Fiction: Ice on the Feathers
We're up to day six in our series, 25 Christmas Eves. For those of you just tuning in, I'm posting a new piece of genre fiction every day until Christmas, and every damn one of them is about a Christmas Eve. This one's a fantasy piece.
By: Erin L. Snyder
Tobyās is one of them old covered bridges. Sturdy, good build and all that. Donāt really make them that way much anymore. Not in Renville, anyway. Everyone wants bridges you can go over two cars at a time. In such a damn hurry, I guess.
Like Iām one to talk. The snowās coming down faster than the damn wipers can wipe it off. Not smart, I know. Speeding in a storm, late at night. Good way to add another obituary on Monday.
But I know these roads well as anyone. When youāre sheriff in a town like Renville, you know every road, donāt matter the weather. Iāve done this job for fifteen years now. Before that, I worked homicide in New York. I was good, too. But after awhile, you get tired of the bodies. Then, itās either the desk or something else. Never much cared for desks.
Decided to settle down. Nice, quiet place where the people are good. Course, thereās no such place. Not really. The people of Renville cheat, steal, and fight. One man in three drinks too much, and Iād wager half of them hit their wives. Way I see it, thereās one difference between most of this town and the murderers I used to hunt down: people of Renville donāt generally kill each other. Just doesnāt get that far. Itās not so comforting as youād think: just means the worst of them stay out of jail and the cemetery. Just linger.
Of course, when someone does die, itās a circus. The whole town knows in a few hours. People barge into the station demanding answers. And God help you if it is a murder. When Joe Caringer shot Buck Smith six years ago, we had people standing up in church proclaiming the end of days was upon us.
Course, Joe had the common decency to kill Buck in the middle of October. This - whatever it is - had to happen on Christmas Eve. In the middle of a snowstorm. The one silver lining I can find is that news of this shouldnāt spread for a few days. Country storeās closed till the 26th, and Maggie shut down her restaurant until two days before New Yearās.
Canāt imagine thatās much consolation to my deputy, who should already be at the farm. Course, having James on the scene isnāt much consolation to me: guyās just about the dumbest man Iāve ever worked with. Which is a good part of why Iām not taking my time. Give James twenty minutes and heāll touch every damn thing in the area, move the evidence into a pile, and stand there smiling like heās a goddamn genius.
I slow down when I reach County Road #4. Like hell. Tobyās Road. Itās dirt from here on out, anyway. Thereās a good six inches of snow on the ground with more piling on every minute. It takes some time - bridge is a good half mile down the road - but I make it without any real trouble. I park behind Jamesās truck, and heās there to greet me before my doorās even open.
āKip,ā he says. āYou aināt going to believe this.ā Heās pale, save for a nose turning pink. He looks scared and excited at the same time.
āEasy,ā I say. āDo you know him?ā
āKnow who?ā James asks.
āThe body. Stacy called, said there was a body.ā
āOh. No, itās... itās not like that. Itās not even....ā he trails off.
āNot like what, James?ā Iām snapping at him now, but you got to be that way with him sometimes.
āYou just have to look,ā James says. Then he motions for me to follow and hurries up ahead to the bridge. I pass his truck and see Toby inside with the motor running. Heās wrapped in a blanket and shivering. I nod to him, but he just stares back.
I hurry up ahead to see what all the damn fuss is about. What I see has me as pale as James.
āHuman,ā I whisper. Not sure why I say it aloud. Itās what James was about to say a minute ago, and I guess I just need to hear it finished. Itās not even human.
āItās an angel, aināt it?ā James asks, quietly. āI mean. I never thought....ā
Hearing James stuttering like a toddler might be the only thing keeping me from the doing the same. But it snaps me back to reality, or at least whateverās left of it. Far as I can see, though, thatās exactly what this is. A dead angel lying on the ground, his head mostly smashed in. Two white wings lying underneath his folded form. The wings have ice on the feathers. Like a giant version of some damn ornament hanging from a tree.
āWhat happened? Was he lying here?ā
āYeah. No. I mean, he was here when I got here, but Toby found him in the river and called us out.ā
I send James to find a decent size stick, while I go see Toby. I open the door and find him wet and shivering. The heatās escaping, so I climb in and shut the door behind me. āWhat happened?ā I ask.
āI was out here, for a walk. I looked down in the water and... and I saw someone down there. Just a body, floating. I ran down, waded in, and started pulling him out. Thought... thought maybe he was unconscious until I grabbed him. There were these things on his back. Thought I was going crazy from the cold. God, Kip. It hurt so much, like my legs were burning off. How strange is that? Burning off from the cold. I donāt know, but it seemed that way.ā
āItās okay. Youāve been through a lot.ā
āThere were... there were wings. I kept rubbing my eyes, just waiting for them to vanish. But they just stayed there. I dragged him up onto the bridge. Was afraid heād fall back into the water if I left him on the bank and just wash away. Then I ran home, called the station.ā
āWhat were you doing out here without your truck?ā
āJust going for a walk,ā Toby say. But he didnāt seem keen looking me in the eye, so I asked again. āItās nothing. I just... the holidays and all. I was feeling cramped in that place alone. Thought some fresh air might do me good.ā
āMiddle of a storm?ā I ask.
āI... look. Itās the truth. I mean. Itās most of it. I donāt want to....ā
āI need it all,ā I say. āLook, Toby, Iāve known you for a long time, and I know youāre a good man. If this were anything else - hell, if that were the body of a human being, Iād nod and let this go. But, things being what they are, I need it all.ā
Toby wipes a tear out of his eye. āSince Gretchen left, Iāve been low. You know that, donāt you, Kip?ā
āItād be hard on any man,ā I say.
āWell, I didnāt think I could take Christmas alone. So. I donāt know. I was going out to think some things over.ā
āYou were going to jump.ā
āI donāt know, Kip. Iāve been to that bridge a lot of times. Thought about it more than once.ā
āItās okay. I mean, Iāll need to put you in touch with some people, but we can be discreet. Iām sorry for pushing, but I had to understand. This one... itās going to be too big.ā I pat him on the shoulder and step out of the truck to greet James.
āThis one good enough?ā He hands me a branch.
Itās birch, and itās long enough. I test it to make sure itās sturdy then nod. āGood job, James.ā Then I head back to the body.
āWhat are you doing?ā James asks, while I wedge the branch under the angelās back.
I push up slowly. āI have to know,ā I say. āGot to make sure these arenāt glued on. Have to make sure theyāre not fake before I call anyone.ā
Unfortunately, the wings are real. Also, I learn something else: theyāre cut up pretty bad. There are twin gashes about four feet apart. Pretty deep, too. I run back to the Jameās truck, pop open the door and stick my head in. āDid anything happen to the angel while you were getting it up?ā Toby shakes his head. I thank him and shut the door.
āThis was murder, wasnāt it?ā James asks. āSomeone killed that angel.ā
āI donāt know,ā I say back. āBut Iād rather have something to tell the bureau when they get here. Hand me your flashlight.ā James does as told, and I walk off the bridge, moving alongside the bank. I shine the light up until I find what Iām looking for: a smashed in section of the bridgeās cover.
āWhat happened there?ā James asks.
āThe angel happened,ā I say. āWhile it fell. It was hit from behind. Maybe it was an accident, maybe not. Weāll never know. No way weāll ever know. Broke its wings - God knows how high up it was when it happened. It came down hard on the bridge. Maybe it was already dead. If not, that sealed the deal. Then it slid off, dropped into the river, and got stuck near the bank where Toby found it.ā
āBut... what hit it? I mean, you think it was a plane?ā
āA plane? If it had hit a plane, itād be a bug on a damn windshield. No, this wasnāt no plane.ā
āThen what?ā
āWhat else? The gashes on its back were about four feet apart. Almost certainly metal. Only one damn thing it could have been,ā I say. āHe got hit by a sleigh.ā
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