Chapter One
Jasper
When I was in elementary school, I remember there was a little redheaded girl named Rachel Warner who always ran around telling everyone not to eat yellow snow.
It was pretty commonplace grade-school wisdom that I haven’t thought about in a long time, but as I gaze down at the mess I’ve made tonight, I think of Rachel and what she’d say about all this red snow.
Murder always looks so much messier in wintertime.
Sighing with a strange sense of discontent, I look down at the lowlife I pumped a few bullets into just now as I tuck my gun into the back of my waistband.
I wasn’t supposed to shoot him out here. It was supposed to be nice and simple—shoot him while he slept and leave the mess for someone else to deal with—but the fucker sensed me in the room with him and woke up. Naturally, he didn’t just lay there in bed and let me shoot him, so I had to chase his ass outside.
Now I’ve got a mess to deal with and no colleague to help clean it up, since I didn’t account for a chase or the need for clean-up on this job.
How annoying.
Figuring there’s little sense dragging my feet, I buckle down and get to work cleaning this shit up and loading Frank’s heavy-ass body into the trunk of my car.
It’s cold as hell out tonight. The bitter wind blows so hard I can’t feel my face.
The inside of my car is also cold since I turned the engine off before I went to take care of Frank, but it’s still a shelter from the harsh wind, so I’m relieved to get inside.
What a nasty night. I’d sure hate to be stuck out in this.
I fire up the engine and blast the heat, then I head for a disposal site I wasn’t planning to use tonight.
The choices for getting rid of a body are different in the winter. Shallow graves are completely out of the question—ground’s too hard to dig up, it’s not worth it.
We’ve got a building set up for this, though. It was a gas station 10 or 20 years ago, but the proprietor was a shady motherfucker and got himself locked up for some dumb shit. My boss bought the place dirt cheap and let it sit for long enough that there’s practically a forest of growth around the damn thing.
Seemed a shame to let it go to waste. The location was great—out-of-the-way and dropped almost accidentally onto a quiet residential road that only locals use, and even locals hardly come this way unless they live on it. Bad for the gas station that originally went out of business, but good for us and its current use.
It was my idea to convert the place into a clean-up spot. Sometimes jobs gets messy and you need to clean up somewhere private that isn’t your home. Me, I live alone so I can do whatever I want at my place, but some guys in this line of work are married with kids and they don’t have the same freedom.
Freedom.
Lately it’s felt more like an absence than a freedom, but I don’t think about that right now.
I take back roads to the gas station, then I haul Frank in and load him into an oil drum. Once he’s all the way in, I grab myself some protective gear so I can handle the chemicals and then I begin filling the oil drum with the lye mixture that’ll melt his flesh and bones into gel.
No body, no problem—that’s my motto.
My phone starts ringing when I’m just about done. I don’t want to mess with it while I’m doing this, so I let it go to voicemail.
Once Frank’s acid bath is ready, I close the drum and peel off my protective wear. I hate to clean up here because I’m gonna have to go back out to my cold-ass car, but I always prefer to shower after I’ve disposed of a body. Makes me feel a little dirty.
I head to the bathroom and scrub off the feel of a fresh kill, then I change into one of the outfits I keep here in my locker. I’m running low and I don’t have anything good left. The outfit I grab is a plain white T, a red plaid shirt, and a worn pair of jeans. I’m gonna look like I just stepped off a fucking farm.
Oh well. I towel-dry my hair as best I can and pull on the clean clothes, then I haul my dirty laundry back to the utility room and throw it in the wash. I don’t have to stay until everything is dry, but I do need to stay until I can switch the laundry over from the washer to the dryer.
While I’m waiting, I kick back on the shitty sofa we keep here for just such occasions and check my voicemail.
It’s my sister’s voice. I’m damn surprised. I haven’t heard from Nora in months, maybe even a whole year. It’s hard to keep track anymore.
“Hey, Jasper, it’s your sister—the one you like. Remember me? Blonde hair, grandma’s eyes, not quite tall enough to reach higher than the lowest row of shelves in the kitchen cabinets? Anyway, I’m calling about Christmas. I know it’s a lost cause, I know we’ve been trying to get you to come for years and you never want to, but… I met someone and I’d really like for you to meet him. You’ve always been a good judge of character and it’s not like I suck, but sometimes love blinds us, you know? Anyway, I’d love for you to meet him and just let me know if you think he’s a good guy. I miss you, too, so… there’s that.” She sighs. “Just please consider coming home for Christmas this year, Jasper. Do it for me.”
That’s all and then the recording ends.
I can’t help feeling shitty after listening to it. It’s not like I have anything better to do over Christmas than drive up and visit my family, it’s just… I really fucking don’t want to. I much prefer my new annual holiday tradition—holing up at home alone and consuming a cheap bottle of whiskey.
It’s not like I’m short on alone time these days, but celebrating the holidays with my family… It’s the last thing I want to do.
I’m not one to dwell, but I don’t have a lot of good memories attached to family holidays. One of the perks of adulthood was supposed to be not having to endure anymore of them.
Christmas with the Hardings.
Ugh.
I’d rather spend Christmas with Frank.
I’d hate to hurt Nora, though. As much as I don’t personally want anything to do with family Christmas, I want to hurt my baby sister a lot less.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but I’d have to be a monster not to.
Besides, what if I pass on Christmas and it turns out this guy she’s serious about is a loser? I’d feel responsible.
I guess it’s settled. I guess whether I want to or not, I’m going home for Christmas.
The washer buzzes by the time I’ve come around to this inevitability. My whole body seems heavier as I drag myself off the couch and go to switch the load to the dryer.
I have a feeling dread is going to be constant companion until this shit show of a holiday season is over.
Great.
Before I leave, I make a commitment so I don’t decide to change my mind after carrying this dread around with me for the rest of the night. Once I tell Nora I’m coming, I won’t back out—no matter how much I want to.
“You convinced me, kiddo. Can’t wait to meet this new guy—he better be good enough for you. When are you guys getting in?”
She reads my text message almost immediately and sends back, “YAY!” in all caps without about 40,000 exclamation points. “You’re the best brother ever.”