Dead of Winter

Chapter 5

When I hit the landing on the converted barn's main floor, Ferrilyn, who'd been sitting at the kitchen island, dropped her spoon, bounded off the stool, and hurried over to me. "Amara, what's happened? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"No ghost, just shaken up is all." I dropped the tote by the landing. "I ran into a little trouble on the way home."

While it was true enough, I now found myself reluctant to relate the specifics of that run-in. I wasn't sure I believed everything that had happened, including what I thought I'd just seen outside. Since the dreams started, whenever I thought too much about Nisha or spent too much time poring over the past, a host of weird things would follow those reminiscences.

Coincidences, I told myself. Those, or perhaps vestiges of some post-traumatic something-or-other that never manifested to its fullest extent in me. What thoughts and feelings my trip to New Horizons hadn't triggered, the near-miss on the way home had. Either way, I felt too tired and wired to explain myself. Also, the more I turned it over in my mind, the more ridiculous hitting a catamount that hit back sounded.

"I hit an icy patch right outside of Cambridge and did a real number on the side of my car."

"You're lucky you didn't go off the road. It's getting uglier out there by the minute." She nodded. "But hey, you're just in time. There's chili in the pot. Mia made enough for an army." Laughing, Ferrilyn waved at the enormous crock pot at one end of the island. "And later, we're in for a real treat. Charlie has a new show for us."

Rory and I lived with four other people: Ferrilyn, Taryn, Mia, and Charlie.

A personal trainer at a local health club, Rory' younger sister, Ferrilyn, shared his wiry frame, curly chestnut hair, and freckled face. In sharp contrast, her latest partner, Taryn, with her lanky frame, Amazonian height, and electric blue frohawk looked like she'd stepped straight off a high fashion runway. At first glance, no one would ever guess she worked at Rory's ambulance service as Rory.

Mia was a single mother who worked at Sacred Heart, a local Catholic school. Charlie, her seven-year-old daughter, with her pale hair and blue eyes, looked just like Dakota Fanning on the old Les Miserables movie poster. She also possessed a similar talent. Fond of acting out stories with her doll collection, Charlie found the perfect springboard for her imaginative pursuits in a basement corner one rainy October afternoon: a cobweb-choked dollhouse.

A replica of Loon Lake Lodge, the dollhouse boasted working lights, Adirondack chairs fashioned from slender willow branches, and a fireplace made of stones from the lake. Over the years, Nisha and I had added to its decor, braiding multicolored rugs, and fashioning quilts and pillows from outgrown clothes or thrift shop scraps. In the topmost room, our attic bedroom, were windows festooned with curtains Nisha crocheted from butcher's string. Determined to contribute a personal touch, I'd used metallic thread and assorted toothpicks to decorate one wall with my then-idea of great art: two Ojos de Dios, diamond-shaped Eyes of God in shades of blue with white centers.

No longer relegated to dust and shadows, the dollhouse now took pride of place in our living room. Sitting below the television, it occupied a table made from a cross section of a maple tree trunk.

Charlie busied herself with the contents of a small trunk as she assembled the characters for tonight's drama. Not a fan of the Disney fare other children gobbled down like free candy; she loved putting her own spin on popular fairy tales. Disturbing in their twists and turns, Charlie's cautionary tales would have drawn hearty appreciation from the Brothers Grimm.

While Mia watched the proceedings from a nearby recliner with quiet pride, Taryn, determined to make her presence known, sprawled across the couch. Stains and wrinkles covered her favorite off-duty uniform: black yoga pants and ombre-dyed purple hoodie. When Mia caught her gaze, however, Taryn looked away, rolled her eyes, and affected an exaggerated yawn.

"Looks like someone's not happy. Again," I whispered.

"Try ballistic. Just before you got here, she said she refused to endure another one of Charlie's 'creep shows,' and loud enough for both of them to hear. Charlie put on a brave face, but anyone could see how much Taryn upset her. I don't get what her problem is. Charlie's an exceptional kid, but Taryn's never warmed to her or Mia. Do you think I made a mistake, asking her to move in when I did?"

"We're a houseful of alphas, an intense crew, any way you look at it. Maybe she just needs more time."

Taryn had moved in a few weeks before. Loud, with a fondness for monochromatic viewpoints, her frequent outbursts were impassioned and dramatic scenes in themselves. But freaking out over a five-minute performance seemed over the top, even for her.

"Are you sure that's all? Looks like she's got something bigger stuck in her craw."

"Well, okay... since school's canceled and tomorrow's my day off, I might have promised Charlie that I'd go sledding with her." Ferrilyn flashed me a guilty look. "We haven't had a decent snowfall since Christmas, and a little fresh air would do her a world of good. Guess I should have cleared it with the Queen Bee first."

"Where's Rory? I saw his truck outside," I said, hoping to avoid an extended recap of their latest row.

"One of his friends from the station picked him up earlier. Looks like he drew the short straw for that new snow patrol thing they're doing with the police. Here, help yourself." She handed me the ladle, then crossed to the fridge where she pulled out two bottles of Long Trail Ale.

Snow patrol, which meant I wouldn't see him until the next morning. Now it was my turn to express indignation. "Visibility is so limited, you can't see beyond the end of your nose out there. What i***t would want to go snowmobiling?"

"The kind who'll use any excuse for an off-road party tour." She passed me a beer.

"Hope you saved one for me."

Neither of us had seen Taryn leave the couch. I wondered how much of our conversation she'd overheard.

"Haven't you had enough?"

"To get through this? There isn't enough beer in the world." Taryn flashed Ferrilyn a sullen look, then took a seat beside me. "Hey, how'd things go in Saratoga?"

"Great." I reached for a slice of cornbread. "They're scheduling my appointment as we speak."

"What's the procedure like? Aren't you nervous?" Taryn tore off a chunk of my cornbread and stuffed it in her mouth. When she'd had a few too many, her sense of personal boundaries took a nosedive, something that never failed to irritate me.

"The info's in my bag, but I haven't had time to look it over yet." Dropping the bread, I nodded towards the stairs. "At first, Dr. Carville—he's the head of the institute—refused to let me access Nisha's memories at all. When he found out who I was, he tried to warn me off it."

"Guy sounds like a real douchebag," Taryn said, gifting me with a spray of hot and sour beer breath.

Wincing against it, I stirred my chili. "According to him, memory is a dangerous thing, a living thing, not that I believe him. A memory can't make itself real, any more than you can wish something into existence. To hear him talk, you'd think he was about to give me the imagistic equivalent of Ebola."

"Well, douchebag or not, you should still be careful. The mind's a serious thing." Taryn slid off the stool and lumbered over to the fridge for another beer. "Have you thought about what you'll do, I mean, if you find anything useful?"

An outburst of excited clapping interrupted us. "Everybody, stop talking! Come on, it's time to start!"

While three of us took Charlie's enthusiasm in stride, Taryn slammed the refrigerator door as if she were trying to break every glass container inside it. "Yes, because everything here has to revolve around you, doesn't it!"

"Keep your voice down," Ferrilyn hissed.

"Let them hear me, I don't care! I'm sick of being forced to sit through this stupid s**t night after night, all because the little freak doesn't have any friends her own age! And sicker still of the way all of you indulge her make-believe bullshit! Yeah, you heard me, you little brat," she spat at Charlie, slurring her words. "A person can take just so much!"

Wide-eyed, Charlie ran to Mia. No longer capable of putting up a brave front, she took refuge in her mother's expansive lap.

"I prefer to encourage my daughter's creativity," Mia said. Gathering the now sobbing girl into a gentle hug, she rocked her back and forth. "But if you don't want to watch Taryn, no one's forcing you." Although calmness infused her voice, if looks were daggers, Mia's would have skewered Taryn through her icy heart.

"Fine!" As she stormed past, Ferrilyn grabbed her by the arm.

"Oh, no you don't! Apologize to her, right now!"

"You should be the one apologizing! When you asked me to move in, you never told me I'd be signing on for this!" Taryn threw her off and stomped down the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out to find some intelligent conversation with actual adults. Don't bother waiting up for me!"

"Mia, Charlie, I'm so sorry," Ferrilyn said, her pained gaze alternating between them and the spot Taryn had just vacated. "I don't know what's—I should—" As she started towards the stairs, a door slammed from below.

"Let her go, Ferrilyn. She's a big girl; she can handle herself."

Big baby was more like it. Her dramatic exit, a play for attention that Ferrilyn should have been familiar with by now.

"Mia’s right. Besides, we have a show to watch!"

When she didn't pick up on the prompt, I hopped off my stool and strode into the living room.

In the uppermost room of the dollhouse, a Barbie in a long red cape sat beside a bed. In it lay a larger doll with a corn husk body, dried apple face, and black beads for eyes. Waiting in the wings, a GI Joe leaned against the side of the house, rifle in hand. It looked like an exciting drama was about to unfold. I took a seat on the rug. "What's tonight's story, Charlie?"

"The Story of Scarlett Cape," Charlie hiccoughed through her tears.

"Is that Scarlett?" Ferrilyn, who'd followed me in with some reluctance, pointed at the bedbound doll. She took a seat on the rug beside me.

"Uh-uh." Charlie wiped her nose on the sleeve of her pink pajama top and slid off Mia's lap. "That's her gramma, Squishy Face. She's sick and—" She looked back to her mother.

"And?" Nodding, Mia prompted her in a soft voice.

"She lives far, far away in the forest. A-a haunted forest! No one's seen her for ages." Courage bolstered; she took a few tentative steps towards the dollhouse. "Everyone's afraid of the forest because a monster lives there, but not Scarlett! She'd do anything for Gramma Squishy Face because she loves her. Loves her because..." She flashed Mia a pleading look again.

"Love is stronger," she whispered. "Stronger than..."

"Stronger than fear!" Turning back to us, she beamed. Confidence restored; Charlie positioned Scarlett at the bedside where she could better converse with her dear old granny.

"Squishy Face, Squishy Face, why have your eyes turned black as night?"

"Black as night to see in the night, dear Scarlett," she said, her tone mimicking the rasp of someone on their sick bed. "Though I don't see as well as a grandma might."

"Ooh, scary! This is going to be great," Ferrilyn said. "Hey Charlie, what's that?" She pointed to the dollhouse's living room. On the floor, another doll's plastic hand protruded from beneath a rumpled flowered scarf.

"It's a secret! Shh!" Charlie put a finger to her lips, then repositioned Scarlett Barbie, jackknifing her at the waist until she hovered a breath away from her grandmother's brown, wrinkled face.

"Squishy Face, Squishy Face, why are your arms so long and thin?"

"Long as my reach through time and space…" Squishy Gramma's replied in a voice that sounded like something straight out of a Stephen King movie. "Thin to slip through the smallest place."

"I don't remember the wolf from 'Little Red Riding Hood' being this spooky."

"Or rhyming," I whispered back, giving Ferrilyn's arm a gentle squeeze. "Bet Mia helped her with that."

Still bent at the waist, arms jutting out at odd, uncomfortable angles, Scarlett began distancing herself from the sick bed. By her slow, cautious movements, anyone could see that she was regretting her decision to visit dear old grandma all by her lonesome. The house groaned. As its old beams settled against the cold, the lights in the dollhouse began flickering wildly.

"Squishy Face, Squishy Face," Scarlett asked, her tone climbing to near falsetto. "Why are your teeth so red and sharp?"

Outside, a blood-curdling scream interrupted Charlie's performance.

"Oh, my God! That's Taryn!" Ferrilyn sprang to her feet and raced from the room. I followed, barreling down the stairs.

As we reached the landing, the door banged open.

Wide-eyed and breathless, Taryn stumbled inside. Spilling from her torn coat, feathers flew about her like snow. She slammed the door, then heaved her back against it.

"Crazy son of a b***h! He came out of nowhere," she spluttered. Unable to hold her weight, her quivering knees gave way, forcing a slump to the floor. One sleeve of her coat hung in shreds, as if someone slashed it with a knife. Blood oozed from multiple cuts on the side of her face.

Before we could ask who'd attacked her, something banged against the door.

Each blow, shuddering through Taryn's terrified form, pushed her forward as it opened the door by degrees.

"s**t! He's still there! Help me! Please help me!" She batted at the dead bolt, leaving b****y smears against the side of the door.

I leaped over her and flung myself against it, feeling, as I did, the weight of someone outside give way with an angry grunt. The same someone continued scratching and pounding, even after I wrenched the deadbolt's knob into the locked position.

"Guys, what's going on?" Mia called from upstairs.

"Someone attacked Taryn, and he's still outside. Call 911!" Ferrilyn hollered back. Then, kneeling beside Taryn, she said, "Did you get a good look at him?"

Taryn shook her head. "I turned the lights off when I left. All I know is he was a big, bald fucker who stunk to high heaven."

"Did you see anything else? What was he wearing?"

"Skin."

Ferrilyn and I exchanged a confused glance. "Like leather?"

She started mumbling something, but then Taryn's eyes rolled in her head, flashing their whites. Body listing to one side, she hit the floor headfirst with a smack that made me sick to my stomach. Her limbs spasmed, stopped, and then she lay still, passed out cold in a pool of blood.