Dead of Winter (3 page)

Francois said, “So the cannibal has become a man with ungodly abilities?”

“A man?” Warden Paddock gave a nervous laugh as he tried different keys in the door. “I don’t think any of us comprehend what he’s become.”

Father Xavier said, “But you are sure he embodies a demon?”

“I come from the moors of Ireland, Father. I know the Devil when I sees him.” He slipped in a key that fit. “Ah, here we go.” The barred door creaked open to an even narrower passage. From the darkness echoed the cackle of damnation.

4

In the Ontario woods, Tom Hatcher examined the woman’s body half-submerged in the ice. Sakari Kennicot’s butchering was different than the cannibal murders he’d seen in Montréal. Those women had been carved with a knife. Judging by the slashes and torn muscles, Sakari appeared to have been mauled by an animal. She lay face down, her
 
black hair fanned out over white ice. There was enough current flowing beneath to bob her up and down, but the top layer of ice kept the dead woman’s half-eaten carcass from floating downstream.

“Did wolves do this?” asked a blunt-faced soldier named Sergeant Cox.

Tom crouched at one of the deep impressions, trying to remember all the tracking skills he’d read in a book on his journey to Fort Pendleton. “The tracks are too big. The killer walked on two feet. I’m guessing one of the trappers wearing large fur boots.” That meant any number of suspects, from the neighboring Indians to lone trappers who passed through to deliver pelts to the fort.

Anika shook her head and pointed upward. “No man stands that high.”

Tom turned, craning his neck, gazing up at the tall pines, not seeing anything at first. He stepped back a few feet. Snow fell from the darkening sky and dusted his lashes. Eight feet up were broken branches and white slashes in the bark.

“Bloody hell,” said Sgt. Cox. “That must be from Silvertip.” Fear spread across the faces of every man in the search party. They began chattering, swinging their rifles toward the trees.

Tom watched the expressions of his soldiers. “What is Silvertip?”

Sgt. Cox said, “The biggest grizzly ever to walk these woods.”

“A grizzly?” Tom looked to Anika.

Not answering, the tracker walked to the edge of the tree line, staring out at the surrounding pines. Tom followed her through whirling snow. Anika showed him broken branches. There were other trees marked by the same scratches. All around them, the snowstorm made the evergreen branches dance.

Anika’s eyes flitted like a rabbit wary of a predator. “We are in its hunting territory. We should go.”

Tom wished he had a high-caliber rifle as he scanned the mist-enshrouded forest. “I thought bears were in hibernation.”

“It’s not a bear. Something worse.” Anika dipped a hand into her pouch and sprinkled some kind of rank-smelling herbs along the banks of the stream.

Tom didn’t ask what she meant by “something worse.” Like many of the Ojibwa Tom had met, Anika Moonblood was prone to superstition. She was an excellent tracker, but as far as providing solid facts for his case, she was of little help.

Inspector Hatcher walked back to the panicked group. “Everybody, just calm down. Sergeant, set your soldiers up along the perimeter and watch for the bear.” He nudged one of the soldiers, a young private named Wickliff. “Come with me.”

They hustled back to the dogsleds. Wickliff’s face looked pale from more than just the freezing wind. “Jesus, I never saw nobody dead before. I’m sure you seen plenty, Inspector. I heard you found the killer who murdered all those women. That true, sir?”

Tom’s fists tightened on the rope he was holding. He glared at the soldier.

Wickliff took a step back. “Uh… that’s just what the sergeant was informing us, sir. I meant no disrespect.”

“Just do as I say. We’ve got to work fast.” Tom loaded up the soldier with a grappling hook, sleeping bag, and some rope, then headed back to the stream. Tom called over two men who were just standing around. “Give us a hand here.” He handed each of them ice picks. “You two, chip the ice. We need to pull out the body and strap it down before nightfall.” To Wickliff, he said, “Hand me that grappling hook.” As Tom gave orders to the three men, speaking in the cold, matter-of-fact tone of a detective, he noticed Percy Kennicot staring at him with bloodshot eyes. The British clerk rose to his feet. He pumped his fists.

Inspector Hatcher put a hand on Kennicot’s arm. “Sorry, Percy, I know how this feels…”

Kennicot slung off Tom’s hand. “Don’t touch me.” Wiping a fur-sleeve across his red nose, Kennicot marched toward the dogsleds.

Tom turned back to the woman’s mutilated body and began the grisly task that was his duty. A half-hour later, he and his helpers wrapped up the remains of the dead Cree woman with blankets and strapped her down to the dogsled.

The huskies began barking and yelping. Anika came running out of the whirling fog. Her eyes looked frightened. She jumped on the sled and grabbed the reins of her dogs. “Something’s coming through the woods. We must go now.”

5

Montréal, Quebec

At Laroque Asylum, Father Xavier stepped through the gate and entered the narrow passage, wary of the cells to his left and keeping close to the moss-covered walls to his right. The arched ceiling hung low above their heads. There were fewer torches, separated by longer stretches of darkness. Father Xavier observed several oak doors with barred windows.

“Solitary confinement,” Paddock said. “We call it ‘The Crypt.’ Most inmates will do anything not to stay down here. A few days in The Crypt and they’re ready to behave. But not Gustave Meraux. He seems to thrive in this pit.”

“Why didn’t they hang him?” Francois asked.

“The fur trading forts claimed they were having problems with cannibalism out in the wilderness during winter. A sort of lunacy that was not only affecting isolated fur traders, but also the surrounding Indian reservations. So the courts decided to donate Gustave to medicine. Alive, no less. See if we could find a cure to this epidemic. Problem is, the doctors are afraid to go near him.”

They reached the final cell. It was sealed by a thick plank door with a small, barred window. Huffing sounds reverberated off the stone walls—heavy breathing and whispering voices. The prisoner was speaking in tongues.

“This is as far as I go.” Warden Paddock backed away. “God be with you both.” Turning, the Irishman hurried back down the corridor, his feet splashing through puddles of urine.

Father Xavier cringed at the foul water that soaked the bottom lining of his cassock. He hated working in such dreadful places. But he went wherever God’s work was needed, which was generally in the shadowy world of the savage and unclean. He stopped ten paces from the door. A draft blew against his face, as if a window were open. But there were no windows in the tunnels beneath the asylum. He turned to his apprentice. “Let’s begin.”

Francois drew a line across the floor with a piece of chalk, whispering, “
Ad Maiorem De Gloriam
.” He drew another at the threshold of the door. Wind rustled the young man’s hair. He yelped and backed away.

“He just whispered my name.”

“Keep your thoughts pure, Francois. Remember my instructions.” Father Xavier pulled out a glass container of holy water and splashed the walls.

“Sorry, sir.” The apprentice’s lips quivered as he returned to his chanting.

The prisoner, still lurking somewhere in the dark cell, roared like a caged tiger.

Torch flames danced.

Father Xavier walked over to a table and opened his case. He retrieved a black book with a red cross painted on the cover. He put a violet sash around his neck. Then, unraveling a cloth bundle, he rolled out a set of silver crosses. The center cross had a daggered tip.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to using that one. He raised one of the blunt-edged crosses, kissed it then gesticulated. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I claim this chamber as a sanctuary of God.” He nailed a crucifix to the oak door. “I cast out the demon that possesses this body.”

Gustave spoke in Aramaic, “I will send a legion of rats to strip flesh from your bones.” Long, white fingers wrapped around the bars of the door’s window. “You will suffer an eternity of pain.”

“Who are you, Gustave?”

A cadaver-white face with solid black eyes peered from the cell. He had a thick, black and silver beard and tousled hair that hung to his shoulders. Multiple voices spoke, “I am the Dark Shepherd. The collector of lost lambs.”

“What is thy name, demon?”

“I am
Legion
. Like the wind, I am everywhere.” His voice grew deeper as he chanted, “
Ego agnosco ostium damno tui animus, ellebarim, ellebarim, ellebarim.”

The possessed man’s intense gaze mesmerized Father Xavier. He felt tentacles of temptation pulling him toward the darkness. His collar tightened around his neck. The priest held up a silver cross to the door. “You won’t have me, disciple of Lucifer. I am a warrior of God. You will cast yourself out of this man. You will free Gustave Meraux.”

Gustave growled and retreated to the back of the cell. “I smell your weakness, eunuchs…” He chanted a different phrase.

Francois screamed and slammed against the wall, slapping at his face and chest.

Father Xavier hurried to his apprentice. “What is it?”

“Spiders. Get them off me.” He thrashed his body against the wall like a man on fire.

“They’re just an illusion.” Father Xavier kept his cross aimed at the cell door while his other hand gripped his apprentice by the collar. “Ignore the sensation. There are no spiders. The demon is playing a trick on you. Look into my eyes, Francois. Speak your prayers and the spiders will disappear.”

But the young brother’s eyes rolled back to whites. “They’re in my head!” He wailed, clawing red streaks across his face. “Get them out!” Francois shoved Father Xavier to a corner and then bolted into the darkness. His screams faded into the chorus of insanity that echoed from every cell.

Left alone in the dank underbelly of Laroque Asylum, Father Xavier turned to his unholy adversary. Gustave’s face twisted into a victorious grimace.

6

The wrathful snowstorm closed in around the search party as the dogsleds raced back to Fort Pendleton. Tom pulled his collar tight around his neck. His only sense of direction was the creek that remained just past the branches to his left. Beyond a few meters of visibility, the world tapered off into a whirling white maelstrom. He rode in the lead dogsled. The huskies yelped as Anika drove between the spruce and pines.

With each passing second, the blizzard turned angrier. The shadowy trees looked like giant stick figures charging toward them, lashing out with long, spiky arms.

Snapping branches echoed up ahead.

Anika yanked on the reins of her dogs. The three-sled caravan halted. The huskies barked, backing into one another.

“What is it?” Tom’s heart beat wildly.

“Shhh. ”Anika gripped his arm.

The sound of something moving through the trees was coming from downwind. It occurred to Tom they were now dragging the grizzly’s food with them on the dogsled. The woman’s bundled carcass was right behind his back.

“Silvertip can smell us,” Sgt. Cox called out over the wind.

They were completely exposed. Tom pulled out his pistol. Anika nocked an arrow into her bow. The other men raised their rifles, spacing out between the trees.

Up ahead came thundering footfalls. Cracking branches.

Tom hopped out and hid behind a pine. Beyond a thick clumping of spruce, he spotted a large animal charging towards them. His heartbeat quickened.

What started out looking like a monstrous beast formed into a galloping horse silhouetted against the snow and fog. A rider slumped across its back. As the brown horse came within shooting range, Tom saw the rider was a small person wearing a hooded parka.

“Nobody shoot!” he yelled. “It’s a child.”

7

With only a single torch to hold back the darkness of the tunnel, Father Xavier recited Latin passages from his exorcism book. His eyes were growing weary. His throat was parched, and his stomach groaned with hunger.

Gustave Meraux peered out the door’s barred window, his black eyes gleaming. “You are nothing but a scared little boy, eunuch. A lost lamb like all the others. Join my flock. I will guide you through the shadows of the Valley of Death.” The voice moved inside Father Xavier’s head.
I will take you to where the children play forever.

The priest’s chest tightened at the familiar phrase. He raised the cross. “I am a warrior of God. I cast out this demon in the name of—”

Gustave chanted, “
Ego agnosco ostium damno tui animus, ellebarim, ellebarim, ellebarim… Ego agnosco ostium damno tui animus, ellebarim, ellebarim, ellebarim
…” Then he opened his mouth wide and cackled.

Father Xavier’s ears ached as the laughter from his boyhood memories returned. The gypsies circling the crowd. The fire-breathing clown spitting flames, cackling maniacally at a small boy crying into his mother’s arm. As Father Xavier shook the memory from his head, he heard skittering sounds. A horde of rats sniffed along the chalk line on the floor. Father Xavier reeled, praying the boundary would hold them at bay.

“God is my savior. He blesses me.”

“
I
am
the only god down here!” Gustave yelled with a blast of fury. “Devote yourself to me, priest. Join my flock and I shall grant your every wish.”

“Never!”

“Then my horde shall feast upon your flesh.”

The rats squeaked in unison. A gust of arctic wind blew against Father Xavier’s face, making him shiver. Rats crawled beneath his robe, running up his legs. He kicked out. Felt the urge to collapse, to curl up into a tight ball, to drown out that maddening laughter with his own screams. A voice inside his head shouted,
“Run, run, run!”
But Father Xavier willed himself to remain at his altar.
Illusions. They aren’t real!
The sensation of rats running up his legs vanished. He leaned toward the wind, the fetid breath of damnation. He sought that refuge where the Divine lived. The sanctuary he had created in his mind as a boy. The Golden Orchard. It gave him power. He remembered the reason he had become a priest, the pact he’d made with the Virgin Mary. His childhood fears dissipated. His body filled with faith. He squared his shoulders to the door.