Chapter 18

18

Present Day

After eating, Wylie and the boy returned to the living room and sat in front of the fire. Wylie couldn't stop looking at him. The rash around his mouth seemed to be calming down a bit. It was still red but not as inflamed. Wylie leaned in more closely. Something silver and shiny glinted back up at her. Wylie lightly touched his face and rubbed. Surprisingly, the boy didn't pull away. His skin clung momentarily to Wylie's fingers, then pulled away.

Wylie carefully picked the small, silver fragment from the boy's bottom lip and rolled it between her fingers. It was gummy and sticky. Duct tape? It couldn't be.

"Did someone put tape over your mouth?" Wylie asked in a whisper.

The boy blinked up at Wylie. He wasn't shocked by the question and didn't react with indignation. He simply nodded.

"Who?" Wylie asked, her chest constricting with something she couldn't quite name. Horror, anger, sadness. All three, probably. "Your dad?" Wylie asked. "Your mom?"

Before the boy could respond, there was a thunderous crack. And then another and another. Wylie jumped to her feet, smacking her shin against the cedar chest.

"Dammit," she muttered at what sounded like breaking glass coming from outside. The windows were fogged over and Wylie rubbed her fingers over the glass to clear them. From this vantage point, she couldn't find the source of the noise. It was still snowing, the wind had whipped itself into a frenzy, and she could barely see beyond a few feet in front of her.

Another crack splintered the air. Tas whimpered.

"The trees," Wylie said. "Tree branches are snapping because of the weight of the ice and the snow. First the trees, next it will be the electrical wires."

The boy looked at her questioningly.

"It means it's going to get very dark and very cold fast," Wylie said, moving from the window to the closet. She pulled open the door and reached for a heavy-duty flashlight on the top shelf and set it on the cedar chest. Then she opened the drawer in the end table next to the sofa and found another, smaller flashlight.

"Here," Wylie said, handing it to the boy. "You push this button here to turn it on. Give it a try." The boy slid the black switch upward and a beam of light appeared. "Now turn it off. Only turn it on if the lights go out." He slid the button to the off position. "Stay here," Wylie ordered. "I'm going to go get the other ones."

Wylie ran from room to room, grabbing flashlights. On her arrival at the farmhouse, she had stowed several throughout the house for just such an occasion. Wylie had never needed them before, and her pulse quickened at the thought of being plunged into blackness even in a place she knew so well. If there was light, everything would be okay, she thought.

Wylie carried the flashlights back to the boy and dumped them on the sofa. "I'm going upstairs to get some more; I'll be right back."

Upon seeing the uncertainty on the boy's face, Wylie paused. Wylie didn't want to scare him any more than she already had. The dark was her issue, not his.

"Just a few more, and I'm going to grab some extra batteries," Wylie said. Snatching one of the flashlights from the pile, Wylie hurried up the steps. She should be more worried about having enough wood for the fireplace. Rationally, Wylie knew that the dark couldn't really hurt them, but the cold could. Once she had all the flashlights in place, she would get more wood from the barn.

Once upstairs, Wylie went to the room she used as her office. It was where she spent most of her time, so that was where she kept her storm lantern. It could last for a hundred and forty hours on one set of batteries.

Outside, the pop of fracturing tree limbs continued. Wylie watched in awe as an ice-encased limb stretched across her window, swayed and splintered like a toothpick, and crashed to the ground below. Wylie reached into the bottom desk drawer and scooped up several packs of batteries when a glint of orange shone through the storm.

Wylie leaned over her desk, pressing her face to the window to get a better look. The wind sent billowing clouds of snow across the fields. Again, another flash of orange. Was it headlights from a car or maybe an emergency vehicle? Wylie couldn't tell.

She turned off her desk lamp in hopes of getting a better look. The light outside disappeared, and for a moment, Wylie thought she must have imagined it, but then the air stilled as if the storm was taking a deep breath. The snow parted, and a ball of fiery orange lit up the sky at the top of the lane.

It was the wrecked truck engulfed in flames.

Maybe a power line came down atop it, igniting the gas tank? That's what had to have happened.

There was nothing to do but let it burn.

The storm exhaled, obscuring the road and enveloping the fire in a whorl of white.

Another flash of orange broke through the dark. Wylie could hear the crackle of flames through the wind. She thought of the glove box and any paperwork that might have been stored inside that could have told her the truck's owner's identity, literally now up in flames. She should have taken the time to check when she first found the wreckage.

Above her, the lights blinked. Wylie held her breath, but the lights stayed on. She needed to get more flashlights, more batteries.

There was nothing that Wylie could do about the truck now. She had to worry about the things she could control. Like keeping herself and the boy warm and keeping the darkness at bay.

Wylie turned away from the window and juggled the lantern and a handful of batteries as she moved through the hallway to the stairs. Just as her foot hit the first step, the house was plunged into darkness.

Wylie froze. Her fingertips tingled and her heart raced. A wave of dizziness rolled through her and she dropped the batteries. They clattered down the steps, disappearing into the dark as Wylie stared down into the black abyss below her. Her rational mind knew that she had nothing to fear, but she couldn't think. Beads of cold sweat popped out on her forehead and a low hum filled her ears.

Unsteadily, she sat down on the top step. She couldn't catch her breath; the air wouldn't fully enter her lungs. It was blocked by something that had lain dormant for years. Something black and oily slid into place and took hold.

Wylie pressed her fingers to her throat as if she could pry away its cold grip. Night had finally found her unprepared, and Wylie felt she might suffocate.

Until now, she had learned to control light and dark. She couldn't outrun it any longer. She squeezed her eyes shut.

A stream of coughing, sharp and harsh like seals barking, scattered the buzzing bees in her head and Wylie opened her eyes. "Hey?" she called out. "Are you alright?" Wylie asked, trying to keep her voice steady, even.

A beam of light bounced against the walls, filling the stairwell with an eerie glimmer. The dizziness subsided and the world righted itself. There was light. Everything was going to be okay.

"I'm coming," Wylie managed to say, waiting until her breath steadied before getting to her feet. Feeling came back into her limbs and she felt the smooth wooden banister beneath her fingers. Her legs felt heavy, but with the gleam from the boy's light, she was able to move slowly downward.

Seeing the worry on the boy's face, Wylie murmured, "I'm fine, I just don't like the dark very much."

The boy reached over and flipped the switch on the lantern in Wylie's hands, and the room was flooded with a soft light. Tas, unconcerned, was stretched out in front of the fireplace. The black knot in Wylie's throat slid away.

Wylie set the lantern on the cedar chest. "It could take a few days for crews to get the power back on, but we'll be okay. We've got light and food and wood," she said with weak conviction.

Wylie glanced at the dwindling pile of kindling next to the fireplace and her heart dropped. Wood. They needed more wood for the fire, but there was none in the house. She would need to go out to the barn. This was the last thing she wanted to do, but what choice did she have? They needed logs for the fire. "We need more wood. Do you want to help me?"

The boy looked down at his shoes.

"My arms are going to be filled with wood, so maybe you can open and shut the back door for me. But first, we need to make sure you're warm enough. It's going to get cold in here fast, especially when the door opens. How about it?" Wylie asked.

Finally, the boy nodded, and Wylie gave him a grateful smile.

Wylie was tempted to turn on every single flashlight she had gathered but knew that would be a waste of batteries. She would have to make do with her lantern. Together, each holding a light, Wylie and the boy made their way to the mudroom. First, Wylie tested the outdoor lights hoping the back yard would suddenly become illuminated. Nothing happened.

Wylie found an old sweatshirt and pulled it over the boy's head. It fell below his knees, and Wylie had to roll up the sleeves several times, but it would do the trick. She rifled through a basket filled with outdoor gear, found a stocking cap, and pulled it down over his ears.

"There," Wylie said, stepping back to survey her work. "Keep your hands tucked inside your sleeves and you'll be ready for business."

Wylie pulled on her own gear and stepped outside to retrieve the sled that she had dropped off on the front step. She'd use it to help transport the wood back to the house.

"Hey, you okay down there?" a man called from the top of the lane. "I saw the fire from the house and got on my snowmobile to see what was going on."

He stopped halfway down the drive and removed his helmet. Through the falling snow Wylie recognized him as one of the neighbors to the east, Randy Cutter. From her research for the book, Wylie knew that Randy and Deb Cutter divorced and he moved to another residence not far away.

"Came upon the wreck," he said breathlessly. Randy's salt-and-pepper hair peeked out from beneath his stocking cap and snowflakes clung to his eyelashes. "Anyone injured? It's a bad one."

"Yeah," Wylie called back. "It was crazy. I found a boy. He's shaken up but fine. It's the woman who was in the truck with him I'm worried about. She disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Randy asked.

"After I found the boy I went to see if I could figure out where he came from," Wylie explained. "Found the truck and a woman. She was caught up in some barbwire and I couldn't get her out. I went to get some tools and when I came back she was gone."

"Gone?" Randy repeated. "Damn. Where would she have gone to?"

"Good question," Wylie said. "It makes no sense. She looked like she was banged up really good. I can't imagine she went far, I just couldn't find her. This is a hell of a storm."

"Yeah, it is," Randy agreed. "I'd offer you and the kid a ride on my snowmobile back to my house to wait out the storm, but it's getting worse by the minute. You might be better off staying put."

"I think you're right. We're doing okay here," she assured him. "We have wood, water, and food. We'll be fine—I'm more worried about the woman. Any way you can go look for her?"

"I can do that," Randy said. "I can't stand the thought of someone stranded out in this weather. I'll ride around and see what I can find. How about I stop back tomorrow and check on things, let you know what I find. Hopefully, the snow will be done by then."

"That would be great. Thanks," Wylie said, hesitant to send him on his way. "Be safe," she said, as Randy turned and trudged to the top of the lane.

Back inside, Wylie shook the snow off her and carried the sled toward the mudroom. She debated telling the boy about Randy's visit but thought the mention of the injured woman in wreckage might upset him. Better to wait and see if Randy found her.

Once at the door, Wylie realized that if she carried a flashlight outside with her, she wouldn't have her hands free to haul the toboggan, heavy with wood back to the house.

Plan B. Wylie had a headlamp stowed away in her car. At the barn she'd retrieve the lamp and would have hands-free access to light.

"Okay," Wylie said, pulling her gloves on, "you and Tas wait here, and when I get to the door, turn the knob and let me in."

The boy nodded and Wylie opened the door. The frigid air hit them with a blast. Wylie stepped outside and bent her head to the wind. The air smelled like gasoline. The truck fire.

The flashlight she carried lit the way allowing Wylie to see a few feet in front of her. The new snow covered the ice, reached nearly to her knees, and provided some traction so that she was able to move at a faster clip.

When Wylie reached the barn, she tugged on the door. It opened only a few inches, the bottom edge getting caught up in the snow. She kicked at the snow with her boot, trying to clear a path, then wedged her hip into the opening and pushed open the door just enough so that she could squeeze inside.

Though the cattle that were once housed here were long gone, old farm equipment remained: a bale spearer, chain harrows, a loader bucket, and more.

She made a beeline for the Bronco and dug around until she found the headlamp. She pressed the on button and a bright beam of light appeared. She secured the lamp over her stocking cap and looked down at the pile of wood stacked in the corner.

It would take several trips to bring in enough wood to outlast the storm. Wylie piled the logs atop the sled and then covered it with a plastic tarp.

Above her, Wylie heard a noise. A dry, shuffly sound. Something was in the hayloft. "Hello," she called out tentatively. Maybe the woman from the wreck had found shelter in the barn.

She had mixed feelings about the woman from the accident. The remnants of duct tape on the boy's face disturbed her. Was the woman the boy's kidnapper? Could she be his mother?

Wylie climbed the rickety ladder up to the hayloft and peered over the edge. The light from the headlamp filled the space. The loft floor was covered in straw, and in the high corners, frozen cobwebs laced the wooden crossbeams. She ascended the top rungs of the ladder and stepped onto the floor of the loft.

Bits of dust rose as Wylie shuffled through the loose straw. From a corner, two small golden eyes blinked up at her and then scurried past Wylie. A raccoon seeking shelter for the winter.

Wylie made a cursory search of the loft. The woman wasn't there. She approached the latched hayloft door once used to transport bales of hay and looked out the small, grimy window next to it. From this high vantage point, if not for the blizzard, Wylie would be able to see for miles across the countryside. The heavy snow had extinguished the flames from the truck fire, and now her view was limited to what she could see through the beam of her headlamp.

Through the heavy curtain of snow, Wylie got a glimpse of the soft halo from the boy's flashlight from within the house. He was waiting for her return.

For a moment, the wind stilled, the snow rearranged itself into a steady, glittering shower of white, and the beam from her headlamp bounced off a dark shape emerging from the shadows of the old garden shed. The figure was lurching toward the house. Toward the boy.

It had to be the woman from the truck. She must have found shelter in the old toolshed. But why didn't she come straight to the house? Wylie had told the woman that the child was safe, that she was there to help her. Wylie couldn't shake the thought that the woman was up to no good.

She hurried down the ladder, pushed on the barn door, and for a moment, it didn't move. Someone locked me in, was her first, panicked thought. Wylie threw her shoulder against the door and it groaned open a few inches. In the short time she'd been inside, the snow, gathered up by the wind, had blocked her exit.

Wylie pushed on the door until it opened far enough for her to sidle out of the barn. The blizzard whirled, and the wind blew fiercely into her face making her eyes water. Squinting through the storm, Wylie could see the figure still moving slowly toward the house.

Wylie fought the urge to sprint toward the woman, but they still needed wood for the fire. It would be crucial to get the woman warmed up after hours spent in snow and in the uninsulated garden shed. Wylie forced the barn door open as far it would go, stepped back inside, and pulled the sled, piled with wood, into the storm.

Wylie's boots sank into the snow with each step, it was like slogging through mud but she was gaining on the woman. From the light of the headlamp, Wylie could see that it was the woman from the accident. She had Wylie's hat atop her head and was wearing Wylie's coat.

"Hey," Wylie called out, but the woman didn't pause, just kept lumbering forward.

As they came closer to the house, the boy's face appeared in the window, a pale moon in the dark, and then it vanished. When the wind settled, there he was again. His hands were pressed against the glass, a look of fear stamped on his face. The stranger was almost to the door and Wylie was still thirty yards behind.

Wylie dropped the sled's rope and started running toward the house. "Hey," Wylie called out. "Lock the door!" But the boy just stood there, mesmerized by the shape moving toward him. The back door opened, and the woman slipped inside. Through the roar of the wind, Wylie thought she heard Tas's frantic barks.

The wind lifted, bringing with it a billowing cloud of snow and obscuring the entire house. At that moment, not even the blaze from her headlamp could pierce the storm. Wylie pushed forward.

When she finally reached the back door, Wylie fumbled with the knob and twisted. The door didn't open. It was locked. She thumped on the door with a fist.

"Hey," she called out. "Open the door!" Wylie pressed her face to the window, her headlamp lighting up the mudroom.

Inside, Tas barking and dancing in excited circles around the woman who kicked out at the dog. Tas gave a sharp squeal of pain and slunk away.

The woman's back was to Wylie, but she could clearly see the boy's face. Tearstained and frightened. But it was what dangled from the woman's hand that caused Wylie to gasp. A long smooth wooden shaft ending with a triangular wedge of steel that glinted in the glare of the headlamp—a hatchet.

The woman held the weapon in her hand and pulled the boy from the mudroom and into the shadows.