“Someone has to be here.” She glanced at him then turned her attention to the boy. “It started?”
“Yeah. But we need tires and gas before we can go anywhere.”
Stan looked between the two. “You know what, Danny? You should take the constable home and show her the truck. Then you can have lunch.”
“But I just had breakfast.” Danny caught his father’s pointed look and glanced towards the young woman. “But of course, I’m always hungry.”
“I really should stay here,” she said hesitantly. “In case someone needs help.”
“You need to check out the truck,” Stan said. “And my wife will be glad of some company. Why don’t you tell me Doyle’s address and I’ll go bang on his door and see what's up with him? You can tape a note to the door telling people you’re at our house.”
The young woman disappeared for a moment. She appeared behind them, apparently through a hidden doorway. She scribbled Doyle’s address in a notebook, ripped out the page and handed it to Stan.
He watched as Danny and the girl (woman, he reminded himself) disappeared through the door. Without her cap and uniform, she looked like what she was, a frightened, cold, young woman, wrapped in a too-big coat and wearing RCMP issued boots. Stan’s eyes filled as he realized that she wasn’t much older than his own daughter. He hoped someone was looking after her and she wasn’t cold and hungry somewhere…or worse buried in a snowbank.
He glanced at the paper in his hand, realized he was only a couple of blocks from the Superintendent's home. It was in the opposite direction of his own house. The door swung shut behind him and he realized they had not left a sign with his address on it. Shrugging, he made his way down the steps and into the falling snow.
Chapter 22 - Despair
The officer’s house was dark and looked uninhabited when Stan got there. The snow around the door was smooth. No smoke floated from the chimney. Stan stomped up the front steps, knocking snow onto the ground, listening for any sounds from inside. All was silent.
“Doyle!” Stan cleared his throat and called again, louder this time. He didn’t know why he was nervous all of a sudden. He tried the door. It was locked. He looked left, then right. Snow was piled up to the window sills. He could see faint tracks where the young woman had stood and peered into the living room window. The wind and falling snow had obliterated most of them, but under the window was a protected area.
Something was definitely wrong. He could feel it. He stepped off the porch and plowed through the drifted snow towards the back of the house. The kitchen door was locked too. The top half of the door was glass and cupping his hands he pressed his face against it. A pair of lace curtains obscured his view. After a moment’s consideration, he picked up the snow shovel leaning against the steps and with a grunt, swung it at the glass. It shattered and shards of glass flew across the kitchen. Carefully, he reached through the and released the deadbolt. The thought crossed his mind that for a policeman, Doyle didn’t have much of a security system.
He stepped into the kitchen. Frost was creeping up the walls and across the tops of the cabinets. The tile floor was slippery and he stepped carefully. “Hello!” His voice echoed.
Peeking around the corner he saw a huge living room with a brick fireplace. No fire burned, though a layer of ashes and the faint odour of smoke testified its recent use. A cup sat on the coffee table, surrounded by piles of paper and books. The drapes were closed and the room was shadowy.
Stan inched his way across the hardwood floor towards the table and its empty cup. He took a deep breath and looked over the back of the couch. He released the breath. He didn’t know what he expected, but there was nobody stretched out on the couch. A pile of blankets was bunched at one end. Ralph must have been sleeping here, in front of the fire. The cup was half full of ice. He called again as he made his way to what appeared to be an office. It too was empty. Stan stood for a minute, wondering where the man could have gone. He only came here to sleep, spending most of his time at the station or walking around the town. Did he fall somewhere or did someone take exception to his actions?
Stan could see his breath as he climbed the stairs. Three doors faced the upper landing, all closed. Taking a deep breath, he opened the first door. It was the master suite. The king-size bed was stripped of blankets. The adjoining bathroom was empty, the porcelain making it look even colder. Although it was still morning, the falling snow and the closed curtains made it feel like night had fallen. A shiver ran up Stan’s spine.
He tiptoed down the hall and tried the remaining doors. In the third room, he found the policeman. His gun had slipped from his hand and lay on the bed beside him. The bullet had torn away half of his head. Blood had sprayed across the pink bedspread and white organdy curtains. Brown streaks ran down the wall, frozen into bizarre patterns on the cartoon-themed wallpaper.
Although he wanted to turn and run, Stan forced himself to move closer, almost tripping over the boots that had been placed neatly beside the bed. He stood for a moment, gazing down at the man he had come to consider a friend.
Turning, he wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and backed out of the room. He stamped his feet as he ran down the stairs, making as much noise as he could, trying to overcome the oppressive silence that hung over the house. He stopped on the front step and wiped his eyes with a sleeve. He needed to close the door; keep Ralph Doyle’s privacy. As he touched the doorknob, sobs boiled up from deep inside and he sank to his knees.
For a few minutes, he allowed his grief and guilt to overwhelm him, then slamming the door closed, he started for home. He wanted to get there while the young constable was still there. What was her name again? Doyle had mentioned her a few times. He was glad he had found the body and spared her. Amanda! That was it!
Relieved that he had remembered and could call her by name, he tried to plan on how to break the news that she was now the sole representative of authority in the town.
When he stepped into the kitchen, with its smell of cooking and wood smoke so at odds with the house he had left, he was again overcome with emotion. Amanda was sipping soup while Miriam and Danny watched. She looked very young without her regulation coat and boots. Instead of a uniform, she wore a rumpled sweat shirt and jeans. Wool socks peeked from under her chair.
Three sets of concerned eyes turned towards him. Miriam jumped up and ran to hug him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Did you find the Superintendent?” Amanda laid her spoon down.
“I did.” Stan took a deep breath. “He…” The words would not come and he covered his eyes with his hand.
“Is he dead?” She spoke without emotion, but her eyes reflected a deep sadness.
Danny searched the adults' faces. “Dad?”
Stan lowered his hand. “I’m afraid he is dead. It looks like he shot himself.” A vision of the blood-streaked walls and white curtains rose up before him. He reached for a chair. Miriam helped him sit, and pull his coat off.
He smiled at her gratefully. The family watched as the constable picked up her spoon and resumed eating.
She felt their eyes on her but kept chewing. The meat was tough, despite being cooked on the wood stove for hours. The occasional carrot was a prize and she held it in her mouth for a few seconds, savouring it.
“Are you okay?” Miriam ventured to ask.
Amanda nodded. “I’m fine. I know I’m going to need my strength, so thank you for the soup.” She met Stan’s stricken look. “Where was he?”
“In his daughter’s room. At least I assume it was his daughter’s. He never mentioned where his family was, and to my deep regret I never asked.”
She pushed the empty bowl away. “They had gone on vacation when all this started. His wife and two kids. They were due home before school started, but of course, they didn’t come and he had no way to know if they were okay.” She sighed. “It ate at him, not knowing. I kept telling him that as soon as this all ended they would come home and he h
ad to be here for them.”
“I think it was the cars,” Stan said thoughtfully. “He was devastated when he came back from checking all the cars.”
Amanda nodded. “It was like he gave up hope after that.” She pushed her chair back and jumped up. “If he had only waited a week!” she cried. “If he had known the truck started and there was going to be a light at the end of the tunnel!”
She reached for her coat. “I have to go!”
“Where?” Miriam grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t stay at the station. It’s getting warmer, but look at you, you’re skin and bones. Stay here with us.”
The woman hesitated, then shook off Miriam’s hand. ‘No, I have to be at the station in case someone wants help. With Ralph gone, I’m the only one there.”
“Nobody expects you to sit there starving day after day.” Stan looked at his wife, who nodded in understanding. He felt guilty for thinking that this new tragedy had shaken Miriam out of her doldrums. “We’ll drag another mattress down and you can sleep here. Go to the station during the day.”
“I guess I could do that.”
Danny leaped to his feet. “I’ll go get the mattress from Tara’s bed. She can have that!”
“No.” Miriam reached for his sleeve. “Not that one. Take the one from the spare room instead.”
The boy hesitated and glanced at his father. Stan nodded. “Your mom’s right. The spare room one is more comfortable. I’ll come and help you.” He followed Danny up the dark stairs.
“I hate to be a bother.” The young woman sat down. Her lip trembled and tears filled her eyes. “It was lonely there without Ralph.” Her voice caught. “And now he’s not coming back.” Suddenly she was angry. “How could he do this to me? He knew I couldn’t do this alone. He knew the town needs him!” She lowered her head and sobbed.
“I think he knew you could do this alone.” Miriam patted her hand where it lay on the table. “I think he thought you were strong enough. Now take off your coat and we’ll talk about how to move forward.”
A tear-streaked face turned towards her. She didn’t look any older than Tara, hunched over the table in the bulky coat, with her hair sticking up in clumps and her trembling lips. Miriam wanted to hug her.
“Do you think so?” Amanda asked. “Did he trust me that much?”
“He spoke very highly of you,” Miriam said. “You were the only one to stay.”
“Yeah, well, that was mostly because I had no place to go.” She hung the heavy coat on a hook by the door. “My family is in Ontario and that’s a long way to walk.”
Conversation stopped as the mattress was wrestled into the crowded kitchen. Miriam told the men to lean it against the wall for the day, to be laid down at night. She tiptoed upstairs to haul blankets and pillows down. The house felt haunted to her. It was so cold and dark. She shivered, then scolded herself for being spooked in her own well-loved home. Later, she would walk down to the station with Amanda to collect her clothes. It would be nice to have company when Stan left to find their daughter.
A million diamonds reflected back from the fresh snow when Stan, Miriam, and Amanda opened the back door that afternoon. They donned sunglasses, marvelling at how the weather had changed so dramatically since morning. Already they could hear the sound of water dripping from the eaves.
“Who do you think is around to help with the body?” Stan asked.
“I think the doctor will be in his office,” Amanda answered. “He’s been there every day so far.”
Stan nodded. “I have run into him at the hospital. We should take him with us to the house and he can issue a death certificate.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” Amanda asked bitterly. “Who is going to look for one death certificate after all the thousands who have disappeared?”
Stan draped one arm over her shoulders and squeezed. “This will end,” he said. “And when it does, we will want to be as organized as possible. Now let's go get Dr. Quinn, and take care of Ralph.”
Miriam declined accompanying them to the hospital. Instead, she carried a bundle of Amanda’s belongings back to the house. Stan and Amanda found the doctor at the hospital, checking on the remaining three patients. He laughed bitterly when they told him about Doyle’s suicide.
“Another one.” He wiped his glasses with a corner of a dirty napkin. “I honestly can’t keep up.” He waved his hand, indicating the beds pushed close to the woodstove. What had been a pristine emergency room, was crowded with empty beds pushed against the walls, and piles of dirty linen in the corners. The nurses moved lethargically between the patient’s beds and their own in the lobby. “We’re all at the end of our tether, here.”
“What should we do with the Superintendent?” Amanda persisted. “Will you come to his house?”
“No point.” The doctor turned away. “We’ve set up a morgue in the basement. Move him over here if you can. I’ll sign a certificate, for all the good I think it’ll do.”
“We’re coming to the end.” Stan insisted. “My old truck started, so I think whatever happened is letting up. You have to hang on.”
“Do I?” Dr. Quinn peered at him through smudged glasses. “It’s pretty hard to stay optimistic when half the town has left and the other half is starving or dead. I’m just glad my own wife didn’t live to see this.”
He walked away and Stan stared after him.
“Come on,” Amanda pulled at his sleeve. “We’ll move Ralph’s body over here and then you can start looking for tires. The town needs to see that truck moving down the street to give them hope.”
Stan and Amanda stood on the top step of Ralph Doyle’s porch, considering their options.
“Maybe we should just leave him here,” Stan said doubtfully.
Amanda shuddered. “We can’t do that. It’s warming up and the body will start decomposing soon. It’s a lot easier to move him now.”
“I guess so.” Stan’s eyes filled. “It just seems so wrong.”
The young woman patted his shoulder. “I know. But the sooner we get this done, the better. Why don’t you go look for a sleigh or a wagon to move him in?”
Reluctantly, the pair entered the house. Stan went into the kitchen and from there to the attached garage. Switching on his flashlight, he scanned the walls, looking for something they could use to move Doyle to the hospital morgue. A child’s sleigh hung on the back wall, and he pulled it down, thinking of the little girl who would never get to use it. Guilt overwhelmed him again, as he realized he didn’t even know her name or how old she was.
Amanda interrupted his thoughts by calling from the top of the stairs. “Come and help me, Stan. I’ve wrapped the quilt around the body, but I can’t move it myself.”
Silently they each picked up an end of the body. After a bit of maneuvering, they managed to get down the stairs into the foyer. Carefully they laid it on the small sleigh.
“I’ll pull,” Stan said. “You make sure he doesn’t slip off.”
Later, Stan would tell Miriam that it was the longest walk of his life. A few haggard people came out of their houses to watch their awkward progress. Amanda had to keep stooping to hold the dragging feet off the ground. When the body was safely in the morgue, they looked back at their tracks in the snow. The sleigh’s progress had been erratic and behind the runner’s tracks was a rut where the man’s long legs had dragged.
Amanda blinked tears back and without a word, set off for the police station. With dragging steps, Stan made his way home, pulling the child’s sleigh behind him.
That afternoon Stan sent Danny to collect gas cans from around the neighbourhood. A few people peered out of drawn draperies or front doors, wondering why the boy was pulling a sled full of red gas cans down the middle of the street. If asked, Danny told them about the truck. People’s eyes filled with sudden hope and they hurried to their half-buried vehicles to see if they would start.
“New cars that have computers in them won’t start,” Danny warned. “And yo
u’re probably going to have dead batteries.”
One woman, standing outside in a thin summer coat, waved him over. “I have a bunch of old tires in the back,” she told him. “Will that help?”
“It sure will”, Danny grinned. “I’ll come back with my dad and check the sizes.”
“Do you have any food?” the woman asked and Danny noticed how skinny she was, shivering under her skimpy coat. “Me and my kids have been eating nothing but canned peas for weeks now.”
“I’ll bring you some deer meat,” Danny promised, thinking how lucky his family was to have a dad who knew how to hunt. He wondered where the woman’s husband was. He didn’t remember her, so her kids must be younger than him. Maybe his mom would know their name.
Stan met him in the backyard. “There are lots of abandoned cars around.” He said. “We’ll start by siphoning as much gas as we can get from them.”
Danny told him about the woman and the tires.
“You’d better go tell your mom about her,” Stan said. “She can take some meat over right now. Do you remember where she lives?”
“Yep.” Danny ran for the house. After telling Miriam where the woman lived he rejoined his dad and they set off to find gas for the truck.
“Mom’s feeling a lot better all of a sudden,” Danny commented.
“That’s because she’s got someone to worry about besides Tara. She needs to be busy and with Amanda here and neighbours to help, she’ll be back to her old self before you know it.”
“What if we don’t find Tara?” Danny looked at his dad. “Will she go back to being sick?”
“She might.” Stan sighed. “We can’t predict the future, Son. All we can do is put one step in front of the other. Now come on, I’ll show you an old-time trick for getting free gas.”
Stan pulled a small hose out of his pocket. “See if you can unlock the cover.” He told his son.
Danny opened the driver’s door and popped the switch with a picture of a gas tank on it. The lid opened easily and Stan fed the narrow tube into the tank. “The trick is to have a really narrow hose,” he said. “These new tanks have a butterfly valve on them to prevent theft.” He put his lips on the end of the hose and sucked on it. After a minute he sputtered and gagged before leading the hose into the first container. “The next trick,” he said when he had caught his breath, “is to move the hose before you swallow any gas.”
The Incident | Book 3 | Winter of Darkness Page 9
