10. TEN
TEN
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I woke up five minutes ago in a sterile white room. The walls were blank and expressed nothing. The steady beeps of the heart monitor rang in my ears like a cruel reminder that I was still alive. Every time I blinked, I was underwater again, drowning, gasping for air that would never come. My chest felt tight, as if a brick sat heavily against my ribs, pressing harder and harder until I thought my bones would shatter.
And just like that, tears slid down my cheeks without permission, when I had no control over my body. I could feel them yet—the hands, their weight—pressing down upon me. I heard laughter, their haunting laughter that echoed around in my ears. Their eyes, watching. Always watching.
I tugged the hard white blanket up to my chin, curling in on myself like I could disappear beneath it. Shame burned inside me, spreading through every limb. I wanted to tear away every piece of myself, to wash it all clean, but I couldn't even sit up. I was trapped, broken porcelain scattered into a thousand pieces no one would ever bother to pick up.
A soft knock broke the silence, but I didn't respond. Unwelcome guests came anyway. The door creaked open, and through the window reflection, I saw two men step into the room. My face was a mess: my cheeks were red and blotchy, and my lips cracked and dry. My hair hung greasy and tangled around my face, curled from the cold air outside. I was like a ghost, a shell of who I used to be.
"Bree," The voice was soft from behind; it came from Detective Thor Karlsson sinking into his chair beside me, but all he could offer now was, "The doctors have asked for us," as he added. He reached again toward my face, his brown eyes delving for my own that refused to meet his gaze.
"This is my new partner, Isak Storm," he continued. "Perhaps you can tell us what happened?"
I turned my head enough to be looking at Isak, and for one brief second, our eyes met.
Blue. His eyes were blue.
My breath caught, and I dropped my stare to the blanket I gripped like a lifeline.
No .
My mind whispered to itself, searching.
"Bree?" Thor said again, his tone soft. "If you need time, we can come later."
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat, forcing myself to tilt my head slightly. My eyes lingered on Isak now—long enough to study him. Brown hair, tied back neatly into a bun. Strong shoulders. A beard that framed a sharp jaw. He was tall, solid—like all the men in this town.
But his eyes… his voice…
Something about him made me search. I had only seen his eyes—the Snowman's eyes—in flashes, but I carried them with me. Dark. Cold. And yet, I had imagined warmth hidden just beneath.
"No," I finally managed to whisper. My voice was small but the word decisive. "It was Josh and Vic."
Thor's eyes sharpened. "Josh Johansson and Victor Lundqvist?" His voice was careful, even. "Are you sure?"
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak again. The names were out now, spoken into existence. I'd chosen to speak. I couldn't be silent anymore.
They exchanged a glance, a glance that twisted my stomach. They didn't write it down; they didn't need to. It was as if voicing their names sealed something they knew but rather did not acknowledge. Isak leaned in, sitting on the edge of my bed. His blue eyes bored into mine, as if he searched for cracks, for lies.
"Sometimes we get confused," he said softly, his voice deep, almost too calm.
Of all the things, it was his voice that shook me most of all, that deep timbre, so close to his, Snowman's.
It can't be, I thought as my mind went racing, out of control.
Isak's gaze lingered a moment longer, heavy and unreadable, before Thor pulled him back. "Isak, can you give us a moment?" Thor's voice was firm, brooking no argument.
Isak stood slowly, watching me as he left the room. I tracked his movements out of the corner of my eye. Broad shoulders. Heavy footsteps. He glanced back just once before disappearing through the door. I exhaled a shaky breath, my hands clenching the blanket tighter.
I wanted so badly for Snowman to be normal, be someone I could see in the daylight and believe was kind.
Maybe that's why I continued to look, searching for parts of him in the features of strangers. In every man who walked into my life, I searched for the monster who had haunted my mind. Because if I could find him if he could be real, maybe I could fix him.
But that was an illusion, and I had to wake up. I couldn't love a killer, couldn't love a cop, and I had to find a way to love myself first, but that part of me was gone, taken.
"Bree," Thor said softly, drawing me back. He leaned in closer, his voice low and even. "Josh Johansson is the son of the chief of police. Are you sure it was him?"
My eyes dropped, but I nodded again, wordless.
Thor's thumb stroked across my chin, raising it so I had to look up at him. His face was solemn, not cruel.
"I believe you," he said softly. "But they won't."
His words hung in the air, a weight I couldn't carry. I knew what he meant, and that was this wasn't a town for people like me. It was for them, the Johanssons and the Lundqvists, those whose sins were buried under snow and silence. I swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill again at the echo of Thor's words in my head. "They won't believe you."
But I had spoken. For the first time, I had spoken. And that would have to be enough.
I turned my head to one side, a tear welling silently down my face. "All my life I've been silent, and now, when I do finally speak up, you are telling me to keep my mouth shut."
"No," Thor said, crouching down beside me. His voice was soft, and steady, meant to comfort me, but it didn't reach me. "I want you to tell me everything."
I stared at him through the blur of tears. How can I ever trust anyone now? The question screamed in my head, much louder than his words.
My mouth opened; my lips were trembling, but before words could pour out, the creak of the door opening distracted me.
A man with ginger hair stepped in. Instinctively, my body went numb.
"I heard there was some sort of emergency," the man said, almost too casual to the point of light. He faced Thor, without giving any attention to me, "Could you call the doctor, detective?"
Thor's jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. He looked once at me; his face was unreadable. Then he turned and walked out of the room. I watched him go, feeling a pit form in my stomach.
The man approached me, his movements slow. He sat down beside the bed, too close.
"Pretty," he murmured, reaching for a lock of my hair. His fingers curled it around lazily, playing with it as though it were nothing but a toy. "I spoke to the doctor earlier," he said, his voice low, almost kind. "He said nothing happened."
"But it did happen," I choked out, my voice cracking. Tears streamed down my face again, hot and relentless.
"No one will believe you," he whispered, leaning closer. His lips curled wryly and his eyes narrowed to blue slivers. Then he winked like it was some kind of joke I was supposed to laugh at.
I shrank back, further and further against the mattress as though to squeeze into its fibers and never come out again. I was shaking all over.
Make him leave. Somebody, make him leave.
Thor returned, the doctor following close on his heels holding a clipboard, which he barely looked at despite my presence in the main attraction. He didn't even look at me, he didn't want to.
"Johansson." He greeted cheerfully, shaking his hand like this was such a casual, friendly. "Pleasure."
I glared at the doctor as he strode closer to my bed. "Miss here fell and hit her head," he said, continuing to flip through the chart. "She may have a concussion. We're still running checks, but that's all it is."
"No!" I shouted my voice raw desperate. "You're wrong! That's not what happened!"
The doctor had turned his back to me as if I wasn't in the same room.
"I think this is a very troubled young lady who needs care," he said smoothly, ushering Johansson out the door. The man turned once to look back at me; that sick smirk still plastered on his face as he disappeared into the hallway.
Thor stood still for a moment, his face unreadable again. When he finally approached the bed, I tried speaking, trying to make him hear me. "Thor, please—"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, cutting me off. "But there's nothing we can do."
He turned his back and walked away. My chest ached, and the anger bubbled up from deep in me. My hand reached instinctively for the pillow beneath my head, and I threw it with as much force as I could muster. It hit the back of his head and bounded to the floor. He didn't stop. He didn't turn around. He kept on walking, disappearing out the door like everyone else had.
I felt empty like I had nothing left inside. No one cares, I thought bitterly. Not even him.
Isak leaned and picked up the pillow. He set it gently on the bed beside me, his fingers brushing the blanket. His eyes were steady as he leaned closer, voice low. "I'll teach them a lesson," he whispered. "I promise."
I swung to him then, my face wet with tears. My voice was shaking; the words came out in broken bits. "I want them dead. All of them."
His palm touched briefly on my arm, an almost reassuring squeeze before standing. He said nothing further, only turned and walked out of the room. I curled onto my side, tugging the blanket up to my chin as if it could protect me from the world.
The tears didn't stop, but when a person becomes too tired, they no longer fight them back. I squeezed my eyes shut and let the sobs shake through me as silently as I could. I was back in the circle again, the one I couldn't seem to get out of.
The endless loop of bad luck, of pain, of voices I couldn't silence.
Life is hell, I thought. And I don't know how to stop it.
Every time I closed my eyes, it was the same. The same hands, the same laughter, the same icy water pulling me under. This time, the steps were soft, light as whispers in the quiet of the room. I could hear them coming, heard them stop. I held my breath, pretending to be asleep, curled up small enough to disappear. The steps remained dragging. Then, finally, they faced and faded away, leaving me to my tears and the weight of everything I could not escape.