by D R Sanford
A regular crime spree had broken out. To Cullen it may as well have been on the nightly news out of New York. He was well insulated, however, and confident that they held nothing worth taking.
Lost in his daydream, he had forgotten to raise the garage door. Convinced there was nothing but bunnies and squirrels hiding in the shadows, Cullen pressed the button to start the door’s ascent. The overhead light illuminated the two-car garage on Nora’s approach, further assuring her safety.
Sometimes he stood there leaning his elbows on the counter and watched her pull out of the garage. Lola popped up beside him and rubbed her fuzzy side in his face. Blowing cat hair from his lips and out his nose, Cullen dutifully rubbed her whiskers with one hand and held her tail in the other.
The lights on their Nissan Xterra dismissed the shadows from the garage interior. The truck rolled backward, packing the snow in ruts he would try to follow on the way out. Cullen caught Nora’s attention by waving Lola’s tail as a good-bye and was rewarded with a wave and a smile.
All was right with the world.
The engine sound retreated, he let go of Lola, patted her off the counter, and edged toward the toast. It must have popped during their penguin dance and had become cold, hard bread better suited for croutons than breakfast. That would hardly be enough to ruin the day.
Telling himself to remember the toast for the squirrels, Cullen downed a glass of milk and headed for the upstairs bathroom.
***
Cullen glanced at his computer screen, temporarily at a loss for words. A second cup of morning coffee steamed on his desk. Tapping out a rhythm on the keyboard wrist-pad, he faced the challenge of enlightening undergraduates on the ancient Central American practices of ritual sacrifice.
Then again, he’d seen countless tattoos on campus lately and cringe inducing piercings. Maybe the bridge spanning the past and present was not as long as he thought.
Cullen wrote a few more notes on his screen while noticing the increase of foot traffic outside the office.
How would a student no older than nineteen or twenty-five in the twenty-first century connect with people who suffered through self mutilation during prayer or worship?
There were the stone dental inlays of the Mayans which declared one's social status. Bloodletting onto strips of cloth, burning the strips, and communing with the ancestral gods that appeared in the resulting smoke.
Those people understood the role that pain played in spiritual transcendence.
Colleagues heading to morning classes offered “hellos” and “good mornings” as they passed. Knocking out the final touches for the ten o'clock class awaiting him, Cullen responded in distracted mono-syllables.
A rap on the door broke his concentration, and Cullen looked up to see one of his favorite colleagues.
“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from our esteemed Head of Anthropology?”
Dr. Houltersund waved off his greeting. She smiled brightly and always seemed to warm up a room with her presence. Casually stepping inside the cramped office, Erin pointed a thumb over her shoulder to identify a young man in the doorway.
“Very funny, Cullen. I'm doing the rounds, introducing my new teaching assistant for Celtic Cultures. Laeg comes to us all the way from Belfast.”
Cullen stumbled out of his chair, rounded the desk corner, and extended a hand to Laeg.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Laeg. I can't imagine what Dr. Houltersund had to promise in order to lure you to our quiet university during the middle of winter.”
Laeg shrugged his narrow shoulders. Aqua green eyes darkened for a moment then glimmered as a smirk jumped along his lips. The lilting accent of an Irishman replied, “Ye may not think so here, sir, but where I come from the good Dr. Houltersund is a national treasure.”
Cullen squinted at Laeg an instant then cocked his head to Erin.
“The students and faculty don't adore you enough already? You had to recruit more from overseas?”
The room broke out in laughter. Erin reprimanded Cullen with a slap on the shoulder. Smiling, she wagged a finger between the two men.
“I think both of you actually have a great deal in common," she said. "You should tell stories over a few pints sometime this week. I'd be happy to entertain, but the department head probably should not be seen out boozing it up with her new T.A.”
“Absolutely," Cullen said. "That'll give me a chance to share experience gained from years of dodging the good doctor's whip.”
“I'm up for it,” Laeg replied. “I could use a bit of an introduction to the local nightlife, if you know what I mean.”
Laeg flashed a grin and self-consciously ruffled his close-cropped auburn hair.
Erin clapped her hands before them.
“Good enough. That's settled, and I will not want a report on your activities.” She patted the young man on the shoulder, saying “Laeg, can you please wander down to my office and wait for me there? I need a few more words with Cullen.”
Laeg waved over his shoulder, asking Cullen, “Tonight OK?”
“Probably,” Cullen called out. “I'll check with my wife to make sure we don't have plans. Stop back in sometime after three o'clock.”
“Got it.”
Cullen returned to his seat and absentmindedly bumped his computer mouse to keep the screensaver away. He motioned to a visitor's chair across the desk. Dr. Houltersund took a seat, crossing one leg over the other and resting her clasped hands on her knee.
Cullen regarded the retirement-aged woman before him, still vibrant and fit. Strands of silver invaded her braided red locks but did little to diminish her presence. He often wondered what kept such an accomplished anthropologist at a tiny liberal arts university. Tucked away. Nearly forgotten and underfunded in Wisconsin.
Erin glanced out the window, squinting under the glare of reflective snow.
“Isn't it beautiful here after the snows? It brings to mind a clean sheet laid over the world.”
“Huh, I guess you would think that after leaving your condo this morning. Some of us have an hour of blowing snow to look forward to tonight.”
“Someday you'll miss that, Cullen, not having a sidewalk to call your own.”
“You'll have to do better than that. My next house is going to be in the suburbs, with no sidewalk and definitely an attached garage.”
They both smiled and relaxed, easing into a relationship worn in from years of exposure.
“Cullen, I wanted to take the time to tell you something.” She sobered a bit but continued to exude her natural warmth. “I'm so proud of you. The youngest associate professor this department has ever seen. Your publications and translations have amazing insights. Yet all of that would be purely academic if I did not account for your energy and attentiveness to the students. You make the department look good and by extension make me look great. Thank you.”
A little taken aback, Cullen tripped over the thoughts and responses jumping in his head.
He settled for a simple, “Thanks, Mom.”
Erin Houltersund stood from her chair, leaned forward, and took her son's hands in her own. Mother and son held each other's gaze until the phone rang and Cullen pulled away, an emotional tear dripping from the corner of his eye.
“Have a good day, dear," she said and left the office.
“It's pretty good already.” The shadow of his morning nightmare faded to a distant memory.
Waving and smiling, Cullen reached for the ringing phone.
“Good Morning, this is Cullen.”
“Hi, this is, um, Rosario from INAH. We would like to award you an enormous research grant allowing you full access to your favorite archaeological sites in Mexico. Can you be here tomorrow? Don’t forget your wife.”
Her voice was serious although this was a game Nora lovingly played once or twice a semester when she knew stress was wearing on him.
“Um, yeah. I think I can work out my teaching schedule, move some things around. Although
someone will have to take my wife shopping while I sweat it out in the jungle. And you’ll have to throw in a Jeep for personal travel.”
Ridiculous as that statement was, she didn’t miss a beat.
“Okay then, Oceanic flight 815 takes off at five pm. Should I book your flights now?”
That was a new one. Cullen actually snorted into the receiver. “That’s a good one, honey. Thanks for trying. Are you looking for a way out of the winter blues?”
Nora sighed on the other line. “I just need to get away sometimes, you know?”
“I most definitely do. My drive in was awful this morning. There must have been three times that I nearly slipped off the road. How’s your day?”
“Pretty crappy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, babe. Has there been a lot of lifting today?”
She worked as a nursing assistant in a county healthcare facility taking care of Alzheimer’s patients or other neurologically afflicted residents who could no longer support themselves or hope to be supported by family help alone. There were days when Cullen could not believe the difficulty of her job compared to the compensation, and he was spending the morning worrying about his next class discussion.
“No, I’m serious, it’s been a very crappy day today. You wouldn’t believe what they can do with the stuff. I was walking down the hall—“
“La, la, la, la, la. I can’t hear you. Don’t want to know!” Cullen burst out, trying to cut her off before the gory details. He knew she had to get these things off her chest or be unable to deal with her job, but sometimes he was really not in the mood. Especially so soon before lunch. “Tell me later okay? By the way, what do you want for dinner tonight?”
She grumbled a response. “That’s actually what I called for. My supervisor asked if I could fill in and work the PM shift today. That would mean time and a half for those eight hours. What do you think?”
“I think it’s eight o’clock and you’re probably dead on your feet already. How are you going to get through another fourteen hours?” There was quiet space on the line. Apparently he was called to agree rather than argue but still had to press the point. “We don’t need the money Nora. There’s no sense knocking yourself out.”
“You know me, though. Those eight hours could be the heating bill this month. Besides, I have the day off tomorrow and can sleep in to catch up.”
She was always concerned about money, though Cullen seemed capable of watching it flow through his hands like sand. Nora focused on paying the next bill and killing car loans a year early while he zeroed in on acquiring the next book or gadget that would temporarily satisfy his impulses.
Cullen surrendered, throwing up his hands and ignoring the fact she couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’ll just go home, grill some steaks, drink a few beers, and watch movies all night without you.”
“You wouldn’t dare." Her voice was lowering, assuming command of the situation. "I bought those steaks so we could have them on the weekend.”
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “Mom has a new T.A. she wants me to show around. I’ll introduce him to the local wildlife and get back home in time to blow the snow, get the dishwasher loaded, and if I’m feeling really generous I’ll clean Lola’s litter box.”
“Are you kidding? Oh honey, that would be terrific. Could you wash my uniforms too?” He had actually intended on washing his own work clothes. Oh well. “And if you’re going to clean the litter box please remember to sweep up in front of it and wipe down the inside. It’s been pretty stinky lately.”
Right on the brink of complaining, he remembered what she toiled through for a living every single day and resolved himself to acquiesce.
Cullen replied cheerfully, “You’ve got it. I’m your man.”
“Yes you are, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
That was just what he needed. Those words could drive him to do anything. Move mountains, lift a car to save a child, or ignore the ache in his back that shoveling snow brought on. Ah, the things men do for love.
While he was soaking in the glow of her words Nora carried on, “Sorry, honey, I have to get going. The morning food service came late today and it threw off our break schedule. Gotta go. I love you, have a good day.”
“Love you. Call me later if you want.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”
He waited a few seconds until hearing the dial tone. That was a habit, always wondering what she was doing on the other side of that broken connection.
Cradling the receiver, he turned back to the computer screen, contemplating the comparisons between modern body piercing and the ancient ritual bloodletting of piercing one’s own genitalia.
Cullen shook his head and chuckled.
***
Cullen proved a poor match for Laeg’s insatiable appetites. Whether it came to downing pints of ale or charming college girls with his Irish accent, Laeg was a dynamo.
The handsome young man was circled by a growing crowd, laughing at his jokes and Irish quotes like ‘God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from conquering the world’.
He found it hard to imagine his mother’s new T.A. being any use in tomorrow’s classes. Then he remembered his own college years. Though he hadn’t been a prolific hound dog like Laeg, Cullen had pushed his limits on a number of occasions and paid the price the following day. Those were good times, when the cost of a fun night out was an unpleasant morning. Nowadays he’d have to call in sick just to sleep off a mind-splitting headache and avoid the jeers of colleagues.
He looked around the bar. Undergraduates stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning in to hear over the pounding music. With a certain nostalgia Cullen remembered nights and work-study paychecks spent in the endless pursuit of a perfect evening.
Wonderful times. Before responsibilities and repercussions forced their way into life. Feeling a brief twinge of ghosts long passed, Cullen decided to unhitch his new friend and make his way home.
The two clanked glasses in a final toast. Assured that Laeg would have no trouble getting a ride home, Cullen clapped the jovial Irishman on the shoulder and wished him good luck. He squeezed toward the door, apologizing along the way to those he interrupted.
Shivering, laughing co-eds charged in the moment he reached for the exit. A blast of cold air greeted him. Cullen zipped up and pulled a stocking cap from the coat pocket, cinched a scarf tight around his neck.
Wisconsin winters hit in full force by January. Though there had been a few snowfalls in December, the ground just hadn’t frozen to the point where the white fluff could make it through a day without melting. Overnight, old man winter had settled in to stay for a few months, dropping at least eight inches of heavy, wet snow.
Driving home on the slushy highway, Cullen saw definite signs that the locals were not entirely prepared. At odd angles to the road, a few cars waited for rescue in the ditch. Brightening the encroaching gloom of night, hundreds of brake lights fluttered ahead on the miles that separated him from home and more work.
As an adult, Cullen was never prepared for life in a winter state. The stiffening cold was bad enough, huddling under four blankets in bed—one of them electric—and forking out over two hundred dollars a month for the heating bill was insane. On top of it all he had the distinct pain of removing snow from a long driveway and sidewalk that evening.
His plan to arrive home after yet another snowfall had melted was not about to be realized. Most drivers were re-learning how to safely drive in the snowy conditions, slowing down long before the next turn and stopping completely before they eased off the road. Still, nothing could stop those few brave souls who had more faith in their driving abilities than their own car did.
After a few mishaps of his own in the past years, Cullen learned to constantly remember that a compact, four-cylinder sedan was not a Hummer, no matter how earnestly he wanted it to be. Little modified imports fishtailed into corners, and gas-guzzling SUV’s barreled through intersections well into the yellow
warning light.
Between the hot air pouring from his car fan and the extra fifteen minutes of stop-and-go driving that was tacked onto the commute, Cullen began nodding off at the wheel. He welcomed the turn onto Maple Street, appropriately named after the sheltering canopy lining the sidewalks. Cullen’s spirits picked up a beat after spying the mounds of plowed snow clogging the driveway.
He shifted the automatic transmission into low and crossed the centerline in a curve that provided a direct approach to the obstacle ahead. Gas pedal to the floor, the little car climbed toward at least one hundred horsepower.
Cullen charged over the two-foot high pile and spun across the sidewalk to the safety of that morning’s ruts.
—Chapter 2—
THE NIGHTMARE
The wind blew icy needles into the narrow space between Cullen’s zipped-up collar and low-hanging cap. Cullen’s face stung after an hour of clearing snow. Head ducked and shoulders driving forward, he pushed for the garage while the snow blower finished the hard work. Cullen killed the throttle and stepped back, swiping an accumulation of snow from a wet parka and gloves. Water droplets hissed on the hot engine, and the wind buffeted the outside walls in the relative silence that followed the engine’s roar.
Cullen shed the winter coat and snow pants. Hung them on the blower’s handlebars. They could drip dry in the garage rather than create a pool in the coat closet.
After piling boots, gloves, and hat on the mud room floor he entered the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Carousing in the bars with Laeg had nearly finished him for the night. If Cullen hoped to get through any more housework he would need a little warmth and a lot of caffeine.
Drifting through the dining room, he passed the front door, checking the deadlock out of habit. Lola stepped down the second floor staircase. She greeted Cullen in a chirping, inquisitive voice.
