We left Danny just after he committed a terrible crime: let's see what happens next...
The Snow Killer: Part Four
Danny rushed around the corner, and
started to head home. After a few moments of frantic walking, he stopped in his
tracks.
What if someone
saw me?
Danny looked
around him, but calmed down somewhat when he realised he was the only one in
the street. It made sense: it was the middle of the night. In the snow. Alone.
Freezing.
She was blue.
She turned blue so quickly. And her eyes...
Breathe in.
Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
As Danny started
walking again, tugging his jacket closer in a failed attempt to take the chill
off the skin. But he knew the chill had nothing to do with the white snow that
surrounded him.
All that
blood...
Danny walked
faster as he thought about what he should do. His feet near-running, carrying
him home - faithful to him when his mind wasn't.
I should turn
myself in. I can't just leave her there to be buried in the snow: they might
not find her for days. She has a family...
The snow
whispered to Danny as he trod:
Killer. Left the
girl in the snow. Snow killer. You hate the snow. Emily loved the snow. She
danced in the snow. Killer. You killed Emily. You killed the girl. You killed
your mother.
"No!"
Danny panted. "I'm running away from snow! Snow can't talk. What's
wrong with me?" He grabbed fistfuls of his hair underneath his hood, and
crouched to the floor. The words echoed around his head. They burned like
a cold star: impossible anywhere but his mind. He had always known it was his
fault, but it was an accident. This was different. This was by his own hand,
his own physical hands had taken the life of a sixteen year old girl. She
looked just like Emily. But prettier. The girl had rejected him
immediately.
Why? What is so
wrong with me? Emily had always been the best of both of us, but I never had
any trouble before she died...
Danny remembered
his father's words just seconds after they buried Emily and Sara side-by-side.
"You let them smother you. You're a man now; you need to rid yourself
of all these ideas of a happy, care-free life and focus on getting a job,
making a businessman out of yourself."
"It's just
not logical to have your head in the clouds. Sara always let you get away with
it. All the writing and painting and what-not. Girl's stuff."
"I should
have sent you to boarding school, but Sara always molly-coddled you. She said
it would upset you too much. That you were fragile. You're not right in the
head, boy. She made sure of that. Ruining my only son. Sometimes I feel like I
have two daughters instead of one."
"You
couldn't just be normal, like Emily, could you? Such a pretty girl. Always did
what she was told. But you, well, I'm glad I will be seeing the back of this
ridiculous behaviour. You are not your sister. You are a man. That I'll make
sure of. Oh, stop crying. They are gone and there's nothing you can do about
it."
The words kept
going in Danny's head, even though he tried so hard to banish them, pressing
his hands into his eyes and seeing the burning colours of his skin against the
fragile lids that protected him from the pain. But they didn't. His eyes may
have closed to the world, but his brain wouldn't let go. All he could see was
the girl, blue skin against fragile white snow. Her long blonde hair darkened
by the blood. The blood was everywhere.
Danny stopped
again: The blood was everywhere: All over his hands; in his hair; on his skin;
dried into his clothes; across his lips; buried into the ridges of his
fingerprints. He pulled his jacket off and searched for a lighter.
I gave it to Diane.
"Fuck!"
Danny ripped the jacket in to pieces and put different pieces in different bins
on his way home. The last bin was Mrs. Roberts, the old woman that lived next
door. He lived on the top floor of a maisonette in Winston Close. A dark building,
cornered by other houses: being bullied. Upon taking the rooms, the landlady
had commented on the pale of his skin: "Well
you'll fit in here Mr. Fores, no light in this house. You'll always have the
lights on. Unless you like the dark..."
He unlocked the
door and pushed hard on the frame. Always
sticking. The money I pay... Danny caught himself: thinking about such trivial
things when I am covered in blood. He ran up the stairs to his apartment,
opened the door and locked it behind him. He padded to the bathroom and turned
the shower on. The steam rose, taking that first layer of ice from his heart.
He went back into the bedroom/living room/study and took off his clothes.
Everything was dark with blood. He turned the bedside lamp on to look at the
mess.
It's
everywhere.
He could see the
handprints of the girl on his jeans, she had struggled. He had panicked and
pushed back. He shook himself, don't think about it, and put the clothes in the
bin.
"Oh,
Daniel, you stupid boy: falling over. Now that's your best shirt ruined, look
at this, there’s blood everywhere. Oh, and you tore straight through the
elbows. What an earth were you doing in that tree anyway?"
"I was
watching a bird, Mummy. It was so beautiful, and it was signing. I drew it,
Mummy, look". The young Danny attempted in vain to show his mother his
sketches.
"Not now
Danny, Emily needs her lunch. Go and wash up, no more climbing trees, now,
y'hear?"
"Yes,
Mummy." Danny looked to his feet, but was filled with glee moments later
when his father walked through the door.
"Daddy,
look, I drew a -"
"Not now,
Daniel. What's wrong, Sara?" Marcus kissed his wife's cheek and took the
shirt from her hands.
"Your son
was out in the woods today." Sara shot her husband a scornful look.
"Really,
well boy, what happened here?" He held up the shirt.
"i was in a
tree, Daddy. I was-"
"Climbing
trees, finally. Just be more careful next time, kiddo. OK?"
"Well, yes
Daddy but-"
"Sara,
where's my dinner?"
"How should
I know, I've been watching the damned kids all day. Daniel, go play with your
sister."
"Sara, I've
been at work all day! all I want is a goddamn fucking meal when I get home from
work. Is that so much to ask?" Marcus stood up from the armchair he had
just occupied and approached his wife. "Is it, Sara? Just a bit of dinner.
Not difficult is it? All you do is sit around and drink. Maybe next time you
could make my-"
Sara slapped her
husband across the face, and stood trembling in front of him. Marcus shoved her
against the wall, making her drop the plate she had been holding.
"Now look
what you've done, you stupid cow. Made a mess. You're going to clean that up,
aren't you, Sara?" Tears ran down her face as her husband’s breath hit her
lips.
"Is that
Chanel I smell, Marcus. My , my, you have gone up in taste." The fear in
her eyes diminished her thinly veiled threat.
"That's enough!
Clean this mess up." He released his grip on her shoulders and sat back
down.
Sara cleaned up
the broken shards of china, and threw them away. She had stopped crying by the
time she brought Marcus a beer. She smiled sweetly at him and kissed him on the
cheek.
"Danny was
a smart boy today, climbing up that tree. Shame he did it to draw. Kid needs to
learn to man up a little bit. It was only a shirt, Sara. Just buy him another
one and shut up about it, OK?"
"OK."
She smiled again.
Danny remembered
that day so well: the first time he had ever seen his parents fight. It was
only years later he had found out it had been happening since he was born. They
had wanted a girl, not a boy. Sara never wanted a boy.
"He'll end
up like you, you know. I don't want any son of mine being violent to women.
He's not a coward."
"He is a
coward, Marcus. He's your son."
