Frozen Footprints

by Therese Heckenkamp

  “You want some heat? Light ’em up and let ’em burn,” he said with wrath.

  At that moment, I knew my animosity toward God was not substantial. I recoiled from the mere thought of holding a match to the sacred pages and the holy form of Jesus Christ crucified. In fact, I scrambled forward and gave each a tender kiss.

  I felt my eyes kindling as I looked up at Abner. “You’re wicked.”

  He laughed, and the sound echoed through the hole. Again, Max sat pressed against the dirt wall, merely observing. I traced the golden cross on the cover of the Bible, then opened it slowly. A dusty smell met my nose. My gaze went to a name inscribed in black ink on the blank first page: Abner Morrow.

  Abner owns a Bible.

  Observing the delicate, tissue-like pages, I wondered again about him. He was so evil, and yet . . . I kept coming across these religious connections. Why did he own a Bible and a crucifix? He’d quoted the Bible to me, and I’d heard him chant Latin almost like a priest. I looked up through the flashlight’s glare to the dark silhouette of his face. None of this made sense, unless, unless . . . “Were you once a Catholic?”

  I expected him to crack up, or spit in my face at the very mention of such a ludicrous thing, but instead, he answered steadily, “Does that surprise you? That someone could know your precious religion and not embrace it for life? You’re beyond naive, girl. In fact, you probably think you’re going to die a martyr and be canonized.”

  His satin-smooth tone turned to sandpaper. “There was a time when I thought like that, too. A young boy drunk on zeal. I suppose it’s easy to get that way when your mother’s a brain-washed Catholic. Let’s just say, life made me change my way of thinking. It did please her, though, when I entered the seminary.”

  I inhaled sharply.

  “That’s right. Me, in the seminary, on the path of righteousness. Startling, isn’t it? I was there for two years, studying intensely. Who knows, I may have gone all the way.” His voice softened ever-so-slightly. “But then, on a visit home, I met Lydia. She was a non-Catholic, not even Christian. From the moment we decided to get married, God cursed me.” Anger returned to his voice, and I thought I detected a slight drunken slur.

  “On our way to the courthouse, we were almost killed in an accident. Then the sky—in an instant—turned black, darkened like doomsday with a thunderstorm so vicious I haven’t seen the likes of it since. Lightning ripping the sky, rain slashing, branches flying. We married anyway. And God’s hated me ever since, for choosing a woman over Him. And I hate Him back.”

  Abner spat, and I was glad I wasn’t standing in the line of fire. “God, always on a power trip. For years, He kept trying to tear us apart. Finally, He succeeded.” Abner swore. “Even after she left me, I prayed. I made one last desperate plea to your deaf God, but He did nothing. So I turned to the other side.”

  I gasped as everything clicked into place.

  Abner continued ranting. “God hasn’t answered your prayers either, has He? Of course not. I’ll tell you who has power to make things happen to you: Not some God, but me. Me . . . and Satan.”

  I hastily crossed myself. “How could someone who was going to be a priest—”

  “Ah, but I am a priest—a real one—a priest of darkness.” His voice dropped so low, I almost didn’t catch the hoarse whisper. “I’m going to make you wish you had burned that Bible.”

  The door clanged shut, and the darkness that dropped over me made me shudder.

  “Okay,” Max finally spoke up. “That was seriously weird.”

  “Weird isn’t the right word.” I clutched my arms about myself and tried to stop trembling. Suddenly, I saw with horrible clarity what blaming God could lead to: Denying God, hating God, thinking you were your own God. Dear Jesus Christ, I need You. I always have. Help me, please. I felt in the darkness for the Bible and crucifix and moved them over to my blanket just before the door reopened.

  Abner ordered Clay down the ladder, and I waited with foreboding for his latest scheme to be revealed.

  “Max,” Abner barked, and it was the first time I’d heard him use Max’s name. “I’ve got special plans for these two, and they don’t include you. So you can either get up here now, or I’ll come down for you. If you choose the latter, I promise it won’t be pleasant.”

  Max stunned me by heading for the ladder immediately. I soon surmised that he did so only to lessen Abner’s chances of discovering our digging project. Max and Abner disappeared from sight. While I waited for what would come next, Clay said, “Man, I’m sorry I ever said anything to him about the blankets. It sure sparked something.”

  Something. Something terrible. I worried and prayed for myself, I fretted and prayed for Max—unsure of whom to be more afraid for. I even said a quick prayer for Clay.

  When Abner returned, he actually heaved himself onto the rope ladder. My heart constricted when I saw he was once again wearing the black robe. A devil robe. He descended one-handed, the other hand carrying two lighted black taper candles in a brass holder, the flames waving and flickering and casting eerie, fragmented shadows through our prison. On the ground, he tied the ladder up out of both my and Clay’s reach. So while the door above remained temptingly open, there was no way for us to reach it. Abner wouldn’t even have to tie us up to torture us. There was nowhere to run in the confines of this hole.

  Without realizing it, I had backed against the farthest wall. I turned to face it now, and looking up, I swallowed. There it was, the upside-down cross, scraped into the dirt, that I had first noticed days ago. It was obviously courtesy of Abner, who had prepared this evil place. It was all so clear now.

  I heard someone breathing near me, and turned to see Clay on my right. Was he sticking close to me to protect me? Most likely, he simply wanted to be as far from Abner as possible.

  Abner set the candles down and stood in the middle of the floor, his hood casting his face in shadow, only his prominent nose protruding clearly. I watched him draw a small double-edged dagger from a pocket of his robe, the silver blade glinting. He fingered the tip speculatively.

  “I’m sure you’re both wondering what I’m doing down here. Let me enlighten you.” He looked specifically at me. “Girl, you scoff at my powers. You think they don’t compare to your God’s. I’m here to show you differently, with a little ceremony involving you and my brother. It’s really nothing to be frightened of. I’m simply going to marry you.”

  The shock gave me courage to speak. “You can’t!” I sputtered. “You can’t marry two people against their will. Even a priest doesn’t have that power.” I scrambled for the definition of marriage. “Marriage is a sacrament, given freely by two people to each other, in the sight of God. What you’re proposing—a marriage of force—it’s not valid!”

  The corner of his lip lifted. “In the upper world, perhaps. Down here in the darkness, it’s a different world.” His words came out in a guttural slur. “I make the laws.”

  “Abner, you’re drunk,” Clay attempted. “This is crazy. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “On the contrary. I know very well what I’m saying, and even better, what I’m going to do.” He pointed at Clay with the dagger. “You should be thanking me, boy. I told you if you stuck with me, I could promise you plenty. Marry the Little Miss Saint Girl. You can turn her into Mrs. Deadly Sinner.” He laughed at his lame joke.

  “Where’s Max?” I asked suddenly. “What did you do to him?”

  “He’s fine. Cuffed in the bedroom. I needed to get him out of the way. Because after the wedding,” Abner grinned wickedly, “comes the wedding night.”

  “Abner—”

  “Silence!” He narrowed his eyes at Clay. “No more interruptions. You will both remain where you are and do as I say. I won’t hesitate to use this knife on either one of you.” He drew himself to his full height, seeming a giant in the confines of this hovel. “I will now begin.” He reached one hand into a pocket and produced a dainty silver bell, which he rang.
The metallic noise filled the room with a menacing cacophony.

  “In Nomine Dei Nostri Satanas,” he began in a raspy yet reverent tone as he used his dagger to trace a shape in the dirt wall beside him. His chant became a combination of English and Latin, and I heard “Lucifer,” “forces of Hell,” and “dark blessings,” cringing at each one. The shape he drew took form as a pentagram, an upside-down star.

  Again, he reached for something hidden within his black robe. This time, I recognized the object he brought out. It was a golden chalice studded with red stones, the same chalice I’d come across during my search through his drawers. I wished now that I’d smashed it or at least battered it until it was unusable. He lifted it with a disturbing solemnity and began invoking “the four crowned princes of Hell.”

  I shut my eyes and willed my ears to block out the hideous words. Mentally, I prayed the St. Michael prayer, over and over. In the past, I’d never taken much time to pray it. I didn’t think it was that important. Satan, demons, evil forces—they had all seemed so obscure and unreal, nothing I would ever encounter in real life.

  Now I pleaded for my life . . . Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray . . .

  “We come together in the name of . . . ” Abner’s voice broke into my head. “. . . to join Clayton Morrow and Charlene Perigard in marriage.”

  I countered his words . . . by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil forces who prowl about the world, seeking the ruin of souls . . .

  Sensing movement near me, I opened my eyes. The man who was Abner looked darker, his eyes more frightening, as he used the dagger to slice the air in front of me and Clay, forming an invisible circle around us.

  My eyes, riveted with terror, refused to close as Abner stood before us, staring at us with wild, yet dead, eyes. “Do you, Clayton Morrow, agree to take Charlene Perigard as your wife?” The dagger moved closer to Clay’s throat, until it touched it.

  “Do you?” Abner’s voice blazed demonically.

  Silence.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” Clay finally said.

  Then it was my turn. The dagger pricked my throat. “Do you, Charlene Perigard, agree to take Clayton Morrow as your husband?”

  I swallowed, and the movement caused the blade to scrape my skin.

  “Say, ‘I do,’ ” Abner growled.

  I wanted to answer no, but I knew I didn’t have to. God knew this was a sacrilegious sham, no marriage in His sight. That was all that mattered. And yet, I couldn’t say yes. It would be like saying yes to the Devil. So I answered, “No.”

  Abner pressed the blade more firmly against my throat, and repeated the question. This time, I couldn’t speak, as the metal edge cut into my skin, and Abner answered for me. “She does.”

  Gasping, I threw a hand to my throat, pressing against the sting, afraid to look at my glove, afraid it would be soaked with blood. But I was still breathing; I was still alive. It must be a shallow cut, I tried to comfort myself. I pulled my scarf higher and wrapped it tight, bandage-like, around my throat. Clay seemed like a zombie next to me, and I wondered if he’d even caught what Abner had done to me.

  “And now,” Abner breathed, “the rings.”

  I expected his hand to plunge into the depths of his robe once more and extract some evil looking bands, perhaps made from twisted black metal, but instead he grabbed my left hand and pulled off the glove. Seizing my ring finger, he quickly sliced around the base of it with the dagger. It was over before I truly comprehended it, and I was left staring at the seeping warm blood forming a thick crimson ring around my finger.

  The pain struck me, but I clamped my teeth on my tongue. Clay hollered loud enough for the both of us as Abner did the same thing to his ring finger. Then Abner grabbed our hands and brought Clay’s bleeding finger down on top of mine, pressing them together for a long moment.

  “Your blood has mingled; you are bound together by blood forever,” Abner said solemnly. “In the name of . . .”

  My ears rang.

  “. . . I pronounce you husband and wife. Hail Satan!” Abner’s voice boomed. He went off into a long, undecipherable chant, one I had no desire to decipher. I observed the dark handle of his dagger, and it looked like a hissing black snake, the body hunched in half, the tail and tongue curling over the blade.

  “Hail Satan!”

  He rang the bell again, then spoke to me, his eyes flashing. “And this, my dear sister-in-law, is true power.”

  I clutched my wounded finger and remained mute.

  “Congratulations to you both,” he rasped, wiping the dagger on the sleeve of his robe, then tucking away the chalice and bell in his pockets. “I would wish you a long and happy life together, but that would be rather pointless, wouldn’t it? Clay, enjoy her while you can.”

  Abner turned coal eyes on me. “This all started because you whined about the cold. Now you can just use your body heat to keep warm. I’ll leave the candles for you.”

  He pointed the dagger at his brother and spoke roughly. “For once, be a man. I’ve seen the way you look at Little Miss Saint Girl. Find out how good she is, or tomorrow it’s my turn.”

  With that foul order hanging in the air, he retreated to the rope ladder, released it, climbed up, and locked the door behind him, leaving us alone.

  Alone.

  Alone with Clay, whom I could not trust because he was ruled by his fear of Abner.

  Clay, who had just said “yes” in the evil ceremony.

  I darted away to my blanket. Like his brother, Clay did not believe in God’s power. He followed no moral rules. So what would stop him from fulfilling Abner’s command?

  He turned to look at me with strange, dark eyes.

  I snatched up the crucifix and held it in front of me like a shield. It was sturdy wood. I could use it as a weapon if I needed to.

  He took a step in my direction.

  “Stay away!”

  Another step. “Charlene, please. I have to—”

  A clunk, and we were plunged into darkness. The candles. He’d knocked them over as he walked toward me. By accident? Or on purpose?

  I heard a footstep. Too close to me.

  Sucking in my breath, I lifted the crucifix.

  Just as I was about to swing, he caught my wrists, gripped them tight.

  He’s stronger than me. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  I can’t stop him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Please, Charlene, calm down.” Clay’s grip didn’t loosen. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Struggling, I panted, “Then let me go. And get away from me.”

  “Listen, that cut’s deep, it’s pouring blood—”

  “I don’t care.” I’d completely forgotten about my finger. “I don’t even feel it anymore.”

  “You’re in shock. I’ve got to wrap it.” He heaved a breath. “Look, I’m going to release you. Just don’t bash my head in with that cross, okay?”

  Despite the fact that I didn’t answer, he removed his hands from my arms. I kept my grip on the crucifix, though I used the back of one hand to swipe away my tears.

  “Where’s that flashlight?” he asked. “Can you find it and turn it on?”

  I found it easily and gladly snapped it on. The minuscule light was better than nothing.

  “I didn’t mean to knock the candles over.” He approached me again. “I’m not exactly free from shock, either, you know. That was one messed up—”

  He broke off his sentence as I pressed my back against the wall and hoisted the crucifix like a baseball bat.

  Annoyance crossed his face. “What’s with you? I’m in this nightmare same as you. That whole wedding thing—” He cut himself off with a muttered curse. “That’s why you want to knock me out. You think I’m going to—” His eyes sparked. “You really think I’d do that?”

  “Quite possibly.” I adjusted my footing. “I have no reason to trust you.�
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  He shook his head, looking like he wanted to spew more curses. “None of the times I’ve stood up for you have meant a thing, have they? Effort doesn’t count, only success. Why don’t you get real, girl? I can’t work miracles.”

  “Don’t call me ‘girl,’ ” I practically growled. Abner had called me that too many times.

  “Fine. Charlene. You said it yourself, Abner’s a monster. So how do you expect me to defeat him? He takes me down, every time.” He tilted his face toward the light. “Isn’t my ugly mug proof enough for you? A physical fight isn’t the answer.” He worked his jaw. “He’s a Goliath, but I’m no David.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “Good. I’m also no rapist. Got it?” As he spoke, he seized the edge of my blanket and tore a strip from it with a horrendous ripping sound. He tore another strip, then wrapped one of them around his oozing red finger, bandaging it crudely.

  He leveled his gaze at me. “Will you let me bandage your finger?”

  Grudgingly, I extended my hand. While he bound my finger tightly, I saw blood already soaking through his own bandage. Perhaps seeing this, he wrapped my wound more thoroughly, until my entire finger was covered, fat and useless.

  “Now let me check your throat,” he said, a bit more softly.

  Trying not to wince, I watched his bruised face as he peaked under my scarf. His eyes told me nothing, but a slight dip of his brow worried me.

  “You’ll be fine. It’s shallow. Most of the bleeding’s stopped. Let me rewrap it.”

  When he finished, he turned and retreated to the opposite wall, where Max had been digging. To my relief, he sat down without looking at the superficial hole. “There. Sorry I can’t move any farther away.” He closed his eyes.

  I listened to my still wild heartbeat, thinking, It’s going to be a very long night. I looked down at my finger. A pattern of red seeped through the bandage, spidering out in all directions. My gaze then fell on the Bible, and relief swept me. Finally, something to read. There was no better way to pass time than reading, apart from talking. And I most certainly did not feel like talking.