Under the Ice

by Aaron Paul Lazar

When he saw me, his face darkened and his eyes blazed. “She’s mine!” he growled, treading water and pulling her closer.

  Was he truly mad?

  He thrashed in an ice cold bath of water, with certain death imminent, yet he risked killing them both in order to preserve his parental rights.

  No question about it. The guy’s a psycho.

  I inched forward on my stomach, beside Joe, and heard the ice crack beneath me. “Greg, save her,” I yelled. “She’s your daughter, for God’s sake.”

  He uttered a heartless bray. “No way. You’re not getting her.” He pulled Shelby closer to him, trying to jerk her loose from Joe’s iron grip.

  Shelby screeched. “Dad!”

  Greg growled again, jerking her harder. “He’s NOT your father!”

  Joe held tight and was dragged partway into the water. Shelby’s face went under, then bobbed up again.

  Anger surged through me. “Shoot him, Joe,” I yelled. “For God’s sakes, he’s gonna drown her!”

  Shelby heard me. Through chattering teeth she screamed, “Shoot him!”

  Joe had to let her go to grab his gun. Before he could aim and fire, Greg flashed an evil smile and sank under the surface. Shelby gasped and gurgled a scream when he pulled her under behind him.

  I was about to jump in after them, but Joe shoved me out of the way and rolled over the edge into the open water. The lake boiled in action for a moment, and to my horror, Joe’s face disappeared, then appeared again beneath the crystal clear ice beneath me. I plunged my arms into the water, scrambled around the jagged edge searching for him, and snatched the arm of his coat.

  The ice cracked again. Ignoring it, I pulled harder this time, and somehow jerked and pulled until I towed him back out into the open water.

  Shelby was in his arms, without Greg Robinson attached.

  Joe sputtered and coughed and pushed Shelby toward the ice shelf where he’d climbed in. She coughed violently and flailed her arms in the water. I thanked God she was alive, knowing that exposure to such cold water could kill people. Really fast.

  I seized Shelby under her arms and dragged her out of the water, sliding her away from the hole. When I knew she was safe, I turned to get Joe. “Come on, buddy. Your turn.”

  He drew back from me, looking spooked.

  What the hell? Did he want to die like his wife Jean had, so many years ago?

  “Joe, cut the crap. Give me your arm.”

  I leaned over the edge and grabbed for him. After struggling for a few seconds, I latched onto him and heaved him out.

  Shelby rolled to her side, coughing up lake water, and I heard Joe doing the same. I slid toward her and helped her to her knees. Deep coughs wracked her body. I covered her with my own coat, although the sleeves were dripping wet.

  The three of us panted on the cold slab of ice. My arms ached, and I could only imagine how it must have felt to be immersed in the water for even a few minutes.

  Vapor rose from our wet bodies. The warm wind whistled in sharp counterpoint to the water lapping against the edge of the ice hole. Lightning flashed to the west, followed closely by a deep rumble of thunder. A branch blew across the lake from the shore, tap dancing on the glassy surface, tumbling past us.

  Joe shook his head, moaned, and got to his knees. He stood, and then reached down to help me up. We both grabbed Shelby by the arms and stood her up on her wobbly legs. After a few tentative steps, we leaned into the strong, warm wind and headed back to the cabin, leaving Greg Robinson to crystallize under the ice.

  Chapter 66

  Shelby’s legs went out from under her after a few tentative steps.

  I scooped her into my arms. She sobbed against me, saying “you’re my real father,” and “I’m so sorry” and “Oh my God, he’s dead.”

  My heart ached for her.

  Camille and Adam met us halfway back to the house. The wind had picked up, stronger and warmer. Camille said something, but her words were buried in the sound of rumbling thunder. Lightning flashed, closer this time.

  She threw her arms around Shelby. “My baby! Oh God, you saved her.”

  Shelby slid out of my grasp and fell into her mother’s arms.

  The ice beneath us cracked.

  Joe and I exchanged horrified glances. Lightning flared and then ripped along the far shore.

  “Come on,” I said. “We have to get to shore.”

  It cracked again, louder this time.

  I motioned for everyone to move sideways. “Hurry, and spread out. We have to lighten the load.”

  The wind pushed hard against our backs. A plastic trash can shot past us. Lightning crashed and thunder roared overhead, and the skies opened up, pouring cold rain onto the lake.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Adam shouted.

  Camille, Shelby and I hurried toward the shore. Joe and Adam relocated to the outside of our perimeter to redistribute the weight. We reached the cabin and stepped onto the gravel beach. Lightning exploded three houses down, splintering a tree that leaned over the frozen lake. It flamed upward, then crashed through the ice, bobbing and sizzling in the water.

  “Inside, now!” Joe yelled. We hurried up the deck steps and tumbled into the dry cabin just as another crack of lightning struck nearby.

  Camille dragged Shelby into the bathroom near the kitchen. I followed close behind. Shivering with blue lips, the girl let her mother pull off her sodden sweater. I flipped down the lid and guided Shelby to the commode seat, where I untied her wet shoes with trembling fingers.

  Camille dabbed at a cut on Shelby’s cheek. “Start the bath, Gus. Then see if you can find some clothes for her.”

  I leaned over and twisted the faucet, wiggling my fingers in the stream of water until it ran warm, and dropped the rubber plug into the drain hole. Several clean towels lay over the steel rod on the wall. I pulled them down and lay them on the chair beside the tub.

  “Camille?” I waited until she looked up at me. “What about you? Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be okay when she’s okay. We can deal with me later.” Her voice cracked and I knew she was perilously close to a full-fledged breakdown.

  “Okay. Let me know when you’re done. I’ll go look for those clothes.”

  Joe sat in the living room. Adam had draped him with a thick blanket, and I actually smiled, thinking the Southwest pattern made Joe look like an Indian brave.

  Adam turned on the tap in the nearby kitchenette and filled a kettle with water. “Tea or coffee, men?” Although his tone was light, he looked exhausted.

  We all needed rest. Even though it was only eight-thirty, I felt as if I could pass out on the floor with little effort.

  Joe looked up from his cocoon. “Any hot chocolate in there?”

  I peeled off my wet chamois shirt and hung it on the coat rack. “I’ll check, buddy.”

  Joe’s salt and pepper hair was still damp. His broad shoulders hunched forward and he gripped the blanket with reddened hands. I wanted to thank him, but knew it was best to wait.

  I walked through the house again, this time poking into all the rooms, including all three bedrooms. One small room, behind the living room, held two twin beds and a long closet that spanned an entire wall. I searched among the clothes, which were mostly sweaters and jackets, but in the far corner, I found two oversized terrycloth robes. They were old, but clean. I threw them over my arm and continued to search.

  Squeezed into the second bedroom was a queen-sized bed and bureau. I pulled open the top drawer and hit the jackpot. A dozen pair of clean white socks lay in an unopened package. They were men’s, but would warm both Joe’s and Shelby’s feet. In the next drawer were two pairs of flannel pajamas. I checked the tag and found them to be size forty-four. Definitely big enough for Joe. I grabbed a pair.

  The final room, where we’d found Camille tied to the bed, held a tall bureau. I pulled it open and found a variety of jeans and sweaters that appeared to belong to a young girl. I grabbed a pair of sweat pants and
a sweatshirt, guessing they’d fit Shelby.

  I’d passed a second bathroom on the way and investigated. There was a shower stall and clean towels on the shelf. I hung the robe and pajamas on the hook, set one pair of socks on the sink, and started the water for Joe.

  Adam helped Joe up, much to his embarrassment.

  “I’m fine,” he spluttered.

  He didn’t look fine. He looked blue-gray. And every so often, he shuddered. I helped him toward the bathroom, too. He fussed a bit, but let us take his arms. When he was all set, Adam and I returned to the living room. An empty fireplace darkened the western wall.

  “I saw some firewood under the deck,” I said. “Be right back.”

  Adam had crumpled newspapers in the bottom of the grate by the time I returned with an armload of semi-dry logs and twigs. I’d dug down in the pile to find the driest, and hurried inside. The rain and wind were still strong, although the lightning had moved offshore again.

  Rain dripped from my hair down my face. I swiped at it and knelt before the hearth, setting kindling and logs above a nest of newspapers. I lit the match, started the blaze, and watched it take. Relieved, I drew the screens and stood up. My tee shirt and arms were soaked. I grabbed some paper towels from the kitchen to dry my face and hands so as not to bother the bathers in their respective bathrooms.

  Camille stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Gus? We’re ready. Did you find anything?”

  “Right here. Hope they fit her.” I handed them to her.

  Her head and hand disappeared. “Thanks.”

  I was hit by a sudden thought. I hadn’t called home yet. I figured Siegfried, Freddie, Maddy, and Mrs. Pierce would be worried sick.

  I reached for my cell phone, swiped the screen, and tapped our home number.

  Freddie answered on the first ring. “Dad?”

  “It’s me, baby. Listen, we’re okay. We’ve got both of them, and they’re gonna be fine.”

  Freddie covered the phone for a moment and relayed the information to the crowd around her. Maddy shrieked in relief and I heard Siegfried cry out in German.

  I quickly briefed Freddie, ending the call when two loud crashes came from the road above. There was a loud whooshing sound, followed by crackles of electricity.

  The lights went out.

  Shelby shrieked from the bathroom.

  Adam glanced up from his own phone. “Okay, sir. We’ll stay put. He looked out the window and finished his conversation. “Looks like we lost a few more telephone poles on the road above, so I don’t think we’re getting out of here anytime soon, anyway. Could you notify the fire department for us? I see downed wires up there, and they’re live.” He listened for a minute. “Yes, sir. We’ll wait ‘til the locals arrive. Morning? At best?”

  Adam looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. We’d be safer here than on the roads.

  “Okay, sir. Looks like we can ride out the storm right here.”

  He closed his phone and plopped down on the couch. The glow of the fire illuminated his tired eyes.

  “Hungry?” I asked.

  He looked up in surprise. “Heck, yeah.”

  In spite of the fact that I didn’t know which rich benefactor had given Greg the use of the cabin, I decided to make myself right at home. Heck, the guy owed us. Providing shelter for a criminal, one who had kidnapped my daughter and wife, would be actionable.

  I grabbed the flashlight that had rolled over to the window when we’d burst into the house earlier.

  “Let me find some candles, then I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

  Joe walked into the room in pajamas and robe. The robe sleeves were a little short, but all in all, the clothes worked.

  “Did I hear someone mention food?”

  His cheeks were pink from the shower. He shuffled over to the fire and spread his hands to warm them.

  “You did. Settle down on the couch there. I’ll get the girls and then see what I can find in the kitchen.”

  Chapter 67

  I handed Camille the flashlight after locating and lighting a number of candles. They spluttered and wavered in the breeze when we moved past them.

  She settled Shelby on the chair opposite the fireplace, tucking a quilt around her knees. “Here, baby. Sit here with Adam and Joe until I bring you something hot to eat, okay?”

  Shelby touched her mother’s sleeve. “Okay, Mom. But you should take care of yourself first.” She pointed to the cut on her mother’s forehead.

  Camille shrugged. “I’ll be fine, honey.”

  I took my wife’s arm and walked with her to the kitchen. She felt tight in my grip, as if she wanted to shake me off.

  I glanced sideways at her. “Honey?”

  “Not now, Gus.” She pulled away from me and began violently opening cabinets and slamming them shut.

  “Will you let me take a look at you?” I asked gently. “You’re still bleeding.”

  “I’m okay. Let’s get some food into them first.” Her lips compressed in a tight line.

  How could I blame her for pulling away, for not wanting to talk to me? The man who had abused her for years had done it again. And he’d also done the unthinkable—he’d targeted Shelby and nearly drowned her. Camille must feel shattered inside. It would take time for her to get over this, and no magical words from me would help.

  Not yet, at least.

  While the kettle boiled, I found the hot chocolate Adam had set on the counter and got to work. The stove ran on gas and the cabin’s water supply had to be fed by the town water lines, because it was still running from the faucets, so we weren’t at the mercy of an electric well pump like ours at home. With firewood, running water, and a gas stove, we’d be comfortable, even in the power outage.

  Searching for something easy to make for a meal, I hit pay dirt in the cabinet by the refrigerator. “Camille, look.” I lined up two large cans of beef stew on the counter.

  “That’ll work.” She nodded toward me and brandished a loaf of Italian bread. “Found this in the freezer. Want to make garlic toast?” She didn’t smile.

  “Perfect. Did you find anything to drink? Canned juices? Anything like that?”

  “Not yet.” She rummaged some more.

  I found a can opener and started to heat up the stew, then grabbed a tub of margarine out of the fridge. In the spice rack, I located an old container of powdered garlic. It would have to do.

  I smeared the bread with butter and sprinkled it with garlic and salt. Under the broiler, it quickly bubbled and browned. I set up the meal on the trestle table.

  The aroma of the garlic bread drew everyone into the room. Camille opened a few bottles of sparkling water she’d snagged from a cabinet under the sink and filled plastic tumblers with it.

  Everyone was quiet, eating eagerly. Camille’s eyes defocused and her hands shook when she raised her spoon to her lips.

  When we finished, I tried again. “Honey? I’d like to clean that cut.”

  She nodded as if she were in another world, then limped after me to the bathroom. I found some clean towels in the closet and laid them on the sink.

  “Sit here, sweetheart.”

  She sat on the commode and I perched on the edge of the tub. Moistening the corner of a towel, I began to gently swab her face.

  She flinched when I touched her. Her eyes brimmed and spilled over. “Sorry, Gus.” She touched my hand. “Is he really dead?”

  “Yes.” I reached a tentative hand out to her. “He’s gone, sweetheart. He’ll never hurt you again.”

  Her eyes registered the truth, then she collapsed against me. “He kicked me and hit me. Just like before. I thought he was going to hurt Shelby, too.”

  “He almost killed her, the bastard,” I said.

  She shook against me. “I know. My biggest fear all these years was that he’d come back and hurt my baby.”

  I murmured consoling phrases, and she wept against my chest.

  When the tears were spent, she dried her eyes with
a towel, then stood up and studied her face in the mirror. The beam of the flashlight gave her a ghoulish expression. “I look like a monster.”

  “No,” I said. “You look fine.”

  “Sure I do.” She touched her cut, looking at it from several angles. Dabbing at her eyes, she winced and took a few steps toward me, then toppled back onto the toilet seat in pain. “Ow. Oh, God, that hurts.”

  “Let me see,” I said.

  She stood again and unzipped her jeans with trembling fingers. Gingerly, she stepped out of them.

  I sucked in a surprised breath. Her hip and thigh were bloodied and purple-black. She’d been kicked hard, and many times.

  “Oh, baby…” I said.

  “He’s done much worse before,” she said woodenly.

  I choked back my anger and rummaged through the cabinet of medicines. I found some antibiotic cream and gauze. He’s dead, I said to myself. Dead. Tend to the living.

  I applied the cream to her leg and bandaged it, talking softly, as if comforting a spooked animal. I talked about our future, about the fact that we’d now be free of her past demons, that Shelby would be safe. I spoke as much for myself as I did for her.

  She listened, then touched my face hesitantly. “Thank you, Gus. Thank you for saving my baby.”

  “Don’t thank me,” I whispered. “Thank Joe. He’s the one who dove into the water after her.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. He beat me to it. Greg pulled Shelby under, on purpose. Joe dove into that black hole faster than I’d ever seen anyone move. He went under the ice, too. I saw his face passing beneath me. It was so damned scary.” My voice hitched. “Then, after I dragged Shelby out, Joe almost let himself go under. I saw the defeat in his eyes. He was so cold, so blue; he just wanted to let go. Give it up.”

  “But you saved him, honey. And he saved Shelby. So…” she ran her hands lightly over my face, “he’s sort of redeemed, isn’t he?”

  “You’re right. He lost Jeanne under the ice, but he saved Shelby. It’s gruesomely poetic and almost fitting in a bizarre way. I know that sounds stupid. I mean, the horror of it is too much to bear. The idea of that bastard pulling our daughter down under the ice. I hardly can stand it. But in the end, when you step back, Joe did redeem himself. Maybe this will help him.”