Silence in the Snow

Prologue

Tugging on my tiered floral skirt, I make sure it hasn’t ridden up and is still at my knees. Constantly checking my outfit for modesty slows me down as I speed walk down Seventeenth, but I don’t want to be a temptation.

At school today, Mrs. Barclay scolded my biology partner for her shirt being too low. Mrs. Barclay said that only Jezebels wear V-neck shirts. Glancing down at my shirt, I confirm that my Peter Pan collared shirt hasn’t magically transformed into a spaghetti strap tank top.

Thank Heavens.

Reading the time on my watch, I pick up the pace. I’m almost late meeting Dad for dinner at his favorite restaurant, Da Nonna Rosa, but I got caught up at the library finishing a project for Calculus. I slow down as I cross in front of the windows of the restaurant.

Entering the doors, I’m greeted by the delicious smells of marinara, baked pizza crust, and grilled yumminess. The low lighting and deep wood accents give off a calming mood. The restaurant is full of customers, not a single empty table in sight.

The hostess clears her throat and smiles, getting my attention. “How many in your party?”

“I’m meeting my father. John Bartlett.”

“Oh yes. He said you’d be coming.” She waves her hand for me to follow as she leads me to his table.

I spot Dad right away, and so does the hostess. She gives him a suggestive look, but he ignores her. He hasn’t dated anyone since Mom died, but that doesn’t stop women from hitting on him regularly.

Dad stands and opens his arms for me. “My Daisy.” He’s called me that since I can remember. Once, I asked him why he and Mom didn’t name me Daisy. He said that he was happy to name me after his mother, who was a good, god-fearing woman.

“Hi, Daddy.” I step into his embrace and give him a quick hug.

I’m lucky to have him in my life. After Mom died, he didn’t turn into an absent father. He works hard to provide for us and to send me to my private Christian school.

The hostess is gone before I sit in the booth, walking away with a displeased huff.

Dad gestures for me to sit across from him. “That skirt is getting short.”

My teeth nervously bite at my lip. “I know. I think I grew again. It wasn’t that short when I tried it on in the store.”

He purses his lips but quickly rids his face of the tension. “You’re growing like a weed, Daisy. We’ll have to go shopping again.”

I perk up at the thought. I know I’m a stereotypical teen, and I know I shouldn’t take such interest in worldly possessions. But I can’t help it. Trying on clothes brings me so much joy, it’s insane.

Dad opens his red cloth napkin and settles it on his lap. “I ordered you your favorite, Chicken Martino. And then I thought we could get tiramisu for dessert.”

My stomach rumbles at the thought of all those tasty foods as I take a sip of my water, then reply, “Thank you! Are we celebrating something?”

“That we are.” His face is full of excitement.

I match his energy. “Yay! What happened?”

He reaches for the seat at his side and lifts up an envelope. It’s been opened, the edges ripped away. I find the words “Davis College” in the top left corner and my name in the middle.

My jaw drops. “What does it say?”

“You got in!”

I squeal and cover my mouth with my hands, squirming in my seat.

He sighs in content. “You’re going to do great in Johnson City, and majoring in Bible Studies…” Dad chokes up a bit. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Aww, Daddy.” I blush under his praise and reach for his hand.

“I can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

We dive into planning my move in the fall.

We talk about making it a long road trip and stopping at various attractions.

I wish we could go to some local things like the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.

Everyone complains about those places being tourist traps, but I grew up here in New York, and I’ve never been to any of them.

A few screams and shouts of alarm ring out in the restaurant, and my stomach drops. My attention darts all around, looking for the cause of the commotion.

“Savannah, look at me.” Dad’s voice is grave.

My wide eyes zero in on him.

He looks sad. His lips are in a thin line and turned down at the corners. His eyes look like they’re going to spill over with tears. It’s a shock, almost jolting me out of my panic. I’ve never seen him cry. Never.

Dad’s tone drops. “No matter what anyone tells you, no matter what you hear about me, know that I love you so much.”

I shake my head, squinting. “I don’t understand. Daddy, what’re you talking about?”

Men dressed in navy blue windbreakers appear next to our table with guns drawn, aimed at Dad and me.

My face goes pale, and my breath gets caught in my lungs as I stare down the dark, empty barrels of eight guns.

“John Bartlett, hands in the air!”

My voice trembles. “Daddy?” I’m terrified to look away from the strangers. It’s like when a predator approaches. The prey never takes its gaze off the danger.

“Daisy.” Dad’s tone is commanding, so I obey and turn my head to him. “Everything is going to be okay.” Then he slowly lifts both palms to show that he’s not holding anything.

“You too! Hands in the air!”

I shift back and realize they’re yelling at me. It’s like I’m on autopilot. My hands raise, but it feels like I’m not the one doing it. It’s as if someone wrapped my limbs with a string and is playing me like a marionette.

“Leave her out of this!” Dad roars, and I flinch. I’ve never heard his voice get that loud before.

One man holsters his weapon and steps forward. I finally notice the yellow lettering on the chest of his jacket.

FBI.

The man reaches for Dad’s wrist and pulls him out of the booth. “John Bartlett, you are under arrest for the murders of twenty-four women.”

The click of handcuffs rings in my ears as he twists Dad’s wrists behind him.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

I finally find my voice. “There has to have been some sort of a mistake.” But everyone ignores me.

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

I make myself louder. “You’ve made a mistake! You’ve got the wrong man!”

Everyone still acts as though I haven’t spoken a word.

“Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?” The agent finally finishes his spiel.

Dad doesn’t look at me, an angry glare fixed above my head at no one in particular. “Yes.”

The agent behind Dad doesn’t wait another moment, escorting him out of the restaurant, followed by the rest of the agents.

This can’t be happening.

“Wait!” I jump from the booth and run after them, every customer and employee in the restaurant watching me. “Stop! Please!” I stumble over my feet as I make it to the sidewalk.

The entire curb is crowded with large SUVs, their emergency lights flashing on top. One agent opens the door of the vehicle in the middle to usher Dad inside.

“Wait!” I cry again and step off the curb.

A strong, thick hand wraps around my upper arm and yanks me back. I scream and try fighting off the stranger.

Dad sees it happen and tries to break free. “Let her go!”

“Dad!” Tears streak down my face as I reach for him, but I’m held back.

“Savannah Bartlett? We have some questions for you, too,” the man growls in my ear.

I recoil and look for the deep voice. It’s another FBI agent wearing an identical jacket. His bushy eyebrows are furrowed, and his light brown hair is perfectly tamed.

I try my argument again. Maybe they’ll realize they have the wrong man and let him go. “There’s been a mistake. My father couldn’t have killed anyone. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

The agent sneers at me, shaking me. “Your precious father is a fucking monster who has tortured, raped, and murdered two dozen women. And I’m sure the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

My breath saws in and out of my lungs as I understand the agent’s implication.

This isn’t true. There’s no way. Dad is not that kind of man. He works in IT. He goes to church every Sunday and picks up every volunteer opportunity possible. He helps our old neighbor carry in her groceries because she struggles up the stairs.

“Huntley! Ease up!” Another agent approaches us, his irritation directed at Agent Huntley.

“She’s his daughter,” Huntley sneers, as if I’m the most disgusting person on the planet.

The other agent’s tone is harsh. “Let her go. That’s an order.”

Huntley releases me with a shove, pushing me in the direction of the new agent.

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t write you up for use of excessive force.

” The agent clenches his jaw, but his demeanor shifts when he turns to me and removes his jacket, placing it around my shoulders.

I didn’t realize I was shivering until the warmth of the material touches my skin.

“Miss Bartlett, I’m Agent Marreli. How about I give you a ride to the FBI field office? ”

I accept his offer with a nod.

He guides me over to another SUV and ushers me into the backseat. Before he shuts the door, I turn to him. “Agent Marreli, there really has been a mistake. My father couldn’t have done this. He’s a good man.”

He sympathetically shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Bartlett, but the evidence points to him, and it’s damning.”

The door shuts in my face, and I shift to face forward. My chest feels hollow as I struggle for air.

Dad didn’t do this. It’s not possible.

But…what if?

Does that mean I’ve been raised by someone possessed by evil?

If so…what does that make me?