Frozen Footprints

by Therese Heckenkamp

  Neither Max nor Clay spoke, but they didn’t resume battle, and Max returned with me to our side of the room.

  “I really want to go to sleep,” I said wearily, “but it will be impossible with you two going back and forth. Do you think you can restrain yourselves?”

  “Fine,” Max said grudgingly. He darted a glance at Clay. “But we’re obviously not going to untie you.”

  “Suit yourself. You’re obviously afraid.”

  “Obvious, nothing. I’m just looking out for my sister.”

  “Guys, please.” I groaned, crawled onto my blanket, and collapsed. If any more arguing ensued, I was dead to it.

  Chapter Twelve

  “He fell asleep,” Max announced as soon as I woke up. I flipped on the flashlight and looked across the room to see Clay’s head slumped awkwardly against his shoulder, his eyes closed. Listening, I heard deep breathing.

  “He couldn’t take it,” Max said. “He couldn’t outlast me, and I bet it’s been longer since I slept than it has been for him.”

  I shook my head. “Are you still at it? Does everything have to be a contest?”

  “If you were trapped down here with some catty girl, maybe you’d know how I feel.”

  I sighed. “Well, I’m awake now, so you should get some sleep. Maybe it will improve your disposition,” I added. “I’m sure we still have quite a few hours left to spend in Clay’s company before his brother calls him back for some kind of grunt work, so let’s just bear with it, all right? We should be spending our energy on figuring out another way to escape.”

  “My unrelenting sister. You never give up.”

  For some reason, Max’s words unsettled me, and I pondered them after he fell asleep. There had been plenty of times in my life when I’d given up. I searched through my memory. I’d enjoyed painting when I was younger, especially watercolors. They were a challenge, but I persisted, spending hours on getting the wash of a sky just right. At ten years old, I even decided to paint a picture for Grandfather. I spent a week of after-school free time creating what I thought was an enchanting watercolor scene of Gardburg. Grandfather only laughed when I gave it to him, saying, “At least now I know not to waste money sending you to art school.”

  I’d had some deluded idea that he would hang the painting in his new art gallery. Instead, he probably threw it out, as I never saw it again. I’d tossed my paints in the trash and hadn’t touched a brush since.

  Grandfather. The very word grated in my mind, conjuring up resentment and hurt, more so because it was supposed to be such a comforting, loving word. I’d given up on him, to be sure. I’d given up on him caring about me, and I’d given up on him paying the ransom or coming to our rescue.

  Even if the ransom was paid, I doubted it would do me and Max any good, not after all I’d come to see of Abner’s cruelty. Besides, only a stupid kidnapper would endanger himself by freeing us when we could identify him. No, Abner won’t let us go, even if just to pay us back for the trouble we’ve given him. Each day we sit in captivity brings us closer to death.

  As each day does anyway.

  Thoroughly depressed, I fell deeper in thought. On the grand scale of things, there was the question of God. I’d given up on Him many times, usually when I was hurt and feeling abandoned, like after each of my parents died.

  Basically, I’d given up on being happy. But maybe that was connected to the God factor. I recalled my religious instructions about how God is the only One Who can make us happy. But then why does He send so much misery?

  The answer came immediately: It’s a test, a challenge. I rubbed my face. But I can’t take anymore. Academic tests, sure, but this spiritual stuff . . . It’s all so gloomy and oppressive, like God’s just waiting for us to mess up.

  My headache came back as I recalled nightmares I’d had, from a young age, of the End of the World, chastisements, God’s wrath. I’d heard Grandfather warn of these things too many times.

  “What are you thinking about?” Clay’s voice startled me. I looked up to see him awake and watching me, his curiosity evident.

  I flushed and wondered how transparent my emotions had been. I didn’t relish the thought of him analyzing me as some form of entertainment.

  “What were you thinking about?” he persisted.

  “The past,” I said shortly. Max would tell me not to talk to him. The thought annoyed me slightly. Who was Max to order me around? If anything, I should be giving the orders, since I was older. By two minutes.

  “Yeah? Your past couldn’t have been that bad, growing up all rich and pampered.”

  I shot back with, “Remember you told Max that he doesn’t know anything about your life? Well, you know nothing about mine. So don’t judge. Having money isn’t a free ticket to happiness.”

  “But it helps.”

  “You think so?” I had half a mind to rouse Max so he would shut Clay up. “You think if you and Abner get the ransom and take off with it to some other country, you’ll be happy?”

  “A heck of a lot happier than I am now.” He frowned. “I’m not saying I want any part of this kidnapping or ransom money, but we’ve been over that. Let’s not talk about it.”

  “Let’s not talk at all,” I snapped.

  Tension-filled moments plodded by. He strained against his bonds, muttering, “Stupid rosary.”

  “Stop trying to break it. I don’t want it wrecked.” In fact, I still hadn’t prayed a Rosary yet today, and if I was going to keep up with the novena, I’d prefer to have the rosary back.

  He gave a short laugh. “Don’t break it? You should have thought about that before using it like handcuffs. Isn’t that kind of what you Catholics would consider irreverent, anyway?”

  “God would understand.”

  Clay scoffed. “Isn’t that what we all say to justify ourselves? Not that I give any credence to God or what He thinks.”

  In too much of a spiritual jumble myself to preach about God, I redirected the subject. “I’m sure if you’d just calm down, Max will eventually release you.”

  “I am calm,” Clay said evenly. “And what’s to stop you from releasing me? Not afraid of your brother, are you?”

  “Don’t think you can goad me into freeing you. It won’t work. And look who’s talking about being afraid of their brother. Wow.”

  He glowered.

  I continued. “If Abner’s always been like this, I can’t imagine why you’d come out here seeking his company.” I tossed my tangled curls as best I could, considering they were confined by a wool hat. “I think I’d go live on the opposite side of the world from him.”

  A ghost of a grin touched Clay’s face. For the first time, I noticed a dried smear of blood and a bruise on his jaw. Probably courtesy of Max.

  “Abner hasn’t always been like this. But I didn’t make the trip out here because I missed him. No. I needed to get away, take a break, relax.” He glanced at the dirt ceiling. “Yeah, that turned out real well.”

  “What was so bad that you had to get away?” I asked skeptically.

  “Oh, life in general. Out in the wilderness, things like school, jobs, relationships—they don’t matter.”

  “I see. Some girl dumped you, is that it?”

  I wasn’t sure in the dimness, but his face seemed to redden. That, or it darkened. “No, that’s not it. I lost my job, is all. A job as a night stocker in a grocery store. How sorry is that?”

  “It’s honest work. So what happened?”

  “I fell asleep on the job. Finals week. I didn’t have the time to sleep between school, work, and visiting my ma.”

  “Visiting your mom?” Surprise touched my voice. “That’s nice.”

  “No, it’s not. I hate it.”

  “What a terrible thing to say!”

  He sent me a slanted look. “I hate it because she’s dying. She’s got cancer, and I can see it sucking the life out of her. You want to know one of the issues I’ve got with God? My ma is as holy as can be, but what does she
get? Stuck with a horrible husband, two worthless sons, and now she’s diseased and dying in pain. What kind of God would let that happen? Not any kind of God I want to believe in.”

  Uncomfortable, I shifted on my blanket. My mother died of a fatal disease, too. “Is she in a hospital?”

  “No, but probably within a year.”

  The dragging on, the not knowing . . . yes, it’s torture. I lowered my gaze.

  He gave a hollow laugh. “You know what she wanted to name me? Tarcisius, after some stupid saint.”

  I searched my mind for the story and recalled that it was about a young boy of the third century. He had served Mass in the catacombs and was beaten to death while trying to protect the Blessed Sacrament.

  “I’m lucky my dad intervened,” Clay continued. “I would have been called ‘Tarcisius the sissy,’ for sure. Ma meant well, but man, talk about trying too hard.”

  “So what’s your middle name?”

  He scowled.

  The corner of my mouth quirked. “Tarcisius is your middle name, isn’t it? Don’t be bitter. Saint Tarcisius was a very courageous guy.”

  Clay’s scowl remained.

  “Tell me more about your mother.”

  Slowly, his grim look receded, replaced by grief. “She used to be so alive, so beautiful. I’ve got a picture of her in my wallet.”

  The way he said it made me think he was going to take it out and look at it. And despite myself, I was curious to see it. I wondered if she resembled him or Abner in any way. “Can I see?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Like I said, it’s in my wallet. I can’t get to it, remember?”

  Right, the bound wrists. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to go digging in his pockets. I was silent for a minute. “I think I could untie you now.”

  “Yeah? What will your brother say?”

  “I don’t care.” I pushed stray curls from my face. “Just promise you won’t pick a fight with him.”

  “Fine, I promise.”

  “Move closer to the light so I can see what I’m doing. I’ve got a feeling this rosary’s going to be a challenge to untangle.”

  He did as I asked, and after picking carefully at the beaded chain, twisting and untwisting, I eventually managed to remove the rosary, still in one piece. I placed it in my pocket as he removed his wallet.

  “Here she is,” he said, almost reverently. I peered at the small square picture. It showed a smiling young woman of petite features and delicate bone structure, wearing a string of pearls around her neck.

  For a split second, I thought of my own mother and her pearl necklace. Pink pearls, a gift from my dad. How I’d admired that necklace as a child. She’d let me try it on once. I touched the hollow of my throat, remembering. I wonder whatever happened to that necklace.

  Clay cleared his throat, and I saw he was looking at me oddly. I returned my focus to the photo of his mom. Her brown hair was the same color as his, but ruffled softly around her shoulders. Peering very closely, I could just make out a few freckles.

  “I can see a resemblance to you, but definitely not Abner.”

  He closed his wallet and tucked it away. “Yeah, he looks more like our dad, who was kind of a beastly guy. He didn’t deserve my ma. She did everything for him. For us. A home-cooked meal every night. Awesome desserts. I can almost taste her pistachio cream cake . . .” His mouth set itself in a rigid line.

  “She said she’d always wanted a lot of kids, a house full of laughter . . . But what she got was far from it.” He paused. “I guess it turned out for the best that she only had two kids. The world couldn’t handle anymore Abners, hey?” He laughed shortly.

  “But like I said, he wasn’t always this way. He was very protective of me as a kid, though there’s ten years between us. When I was seven, he saved me from a fire when our house burned down. It got our dad, though.” Another pause.

  “Ma, fortunately, was at church at the time. If you look at Abner’s hands, you’ll see burn scars. So you see, since then, I’ve always felt I owe him, and I’ve got to stand by him, overlook his shortcomings.”

  “Shortcomings?” I snorted. “I’d classify them more severely than that.”

  “Either way, he’s still my brother. He’s defended me through the years. In high school, there was this one girl I wanted to date for the longest time. When she broke up with her boyfriend, I got my chance. Turned out she was just using me to make him jealous. It worked, all right. He beat me up. Then Abner put him in the hospital.” He shrugged. “After that, I was known as ‘the monster’s brother.’ ”

  “He is a monster. And I wouldn’t imagine that incident made you too popular.” I arched an eyebrow.

  “I’ve never cared about being popular. Neither has Abner, and he was certainly never popular with women. But then he met Lydia.”

  I almost choked. “Don’t tell me he’s actually dated a woman. Who in their right mind would go out with him? I mean—”

  “Like I said, he was a different person.” Clay’s voice held a touch of annoyance. “He met Lydia by accident. Not to sound corny, but it’s actually a good story. He was driving along and saw some guy snatching this lady’s purse. So he stopped his car, took off after the guy, and tackled him.”

  “So the criminal catches the criminal.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “If you don’t want me to tell it, I won’t. We can just go back to our respective walls and let time drag.”

  “Sorry. This does help pass the time. Please don’t stop.”

  He eyed me and went on. “So he brings the lady back her purse, and they get to talking, and it turns out they were heading to the same bookstore, so Abner gave her a ride. And that was how it all began. They fell in love and got married a year later.”

  “Married?” My mouth fell open as I tried to fathom this. Abner, a bridegroom? Abner, a lover? I shuddered. Finally I managed, “Is this Lydia very pretty, with dark hair, and a face like Audrey Hepburn?”

  “What, the old movie star?”

  “Yes.” I waited tensely for his answer.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  She must be the woman in the photo in Abner’s drawer.

  “She was real nice, and she was good for Abner.”

  “ ‘Was?’ What happened?” I felt a sudden sense of dread. “She died, didn’t she?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing that tragic, though she might as well have, as far as how Abner took it. See, they had a big blowout after he lost his job, and she left him. He hasn’t been the same since. Bitter, angry, just plain mean. He moved out here and kind of went into brooding seclusion.”

  And began plotting a kidnapping. Doesn’t make much sense. “So did he build this cabin himself?”

  “No, this place has been in my family for years. Used as a vacation getaway.”

  Or a criminal hideout.

  “My dad brought us here a few times for fishing and hunting.” He stared distantly at the wall. “I remember this one time, when I was six, he locked me in the cellar overnight.”

  “By accident?”

  “On purpose. Like I said, he wasn’t an ideal dad. Some of his personality must have rubbed off on Abner.”

  Or maybe it’s bad blood, and it transforms you at a certain age. Though I had to admit, I couldn’t picture Clay turning into an Abner. Then again, I didn’t really know him.

  “So what did you do that was so bad it landed you in the cellar?”

  He grunted. “I didn’t want to stick a worm on a hook. My dad went into this rage about not having a wimp for a son, then he locked me down there. I still hate that cellar. This place isn’t much better,” he muttered.

  I recalled the trapdoor I’d seen in the kitchen floor, and frowned. “If this cabin already had a cellar, why didn’t Abner lock us in there instead of going to all the trouble of digging this place?”

  “Beats me.” Clay thought a moment. “Maybe because he stores stuff in there. Or maybe he thought it would be too easy to escape f
rom.”

  “Char?” Max’s voice startled me, and I flinched as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. He marched to my side. “What are you doing over here with him?”

  “Max, calm down. We’re just talking, passing time.”

  “Why are his hands free?”

  “I wanted my rosary.”

  “Stupid girl. Am I going to have to stay awake constantly to keep an eye on you as well? Don’t you know this guy’s bad news?”

  He didn’t even wait for my answer, but pulled me away as he hollered at Clay, “Stay away from my sister, got it? She doesn’t know a thing when it comes to creeps like you. But I do, and I’ll be watching you.”

  Both guys looked like they wanted nothing more than to fight, but each was waiting for the other to start it. Maybe Clay remembered the promise he’d given me, because he remained silent and still.

  I, on the other hand, turned to Max and said frostily, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, little brother.” He hated when I called him that.

  Unfitting as it felt, I drew out my rosary, indignation radiating from me. “We still have to pray today if we’re going to keep up with the novena.”

  Launching into the Apostle’s Creed, I didn’t expect Max to join in, but he did, though I think he spent the entire five decades glaring at Clay.

  When we were done, I made my tally scratch in the wall.

  Clay shook his head. “Religion is just another form of captivity.”

  * * *

  By the next morning—at least, morning according to my watch, since we had no natural light to judge the time by—we were all sleep-deprived and out of sorts. Max and I were bickering about whether or not to turn off the flashlight, and Clay was pacing the floor.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you what we should do with the flashlight,” Max said. “Use it as a weapon. I’m gonna climb up the ladder, and the moment Abner sticks his ugly mug in here, I’ll club his brains out.”

  I was about to scoff, “The flashlight’s way too small,” when Clay piped up.