Susan wove slowly through town. Although she grew up here, it was strangely unfamiliar. She passed a derelict Texaco and entered the western outskirts, creeping down a long and lonely road. As she reached the last stretch, she signaled but didn’t turn. The road was not plowed. Hesitant, she finally turned in, pulling up far short of her old house where the snow wasn’t as deep. Getting stuck wasn’t an option. A snowplow might not show up for days, nor, for that matter, might anyone else.
She gripped the wheel and felt an icy finger run the nape of her neck. Tall trees, taller than she remembered, walled the property like sentinels. A bitter gust rocked the vehicle. Fear and doubt took hold, and she thought she might turn back. Staying would only dig up the past as she buried the present.
Still, she stepped out of the car, the snow halfway up her boots. The wind slapped her and she shivered inside her coat. She slipped on her gloves and moved to the rear of the car.
Her hand faltered as she placed the key in the trunk’s lock. Couldn’t she just leave it right here? Surely it couldn’t find its way back. The very idea was absurd. And yet, that someone might happen upon it, that they might let the thing out—who wouldn’t open it?—reminded her of her chosen path. This wasn’t about her anymore, or Eric, or even Kelan. This was about the evil … and how she held the power to stop it.
She went to turn the key but pulled it out. Was that a car?
She had heard something. The unmistakable rumble of an engine. It might have been a passing snowmobile. It sounded close, yet she saw nothing in either direction.
Susan readied herself. She held a hand in front of her for protection. Slowly, she opened the trunk. The thing didn’t leap out; didn’t make her ill. All she saw was the strongbox, flipped on its side.
She grabbed the rope, slung it over her shoulder, and picked up the strongbox. She closed the trunk, looked about like a killer eager to dump a body, and began to walk.