by Bera, Ilia
“What about you?” Michael asked.
“Me?”
“If you aren’t playing, what are you up to. I mean, besides English class.”
“Oh. I don’t know—I guess that’s it. I’m just going through the motions these days, you know?”
“Seeing anyone?” Michael asked.
“Um,” Connor said. Hanna’s beautiful face flashed through his mind. Then, the thought of her true identity came rushing back. “It’s complicated,” Connor said.
“Yeah,” Michael replied. “It always is, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately,” Connor said.
The conversation turned back to silence. Connor’s toes were beginning to burn from the piercing cold. He started to turn around again to leave. Michael looked back down at the casket as a pile of dirt covered the final visible spot on the casket.
“I’ll kill him,” Michael said.
“What?” Connor asked.
“Whoever did this. I’ll kill him if I ever find him. He’d better be praying the police find him before I do, because I won’t have any sympathy. I won’t have any remorse. I will make him regret this.”
The image of Hanna flashed through Connor’s mind again. Michael’s rage was so intense, the snow was practically melting around his feet. The fact that Hanna was a small girl probably wouldn’t stop the heavyweight enforcer from ripping her in half—or getting himself killed trying.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll see you around,” Connor said.
Michael didn’t respond as he continued to stare down at the hole, which contained his late father.
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
SLEEPLESS IN SNOWBROOKE
Michael was unable to sleep that night. He stayed up in the quiet living room, long after his mother and his sisters had gone to sleep. When he finally decided he would try to sleep, he simply stared at the stucco ceiling of his bedroom for what felt like hours. He was exhausted, his eyes were heavy. But his body had not interest in sleep. There would be no sleeping that night.
Once Michael finally accepted his insomnia, he decided to leave. Michael knew all too well that being alone with your thoughts could be dangerous.
Without waking up his family, Michael took off and found himself driving down the dark, snow-ridden Snowbrooke streets. He scanned all of the local businesses for an open sign. Even the town’s little twenty-four hour café was closed because of bad business.
There was, however, one establishment still open—a faint glow drew Michael towards an unlikely spot, on the perimeter of the local university where his late-father worked.
The Winter’s Den.
Michael considered turning around, uncomfortable with the idea of hanging out at his dad’s old stomping ground. But the thought of wallowing in his own grieving mind was a far worse one. Michael pulled up to the little joint and threw his truck into park. It was 3:00AM—long after any bar should have closed.
Michael wasn’t in the mood to question the joint’s peculiarly late opening. He walked inside and looked around. All of the televisions were on, and the chairs were all neatly placed in front of the tables. It was unusually clean, for being so desolate, so empty.
Eric Daniels sat at the bar, watching the nightly hockey-highlight reel on the local sports channel. He looked over at Michael swiftly, surprised to have a customer at such an hour. “You scared me,” Eric said.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said.
“No, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to come in this late.”
Michael looked around. “So why are you open?”
Eric laughed. “I don’t really know. I didn’t feel like being at home—couldn’t sleep.”
“Same,” Michael said.
Eric sprung to his feet and walked around the bar. Eric began quoting the television perfectly: “Three goals and three assists, setting a defensive record for the leafs. Carlyle didn’t have a lot say about Phaneuf’s performance.” Eric switched voices, imitating the next speaker on the television. “Yeah. I’m happy—You don’t see a lot of defensemen pulling in those kinds of numbers. He played the whole sixty, and that’s all we could ask from him…” Eric had clearly been watching the loop for far too long.
“Slow night?” Michael asked.
“You have no idea. They closed the residence the other day, sent all the students home to their parents. Haven’t had a customer in… going on three days now. What can I get you?”
“Whatever’s on special,” Michael said.
“It’s all on special. It’s all free. It’s all going to go flat and get thrown out. How’s about one of these fancy Belgium import beers?”
“I’ll just have a Pilsner.”
Eric laughed. “It’s all free, and you pick the cheapest thing on tap.” He pulled out a clean glass and began to pour Michael a beer. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Alright.” Eric waited a moment as the foam settled before handing the beer off to Michael. He stood behind the bar as Michael took the first sip from the cool drink. “Anything else? Water—peanuts?”
“No, thanks.”
Eric tapped his fingers against the bar as he looked around for anything else to keep his mind occupied—off of his fallen brother. The bar was already spotless. He’d already cleaned and polished everything. He’d changed every light bulb, and scraped every piece of old chewing gum from under every single table. He had even artistically written out the bar’s menu on the large chalk board, over the bar—something that hadn’t been done since before Eric was born. There was absolutely nothing left for him to do.
“The Flyers expanded their streak to six with a pair from an unlikely third-liner,” Eric quoted as he walked back around the bar to continue watching the endless highlight loop. The two grieving men sat silently together as they stared mindlessly at the repeating television loop.
A swift breeze soared through the room as the bar door opened unexpectedly. Someone else had arrived at the bar—another sleepless soul.
Dressed in her fitted white designer coat and standing at the bar’s entry was Brittany. She closed the door behind her before turning to face the two solemn men. Eric and Michael turned in unison, mutually shocked that there was yet another member of the Insomniacs Committee. Michael looked back at the television.
Eric immediately recognized Brittany—the girl his late-step-brother was head over heels over. He sprung to his feet. “Hey,” he said.
“Hello,” Brittany said as she pushed her hood off of her head.
“Sit anywhere you’d like—What can I get for you?”
“Um—I’m not sure.” Brittany walked over to the bar and took a seat, a few stools down from Michael. She looked up at the television, and, like the other insomniacs, got lost in her own mind while her eyes stared up at the flashing screen.
Eric looked at Brittany curiously while he poured her a drink. Before Andrew was killed, Brittany was everything Andrew could talk about, but Eric knew next to nothing about this Brittany girl—nothing except for the fact she went home with Thomas, the British student, the night he was killed. Eric passed Brittany her drink.
“Drinks are on the house tonight,” Eric said.
“No—That’s not necessary,” Brittany replied.
“Unfortunately, it is. It either goes into you or into the alley.”
Brittany smiled. “Okay—Thanks.”
Eric smiled. As far as Eric knew, Brittany was Andrew’s killer, but he knew it would be foolish to make that accusation. Besides—looking at the girl—Brittany seemed more interested in the latest fashion craze than murder.
“I’ll be in the back washing dishes,” Eric said, turning towards the kitchen and leaving Michael and Brittany alone together.
Michael continued to stare at the television screen. “Can’t sleep either?” he asked without looking over.
Brittany looked over at Michael. “Yeah.”
“What’s your excuse?” Michael asked.
�
��Oh, where do I begin?”
“Yeah. I hear that.”
“Do you ever wish you could go back in a time machine?” Brittany asked. “Just for one second—just to change one word.”
Michael looked over at the dark-skinned girl. “Every day,” he said.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Brittany said.
“What’s your name?”
Brittany smiled. “Brittany,” she introduced. “Brittany Brucheveskyj.”
“Nice to meet you Brittany Br—Bru…”
“Bru-chev-ski.”
“Brittany Bru-chev-ski,” Michael attempted.
“That was pretty good!”
Michael smiled.
“What’s your name?” Brittany asked.
“Michael. Michael Fenner.”
Brittany’s heart plummeted deep into her stomach. She went silent at the name “Fenner”. She knew immediately who Michael was—she watched him leave the house that night.
Michael watched as Brittany’s face flushed and her pupils dilated. “Are you okay?” Michael asked.
“What?” Brittany said.
“Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah. Sorry, I just…”
“You heard about my dad, I take it?
“Um, yeah. I—I heard.”
“Were you in his class?” Michael asked.
“Me?” Brittany was completely flustered. She hid her trembling hands under the bar.
Michael looked around at the empty bar. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a few days since I slept.”
“Don’t worry about it. My dad mentioned you. You were his tough student.”
“Tough?”
“You weren’t afraid to talk back.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be. I was just having a bad week,” Brittany said. “I wasn’t trying to be tough.”
“No, it’s good. Whatever you said to him really clicked in his brain. He came home a different person. My dad had a lot of respect for you.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. The other night he started planning a whole new curriculum because of what you told him,” Michael said. He went silent as reality sunk in. He stared down at the bar. “Life has funny timing sometimes, you know?”
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Yeah…” Michael said. He looked up at Brittany. “Just wish I had that time machine, right?” He smiled.
Brittany returned the smile. Michael laughed.
“What is it?” Brittany asked. “Why are you laughing?”
“When my dad said there was a smart, stubborn, and strong-minded girl in his class, I didn’t—I mean, no offence. I didn’t expect—”
“Why’s that?”
“I mean—You’re—So small. So chic, with your designer clothes. I mean, you’re beautiful.” As soon as the word slipped Michael’s tongue, he turned dark red.
Brittany’s face followed suit.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not coming onto you—I just—I mean…” Michael said. It was like his mouth was falling down a very long set of stairs.
“It’s okay. I know what you meant. People are always surprised when I open my mouth.”
“I’m not like a sexist or a racist or anything like that—I mean, not that I even notice things like that. Well, you know, I notice obviously, but I don’t judge—”
“I know—It’s okay.” Brittany laughed.
Michael looked back down at his empty cup. He slid the tip of his finger around the rim of the glass. “Thanks,” he said softly.
“Thanks?” Brittany asked.
“Thanks for being so honest with my dad. He appreciated it more than you will ever know.”
Brittany’s heart felt as though it had been crushed by a tonne of bricks. Michael meant well, but that made her feel even worse, like a real bitch.
Michael smiled and looked back up at the television. “You know, for the first time since—since it happened, I actually feel… Less like shit,” Michael said. “I mean crap—Excuse my language.”
Brittany smiled.
“You know, this is going to sound weird, but I have this tryout thing in the city this weekend. If you wanted to come down and watch, that would be cool.”
Brittany’s smile fizzled away.
Michael’s expression dropped just as quickly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean, like, on a date. I just—I just thought, you know, you remind me a lot of my dad. And it’s a really important tryout, and my dad would have loved to be there—he was going to come, but you know—I mean—It’s not like you have to. I’m not trying to pity you into coming.” Michael was stumbling over himself—completely tongue-tied. His mouth continued falling down that same long set of stairs.
“I—I want to come, but I don’t think I can make it…”
“I’m sorry—I just thought I would ask. Again, I’m not trying to come onto you.”
It was a side of Michael that very few had ever seen—if anyone at all. The man with the rough and rugged reputation was stumbling over himself like a meek little teenager before The Prom.
“I mean, I think my dad mentioned you had a boyfriend in his class—and I’m not trying to step on that…”
Brittany’s pupils dilated. “Yeah—I mean, no. I mean, it’s complicated.”
“It always is, right?” Michael looked around for Eric, who was still in the kitchen washing the dishes. “He wouldn’t mind if I poured myself another glass, right?”
Brittany laughed at the bumbling hockey prodigy.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
SECRETS NO MORE
The gloomy overcast skies made for an unusually short day—the light sensors on the streetlight even decided that it wasn’t bright enough to justify turning off. You could have gone to the bathroom and missed the sun completely that day. As the people of Snowbrooke all knew, it was just a few days before December 21st, the Winter Equinox, the shortest day of the year. For three days straight, there would be no sunlight at all over the town of Snowbrooke. The next day would be the sun’s final hurrah. Every year, Snowbrooke held a cute little festival at the town center. That year, for the first time ever, the festival was cancelled.
The short days made Snowbrooke an especially dangerous town. After a week of inactivity, the “vampire killer” struck again, this time attacking during daytime hours, killing an older man—a man who had no affiliation with SBU. It was the first non-university related killing that had been linked to the elusive serial killer, and the townspeople responded.
The only townspeople out of their homes that day were out installing security systems on the sides of their homes. You could have made a drinking game out of it—For every man on a ladder, installing a motion-activated flood light, have a drink. You would have been flat on your ass by the fourth block. The town was done taking chances—people were officially scared for their lives. The Vampire Killer was no longer a headline. It was a real threat.
The local news station issued a “state of emergency”. That day, a caravan of black SUVs rolled into town—officers and investigators with the federal police. The country had officially heard the name “Snowbrooke” thanks to the media—thanks to the Vampire Killer.
The local sheriff drove down the Snowbrooke streets with a megaphone. “Stay in your homes!” he said over and over, passing every home at least three times.
A phone call was made to every student in the English upgrading class: “The remainder of your English upgrading class will be completed online. Assignments will be sent via email. If you do not have access to a computer, one can be delivered to you. We ask all students to avoid the Snowbrooke University Campus until further notice.” The change was forced upon by the new federal head of the murder investigation.
A similar message was sent out to the many businesses of Snowbrooke. The new policing unit set strict curfews for businesses. Some businesses were forced to close until further notice. People were understandably
upset, but many were comforted, knowing their loved ones wouldn’t be out in the streets during the later hours.
The streets could not have been quieter.
Walking down the street at five in the afternoon was an eerie experience, like walking through the forlorn school halls after hours. Between the mid-winter’s darkness and the frightened silence, you would think you were on the set of some post-apocalyptic film.
Connor walked from his home to the hospital to see his mother. His mind hadn’t calmed down any. “Could all this be because of Hanna?” he wondered as he looked around the barren streets. It seemed like a crazy notion, but given everything he knew, no notion was an unreasonable notion.
The piercing howl of the wind was only challenged by the hum of an patrolling police cruiser. Between his house and the hospital, five cruisers rolled up next to Connor.
“Where are you headed, sir?” each of the officers asked Connor.
“I’m going to the hospital to see my mother.”
Each of the officers offered Connor a ride, but Connor declined each of them. “It’s not necessary, officer.” Connor didn’t want to waste the officers’ time, especially seeing as there was a major investigation underway.
Each of the officers said the same thing before driving away. “Call us right away if you see any strange activity.”
“Sure thing, officer.”
One of the officers even insisted on taking Connor’s picture, “just in case”. No chances were being taken that night.
“Hey,” a familiar voice called out from behind Connor as the final of the interrogating cruisers pulled away. Connor quickly spun around.
It was Hanna, standing with her hands buried in her pockets. She smiled.
“Hey—What are you doing out here?” Connor asked.
“I was actually heading to the hospital, to see you. I’m glad I caught you.”
“Oh,” Connor said awkwardly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Do you mind if I tag along?” Hanna asked.
“Um,” Connor thought. The image of Officer Hendricks being inexplicably launched into the wall flashed through his mind. “Sure,” he said.
