Frostbitten: The Complete Series (12 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN
DREAD

“How was school today?” Connor’s mother asked as Connor walked in and placed his backpack next to the front door.

Connor sighed. “It was okay,” Connor said as he stretched out his back.

“It doesn’t sound like it was okay.”

“I don’t know—I’m just tired. It was hard to focus.”

“I’m sorry—I know I’m not making life any easier for you.”

“No, no. It’s not that. There’s just a lot on my mind—you know?”

“Want to talk about it?”

Connor sighed again. “I don’t know. There’s nothing to really talk about.”

Charlotte smiled at her son.

“How was your day?” Connor asked.

“It was better than yesterday.”

“You weren’t messaging me—I was worried.”

“I was managing on my own—I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, mom. I just want to know that you’re okay,” Connor said as he removed his coat. “Let’s get you into the tub, okay?”

“Okay.”

Connor helped his mother up and led her over to the bathroom. Like he’d done the day before, and every day for the past many years, he helped his mother step over into the bathtub safely.

“Thanks, honey.” Charlotte started the water while Connor went to retrieve a fresh towel, and start dinner.

Connor walked over to the kitchen and pulled a pot out, which he placed on the stove. He got a cutting board out, and a couple of bell peppers from the fridge. As he started to cut the peppers up, he noticed a familiar face out the window—Hanna’s.

Connor thought about it for a moment. Could she really have killed her own father? She seemed so nice—so gentle. She seemed like the last person on the planet that would ever commit such a horrendous crime.

But that was exactly what Andrew had said—You would never expect it from her.

Connor put the knife down and walked over to the bathroom. “Hey mom—I’ll be right back, okay? Will you be alright?”

“I’m fine—Where are you going?”

“There’s someone I know outside. I’m just going to go and say hello.”

“Okay—put on your coat.”

Connor ran to the door and stuffed his feet into his shoes, not bothering to tie them up. He threw his coat over his body and ran outside.

Hanna had made it quite a ways down the block by the time Connor emerged from the house. Connor was about to run after her when he noticed another familiar face walking right in front of his house—Kane’s.

“Hey,” Connor called out, startling Kane.

Kane turned to Connor, and quickly pulled his pea coat closed tight.

“What’s up?” Connor asked.

“Uh—nothing. What’s up with you?” Kane asked. Kane looked over at Hanna as she walked around the corner.

“I didn’t know that you lived around here,” Connor said.

“Oh—Uh, yeah. Not too far away... I should probably get going here.”

“I meant to talk to you today in class, but I didn’t get a chance,” Connor said.

“What about?” Kane asked, looking down the road—Hanna no longer in sight. Kane was quickly becoming impatient.

“I wanted to apologize for kind of snapping at you yesterday.”

“Oh—Don’t worry about it,” Kane said. He was becoming anxious—knowing Hanna was getting farther and farther away.

“Oh—Well I feel bad about it.”

“Don’t.”

Connor looked down the road, realizing Hanna was gone.

“Anything else?” Kane asked, impatiently.

Connor looked back at Kane. He suddenly noticed Kane holding his jacket tight to his body, ostensibly hiding something.

“What’s that?” Connor asked.

“What’s what?” Kane asked, looking Connor in the eyes. Kane was tense.

Connor was quickly becoming nervous about Kane’s shady demeanour. With all of the reports of strange murders going on, it was difficult to trust anyone. Connor looked back down the road, where Hanna was walking. He started to piece it together in his mind—Was Kane following Hanna?

“Under your coat. What is that?” Connor asked.

The bulge in Kane’s coat was evident. There was something there.

“Just my school stuff. I lost my bag, and I don’t want my stuff to get wet.”

“Right…” Connor said. “You know you should be careful out here—they’re saying not to walk around alone at night.”

“I heard,” Kane said.

“Do you live far?”

“No.”

“Where do you live?”

“Around here.”

“Where around here?”

Kane stared at Connor, thinking of a way to shake him. He looked over Connor’s shoulder.

“Just around that corner and down a few blocks. Is that your house?” Kane asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah.”

“Is something burning?” Kane asked—motioning to smoke that was visible through the window.

“Shit!” Connor said, realizing he’d left the stove on.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, man,” Kane said as he began to hurry down the street to catch up with Hanna.

Connor ran inside and quickly turned off the stove.

“Connor!” Charlotte yelled from the tub. “Is everything okay? I smell burning!”

“Yeah, mom! It’s fine. Everything is fine!”

Connor looked out the window—Kane was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Connor quickly finished making dinner. His mind was racing as he frantically plated the food, and rushed to the bathroom to help his mother out from the tub, and into her robe. He helped her to the kitchen table, and served her a quickly prepared meal.

“Aren’t you going to eat with me?” Charlotte asked.

“I just need to make a phone call. Go ahead and start,” Connor said. “It won’t take long—I promise.”

“Oh—Okay. Sure.”

Connor swiftly made his way to the other room, and pulled out his cellphone. He went to his backpack and dug out his course outline, which had Wade Fenner’s phone number on it.

CHAPTER TWENTY
CROSSING LINES

Wade and his son, Michael were sitting on the living room couch.

On Wade’s lap was a stack of class assignments—various definitions of the word “symbolism”. On the table was a messy binder containing the syllabus, a Wikipedia print-off of the Tale of Two Cities page, and the Sparks Notes edition of A Tale of Two Cities, so that Wade could check for obvious plagiarism.

He tediously went through paper after paper, marking each misspelled word with his mighty red pen.

On the television, Michael was carefully watching a recorded hockey game, analysing every single move that every single player made.

Their house was nice—your standard upper-middle class house, complete with a nice fireplace, clean hardwood floors and big comfortable furniture. The house was modern, but cosy. It was open concept, with no wall between the kitchen, the living room and the dining room.

Wade’s wife, Laura, had prematurely decorated the house with Christmas decorations, and the whole house smelled of cloves, oranges and cinnamon.

There were photos everywhere of Michael in his hockey gear—and a few old photos of Wade in his prime, with a long mullet and a thin build.

“There—That,” Michael said, pausing and rewinding the video. He stopped it and hit play.

Wade looked up from his course work and watched. “What?”

“See the way he leans on his back foot, and then throws the wrister?” Michael asked.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand how he gets that power behind it, without pushing his weight to his front foot.”

“Look at his elbow,” Wade said.

Michael rewound the footage again.

“He pushes his top hand forward, instead of pulling it. It’s a subtle move—but because he’s reversing his weight transfer, he’s able to get the same power by reversing the leverage.”

Michael watched the clip over and over. “How the hell…”

“It’s easier for these lighter guys to pull it off. It isn’t easy for us bigger guys to balance on our off-foot like that.”

“Could you ever do that?” Michael asked.

“I wasn’t a shooter, Mike. I was like you. I was an enforcer.”

“Must have been nice to play back then…” Michael said with a hint of resentment in his voice.

“We did our share of adapting too.”

Ring! Ring!

The house phone began to ring.

“Can you answer that?” Laura called out from the kitchen as she prepared a late dinner.

The latest addition to the family—a three-year-old girl, began to cry in her upstairs bedroom. “Daddy!” she yelled. “Daddy! There’s a monster under my bed!”

Wade groaned as he pulled himself up to his feet. “Can you go check on Lily, Mike?”

“Sure,” Michael said, jumping up to his feet and hustling up the stairs.

Wade walked over to the telephone and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Fenner?” Connor asked.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Connor, from class.”

“Connor?”

“Connor Knight.”

“The late guy.”

“Yeah—I’m sorry about that.”

“What do you want?” Wade asked.

“I was wondering if you could give me a phone number…”

“What phone number?”

“Hanna’s—in our class. I can’t remember her last name.”

“I can’t give out phone numbers, Connor. I can lose my job.”

“Please, Mr. Fenner. It’s important. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m sorry, kid. Why is it so important?”

“I—I don’t know. I think she might be in trouble.”

“Why?” Wade asked.

“It’s just a feeling I have. I can’t really explain it.”

Wade groaned. “I really can’t help you here, bud.”

“Please—I’m really worried about her.”

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you call the police?”

Laura stepped into the living room as soon as she heard Wade say “police”. Laura was your classic “hockey mom”. She met Wade two decades before at a bar, after Wade’s team won a big game. At the time, she was young and wild—With a long platinum blonde mullet and colourful eye shadow.

In her youth, she was as thin as a twig. She loved hockey boys, and knew exactly which bars they frequented after their home games. You might say that she was a bit “slutty”, but she would tell you that it was within reason.

She was faithful to Wade, and Wade was faithful back. While every other hockey player was going from town to town, sleeping with every girl in sight, Wade was partying with Laura. Yes, they went at it like a couple of horny rabbits—but only ever with one another.

After a year of meeting, Laura became pregnant with Michael. Once the baby was born, Laura was left with most of the responsibility raising him, but she never resented Wade for being away. She was always proud of him—and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.

As the years went by, Laura’s hair remained long, and it remained platinum blonde, but she grew out the mullet. Her makeup became more practical, and, like Wade, she put on a few pounds over the years.

Together, Wade and Laura had three children—Michael, their oldest, Lily, their youngest, and Cassie, a girl they had just a couple of years after having Michael.

“Is everything okay?” Laura whispered

Wade nodded ‘yes’.

Laura receded back into the kitchen to continue cooking.

“And tell them what?” Connor asked.

“I don’t know, Connor. Why don’t you just drink a glass of water, and take a hot shower. Calm yourself down.”

Wade could hear Connor sigh through the phone. “Thanks anyway, Mr. Fenner,” Connor said.

“Don’t forget to do your homework. And don’t be late again!”

Connor hung up the phone.

Wade groaned, and placed the phone back in the holster.

“Who was that, honey?” Laura asked.

“Some kid from my night class.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know—I think he was on drugs. All these kids do these days are drugs.”

“Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Where’s Cassie?” Wade asked.

“She’s out at a friend’s house.”

“It’s almost midnight. Why is she still out?” Wade said passionately.

“It’s a sleep over, Wade. I told her it was okay.”

Wade took a breath and relaxed. “I just worry—with that psychopath running around and all...”

Laura laughed. “I wouldn’t worry too much—She’s more mature than you or me.”

Michael ran down the stairs, ready for dinner. “Who was on the phone?” he asked.

“This Connor kid in my class,” Wade replied.

“Connor? Connor who?”

“Connor Knight—I think his name is.”

“Connor Knight? Tall kid with brown hair and blue eyes?”

“Yeah—You know him?”

“Yeah—we were friends growing up. Don’t you remember taking me to his birthday parties?”

“Connor Knight?” Wade asked.

“Yeah—We were on the same hockey team, and in the same grade.”

Wade tried hard to remember.

Connor and Michael had in fact been good friends growing up. They were both on skates before they could walk, and for nearly fourteen years, they played together on the same team.

They were the only two kids in their age division to make Snowbrooke’s Junior A team. A quick Internet search of either of their names will show both of them together, at the top of the ranks, year after year.

Professional hockey scouts came from across the country to take a peek at the young hockey stars playing. They were friends, but also competitors. Connor was always the one who caught the more serious attention of the scouts—he had always been the more naturally gifted one of the two.

Despite being close friends, Michael had always resented Connor’s effortless skill. Michael spent over one-hundred hours every week training—on ice and off ice. He stuck to a careful and strict diet plan, and he spent hours watching replays in order to hone his skills.

Connor, on the other hand, never had to try. He never drank protein shakes, and he rarely went to the gym to work out. He never spent entire nights shooting pucks in his garage, and he never stayed late after practice. He never had to.

He would simply show up and win.

Connor had always taken his skill for granted. He had always been blind to the efforts of others.

Connor received a major reality slap the day he was kicked off of the team, and Michael was quick to claim his spot on the throne.

The two friends drifted apart. They stopped talking to one another. Connor secretly resented Michael for taking his glory, and Michael secretly resented Connor for squandering his skill.

But despite his resentment, when Connor heard about Michael’s injury, he felt terrible. He knew how hard Michael worked, and he knew how it felt to have something you love pulled away from you.

The two hockey players never reconnected their friendship.