A Cold White Fear (17 page)

I
didn't dare look up when I heard Professor return, in case he walked over to where I was scrunched up in the chair trying to make the blanket look like it was covering two people. From the tinkle of ice, it sounded as if he'd poured himself another drink, which surprised me given his ban on alcohol. He and Larry spoke, but at such a low volume it was impossible to hear what they were saying. The rest of the house was quiet. Hopefully Jid was safely hidden in Eric's office. And the Serbian, if he hadn't yet fallen asleep on the front room chesterfield, soon would be.

The sofa creaked. I tensed as footsteps padded across the carpet toward me. But they continued past. A log landed, and then another onto the fire, followed by the crackle of renewed flame. The footsteps returned to the sofa.

I snuggled farther into the chair. It smelled of Eric. This was his spot, where he relaxed, where he enjoyed his Lagavulin, where he read, usually one of the books from Aunt Aggie's library. He had set himself a goal of reading all the books on the shelves in this room and in the living room. I'd joked that he'd still be going through them when I finally wheeled him off to the old peoples' home. He'd chuckled and said that it'd give him something to do, since I would've lost all my marbles by then.

I inhaled deeply. With it came the good times. The time we squeezed into this very chair, trying to keep warm during another power outage. We'd just finished a delicious cheese fondue in front of the blazing fire. The room was aglow with candlelight, for I had placed candles and tealights on every open flat surface in the dark room. Sergei lay curled at our feet, as close as he could get without being on our laps. By this time our beloved dog had slowed down considerably and was only interested in lying down with us in close proximity. A few months later we had to make the terrible decision to have him put down.

But that was in the future, and on this night we had been feeling good. We were celebrating our six-month anniversary. Eric had given me a dozen red roses. They were overlooking us from their pride of place on the mantel. I had given him a couple of his favourite Cuban cigars. He was itching for the weather to warm up so he could enjoy one outside on the porch. We were chattering and laughing, happy with life. And one thing led to another and we were sneaking upstairs to continue our celebration.

Or another time, when I was deep in the throes of alcohol withdrawal. Not a happy memory, some might think, but for me it was. It was the turning point. My whole body was consumed by the desire to taste the burning liquid. I was furious with Eric for removing every single bottle from the house. I was yelling and crying at the same time. Punching, kicking him, the furniture, and anything else in the way. He didn't flinch. He sat calmly in his chair, talking softly to me as if he were discussing the weather. Gradually his serenity penetrated, and I slowly quieted down.

When the tantrum was finally over, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. He told me how much he loved me, how much he admired my strength to overcome the addiction and what a wonderful new life awaited me. I believed him. From that moment, I never looked back. Sure, there were times when I wanted a drink so badly, I could taste it — there still were, but I never gave in and never would. He was right. My life was so much better without alcohol. I couldn't have done it without Eric, my rock, my staff.

When he first took notice of me, I was thrilled and totally amazed that this embodiment of a catch would be interested in fat, boring me. Then I did what I always do in relationships, started pushing him away with my obstreperous behaviour. The drinking didn't help either.

Some fancy psychologist my mother made me go to after my first husband left me said that I acted this way out of fear of getting too close to someone. She said it was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was so afraid of being hurt that whenever I felt someone was getting too near, I shoved them away and of course ended up getting hurt. Because, as I grew up telling myself, I always got hurt. She thought this fear likely resulted from my not having dealt completely with the loss of my father at a young age or the death of my baby brother. At the time I knew she was right, but I didn't want to hear it, so I ended up hiding in a fog of alcohol.

Then Eric came along. Miraculously, no matter what I threw at him, he refused to be pushed away, although I had come close. And now I'd gone and done it again. I'd pushed him away, maybe for the last time. And for what? Some petty jealousy. How could I be so incredibly stupid as to jeopardize everything that was good in my life? If I made it out of this horror alive, I vowed I would do everything I could to keep him.

I hunkered down even farther into the chair. The warmth against my face made me realize that I should've given Jid a blanket. Eric's office would be a refrigerator. There was a blanket in the room, the red and black ceremonial blanket, a gift from a Haida friend. But the boy likely wouldn't see it neatly folded on a shelf.

I felt very fortunate to have Jid in my life. He was one terrific kid and seemed to be taking this terrible situation in stride. I prayed that this time he would finally manage to escape. With the storm over, it should be a straightforward snowshoe down the Three Deer Point Road to the main road. And if the gods were with us, it would be cleared and help would be a simple matter of flagging the next vehicle to come along.

The sofa creaked again. I waited for the sound of Professor's approach but instead heard more creaking and the barely audible clink of a glass being placed on a table. Maybe the man was settling in for some sleep. I was feeling that way myself even if my stomach was churning with nerves.

It had been a long night and was far from over. Perhaps a few hours' rest would help fortify me for what was to come. However, being crunched up in an armchair, no matter how commodious, wasn't exactly conducive to sleep. Despite the cramps in my legs, I didn't dare change my position. The tattooed man needed to be satisfied that the two of us were fast asleep so he would feel confident enough to drift off himself. Only then could Jid leave.

I
felt myself sliding into sleep when Larry's voice broke through and brought me back to reality. “Professor, what do ya think of the boy? A good kid, eh?”

Damnit, Larry, why did you have to mention Jid, when we were trying to get Professor to forget about him?

“Reminds me of when I was that old,” Larry continued. “The rez is a great place for a kid to grow up. Lots of freedom. Not like growing up in a city, eh? I spent a lot of time hunting and fishing with my uncles. Even when I was supposed to be in school.” He laughed. “Caught me a whopping big muskie one summer. We gorged on it for days.”

“No doubt as exciting as your first moose.”

“That was one hell of a bull moose, eh? Even my Uncle Jimmy was impressed. Had a spread a good five feet wide. And I was only twelve years old.”

“I thought you said the antlers were four feet across.”

“Yah, well. Four, five. What's it matter? They were big. You know, that rack was almost as wide as I was tall.” He laughed. “My uncle's big gun sure had a hell of a kick to it. Landed on my backside right into the bushes. If I hadn't shot that bull dead on, he probably woulda runned me over.” His laugh was easy, with none of the earlier strain I'd heard in his voice.

I took this as a sign that the pain was lessening. But I wished he'd stop talking so Professor could fall asleep and Jid could escape.

“I bet I was the same age as this kid. He's killed his first moose too. He was telling me about it. He's the kind of kid a father'd be proud of. I wonder if he's passed through his first sweat. I'd sure love to guide him through it.”

Eric was already talking to Jid about guiding him on his first sweat ceremony. I understood it was meant to be the boy's spiritual initiation into Algonquin manhood, though Eric didn't explicitly call it that. He was hoping to do it this summer, after Jid turned thirteen. He'd asked me if he could build the sweat lodge on the shore of an isolated cove along the Three Deer Point shoreline. They were even talking about Jid doing a vision quest. But that was all I knew. This wasn't something discussed in front of women.

“Professor, did I ever tell you what they did in the old days?”

“No, but I have read about it. It's called the Wysoccan Ceremony.”

“Yeah, that's the name. I always forget it. Did you know the stuff can kill ya? In the old days not all the guys made it through. I guess only the real warriors made it.”

“I believe Wysoccan was derived from jimson weed, which is considered poisonous. It's a powerful hallucinogenic. Administered over many days, it was meant to wipe out childhood memories and give these young men a clean slate into adulthood.”

“So it was a kinda drug?”

“Yes, a bit like the psilocybin mushrooms the Aztec and Mayans used, or
lophophora williamsii
, otherwise known as peyote, which is made from a type of cactus that the Native American Church uses.”

“Guess that's why I like drugs so much, eh? But shit, heroin sure didn't turn me into a warrior.”

“It will if you survive withdrawal without giving in. Do you know if your grandfather went through this ceremony?”

“Nah, the priests had stopped it by then. But I remember him talking about the terrible time his
mishomis
had when it almost killed him. The experience made him a true warrior looked up to by everyone in the clan. He became chief when he was still a young man. They say he was one of the great ones.”

“You have the makings of a chief in you too. That's why I call you my P'tit Chief.”

I heard rustling as if from fabric rubbing against fabric, followed by what sounded like a kiss, several, in fact. Embarrassed, I tried to block my ears to this intimate moment.

After a few minutes, Professor said, “You look and sound much better. I think you're going to make it. You had me worried there for awhile.”

“Yeah, but I still got the shakes. I feel like I can handle 'em now.”

“Good for you. I know you can lick this.”

“Professor, about the kid. You ain't gonna do nothing to him, eh?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“He's a good kid. If I had one of my own, I'd want a Little Squirrel just like him.”

“But he can identify us.”

“I bet I could get him to say nothing about us.”

“And if he does? He could screw this job up royally. And you know how important it is that I do it. I need the Devils as much as they need me.”

“This is going to be your last one, eh? You promised.”

“Yes, I promised.”

By this time I had stopped breathing. Although it might help to explain the bizarre relationship between the Serb and the tattooed man, it certainly brought home the precarious position Jid and I were in.

“What if we stash the two of them away until after the job is done?”

“I suppose you want the woman also.”

“Yah, she's good people too.”

By now my heart was pounding so hard, I could barely hear.

“You know Slobo's not going to like it. But I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Professor. You got a big heart. That's why I love you so much.”

More kissing.

“You see that Christmas tree decoration over there on the bookshelf. It's supposed to be a beaver with that long tail, though it don't look much like one. I had one just like it growing up. My
kòkomis
made it for me out of birch bark.”

For a second I wasn't certain which decoration he was referring to, until I remembered Jid had brought it to put on the tree. Kòkomis had given it to him for his first Christmas tree. He'd hung the beaver on every tree since.

I
desperately tried to push Jid through the deep snow and into the hollow beneath the boughs of a spruce tree. Behind me I could hear the approaching stomp of snowshoes and the sound of laboured breathing. The boy finally clawed his way in and disappeared under the boughs.

“I'm in,” Jid whispered. “Hurry. He's getting closer.”

I attempted to move my feet. They were stuck. I struggled to lie on top of the snow and crawl my way into the tree well. Instead I sank farther into the drift. I strove to push myself through it, but it was like trying to punch through a cloud. My face, my nostrils, my eyes were covered in icy crystals. But I couldn't release my hands to clear my face.

The snow resonated with the sound of his approach.

A sudden blast ripped through the darkness. I clawed, thrashed, dug deeper into the snow, grasping on to whatever purchase I could find. But wait a minute. It had substance. It was warm. I fought to release myself from its suffocating grasp and found myself battling a wool blanket. And then I was fully conscious.

I stopped moving and listened. Was that explosion in my dream or was it real? I heard whimpering. I cautiously raised my head above the back of the chair.

Larry was struggling to stand up. Professor was gone.

“Larry,” I whispered. “What was that loud noise?”

The oil lamp had gone out. The remaining coals in the fireplace provided barely enough light to see Larry.

“A gun. Someone got shot.”

“Where is Professor?”

“He went to talk to Tiger.”

A chill raced through me.

Footsteps echoed down the hall toward us. I froze. It had better be the tattooed man. But I was terrified the uneven gait was telling me it was the Serbian.

A funnel of light illuminated the photos on the hall wall across from the den. I watched with trepidation its brilliance grow brighter. It flooded the doorway and blinded me. I looked away, unable to identify the man behind it.

I held my breath and prayed to whichever god cared to listen.

And knew none of them had when I heard the Serbian's gravelly voice. “Where the kid?”

Before I had a chance to come up with an answer, Larry cried out, “What have you done to Professor? Did you hurt him?”

Slobo crowed. “I kill the fucker.”

Worse than my worst nightmare.

With my heart pounding, I buried myself under the blanket and slunk farther into the chair cushions, wishing I could disappear. I prayed with all the religious fervour I had in me that Jid had escaped.

My chair shuddered at the same time as I felt the whack against the side of it. The blanket was yanked away. I could feel the man's hot breath on my face. “What you do with boy?” Slobodan spat out.

I opened my eyes to two piercing orbs of blue inches from my face.

“He's gone,” I whispered, hoping to prevent him from searching the house in case Jid was still here. I would do whatever was in my power to keep this fiend from finding the boy, even if it meant he would take it out on me.

“You motherfucker,” Larry shouted as he flung his wiry weakness against the steel of the biker. The man batted him away as if he were a mosquito, tossing the injured man onto the floor. Larry let out a groan but managed to get back to his feet. Wincing more from anger than pain, he again flung himself against the man and was swatted away. He fell back onto the carpet, where he remained, clutching his stomach.

As the Serbian raised his leg to kick the downed man, I summoned my courage, jumped from the chair and flung myself at him. “Leave him alone!”

He kicked my feet out from under me. I tried desperately to avoid landing on Larry and almost succeeded, catching his leg before I could roll away. He grunted with pain.

I braced for the next kick. I let out a whooshing groan as it caught me in the ribs.
Thank God he's not wearing shoes
was all I could think as I fought to regain my breath. Then I remembered the cut. When his foot came toward me again, I grabbed and squeezed as hard as I could on the injured ball of his foot.

He howled and then lunged toward me. When I saw the mad fury in his eyes, I knew I'd gone too far. It was the same rage I'd seen in my ex's eyes when he threw me against the counter and broke my arm.

I scrambled to get beyond the man's grasp and failed. With both hands he seized my vest and wrenched it apart. I tried to fight off his hands. He smacked me hard across the face and then pulled at the neck of my sweater and ripped it. The sudden cold air on my breasts had me frantically trying to hide them. I shuddered at the lust filling his eyes as he stared down at my nakedness. I struggled to back away.

I thought I heard Larry shouting at him to stop, but the blood was rushing so loudly through my ears, I wasn't sure. While I attempted to cover myself up with my hands, I used my feet to shove and slide myself along the floor in an effort to put distance between us.

Suddenly something sharp cut into my thigh. The glass shard! I slipped it from my pocket and sliced my finger in the process. Good. It was sharp.

I scrambled to stand up as he lunged toward me again, knocking me to the floor. I stabbed at his face and felt it connect.

He roared in fury.

I raised my hand to strike again and was stopped by the cold edge of steel against my throat.

“Do that again, I kill you.”

Blood poured down his cheek.

He banged my hand against the floor, forcing me to let go of the shard. Still holding the knife against my throat, he kicked it away.

His eyes bored into my breasts.

“I like woman with big tits.”

He brushed his hand against them. I flinched and wished the floor would collapse beneath me and swallow me whole.

I tried to settle my spiking nerves. Tried to remember what a woman was supposed to do when being raped. Succumb or fight. But the knife took that decision away from me. Was I supposed to try to reason with him? But the manic intent in his eyes told me he was beyond reasoning.

“Don't move,” he ordered, removing the knife from my throat. Eric's knife. Eric … if only you would walk through the door now. But it was a futile hope. Just as it was a futile hope that anyone else would walk through the door to stop him.

I tried to push the frayed end of my sweater over my breasts. The knife returned to my throat.

“Don't move. You hear.”

I remained rigid as he flicked the ends of my clothing away to completely expose my breasts. He rubbed and kneaded them. Licked and sucked on the nipples. I tried to make myself as small as I could. Tried to thrust my mind to another dimension. Tried to pretend this wasn't happening.

I almost succeeded until I felt my jeans being pulled down over my thighs. He cut my underpants away and tossed them aside.

I didn't think I had ever felt so exposed, so helpless in my entire life. Not even when my ex attacked me.

He wrenched my legs apart.

“A real redhead.” He guffawed. “Never had red pussy before.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, but I couldn't block out the sound of the zipper coming open on his jeans. I tensed and girded myself, counting off the seconds before I would feel the thrust of his penetration.

I gasped when I felt the searing pain as he forced his hardness into me. Oh my god, it hurt.

“What in the hell you doing, you big fuck?” a female voice shouted.