She slouched forwards, a weathered chin pressed into a knobby hand. The crone kept her eyes half-lidded behind long and wispy white hair, as she strained to hear the chatter in the hall.
The white marble bench she sat on was hidden from view in a narrow alcove. The long shadows cast from the tall open windows opposite cast a perpetual gloom onto her sanctuary while lighting the rest of the hall with their brilliant radiance.
As the power of the Asir and Vanir had waned in recent centuries the nook had become a favorite spot for the woman to sit and learn the plans and games of the gods.
“Freya,” Heimdall hissed and rounded on Freya as the Goddess made her casual way down the hall in the opposite direction of the large watchman. "You’ve put us all at risk with your little game."
Freya came to a stop in front of the god, rolled her eyes, and huffed. "We all stand to benefit Heimi. Once my new pet acquires a few more followers the rift will stabilize and I'll be able to come and go as I please with no further danger to anyone."
“I don't see what you see in this pet. You could've done much better for an envoy and decreased the risk,” he griped.
“That's my business. She's already converted two. Sent me a new worthy soul for the Einherjar and gave me wonderful and powerful offerings. Not to mention she helped me sanctify my first shrine on Astra. All in under a month without aggravating the locals overmuch. You can hardly argue it's not working." She crossed her arms over her chest and started tapping her toes on the hard marble floor.
Tap, tap...tap.
Heimdall glared, his nostrils flaring.
Tap, tap...tap.
"Fine, another month. You. Will. Not. Provide your pet with any unbidden assistance and you will guard the tear with your life until it settles." Heimdall's stern gaze held Freya for another long moment. “If she dies come get me and I’ll close it. You owe me for this.”
Tap, tap...tap.
Freya matched his gaze with her nose upturned.
With a sigh, Heimdall turned on a heel and stalked off.
“Prude,” Freya snorted.
"A month is a long time where she is now," Freya said with relish and a wide smile as she watched Heimdall retreating before continuing on herself.
Interesting, Loki mused.
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Stace fumbled at the door handle, catching one long nail, and flipping it back perpendicular to the finger, in her haste to get into her car.
"Ow-fuck!" She cursed shaking her hand when she finally succeeded with the handle.
Her weakened legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed into the seat with an "oof."
A half breath of relief escaped when she hit the button to lock the doors and got the keys into the ignition but did little for her jitters.
She backed away from her family's trailer, spinning the tires on the hardened snow in her haste to get out of the park, and onto a nearby slush-filled paved street.
Using her teeth she tore away the broken nail and stuck the injured finger into her mouth; suckling on it as she drove. Fuck, she thought.
A few minutes later she pulled into Frank Thompson’s driveway to give herself a moment to collect her racing mind.
She rested her head on the steering wheel breathing slow and long while she listened to her heartbeat thunder in her ears.
Outside the days-old snowstorm still inundated Ashburn's deserted streets.
Looking up, Stace studied her dark reflection in the snow-swept windshield and cursed herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She thumped her head into the steering wheel in rhythm to her thoughts. Stupid.
She shook her head, sighed, and blew her nose before wiping forcefully at the few tears that had leaked out of the corners of her eyes with the inside hem of her shirt.
She pulled the visor down with still shaking hands and swore at the bruise she found slowly growing under her right eye.
She winced while pressing at the edges of the reddened eye, grinding her molars against the all-too-familiar ache. Fucking drunk bastard. Why does he always pull this shit before my night shift?
The clatter of her digging into her purse filled her small Hyundai for a moment as she stacked cosmetics on her dash with uncooperative hands.
"Fuck! Fucking stop shaking!" She raged at her hands; slamming her palms into the steering wheel a few times, eliciting a sharp stab of pain in them both.
She winced and bowed her head, gripping her hands together in her lap until they went white while taking a few more long, slow breaths before she opened her makeup case and balanced it on the steering column.
She readjusted the rearview mirror and, carefully, with only small tremors, she took the small brush from the lid and dipped it into the light blue cream deftly covering the redness of her still-growing bruise under her eye. She moved onto a reddish-pink for the rest then covered it all with the dark tan concealer that she long ago found matched her natural skin tone the best.
She criticized her reflection for a minute. Fixing her eyeliner, mascara, and blush before she felt satisfied. She tried on a smile but it failed to touch her large chestnut eyes and she closed them again taking another long breath before putting the car in gear and pulling out of Thompson's short drive.
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Frank Thompson waited, coat on and ready to leave, with his head in his hands, and elbows resting on the counter when she got to work.
"Mornin," she said brushing thick snowflakes from her shoulders and hair.
"He's going to kill you one day, ya-know. I have a free couch if you need it," he said, a frown creasing his large round face.
"Not even a g-morning?" Stace said, getting only a deeper frown in response. Stace had to admit the man had a face designed to frown. Deep-set eyes with heavy dark brows over a long heavy face and jowls. His mouth was never more than a thin line.
It's uncanny how he always knows. Stace thought, studying the floor as she brushed past her large friend; her long hair shielding her face.
"Frank. I'll be fine," she assured him, over her shoulder as she punched her time card. If I leave he'll just go after Rony. Another year and she'll graduate, she thought.
"Fine," Frank mocked, his deep jowls shaking with his head as he made for the door. "Fine girl. I'll see you at nine then."
"Good night, Frank." Stace put as much cheer into her farewell as she could manage.
"'ight," he mumbled. The word was almost lost to the tinkling of the door chimes and the scrap and buzz of the door slamming shut behind him.
Stace huffed a long strand of limp brown hair from her eyes and looked out over the empty convenience store while doing her best not to dwell on what happened earlier.
"Fucking brilliant start to the morning, Stace," she muttered, probing gently at an ache that was growing under her right breast.
He'll never see my tears again. She vowed as she fished her tablet out from behind the register and opened it to a sketch app and removed the stylus from its groove.
She scrawled 'Sullen Frank from Behind' across the top of the spiderwebbed display and quickly began sketching an outline focusing on the roundness and slopes of his large shoulders and oily black hair.
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Berry Tucker and his son Dean were the first customers to blow in on a frigid January gust an hour later.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Stace's chest tightened as she remembered why the men were still awake at the early hour despite likely being up for over two full days by this point. Her night seemed, well, normal when compared to theirs.
She took a long breath and kept her face neutral when she spoke. "Morning Berry, Dean...did. Any luck yet?" She winced internally.
"The RCs finally found his truck a few hours ago, he was taking one of his shortcuts and plowed deep into a stand of birch." Dean offered with a short weary nod.
"No sign of him, but blood on the driver's seat and floor. They aren't saying more." Berry added, pulling at his beard with a sigh.
"Oh," Stace said, pressing her lips together against the first real tears threatening that night. Chester had always been nice to her, regardless of how often she turned him down.
"Word is, they're setting up a search in the morning if this storm finally passes. Starting out at the Firehall at ten if you would let people know?" Dean asked, placing a few items on the counter beside his dad's. Stace rang them through mechanically as they talked.
"Okay, sure," Stace said to their backs as they left with small waves. A sudden urge to help seized her and she decided she would join the search after her shift. Better than going home, she reasoned.
She sent a message to Rony to get the word out faster. Her sister was more of a social butterfly than her and was likely still out partying at her friend’s place.
Flipping to a new blank on her tablet she scrawled 'Dean and Berry Search' across the top.
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Her uncle Corporal Colin Haes and a pretty young female constable Stace hadn’t met before were the next customers to enter the shop. She pointedly ignored them after a glance, continuing to sketch Dean.
“Stacey, dear. When were these dogs put on?” Her uncle asked, snapping his fingers to get her attention. She ground her teeth at the use of her full name and looked up at him with flat eyes.
“I don’t know, Corporal. Frank did it,” she said before returning to her work.
He shook his head, turning away from the warmer, and grabbed a bag of tex-mex instead, placing it and his coffee on her counter.
Stace rang them through quickly turning her injured eye away under the increased scrutiny of the female constable. The woman frowned but didn’t push, taking her coffee and following Stace’s uncle out.
“Now what?” Her uncle’s companion asked as they left.
“We get some paperwork done while the accident forensics guys do their thing,” he answered with a shrug, shouldering both doors open and letting another gust of frigid air in.
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A minute later the young constable came bustling back in and grabbed a bag of chips from a shelf without looking at it. Her eyes were fixed on Stace.
“Don’t,” Stace warned before the woman could open her mouth, Stace fixed her gaze over the constable's shoulder. Did I mess up with the concealer? Stace wondered, resisting the urge to bring up the camera on her tablet.
“If you…” the young constable started.
“Just don’t,” Stace said with a grimace, while still refusing to meet the woman's eyes.
The woman placed the bag on the counter with a frown.
“Did you and uncle Colin find Chester yet?” Stace asked.
The corners of the woman’s eyes crinkled and she glanced over her shoulder at the door.
“I…” Her frown deepened but Stace cut her off.
“Please just leave it,” Stace implored as she berated herself for the slip. Even when she didn’t know how she’d slipped. The only person that ever seemed to notice before was Frank.
The woman studied Stace closely for a moment longer and nodded reluctantly.
"Chester? Constable Davidson?" Stace repeated, reading the woman's name tag while scanning the bag of pork rinds.
The woman let out a dramatic sigh. "No, is all I can say at this time. But we are setting up a search in the morning. It’s meeting at the firehouse if..."
"So I've heard. You have a great morning Constable Davidson," Stace said cheerily, cutting her off yet again.
The woman’s frown stayed fixed on her face as she turned and left, letting another cold draft inundate the store.
A few minutes later Stace checked her face in her tablet and sighed in relief when she didn't find anything amiss with her makeup. Am I losing it? She wondered before returning to her sketch. The blowing snow and buzz of the refrigerators drowned out the world with their white noise as she drew.
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A couple of dozen people had shown up to brave the cold for the search. Stace hung near the back of the crowd blowing O's of steam into the frigid air. Appreciating the cold bite of it on her bruised face as she listened to the instructions.
She knew nearly everyone there except four new RCMP officers that were down from the city.
"Again, Chester was last seen wearing a high-vis coat and matched ski pants. He may be buried in the snow so be careful to look for any strange reflections.
Constable Davidson will assign each of you a spot when we get out to the scene. Remember, stay well away from all taped-off areas and call out for the nearest officer if you find anything relevant. Do not touch anything until permitted by an officer. Thank you. We head out in 10 minutes," Sergeant Ryan instructed the group of people gathered in the Fire station's parking lot.
Stace stared at her car before glancing about while everyone piled into their trucks and SUVs. With a sigh, she dug her keys out of her purse. I should’ve borrowed Rony’s Jeep for this. It's snowed a lot.
"Miss Haes, you can ride with me if you want to leave that deathtrap here," a gravelly voice from behind interrupted her thoughts.
Stace turned to find Ken Stewart, Chester's ancient grandfather and the man who raised him, behind her. The ramrod-straight old farmer gave her a thin smile and nodded towards his meticulously kept old Chevy.
"Thanks," she choked out. It was all she could say against the sudden pit that gripped her stomach in a vice. Being faced with the flat look on his weathered face was a marked contrast to his typical jovial one.
She coughed to clear her throat and matched his gaze for a moment. “Thanks, I would appreciate that, sir.”
She climbed into the old truck, closing the heavy door against the cold, and folded her hands in her lap with deliberate care.
The first few minutes of the trip passed in silence with Stace picking at her broken nail and studiously watching the light snow blow over the hood before Ken finally spoke.
"This is pointless. My boy knows to never get out of his truck in a storm. Someone picked him up," he said firmly. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he spoke.
Stace opened her mouth to protest, to argue that Chester hadn't shown up at any emergency rooms, hadn't called. Hell, to point out that there hadn’t been a ransom.
But she choked up. She knew that if. No. When they found Chester, he would be dead, but she also knew how valuable hope could be.
Instead, she studied his profile with sad eyes wishing she had brought her tablet before refocusing on the snow-filled fields passing in the window.
Ken patted at his chest pocket a few times before drawing out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He gave the pack a shake before putting it to his lips and drawing one out while pressing the lighter in on his dash with his other hand; using his knee to steer the truck.
His movements punctuated the silence between them.
He cracked his window a turn and lit the smoke with a few short puffs before taking a long drag and sighing long and loud.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, ashing out the window. "It's what everyone is thinking. But we won't find him out there," he assured.
"I didn’t know you smoked," Stace found herself saying while furrowing her brows. She couldn't remember him buying any since she started working in the c-store years ago, and she knew they had the cheapest prices on smokes in town.
"Aye, not often since the war. But some things, like this nonsense, require a smoke," he said, taking another long drag on the cancer stick as they pulled up on the scene of the crash.
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An hour later Stace found herself pushing through knee-deep snow one slow step at a time beside a determined old man and a green constable.
"I should've worn more layers," she cursed herself while sticking her thinly gloved hands into her armpits before taking a few more strides forward and panning her gaze around like they’d been instructed.
"I'd offer mine but I only wore the one," Ken said while pulling at the pockets of his worn old brown one-piece snowsuit. He paced roughly 10 feet to her right while Constable Davidson was on her left.
Stace was slightly embarrassed that the old man seemed to push through the snow without apparent effort while she was starting to struggle; finding each new step a chore. In fact, Ken's energy seemed to increase the longer they went without finding any sign of his grandson.
A flicker of light reflecting off something metallic shone across Stace’s face and she took a step forward. “Do you see tha...” The word seemed to stretch for an eternity. “t?”
She took another involuntary step forward still blinded by the reflection and tripped, planting her face firmly into the surprisingly warm snow.
She blinked a few times to clear the flash from her sight.
When it cleared the snow was gone and everything was painted in browns, greens, and greys.
Moss, not snow, she corrected herself as she took in her unexpected surroundings.
She lay in a forest. A forest that held no comparison whatsoever to the snow-swept prairie she had been searching through a moment before.
Impossibly tall trees surrounded her. Each spaced over a dozen meters apart leaving a shadowed brown land of gloom below their massive bowers.
"Wow," she breathed, spitting earthy moss from her mouth as she set her hands to push herself up.
That’s when she noticed something else peculiar about her situation.
She was naked.
Goosebumps flowed up her back with the realization and she instinctively covered her privates before standing to look around.
"Uh."
That’s when she noticed a third peculiarity. A man lay unnaturally still and face down a few feet to her left.
“Chester?” she said and shuffled towards the figure but paused in uncertainty. The Sergeant's words about contamination were still fresh in her mind. Then she looked down at her naked body and repeated herself.
"Uh?"