In the bleak midwinter asacm-1

by M. R. Sellars

  “Merrie?” she whispered.

  The little girl continued staring back at her, glassy-eyed and silent. In a very real sense, it seemed that she wasn’t looking at Mandalay as much as she was looking through her. The child swiveled her head slowly from side to side, as if lost and searching for her bearings.

  After a moment, in a weak, flat voice she simply said, “I lost one of my shoes.”

  Constance looked down and noticed that the girl’s left foot was securely buckled into a patent-leather Mary Jane, but her right was completely bare. The pronouncement the girl had made didn’t seem as though it was directed at anyone. It was more like something said by a person suffering from traumatic shock. An overstatement of the obvious made for no other reason than the fact that it was something to focus upon.

  Mandalay blinked hard then looked into the little girl’s face and whispered once again. “Merrie Callahan?”

  The girl turned away from her without another word and shuffled slowly up the corridor. Constance stood dumbfounded for a moment as the utter insanity of what she was seeing seeped into her overtired brain.

  Mandalay hesitated, following the child with only the flashlight and her eyes as her own state of shock washed over her. She watched silently as the girl turned the corner and disappeared through the archway into the front room.

  CHAPTER 26

  Holstering her sidearm and latching the thumb break, Constance stepped into the hallway and followed after the girl. She pressed forward quickly, moving on automatic pilot as she jogged to her left and hooked through the archway. She played the beam of the flashlight around the room, but the child was nowhere to be seen. Directly ahead, the front door of the house was halfway open, allowing more light from the streetlamps to spill inward through the wide crack and mix with the beam of her flashlight.

  Constance rushed to the door and pulled it wide. Beyond the opening was the front porch, and beyond that the yard. Near the center of that frozen expanse, the child was trudging forward through the snow, zombie-like but with what seemed a determined purpose.

  Constance stepped quickly through the doorway and across the porch. Stumbling in her haste, she tripped her way down the snow-covered front steps, pitching forward in a clumsy fall. As she grasped for the railing to regain her balance, the small flashlight sprang from her hand and tumbled end-over-end through the air. When it came down several feet away, it disappeared into the mantle of white and created a muted glow just inches beneath the surface.

  Pulling herself up, Mandalay regained her footing and jumped forward, abandoning the flashlight and taking the last two stairs as one. Then she began making her way through the snow-covered yard, chasing after the child.

  “Merrie!” she called to her again, increasing her stride to catch up. When she closed the short distance and came upon the girl, she reached out toward her shoulder.

  As her fingers fell the last few inches toward the child, the sound of crunching snow filled her ears, underscoring a shouting male voice. All Constance managed to make out was the word, “NO!”

  She was blindsided from the right by what felt like a linebacker slamming into her; and he was moving at as much of a dead run as the thick blanket of white covering the yard would allow. Pain shot through her bruised side as a thick arm roughly hooked about her waist. There was a hard jerk on impact, her head snapped to one side, and she felt herself spinning, which caused her hand to whip back and away from the still moving girl. A split second later all manner of balance had instantly disappeared, and Constance was briefly airborne. Falling hard, she tumbled to the left with a sharp yelp, hitting the ground, but not before landing on top of whoever had just tackled her. She tried to roll away but felt the arm pull tighter, squeezing around her waist like a vise as he yanked her back.

  She was pitched onto her back, still partially atop her attacker, the wind knocked from her lungs. She gasped for a breath as his other arm came around just beneath her ribcage, but over the top of her own left forearm, trapping it securely against her side. She felt his hand groping across her stomach, trying to get a hold on her right arm as well. She immediately pulled it away, but for a moment his fingers hooked into her coat sleeve and clenched.

  She yanked hard in a desperate tug of war. Fortunately, given the awkward angle at which she was being restrained, she still had enough leverage, so that with a second sharp jerk she was able to break free and pull it out of reach.

  The man was trying to talk to her-half-spoken, unintelligible words coming out between panting breaths, but she wasn’t paying attention. Right now she had no interest in hearing his threats; she just needed to get away from him before he could inflict serious damage.

  Out of trained reflex, she threw her free arm forward and brought it back down at a sharp angle, summoning all of the strength she could muster out of her shoulder as she rotated it back. Pulling straight in with her forearm she cocked her elbow and drove it hard into her attacker’s stomach. She felt a fleeting moment of satisfaction when a deep, guttural huff exploded into the night immediately behind her right ear. She instantly twisted to the left as his hold on her loosened, but it still wasn’t enough for her to escape.

  He pulled her back, pawing at the folds of her coat as he renewed his grip. For the barest of an instant, a stab of panic skewered Constance’s racing heart. If he managed to get his hand on her weapon, she was in trouble. Close quarters hand-to-hand combat wasn’t a problem for her; she knew exactly how to disarm and take down almost any opponent-as long as she was on her feet.

  Therein was her weakness.

  Once she hit the ground, the game changed drastically, and not in her favor. It was almost like being a turtle that had flipped over onto its back with no way to right itself. She was petite and lacked the upper body strength of a man. That made her susceptible and put her in serious jeopardy. In a prone position like this, a larger opponent-especially a man-would have a weight and strength advantage that was much harder to overcome. In some cases, maybe damn near impossible. As tight as this particular man’s hold seemed to be, her odds were starting to look grim.

  She bit back the sudden fear before it could run rampant and take over. She couldn’t afford to give in to it, because once she did, that meant she had lost the fight, and in her mind that wasn’t an option. While he obviously had strength on his side at the moment, she still had some things going for her. For one, he didn’t have the weight advantage-yet. Right now, he was down, and she was on top of him, which put her in a better than average position under the circumstances. Plus, they were wrestling in deep enough snow to slow him a bit and restrict his movement. While balance and agility were no longer her great equalizers, she knew she had to use whatever openings she could find. One of those just happened to be that her attacker had an intrinsic vulnerability she could exploit, and she was already planning to go after it with extreme prejudice.

  Twisting to the left she shot her arm out again and curved her back as much as the Kevlar vest would allow, hunching forward as she brought the heel of her fist rocketing down for a groin shot. He must have seen it coming, because she felt her hand connect, but it impacted with a solid thud, far more like a full on blow to his thigh instead of the tender area she had targeted. He still yelped but held firm.

  He began kicking and twisting after the first blow, fully recognizing her plan of attack. He rocked to the right, then rolled hard, trying to push her over and pin her down.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen, or the fight would be over with her as the loser.

  Scissoring her legs and bending her left knee, she dug her foot into the snow and locked it there, pushing back against him as hard as she could, stopping his roll in its tracks. With a quick swivel, she brought her other leg up, over, and down in between his, hooking it over the top of his left knee. Digging the heel of her foot into the snow pack, she rocked forward, bending her chin to her chest and tensing her neck as she grimaced. With a quick thrust she arched her body while throwin
g her head back, intent on slamming the back of it into his nose. It was a maneuver of last resort, but she was running out of options.

  She figured he saw the head butt coming, because she felt him trying to twist. He managed to turn enough to save his nose; however, he was unable to keep her skull from popping hard against his jaw, right at the corner of his chin and mouth.

  The strike was solid enough to send a jarring pain through Constance’s own head, but she was expecting as much and had braced for it. Judging from the sound, he had taken the worst of the strike and was hopefully stunned. With that-and the fact that she had his leg pinned, which left his crotch fully exposed-she would be back in the game.

  Wasting no time, she quickly raised her free arm and drove her fist downward again. He tried to swivel himself and bring up his other leg to block; however, he was a half-beat behind her rhythm. Her blow glanced from his upper thigh but continued its trajectory. Although with far less force than she intended, this time she hit squarely on her mark.

  Even with having been momentarily impeded, the strike still had the desired effect. A pained howl roared out behind her head, and the constricting arm broke away from her waist.

  His other arm was still up around her midsection, looser than before, but still pinning her left arm to her side. Bending her right elbow, she cocked her arm in and immediately reached for his hand as it momentarily unclenched. Grabbing the first two fingers she could seize, she rotated her shoulder upward, unlocking her left knee and rolling to the side. The pair of digits bent backward, eliciting a sharp yelp from her attacker, and he released his grip.

  Finally free, Constance continued pitching quickly to the left, rolling as best she could through the snow. Twisting her body away from her attacker, she lunged forward; scrambling away and up to her knees, she spun around. He was still down, but she didn’t bother weighing the options of a knee drop to the chest or a throat strike. She simply drew her arm back beneath her coat and wrapped her cold-numbed bare hand around the grip of her weapon.

  Throughout the entire skirmish the man had been yelling something at her. Now, more words spilled out of his mouth.

  “…SKIP! IT’S SKIP!” the sheriff’s pained and near breathless voice rang in her ears as she came up to her feet with the pistol in hand. The words were punctuated by a tight cough that blended into a groan.

  “DAMMIT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” she shouted, stepping back so that she was well out of his reach in case he decided to lunge at her. Assuming a tight stance, she took square aim.

  Ben’s recent words raced through her mind- Don’t turn your back on ‘im, okay? She couldn’t help thinking that she obviously should have paid that advice much more heed.

  “Put that damn…thing away…before…someone gets…shot!” Skip panted back at her while struggling to pull himself to his feet.

  “STAY DOWN!” Constance shouted.

  He continued to right himself.

  “DAMMIT SKIP, STAY DOWN!”

  He was already on his feet but bent over with his hands on his knees, sucking in labored breaths as he wheezed. “Calm down…” he huffed out between gasps. “Just…calm down…”

  “GODDAMMIT, SKIP! DON’T MOVE! STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!”

  “Okay… Okay…” he replied.

  “PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND LOCK YOUR FINGERS TOGETHER! NOW!”

  With a pained wince Skip complied. He was standing up, not quite doubled over as before, but apparently still in a good bit of pain from the punch to the family jewels. A dark swath of blood smeared his face and chin where her head butt had caused him to bite through his lip.

  “Will you just calm down…and put the gun away, Constance?” he groaned, still huffing and puffing but starting to regain his breath. He worked his mouth for a moment, then sputtered as he spat blood out onto the snow.

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded. Her voice was still stern and volume slightly elevated, but she was no longer shouting. She threw a quick glance to her left at the little girl who was slowly but steadily increasing the distance between herself and them. She was already to the street and showing no sign of stopping. Throwing a sideways gaze back on Sheriff Carmichael, she called out over her shoulder, “Merrie! Stop!”

  She threw another fleeting glance to the left. The child continued on, having trudged across Evergreen Lane as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Still focused on the sheriff and keeping her sidearm trained on him, Constance demanded again, “Dammit, Skip, tell me what the hell is going on here!”

  “DROP YOUR WEAPON!” a new voice suddenly came from her right. “NOW, Special Agent Mandalay!”

  Constance slowly shifted her eyes and turned her head just enough to see Deputy Broderick. He was only a few feet away with his own weapon trained on her, having come up from a position behind. Apparently, the fact that she was wearing a vest hadn’t escaped him as the muzzle of his pistol was pointed straight at her head. At this distance, unless he was the worst shot on the planet he wasn’t likely to miss.

  “You aren’t going to shoot a federal agent,” she said, fully cognizant of the fact that the comment sounded like dialogue from a cheesy movie. It was the kind of thing the main character’s two-dimensional sidekick always said to the villain right before getting riddled with bullets and becoming a martyr to be avenged with rocket launchers and air strikes. But then to Constance the whole past three days had seemed to play out like a bad movie. Why break the streak now?

  “Yeah, sugar,” Sheriff Carmichael grunted as he stood up a little straighter and grimaced again. “He will if he has to, but that’s not where any of us want this to go. Just hand over your weapon and we can get on with what needs to be done.”

  “I don’t think so,” she barked.

  “Dammit, Constance,” he grumbled. “You can have it back in a few minutes. I just need to show you something first.”

  “That little girl…” she started.

  “I know,” he interrupted her. “That’s exactly what I need to show you. Now if you aren’t gonna hand that thing over, at least holster it, okay? We’re all on the same side here. Nobody needs to be getting shot.”

  Constance glanced between Sheriff Carmichael and Deputy Broderick. She was in a stalemate and she knew it, but she wasn’t about to relinquish her weapon. At least he’d offered the second option, but that didn’t fix anything as long as Broderick was pointing his firearm at her. Ben’s words were still echoing through her brain on an endless loop as she searched for a way out of this.

  Skip stared back at Constance. Her resolve must have been obvious in her expression because he sighed. “Goddammit you’re stubborn…” He directed his attention to the deputy. “Broderick… Stand down.”

  “But, Skip…” the deputy started.

  “Stand down,” he repeated, cutting him off.

  Deputy Broderick hesitated for a moment, then lowered his weapon and slid it into his belt holster. Constance tossed her gaze back and forth between the two of them.

  “Hands behind your head,” she ordered the deputy.

  “Do what she says,” Skip told him.

  Mandalay divided her attentions between them while he complied.

  “There,” Sheriff Carmichael said, directing himself to her. “How about you put yours away too.”

  Constance carefully stepped back and turned so that they were both in her line of sight. “Where’s Deputy Johnson?” she demanded.

  Skip snorted. “If I had to guess, he’s sitting at a desk back at the office where I sent him about nine last night. Probably has his feet up while he’s drinking a hot cup of coffee,” he replied.

  “The office?” she spat. “He was supposed to be watchi-”

  He cut her off. “No need in all of us freezing our asses off, young lady.”

  “But you were supposed to be watching the outside of the house.”

  “We were. Did you see anyone come in?”

  “That’s not the-”

  “Dammit, Co
nstance,” he retorted, cutting her off again. “Just put your damn pistol away and I’ll give you whatever answers I have. I promise.”

  She mulled it over, staring back at both of them as a rising surge of wind whipped her hair around her face. It moaned dolefully through the trees before tapering off to nothing.

  “Why should I believe that? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me so far.”

  “I think you just saw my reason for that.”

  She continued to stare at him but didn’t reply.

  After several heartbeats he appealed, “We really don’t have a whole lot of time. Merrie is going to be waiting.”

  Every ounce of training Constance had told her to cuff them both, then call the Missouri Highway Patrol for backup, then her SAC, and then just sit on this until it could all be sorted out. She’d been lied to, physically attacked, and on the wrong end of a gun, and those were just the high points. She was sure there could be plenty more charges filed without even cracking the spine on a law book.

  But that was her training. Her instinct was telling her something completely different. It was being entirely contradictory, and she couldn’t follow both of them. Not simultaneously. She had to make a choice between brain and gut. She knew it was a coin toss. She also knew there was much more at stake than who got the ball.

  Going with her brain would be the safe bet. But then there was that little girl, trudging half-dressed through the snow, and somehow she knew that’s what this was really all about. Following her gut might well be the option that would bring some sense to all of this.

  “Constance, if you want answers, put the gun away. But I’m telling you now, I don’t have time for this. No matter what, in about one minute I’m going to walk to my car and go do what I have to do. You can either come with me, or you can shoot me. Honestly, I’m kinda hoping for option number one.”