Valerie Malmont - Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

A red haze covered my eyes. Blood! I swiped at it. Tried to wipe it away. I was afraid I'd bleed to death before I could get help. I pulled the quilted tea cozy off the teapot and pressed it against my head as hard as I could to try and stop the flow.

The front door slammed. “Ginnie,” I called weakly. “You'll never get away.” I knew she couldn't hear me. Not through the door. Not over the storm. I struggled to my feet. By the time I staggered to the front hall, what I'd dreaded for weeks came to pass. The front-porch roof caved in with a splintering crash. I pulled the door open, only to find my way completely blocked by the fallen roof.

A car engine roared to life out front. Ginnie drove a four-wheel-drive vehicle, like most of the people I knew in Lickin Creek, so she'd have little trouble getting through the snow. Was she going home? Or was she, after all, going to kill Raymond Zook? Whatever she had planned, I knew I had to follow her.

In the kitchen, I checked my wound in the mirror on the hall tree. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared, and I recalled someone telling me that even small head wounds bleed profusely. The pressure from the tea cozy had stopped the worst of the bleeding. I rinsed some of the blood off my face, put on my heaviest parka, and went out into the stormy night.

The truck engine leaped to life when I turned the key. God bless that battery manufacturer! I drove around to the front of the house, where the tire tracks left by Gin-nie's car in the snow were easily visible.

Just as I feared, the tracks didn't lead to Ginnie's driveway, but continued to the highway. She wasn't going home. At the Moon Lake gate, I could tell she'd skidded a little as she pulled out onto the main road. I did, too. Because it had been cleared at least once, the snow wasn't as deep as it had been on the development's roads, but under the several inches of fresh snow there was now a solid sheet of ice.

The windshield wiper strived valiantly to remove the heavy snow, but it fought a losing battle. I was left with only a small hole to peer through, and I worried about losing the trail Ginnie left. Several times, the truck slid sideways. If I went off the road, I'd probably freeze to death before anyone found me. I gripped the wheel tightly and tried to remember what I'd heard about driving in snow. What came into my head was “stay off the roads.” Too late for that now, I thought.

After driving for a very long time, I realized we weren't heading toward town, because even at five miles an hour we should have been there already. I had no idea where I was. All I could see through the front window was a small area of snow-white road illuminated by my headlights. The rest of the world was black.

The snow hitting the windshield had a hypnotic effect. It seemed as though the truck were no longer on the road but was flying through space. I was completely alone in the world. Maybe even out of this world, somewhere in another dimension. I plowed on, until I suddenly realized the tire marks I had been following had vanished.

I managed to get the truck turned around, even though I twice backed into a snowdrift that tried to hold me captive.

After a few minutes, I picked up the tracks again, although by now they were nearly obliterated by the driven snow. Ginnie had turned onto a nearly invisible side road.

Gritting my teeth, I said a little prayer-there must be a patron saint for fools-and drove in the ruts Ginnie's car had created. It was barely more than a trail, but the driving wasn't too bad because there was less snow than I would have expected. I realized the trees that nearly met overhead must have sheltered the road from the worst of the storm.

Ginnie's car was stopped up ahead with the lights still on and the driver's side door open. I pulled up behind it and wondered what I should do next. I'd only followed her to prevent her from killing Raymond Zook. I hadn't thought about being trapped in the woods with her. My painful head wound was evidence that she was dangerous.

I slowly realized her car was empty, that there were footprints leading away from it. Where was she going? Where were we? In the back, I found a long metal tool I suspected was useful when changing a tire. It wasn't much, but it could be some protection if Ginnie tried to attack me again.

I followed the footprints deep into the woods. Just when I thought I was lost forever, the forest disappeared, and I stood on the edge of a vast white field. A lightning strike nearby illuminated the area long enough for me to see a hill on the far side of the field and realize I'd been here before. Beyond that hill was the quarry where Eddie Douglas's body had been found.

Sheet lightning, accompanied by nonstop rumbling, lit the night sky as brightly as if it were high noon. One flash came quickly after another. The eerie light allowed me to see a trail in the snow, leading across the field and up the side of the hill, and I knew Ginnie had gone that way. As the lightning once again illuminated the area, I saw a black figure silhouetted against the sky at the top of the hill.

“Ginnie,” I cried. “Come back. It's too dangerous…” My words were swept away in the howling wind.

When the lightning flared again, she was gone.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

THROUGH THE KNEE-HIGH SNOW I PUSHED, following the tracks Ginnie had left in the snow, until I reached the edge of the quarry. There, the trail ended.

I called her name a few times, although I knew it was useless. Ginnie had chosen to die, like her brother, in the dark, cold waters of the quarry.

I struggled back to the truck, got it turned around, and drove as fast as I dared to the highway. As I attempted to pull onto the main road, the truck skidded on the ice. I gripped the wheel helplessly as I slid sideways across the road and down an embankment on the other side. Thanks to the seat belt, I wasn't hurt, but Garnet's truck groaned pitifully once and died.

The damn door was stuck. I couldn't get out. I'd probably freeze to death in an hour. I vented my frustration by pounding on the window with my fist. It hurt me a lot more than it hurt the truck. The door suddenly flew open, and I nearly tumbled out.

“Whoa, miss,” a man said. “You okay?”

“I am now,” I gasped to the man who had caught me.

“Geez, lady, you're hurt bad.” He was gazing at my wounded forehead.

“It's just a flesh wound.” I grabbed the tea cozy and applied pressure.

“What in God's name were you doing driving on a night like this?” he asked.

“It's a long story. What are you doing on the road?”

“I'm a trucker. Trying to get home to West Virginia for Christmas. Thought I could beat the storm. Can I take you to a hospital?”

I shook my head, a motion that caused so much pain I resolved not to do it again for a long time. “Just drop me off in Lickin Creek, please.”

“It's right on my way. Come on.” He gave me a boost into the cab of his eighteen-wheeler.

The truck barreled down the highway as if there were neither snow nor ice outside. High up in the cab, protected from the storm, I fully understood the meaning of the song “King of the Road.”

He dropped me off at the small brick ranch house Luscious Miller shared with his widowed mother. “Merry Christmas,” he called, after making sure someone was there to let me in.

Luscious, in blue flannel pajamas decorated with red fire engines, opened the door. As I passed by him, I sniffed discreetly and was relieved not to smell alcohol on his breath. We sat in his small living room, and he listened carefully as I told him what had happened. “Give me two minutes to get dressed,” he said and disappeared down the hall.