Her Winter of Darkness

by Melinda Woodhall

But what then? Where would I go? How would I survive the forest?

  A hand settled over her shoulder, pushing her forward, as if he could sense her rebellious thoughts. She looked down to see the Professor wasn’t wearing his usual glove. Instead a bandage had been wrapped around his three remaining fingers.

  “Don’t try anything foolish while I’m gone.”

  Pulling open the hatch, the professor stepped back and motioned for her to descend the ladder. She raised her eyes to his, sensing something was different. His voice was filled with anger, but she thought she could hear something else as well. Was it regret?

  Skylar wondered again what the Professor had seen on the computer that had caused such a violent reaction. Whatever it had been, it had rattled him badly.

  Her eyes must have betrayed her concern, and he scowled as he gestured again toward the opening in the floor.

  “Go on, you’ll be safe down there while I’m gone.”

  Lowering herself onto the ladder, Skylar had the unsettling feeling that once she got to the bottom, she would never set foot on the ladder again. She descended with a heavy heart, weighted down by the possibility that the professor would never return.

  The Professor retracted the ladder then stared down at her, one hand on the hatch, ready to close the only means of escape from her underground prison.

  “Whatever happens while I’m gone, don’t leave the safe room. If you make it outside the wall, the cold or the animals will kill you.”

  It was a familiar warning. One he’d issued many times before. But this time his ominous words sent a shiver through her.

  “Are you coming back?”

  The hoarse words escaped before she could stop them. He paused, as if surprised, then nodded.

  “I’ll be back.”

  Instead of closing the hatch, he continued to stare down at her.

  “You’re different than the others,” he finally said, in a voice she’d rarely heard him use. “You’ve been taught to be obedient, and to follow orders. You know better than to run.”

  Nodding at his words, Skylar felt hope. Maybe he’d change his mind about locking her in the safe room. Maybe if she promised not to escape, he’d let her stay upstairs while he was away.

  His next words killed any hope she had.

  “So, remember, for your own safety, don’t ever try to leave.”

  The hatch swung closed, shutting out the natural light and throwing Skylar into pitch-black darkness. She didn’t bother to feel around for the chain above her as she made her way toward her small room. There was no need for light. She knew the way by heart.

  Feeling her way to the little cot by the wall, Skylar folded herself into a fetal position and willed herself to go to sleep. Maybe she could sleep until the Professor returned.

  And maybe if the Professor never returns, I’ll be like the women in my dreams. The ones who sleep forever and never come back.

  Chapter Seven

  The Professor checked the lock on the hatch again, then stomped over to his desk, still cursing himself for taking out Astrid Peterson without thinking through the consequences. His shock and fury at the news he’d seen had clouded his judgement.

  It isn’t every day you find out the woman who ruined your life and betrayed you has come back from the dead. And that the traitorous bitch is safe and well and enjoying the sunny Florida weather.

  But no matter how justified his outrage, the Professor knew he should have thought through the business repercussions before he’d destroyed what would have been a very lucrative transaction.

  Dropping heavily into his chair, the Professor banged both hands on his desk, then winced as his bruised fingers throbbed under the bandage in response.

  The stupid girl almost broke my fucking fingers.

  Astrid Peterson’s near escape had come at the worst possible time. After almost two years of effort, the Professor had finally admitted to himself that his attempt to tame her into compliance had failed, and he’d quickly found a buyer willing to pay a small fortune for her.

  The young college student had been a rare find. She’d been the most valuable woman the Professor had managed to get a hold of in many years. She wasn’t like most of the women he routinely trafficked in. She wasn’t a wasted addict, or a used-up pro.

  The fresh-faced innocence that made Astrid so valuable had also allowed the Professor to lure her into his car and had led to her ultimate fate. She’d been naïve, and she’d ended up in the wrong place, at the wrong time, trusting the wrong man.

  But the Professor knew he’d also been foolish. His excitement at catching such a valuable prize had clouded his judgment, persuading him to keep Astrid for himself, rather than sell her on right away.

  I must be getting old and soft. I should have known better. After everything that happened, I still haven’t learned my lesson when it comes to lying, ungrateful women.

  Resisting the urge to pound the desk again, the Professor sucked in a deep cleansing breath, reassuring himself that he’d only done what was necessary to clean up his mistake.

  Once Astrid got past the front door and the gate, what choice did I have?

  Besides, he’d been worried that her defiant attitude would rub off on Skylar. He didn’t want the younger girl to get any ideas.

  Pulling the keyboard toward him, the Professor couldn’t resist clicking through the pictures he’d saved from the Channel Ten News website. His teeth clenched as he studied the crowd of people cheering at the campaign rally.

  He zoomed in on a familiar face, his chest tightening as he studied the face of the woman who had haunted him for so long. Only she wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t a ghost. The woman was alive and well in Willow Bay, Florida.

  And while I’ve been freezing my ass off up here for decades, she moved to the sunshine state. Probably laughed the whole way down there, too.

  Forcing himself to close the window, he navigated to the darknet message board he’d set up to communicate with his suppliers and buyers. Men whose business dealings required total anonymity.

  It was one of his contacts on the darknet board who had suggested he visit the Channel Ten website. A reporter was stirring up trouble for his partners down in South Florida and he thought the Professor might want to check it out.

  That was when the Professor realized that twenty-eight years earlier he had been deceived in the worst possible way. Even though he knew the pictures didn’t lie, it was still hard for him to believe it.

  My wife isn’t dead…and our daughter is alive, too.

  Refusing to let the rage take over again, the Professor scrolled through the darknet board, looking for the user that would help him put his plan into motion. The darknet board he’d started was increasingly active and allowed the Professor to act as a middleman, connecting potential buyers with sellers of illicit goods and services.

  Most of the time he remained cloaked in the virtual shadows of the darknet, but sometimes he’d agree to be more hands on, and his long-haul truck allowed the transport of particularly lucrative or interesting cargo from one side of the country to the other if needed.

  Often storing drugs or weapons at the compound he’d escaped to in the Bitterroot Valley all those years ago, the Professor doubted anyone would blame him for bringing some of the human cargo back to the compound to wait until a buyer was found.

  His eyes found the username he was looking for. Diablo had been posting to the message board for the last several months, and his boasts about his operation had caught the professor’s attention.

  Although the message board users couldn’t be traced via their IP address, the Professor was skilled at getting users to reveal personal details that often allowed him to uncover their true identities.

  Preferring to know exactly who he was dealing with, the Professor would spend hours following a lead, while at the same time making sure to divulge nothing about himself. He’d been in hiding for the last twenty-eight years, and he considered himself an expert at it.
<
br />   He clicked on the post by Diablo that had alerted him to the Channel Ten News reports and typed in a reply.

  Interesting video. Looks like you have a problem down there, but I may be able to help you. Of course, I’d need a little favor in return.

  The Professor waited a few minutes, then logged off.

  It might take time for Diablo to get back to him, but that was okay. He already knew the man’s real identity, and he had enough dirt on him to ensure his cooperation, although he doubted too much pressure would be needed.

  Based on what he knew about the man, the Professor was confident they could work out a mutually beneficial arrangement. And he had plenty of work to do in the meantime. The truck needed to be loaded, and he had a long drive ahead of him.

  Shrugging on his parka and pulling on his gloves, the Professor made his way through the back yard toward the old barn. He went straight to the big chest freezer and opened the lid, looking down at Astrid’s stiff, alabaster skin without remorse.

  I told her not to run. She should have listened.

  He closed the lid and fastened the latch, deciding he would need the moving dolly and loading ramp to get the heavy freezer into the truck. And with his damaged hand, it wasn’t going to be easy, but in the end his pain and effort would pay off.

  Twenty minutes later the truck was loaded, and he sat in the driver’s seat, ready to roll.

  Reaching his good hand into his pocket, he pulled out two laminated school ID cards and studied them. The newer one was still in good shape, but the older card was cracked and faded.

  He stared down at the woman who’d promised to love, honor, and obey him. It had taken him over two decades, but he was determined to keep the oath he’d made the last time they’d been together.

  If you ever leave me, I swear I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.

  Chapter Eight

  Veronica peered through her bedroom window, grimacing at the hint of frost on the glass. Raised in South Florida, she’d never gotten used to the occasional cold spells that descended in January and February, and the overcast sky prompted a groan as she pulled her red coat off a hanger.

  “I think I need a new coat, Winston. Our viewers must be getting sick of seeing me in the same old thing every day this week.”

  The big orange tabby blinked up at her from his spot on the windowsill, clearly content with his own thick coat of fur.

  Grabbing her purse and phone, Veronica hurried down the stairs. She’d slept in later than intended after Hunter had joined her and her mother for a late dinner the night before.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee drew her to the kitchen, and Veronica found herself smiling as she entered the warm room, remembering Hunter’s tall figure stooped next to her mother’s tiny body last night as she washed and he dried the dishes.

  Hunter had been coming over more often lately, and it felt good to have a man in the house after all the years of it just being her and her mother. The man she’d assumed was out of her league when they’d first met, had proven to be a natural fit with her little family.

  “Morning, Ma. Aren’t you late for school?”

  Ling Lee smiled at her daughter over the front page of the Willow Bay Gazette. She was still in her bathrobe and her dark hair, usually pulled back in a neat bun, was loose around her small shoulders.

  “I took the morning off to take care of some campaign business,” Ling said, her eyes returning to the paper. “I’ll go in after lunch.”

  Veronica was pleased to see her mother so content, and glad that she was taking her run for mayor seriously. The election was only a few weeks away, although Ling didn’t appear to be at all worried.

  Pouring a hot stream of coffee into a thermos, Veronica decided she’d have to eat breakfast on the run. Three days had passed since she’d talked to Nessa and Agent Marlowe about Astrid Peterson’s disturbing comment, and she wanted to stop by the police station before heading into work.

  Unable to get Astrid Peterson out of her mind, Veronica had spent hours poring over the news reports and researching the tragic story of the college student’s sudden disappearance from her Montana campus. She was more certain than ever that the girl must have been taken against her will, and that she was still alive and needed help.

  Veronica stepped out of the warm house into the chilly air, pulling her coat around her as she hurried to her Jeep. She knew the weather in Willow Bay was mild compared to most cities at this time of year, but that didn’t stop her from turning the Jeep’s heater to full blast as she backed out onto Marigold Lane.

  Her phone buzzed as she prepared to turn onto Waterside Drive.

  “Hi Finn, what’s up?”

  “Hey, Ronnie, I just took a message from a girl named Ruby Chase. She says she has information you may be interested in. Something to do with the trafficking series.”

  Dread settled in Veronica’s chest at the thought of yet another young girl who had a story of abuse and violence to tell. Ever since she’d started the special series, she’d been getting calls from women who’d been targeted by traffickers.

  Women who were too scared or ashamed to tell their own family about their ordeal, but who desperately needed to tell someone their story, and who wanted to do their part in stopping other women from falling into the same trap.

  “She asked you to go by and see her,” Finn continued. “Apparently she’s in rehab at a place downtown called Hope House.”

  “Yes, I know where that is,” Veronica said, already steering the Jeep toward the exit lane. “I’ll swing by there first. Then I plan to go by the WBPD and see if they have an update on Astrid Peterson.”

  Turning into the Hope House parking lot ten minutes later, Veronica parked in a Visitors Only space and hurried through the glass doors, wondering if she should show her press badge at the reception desk.

  A familiar face smiled at her from the doorway of a large meeting room as a group of men took their seats in a wide circle of chairs. Reggie Horn crossed the lobby, her high heels clicking a hurried beat against the hard floor as she moved to intercept Veronica.

  “It’s good to see you, Veronica, but we don’t allow press in the facility without prior arrangement. I’m sure you can understand; it’s a privacy concern for our patients and their families.”

  “I’m actually here at the request of a patient, Dr. Horn. A girl named Ruby Chase called and asked me to visit her.”

  Reggie’s face registered surprise, then concern.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  Hearing a quiet voice behind her, Veronica turned to face a young woman in faded jeans and an oversized t-shirt. She was pale, with dark circles under puffy eyes and fading bruises on her arms.

  “Ruby, I don’t think you’re ready to give any interviews, and-”

  “Maybe we could just talk,” Veronica interrupted, watching as Ruby’s eyes darted around the room. “I’ll consider our conversation to be off the record. No cameras, and no mention on the news, I promise.”

  Reggie looked toward the meeting room with anxious eyes.

  “Okay, I’m scheduled to lead a meeting now, but you two can sit in the rec room and talk. I’ll check on you as soon as I’m done.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Horn.”

  Veronica glanced over the director’s shoulder toward the meeting room and frowned.

  “I didn’t know Hope House also treated male patients.”

  “Well, our residential program doesn’t,” Reggie said, moving her small body in front of Veronica as if she was trying to shield the men in the room from view. “But we host NA and AA meetings here for anyone in the community who wants to attend. The attendees expect anonymity and privacy, of course.”

  Watching as Reggie returned to the meeting room, Veronica glimpsed the back of a large man perched awkwardly on a straight-backed chair. Something about him seemed familiar, but the door closed before she could get a clear view.
/>   “The rec room’s through there.”

  Ruby led Veronica down the hall into a brightly lit room. Several women sat around the television watching a talk show as Ruby made her way between the tables to a corner alcove.

  Sinking into a comfortable chair next to Ruby, Veronica studied the girl’s face, trying to see past the puffy eyes and bruises.

  “So, how’d you end up here, Ruby?” Veronica asked, deciding it would be best to jump right in. “What’s your story?”

  Ruby dropped her eyes and hesitated, as if wondering where to start, or maybe unsure what was safe to tell.

  “Anything you say here stays between me and you, Ruby,” Veronica assured her. “And I don’t want you to say anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

  Nodding her head, Ruby kept her eyes on the floor as she began to speak in a trembling voice.

  “I got hooked on pills back home. Things got…bad, so when I turned eighteen, I took off.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture and swallowed hard.

  “I ended up trusting the wrong person and got picked up by Diablo’s guys.”

  Veronica sat forward at Ruby’s words. She’d heard many rumors about the ruthless leader of the trafficking ring operating in South Florida. So far Veronica couldn’t be sure if Diablo was a real man, or just a myth used to scare the gang’s victim’s into compliance.

  “This man…this Diablo. Did you ever see him?”

  The question prompted Ruby to lift her eyes.

  “I saw him, all right,” she murmured. “He was yelling at the men to load the truck the day I managed to get out of the compound.”

  “The compound? What kind of compound where you in?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Ruby tried to explain.

  “It was like a prison compound or maybe a military camp,” she said, shaking her head at the memory. “There was a fence all around with barbed wire and everything. Some of the guys were walking around with guns.”

  Veronica felt a twinge of doubt at the image Ruby’s words conjured. Could the traffickers have set up a secret prison camp in the area without being detected?