Brian Freeman - The Cold Nowhere

‘Are you comfortable, Cat?’

‘ Yes.’

‘ Relaxed?’

‘ Yes.’

‘ It feels natural to be here, doesn’t it?’

‘ Yes.’

‘ Good. You trust me, don’t you?’

‘ Of course, I trust you, Vincent.’

‘ I would never hurt you.’

‘No.’

‘ We’re going to take a little journey, Cat.’

‘ Okay.’

Maggie waved her hand. ‘Fast-forward. Get to the part you want me to see.’

Ken advanced through several scenes. When he stopped, Maggie saw Cat again, but she looked transformed. The peace in her face had vanished. She sat open-eyed, staring into nothingness, her face slack with horror. She clutched the arms of the chair and rocked from side to side. Her voice was the scared voice of a little girl. She wailed at the lens, as if gripped by an unbearable pain, and then she leaped out of the chair and stormed the camera.

‘ STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP No no no no no no.’

Maggie jumped back. ‘Jesus.’

‘It gets worse,’ Ken said.

Cat’s voice turned guttural. It was deep and menacing — a man’s voice. She shouted at the top of her lungs.

‘ I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you!’

Maggie listened to the back-and-forth between Cat and Roslak. His relentless questions pushed the girl into the past. She could picture Cat under the porch, cold, scared, and confused. Inches away from her parents as they died. ‘Roslak was playing with fire,’ she said. ‘He could have pushed her over the edge. God knows what she would have done.’

‘There’s more,’ Ken said. ‘It’s not just that. Listen.’

‘To what?’

‘Listen.’

‘ What’s going on, Cat?’

‘ Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. He’s dead. They’re both dead. Oh, God.’

‘ Your father?’

‘ He killed him.’

‘What? Who?’

‘ Sirens.’

‘ Talk to me, Cat.’

‘ I’ll protect you.’

‘ Everything’s okay. What’s my name, Cat?’

‘ Come out, it’s okay.’

‘ My name, Cat. Who am I?’

‘ Stride. My name is Stride.’

Ken stared at her. ‘You see?’

Maggie stopped the recording and stripped the disc out of the machine. ‘No, I don’t see. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She heard Stride?’

‘It’s not hard to figure out,’ Ken said.

‘Yeah? Tell me.’

‘I don’t think you want to hear it.’

‘Shit, Ken, just tell me what you think.’

‘Cat makes it sound like Stride was there before Marty died.’

‘Are you kidding? No way. She’s mixing things up. Or she was acting. That wasn’t real.’

‘It sure looked real to me,’ Ken said.

‘So what are you saying?’

‘I’m not saying anything. Cat’s the one who said it.’

‘Marty Gamble killed himself. It was a murder-suicide. Stride sure as hell did not kill him.’

‘Are you sure?’

Maggie shouted at him. ‘Of course, I am fucking sure! Are you crazy? We’re talking about Stride .’

‘Hey, I hear you, but everyone knew he was sweet on Michaela. If he showed up and found her dead? If Marty was drunk or passed out in her blood? What would he have done?’

‘No way. This little bitch is either faking it or she’s mixing up her memories. That is not what happened.’

‘You’re probably right, but it doesn’t look good.’

‘I don’t care how it looks.’

‘Was he there?’ Ken asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Was Stride on the scene?’

‘Of course, he was there! We were all there!’

‘When did he arrive?’

Maggie found herself almost hyperventilating. ‘What?’

‘When did Stride arrive at the crime scene?’

‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Maggie,’ Ken murmured. ‘Come on.’

She stared at the dark television. This was wrong. This was a mistake. This wasn’t how it happened.

‘Okay, yes, Stride was the first responder,’ she told him. ‘Michaela called him when she saw Marty’s car. He was there before any of us arrived. Just him and the two bodies. And Cat.’

Stride awoke to the silence of the cottage at three in the morning. He put a hand on the other side of the bed, expecting to touch Serena’s skin, but he was alone. She hadn’t stayed. He glanced at his BlackBerry on the nightstand and saw the red message light flashing. When he checked his e-mail, he saw a text from Serena, time-stamped only minutes earlier.

The message read: Did you sleep with Michaela?

He wasn’t ready to answer her. Not yet. Even so, he was comforted to know that she was lying awake, just like him. There had been nights all winter when he stared into the darkness and knew that Serena was doing the same thing in her bed in Grand Rapids. They could still feel each other.

So why was he shutting her out? Why couldn’t he face what he’d done?

He heard footsteps across the floor of the living room. A small, attractive silhouette appeared in the doorway of his bedroom. ‘Cat?’

‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Did I wake you up?’

‘I wasn’t sleeping. Are you okay?’

‘I had a nightmare.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Cat didn’t say anything, but she slipped across the slanted floor toward him. In the shadows, he could see that she was wearing only a tank top and panties. She stood beside the bed, her thumbs in the elastic waistband. She smelled of the lavender soap that Serena always used, which was still in the shower. Her bare thighs twisted back and forth against the mattress, as if she were spinning on a lazy susan.

‘Do the nightmares happen a lot?’ he asked.

‘Most nights, yeah. I hate to go to sleep. I try to stay awake until I can’t hold my eyes open.’

‘That was how it was for me after I went off the bridge.’

‘Did it go away?’ she asked.

‘Not entirely, but it’s not as bad as it was.’

‘I don’t think mine will ever stop.’

‘What do you dream about?’

‘Mostly, it’s the same dream. The same night. You know? When it all happened.’

‘I know.’

‘Vincent said I keep reliving it because I’m hiding something from back then. He kept pushing me to find out what it was.’

‘Did you?’

‘No. Do you think I’m hiding something? Is there something I don’t want to remember?’

‘I think anyone who went through an experience like you did would struggle to get past it,’ Stride said. ‘It haunted me, too, Cat. It still does.’

She laid a hand on his bed. He worried that she would peel down the comforter and try to slide in beside him, and he would have to stop her. He was conscious of the fact that the line between innocence and sexuality had blurred in her mind a long time ago.

‘I lied to you,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘About what?’

‘Vincent.’

‘You slept with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why lie? It wasn’t your fault.’

Cat was slow to respond.

‘Why are you so sure it’s not my fault?’ she said finally. ‘Maybe it was me. Maybe I seduced him.’