pulled him back down. “Quiet.”

  A leaping shadow moved through the window. It landed on the roof of the porch with the swiftness of an alley cat, jumped the gap to the next building, and climbed to its roof, disappearing behind a smoking chimney.

  “Stay here,” Tiberius told the doctor.

  He followed the hopping shade until it stopped on the rooftop of the boarding house. It slid down to a ledge and fumbled with a window, opening it just enough to sneak inside. Tiberius moved closer to the building. He picked up a handful of snow, turning it into a big ball. And waited.

  The shadow emerged from the window. It climbed back to the roof. A soft clinking accompanied its quick steps as it took a little run back. It jumped over the edge of the building toward the next. Tiberius threw his snowball. Bullseye. The frosty projectile caught the jumper midair. The shadow fell. It dove into the narrow alleyway below.

  Tiberius drew his gun and entered the shadowed alley. Around its center, a woman was dusting the snow off her clothes, muttering curses that would make a dock worker blush. She wore a long-sleeved shirt and pants, both in matching black. Her hair was away from her face, tied with a black ribbon. A black diamond mask covered her brow.

  Tiberius cocked his gun. The woman faced him and stiffened. Her eyes showed both hatred and surprise. He recognized the severe gaze behind the mask, the high cheekbones and pointy chin. The overall rigidness of her pose.

  “I could’ve broken my goddamned neck,” the woman said with spite.

  Tiberius pointed his revolver straight to her chest. “Having trouble sleeping, Miss Sheppard?”

  16

  Miss Sheppard brushed the snow off her knees. “What are you waiting for? A medal?” Her voice sounded deeper, smokier, like it had when the drunkard grabbed her arm. She reached for the open satchel by her feet and the scattered objects on the ground: silverware, coins, jewelry. Two pocket watches and even a short candelabra.

  Tiberius closed in, gun in hand. “Leave the sack alone.” He jerked his head to the silver chain around her wrist. “Nice trinket.”

  “Family heirloom.”

  “Sure is. But not of yours.”

  Miss Sheppard grinned. “What can I say. That Masterson chicken was ready to pluck.”

  He stirred the items in the snow with the tip of his boot. “You keep quite a collection.”

  “Nothing inside that bag is worth my time, to be honest.”

  “Murder has more of a kick than burglary, ain’t that right?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, defiant. “Don’t try ’n’ pin that on me. I told ’em to avoid this place like the plague. Everyone knows this town’s jinxed.”

  “Them?”

  She bit her tongue and looked away.

  “What about your friend, the reverend?” Tiberius asked.

  “He’s more of a colleague. Was.”

  He took a step forward, eyes locked on hers. “And not much of a preacher.”

  “Oh, he was a minister all right.” She shrugged. “Or at least used to be. He had a talent for yappin’. Keepin’ the crowd’s attention.”

  “While you picked pockets clean.”

  Miss Sheppard tapped her nose.

  Tiberius clicked his tongue. “Risky.”

  “But profitable.”

  “Did Henry Albers
find out about your little scheme?”

  She yawned. “Henry who? If you mean that chum who got himself butchered, I took nothing from him. Didn’t even talk to the man.”

  “Still, he died soon after you arrived.”

  “Listen, Tibbetts. You caught me burgling houses, fair and square. Go ahead, arrest me.” She extended both arms. “But don’t try ’n’ pile corpses on my shoulders. Someone in your pretty little town is a bloody maniac. Deal with it.”

  Tiberius reached for her wrist. “You talk too much.”

  “My mama used to say a smooth tongue can keep one alive.”

  Miss Sheppard avoided his grab with a sudden feint, catching him off balance. She used the momentary confusion to knee him in the gut, followed by a quick elbow to the side of his face. She crouched back, a tiger ready to pounce.

  “Eye for an eye, darling!” she yelled. She threw a big snowball straight at his nose.

  She dashed past him while he threw blind fists, hitting nothing but thin air. When he regained his senses, Miss Sheppard had vanished into the night.

  Tiberius felt a loose tooth with his tongue. “Goddammit.” He spat blood and phlegm.

  He returned to Main Street, scouting every roof in sight. An itching sensation on his lower neck told him she was still nearby, mocking him from the heights of the buildings.

  A distant plea reached his ears. “Help!”

  He raced toward the screams. They came from the snow tunnel that opened next to the boarding house. Amber light emanated from its mouth.

  Tiberius heard Doc Tucker’s roaring voice. “Stay back! Stay back, you beast!”

  He ran into the frozen passageway. He found the doctor cornered against a thick iced wall. A naked man moved in his direction with stiff, spasmodic steps. Doc Tucker swung a torch in front of him while shielding Bennett Rowland with his body. The stranger’s skin gleamed under the swaying firelight as if made of crystal.

  One of the doctor’s swings hit the assailant hard across the face. The stranger was unbothered. The flames licked his skin with a soft hiss. His cheek dripped, not with blood but with a colorless liquid: water. The attacker stopped inches away from his victim. He cocked his head. Tiberius shot.

  The bullet drilled into the man’s lower neck, but he showed no reaction besides a slight jolt. The stranger grabbed Doc Tucker by his shoulders, pulled him up, and threw him as if the doctor was no heavier than a pillow. Bennett pushed himself against the wall, shrieking. His assailant reached for his neck.

  Tiberius kept shooting until his gun clicked. His bullets pierced the stranger’s back. None of the holes bled, nor did the man seem to feel any pain, but the swarm of gunshots caught his attention. He dropped the boy and turned to the sheriff, slowly, convulsively.

  The stranger had a clouded gaze, staring without blinking, embodying silence. He could not blink nor speak. His eyes and mouth were chiseled shapes on a frigid face. He walked toward Tiberius with lurching strides, his bare muscles stiff, naked skin glimmering under the torchlight. A heart pulsated within his translucent chest. The man was no man but an ice statue come to life. The same statue Tiberius had seen inside the gazebo and perched on a rocky ledge above the Gray Gorge.

  He knuckled his weapon. He hit the living statue’s forehead with a fast jab. Ice chips sprayed from its brow. It bobbed its head back and forth with two sudden moves. It raised both arms, ready to wrap him in a frosty embrace. Tiberius dodged, twisted his body, and charged. The statue rooted both feet into the snowy ground. He tackled its chest as one would a stone pillar. The collision made him tremble from the soles of his boots to the brim of his hat.

  The statue intertwined its arms around Tiberius’ waist. It raised him. It squeezed tighter. Its chilling touch cut through the layers of winter clothing. He squirmed and punched. The overwhelming freeze slowed his struggle. His movements turned sluggish. He breathed in short puffs that whistled through his chattering teeth. His limbs lost their strength as the ice creature pulled him closer to its body. Its bleak heartbeat soon contaminated his own. He used his fading energy to keep his eyelids from drooping. The deadly frost would overcome him if he ever closed his eyes.

  “Tibbetts!”

  Tiberius focused his blurry gaze on the person calling his name. Miss Sheppard loomed over Bennett’s limp body holding a pair of twin knives.

  “Don’t you touch him,” he wheezed.

  She winked, pointed, and threw. Her knife spun through the air. Its blade dug deep between the creature’s shoulder blades with no result.

  “Why won’t you die, damn you?” she yelled.

  Tiberius dropped his gun and waved his open palm. Miss Sheppard nodded in understanding. “Catch!”

  The impact of the knife’s hilt on his hand woke him enough to close his grasp in time. He attacked the statue’s chest with quick stabs, picking at the ice above its heart. Frosty dust rained on his sleeve, on his leather glove. The pieces that landed on his exposed wrist bit his skin. He gashed with increasing fury, fed by a seething survival instinct. He swung his whole arm backwards, screamed, and pushed the blade into the icy fiend until it stuck.

  The statue opened its arms. Tiberius fell on his knees. The knife protruded from the creature’s pectorals in the center of a spidery crack. It hadn’t gone deep, but its tip grazed the heart of the monster. A red rivulet oozed down its torso. The living sculpture jolted. It regained its inanimate stillness.

  “Did you kill it?” Miss Sheppard asked.

  Tiberius put his pointer finger on his lips.

  The creature jerked back to life. It ran and smashed itself against the closest wall, becoming one with the snow, leaving the knife behind, stuck in a dripping red stain. Tiberius waited in silence until his internal alarm softened its ring. He found his Colt Dragoon on the floor and staggered to his feet. His extremities tingled as his blood warmed. He pulled Miss Sheppard’s blade out of the ice and hung it to his belt while she watched him from a cautious distance.

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a smirk.

  He pointed his gun at her. “Hands where I can see ’em.”

  “For real?” She chuckled. “You’re out of bullets, luv.”

  “Tough luck. I have one left.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  She stared at Tiberius’ hand. His pulse was as steady as a surgeon’s. She shrugged. “I guess not.”

  “Raise your arms and walk toward me. Slowly. And you better behave yourself this time.”

  She obeyed but tried to elbow Tiberius’ ribs as soon as he was within her reach. He avoided the attack with a quick sway to his right, gripped her arm, and twisted it behind her back.

  “What did I just say?” he whispered to her ear, locking the handcuffs around her wrists.

  “I should’ve let that thing kill you,” she spat.

  Doc Tucker grunted. He stood on all fours, shaking his head.

  “How’re you doing?” Tiberius asked, without taking his eyes off Miss Sheppard.

  “Fine,” the doctor answered. “Mostly stunned.”

  “Would you check on the kid?”

  Bennett lay on his chest by the closed end of the passage, limbs spread like a rag doll. Doc Tucker turned him and leaned over his body. “He fainted. There are small frostbite marks around his neck. Other than that, he’s all right.”

  “Take him to your practice and hide him there. I’ll visit in the morning. Right now I have to jail her, get some sleep, and refill the barrel of my gun. I wasted all of my bullets on that thing.”

  Miss Sheppard harrumphed. “I knew it.”

  Doc Tucker confronted Tiberius, deep wrinkles of concern aging his face. “What was that monster?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me. It was Drake. Or whatever he became inside the silver mine.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Let the damned mine go.”

  The doctor cradled Bennett in his arms. “I can’t. And no matter what you tell
yourself, neither can you.” He exited the frozen tunnel, carrying the unconscious boy.

  Tiberius waved his arm to the exit. “After you.”

  Miss Sheppard turned her head as they walked back to Main Street. “You pissed off the pill, huh?”

  “Shut it and walk.”

  “What was inside that mine?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, right,” she sneered. “Hell, I’m starting to believe those ghost stories ’bout Souls Well are all true.”

  Tiberius stared at the waxing moon. “You’ve no idea.”

  17

  Tiberius guided Miss Sheppard up the steps of his porch. She writhed furiously every time he gave her the slightest nudge.

  Jesse Valentine waited by the sheriff’s door, a rifle resting on his shoulder. “Who’s the wildcat?”

  She gave him a steely look. “Watch your tongue.”

  Jesse stared back, bewildered. “Miss Sheppard?”

  Tiberius grabbed her arm. “This one’s a handful of surprises.” He cocked his neck to the door. “Any trouble tonight?”

  The bartender shook his head. “They’ve been quiet. Restless, though. I caught them eyeing the door and that vent in their cell more than once. It almost seems they’re waiting for someone to join the party. Maybe they’re lonely.” He chuckled.

  Tiberius glanced at Miss Sheppard. She dodged his gaze. “Go home, Jesse. I’ll take it from here. Thanks for keeping watch again.”

  “Happy to help, Sheriff.”

  Jesse handed him the rifle, buttoned up his coat, and left. Tiberius waited for the street to quiet. He freed his prisoner from her handcuffs.

  She rubbed her wrists. “Did you change your mind, Tibbetts?”

  “Door’s unlocked. Open it and get inside.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. And don’t even think about flying the coop. I’ll be right here.” He raised his weapon. “With good ol’ Winchester to keep me company.”

  She shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  Miss Sheppard entered. Tiberius hid behind the door’s panel and listened.

  “Diamond! About time. What took you so long?”