"Holy … " Doug began, taking two steps backward, his throat going dry. A cold deeper than the chill of the air dug into his heart. "I'm not … this can't … "
He couldn't finish a sentence.
One of them glanced slowly at him, ice-dark eyes upon him, and the frozen surface of its face cracked in a jagged smile of such malevolence that he felt a screaming terror awaken within him, a terror he hadn't known since he'd lain in the dark as a little boy, unable to breathe for fear of the dark whisper that he believed he'd heard beneath his bed.
The wind shrieked, snow stung his eyes, and as he blinked it away his terrified paralysis snapped. He turned to race after Baxter and Franco, and saw another one off to the left, in among the high, bare branches of the trees. It darted down through the branches toward Baxter and Doug felt fresh terror blossom in his chest. Impossible. It was all impossible.
But somewhere in the primal core of his brain he believed what he'd seen, because his hands were already moving. He tugged off one glove and reached for the gun tucked into the rear of his waistband, shouting for Baxter to look up.
Franco had stopped and turned, but he hadn't seen the thing in the trees. He was staring into the sky … into the storm.
Doug glanced up into the blizzard and saw others overhead, riding the wind, falling with the snow, moving out across Coventry like frozen angels.
Off to his right, the swing-set hinges creaked, and he spun to see the things sliding toward him through the falling snow.
Behind him, Franco began to scream.
Isaac had gotten his way after all. Jake had tried to take him into the basement, where he had a stack of old board games like Life and Monopoly and Pictionary, but it was cold down there and growing colder now that the power had gone out. With flashlights and extra batteries and thick blankets, plus a goose-down comforter that had once belonged to their mother, the Schapiro brothers had retreated to the closet and bundled themselves up. When the games had grown too boring for Isaac, Jake had decided to read to his little brother. Now they were a third of the way through The Westing Game and every few pages Jake would forget what they were doing there, forget what they were hiding from, forget that Isaac was dead and his ghost possessing the body of a little boy for whom the whole town had been searching.
Nobody was looking for him right now, of course. They had at least until the blizzard ended before they needed to worry about anyone continuing the search for Zachary Stroud. Tomorrow morning, when it had all passed and the cleanup begun, they would worry about what to do next.
"You'll love this part," Jake said, smiling in the glow of his flashlight off the page. "Turtle is the best."
Isaac didn't reply. Jake continued reading, but after a moment he heard a quiet sniffle and he looked up to see Isaac weeping in the yellow glow.
"Hey, Ikey, no," Jake said, putting the book aside. He reached for his brother and pulled him close. "It's okay, little bro. I've got you."
Isaac shivered in his arms, as if the cold that had crept inside him could never be warmed. When he spoke, his voice was choked with tears.
"You don't understand," Isaac said. "I missed so much. You're so … you're old, now, and I'm still just me, and I missed so, so much."
"Ssshh, it's okay," Jake whispered, as his heart clenched and his own tears began to flow. "It's okay."
Isaac shoved him away and punched him in the chest, face red and twisted with anger.
"It's not okay!" he cried. "You're not-"
Eyes widening, Isaac cut himself off, glancing in terror at the closet door, visibly holding his breath and waiting for some terrible repercussion to come from his raising his voice. Seconds passed and Jake only stared at him, until at last he reached out and gripped his brother's wrist and squeezed. Isaac met his gaze, eyes still wild with fear.
"I told you. It's okay. We'll have time together now."
Isaac looked at him and for the first time Jake saw not only fear but real sorrow, aged and steeped in painful wisdom. They were the eyes of innocence lost.
"I'm not afraid just for me," Isaac whispered, cradling his flashlight against his chest as if he wanted to curl into a ball and pretend he could not be seen. "The ice men take all the heat from inside you. That's what happens when they kill you, Jakey. It's like they drink it all up, your heat. And then you belong to them, even after you don't have a body anymore, and they keep drinking from you, like forever."
Isaac took Jake's hands in his own, crying softly.
"I don't want what happened to me to happen to you," he said.
Jake could not muster a reply. Instead he shuddered and pulled Isaac to him again, the two of them under the blankets and comforter. They sat back against the wall with only each other for protection, both of them listening to the storm howling outside and staring at the closet door, hoping it would not come in.
Allie regained consciousness on the sofa in her living room, damp and cold and with a headache that started between her eyes and radiated in branches across her skull. She had a few seconds to wonder why her blouse was wet and then she heard a rustling noise and gentle footsteps and she shot upright, turning to see someone coming toward her. Her heart jumped and then she exhaled as she recognized her visitor.
"Miri," she said. "It really is you."
"It's me," Miri replied. "I made you a cup of tea, Ms. Schapiro-"
"Allie, please. And you didn't have to … "
Her words trailed off. Allie watched as Miri set the steaming mug of tea down on the coffee table and connections slammed together in her brain. She had seen Miri outside in the snow. That hadn't been her imagination. Allie touched the front of her blouse and felt the damp fabric and an image fluttered through her mind, the snow rushing up to greet her, the sensation of falling.
"I fainted," she said, staring at the teacup.
"Yes."
Slowly, she drew her gaze from the cup and studied Miri, the dark curls of her hair, her copper eyes like bright pennies, her tentative smile, hopeful, and full of worry.
"I saw … " Allie began, and then she began to shake. Her hands trembled and she pressed them together, lacing her fingers as if afraid the pieces of her-broken for so long-might fall apart after all these years. She pressed her eyes shut and fought the tide of confusion and fear and hope long enough to speak the words.
"I saw Niko," she whispered. "I saw your father, out in the storm. I think I'm going crazy."
She felt Miri settling onto the sofa beside her. The girl took her hand but she kept her eyes tightly shut.
"You did," Miri said. "And I'm so glad you did, because it means that I'm not going crazy."
Allie opened her eyes, turning to stare at Miri.
"That can't be. We both know-"
"And we both saw. He's here, Allie. Here with us, right now."
Allie scooted back on the sofa until she could retreat no farther, glancing anxiously around the living room at the floral drapes and the unused hearth and the doorways that led to the foyer on one side and the kitchen on the other.
She let out a shuddering breath as a door slammed shut in her mind. The image she'd seen in the storm had to have been someone else.
But he was transparent. The snow passed through him. He was-
Her imagination.
Allie glared at Miri. "Why are you doing this? What do you want? It's hard enough for me when it snows like this. You know that. After what we all went through, I can't believe you would-"
Something shifted in the shadows near the old fireplace.
"She wouldn't," someone said in a low rustle of air. "You know she wouldn't."
Allie covered her mouth, eyes wide, trembling with the urge to scream or flee or weep with joy, or perhaps even all three. The thing in the shadows could not have been called a man; it was barely more than a silhouette. A phantom.
"Oh my god," she said behind her hand.
She wanted to faint and yet refused to allow herself to do so. She feared even closing her eyes, worried that the ghost would be gone when she opened them.
"Niko?" she said, her eyes filling with tears, her heart breaking all over again, pain as fresh as it had been that night twelve years past when she had lost her love and her baby at the same time.
A ghost, she understood, was a terrible thing. It gave her the pleasure of seeing his face and hearing his voice one more time, but he had only the specter of life in his eyes. Seeing the ghost of the man she'd loved felt like an assault, a mocking reminder of all that she had lost when he and Isaac had died, not just love and joy but her faith in the world and her hope for a future she would never have.
"Why?" she whispered.
The ghost hung his head, but not before she saw the pain in his eyes and knew that he understood that his presence was not welcome, that he had hurt her.
"You have lost so much," Niko's ghost said, his voice a gentle touch. "I would never wish you more pain. But there will be much more if nothing is done. Others will die, maybe others you love."
"Daddy, what are you talking about?" Miri asked, gripping Allie's hand.
"Jake told you the truth," the ghost said, sliding nearer, emerging from the shadows. "The ice men are real. And they're here."