In The Depths of Winter

In The Depts of Winter – Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

The night was bitterly cold, but the fireplace crackled with warmth as I settled into bed. My idiot of a husband had neglected to chop wood, so I took it upon myself to do the job. The strenuous labour left me exhausted, but I refused to rely on anyone else.

Despite the risk, I found comfort in the dancing flames throughout the night. The fear of fire didn’t faze me; the cozy heat was worth any danger. Besides, the carbon monoxide alarm stood guard in the kitchen.

Morning arrived just as serene as nightfall. Waking to find my husband already gone was a rare blessing. It meant I could savour a leisurely breakfast without his presence looming over me.

After tending to the fire, I indulged in a hearty meal of a toasted bacon and eggs sandwich. The rich yolk spilled out with each bite, a simple pleasure that never failed to satisfy. A steaming cup of coffee with milk and sugar accompanied my meal as I gazed out at the lightly falling snow.

The beauty outside was marred by thoughts of our neighbour, Ethel Smart. The woman who had once resided next door haunted my thoughts. She was a lovely woman. Quiet, kept to herself. Her family’s lineage in that cabin stretched back generations until her passing left it empty and for sale. And it sold.

Then came Rike Volk, a German woman who dared to disrupt our tranquil town with her presence and that rainbow flag of hers. The mere memory of her incited anger within me, tarnishing what should have been a peaceful morning.

Finishing my coffee, I cleared away breakfast and prepared to chop more firewood. As I swung the axe behind me, an unsettling noise pierced through the crisp air. Ignoring it initially, assuming safety with an axe in hand, proved to be a grave mistake.

The rumbling grew louder before an ominous roar filled my ears. Pain seared through me as reality shifted; something dreadful loomed behind me. With one final swing of the axe, agony consumed me like never before. Collapsing to the ground, awareness faded into darkness.

In that moment of despair and realization that death loomed near, pain ebbed away into numbness until nothing remained but darkness.

* * *

The first light of dawn painted Rike Volk’s secluded cabin with a fragile glow, perched on the borderlands of Saint Berna Aux Étranger. Frost delicately traced elabourate designs on each window, while the forest loomed as a silent guardian, encircling her haven with a tranquil solitude. The brisk air carried the crisp fragrance of pine needles and the subtle hint of impending snowfall, a secret shared by the heavy clouds looming overhead.

Rike, her silver hair shimmering in the morning light, moved with a sense of ease that belied the turmoil within. Each step she took exuded purpose and tranquillity. The wooden floor groaned softly under her weight as she made her way to the simple kitchen, where the kettle had just started its hissing overture.

With a low hum resonating through the room, Rike’s melodic voice intertwined with the kettle’s song. Pouring the water into a waiting cup became a graceful performance, wisps of steam swirling upwards to meet the chilly air. Her hand, steady from years of meticulous police work, wrapped around the ceramic handle of her teacup as she allowed herself a fleeting smile. These routines held a serene joy, born from surviving life’s storms.

Seated at the worn pine table scarred by time and use, Rike cradled the cup in her hands while her gaze drifted out of the window. Beyond the glass, she beheld a winter landscape painted in ethereal beauty. “Exquisite,” she murmured, breath forming a delicate mist on the pane. The earth lay cloaked in pristine snow, interrupted only by skeletal trees reaching towards the sky. The sun, a timid orb of muted gold, crept along the horizon casting elongated shadows that grasped at the land like ghostly fingers.

Rike’s tea embraced her with warmth, a stark contrast to the icy fingers of the chill that crept around her cabin. Through the window, she saw the snow-covered fields undulate gently, the evergreen trees standing steadfast against any howling wind that came calling. This serene landscape painted a picture of calm, a world untouched by the chaos of her former life in Berlin—a life she willingly traded for this solitary existence. Her heart, once burdened by the darkest cases, now found solace in solitude and the silent partnership with nature.

With practiced precision, Rike rose from her seat, carrying her empty cup as she made her way to the sink. Each movement deliberate, each action part of a well-worn routine that had become ritualistic. Cup washed and placed upside down to dry. In the small mudroom at the cabin’s rear, her cross-country skis stood like loyal companions against the wall, beckoning for another day of exploration. Above them hung an array of outdoor gear—insulated jackets, fleece-lined gloves, and a weathered knit cap that bore witness to countless winter mornings. Beside the door rested her ski boots, their insulated linings promising comfort amidst the harsh bite of the cold awaiting outside.

Methodically dressing for the cold, Rike layered up against the winter’s bite. Each garment she donned spoke of her reverence for nature’s harsh embrace. She slung the rifle across her back, a familiar weight that brought comfort in its readiness. Next, her hand found the can of bear spray, a precautionary measure she holstered around her waist with practiced ease—her former life as a detective shining through in her preparedness and vigilance.

Swinging open the cabin door, a blast of icy air welcomed Rike as she ventured outside. Clicking into her skis with precision, she left behind the safety of her refuge. The snow whispered beneath her gliding skis, sharing secrets only it knew as she journeyed along the road. Her exhaled breath formed fleeting clouds that dissipated into the morning air, carrying with them a sense of tranquillity. Towering firs and pines flanked her path like silent guardians in the gentle dawn light.

The rhythmic crunch of snow underfoot became a comforting chant, lulling Rike into a state of detachment from the world she once inhabited—a world shadowed by death’s constant presence. In this remote corner of Saint Berna Aux Étranger, isolation became Rike’s solace. The sole spectators to her passage were occasional deer peeking curiously from among the trees before gracefully retreating into the wilderness beyond.

Today was a day meant for living, where the vast expanse of open spaces beckoned with freedom. The simplicity of existence revealed itself in the glide of ski over pristine snow, the icy air filling her lungs, and the steady thud of her heart—a heart now unburdened by the pains of murder, but awakened to the raw beauty of untouched wilderness.

She skied tirelessly, her pulse syncing with the scuff of ski against snow, each exhale forming wispy clouds that dissipated into the cobalt sky above. Despite the weak rays of the sun offering little warmth, she pressed on, squinting against its icy glare as she navigated through a mesmerizing play of shadows and light dancing beneath towering pines.

Her movements held a hypnotic rhythm, drawing her into a trance where only the crisp scrape of skis and the whispering symphony of wind through evergreen needles existed.

Rike stood at the ridge’s edge, peering down at the frozen lake below, a pristine canvas of ice bordered by snow-draped evergreens. The morning sun climbed higher in the sky, signalling her to return. Opting for a shortcut along an abandoned logging trail, she plunged into the dense forest, its solemn hush a stark departure from the clamour of civilization she had forsaken. Abruptly, a murder of crows exploded from a nearby tree, their cacophonous cries rupturing the tranquillity. Startled, Rike’s heart raced in her chest at the jarring eruption of noise and flurry of ebony wings. Despite a decade away from active duty, certain instincts remained etched in her very being. Silence returned until it fled again.

The morning’s peace shattered abruptly with a sharp crack, a branch snapping underfoot—or so Rike believed. She froze, her breath suspended, scanning the tree line for any disturbance. It was too weighty for a small creature like a hare or fox, she noted with unease. She loved that she’d developed such wariness, but hated that it never left her.

Proceeding cautiously, her skiing cadence now disrupted by a heightened sense of vigilance, Rike navigated around a bend where the trees thinned out to reveal an open space. The scene before her anchored her in place, skis firmly planted in the snow as if they shared her reluctance to advance.

“What in the world…” she gasped softly, her hand automatically reaching for the bear spray nestled at her side. A stark splash of red against the pristine white snow caught her eye. Intrigued yet apprehensive, Rike edged closer, a familiar dread creeping over her skin.

Spread out before her like a macabre masterpiece was a vast pool of crimson staining the snow—a jarring contrast against the purity of the landscape. It resembled an open wound on the earth itself, bleeding into the snowy expanse and tainting it with the forbidden colour of blood; an unsettling presence in this sanctuary of solitude.

Her heart thundered in her chest, a drumbeat of alarm reverberating through her. The chilling familiarity of the grim scene unfolding before her triggered a visceral response she thought long buried with her past in Berlin. Despite years away from the force, her instincts surged back to life, though her hands betrayed a slight tremor—a silent testament to the haunting memories etched into her from years of pursuing darkness.

With deliberate movement, she closed the distance to the edge of the crimson stain marring her tranquil retreat. The pungent scent of copper mingled with the sharp pine aroma, a disquieting blend that twisted her gut. This intrusion upon nature felt like an ominous echo of her former life encroaching on her sanctuary. It was very fresh.

Remaining vigilant, she scanned the surroundings for any hint of movement, every sense attuned to potential danger. Without hesitation, she unslung the rifle from her back, its weight grounding her in this surreal moment.

Kneeling beside the pool of blood, she observed how it starkly contrasted against the pristine snow—a macabre painting etched by violence. The vivid red hue stood out defiantly against the winter landscape’s purity; too fresh to have succumbed to the icy grip of nature just yet.

Her breath billowed out in rapid clouds, the icy air biting at her lungs as she stood frozen by the sight before her. The crimson stain on the pristine snow taunted her, a stark symbol of a life violently cut short. Rike’s sharp eyes scanned the snowy landscape, honed by years of detective work, and immediately caught sight of the telltale signs that shattered the surrounding serenity—a trail of deep paw prints etched into the snow with purposeful strides. These were no ordinary tracks; they belonged to a predator, a wolf moving undisturbed through the scene of death like a ghost in the winter wilderness. The presence of the lone wolf only added to the ominous aura enveloping her, its silent journey intertwining with the grim reality she faced.

Bites, torn patches in the blood-stained snow, revealed the scavenger’s feast. Nature’s swift justice, erasing traces of violence. Shimmering amidst the crimson slush were glistening fragments of what seemed like flesh. The quiet landscape bore witness as Rike towered over the chilling scene, her silhouette casting a dark presence. While her mind grasped for routine procedures—observe, analyze, probe—a sinister memory clawed at her thoughts, a recollection she had long battled to suppress within these icy horizons.

A vivid recollection seized her, slicing through the tranquillity like a blade. In her mind’s eye, a young woman lay lifeless in a pool of crimson, her vitality draining into the earth, leaving behind a gaping void of lost potential. The haunting image melded with the pristine snowscape before her, casting an eerie veil over reality that sent tremors racing through Rike’s fingers. This wasn’t just any memory; it was a spectre from her past in Berlin, etched with sorrow so deep it seemed to carve trenches in her very soul.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, a mantra against the encroaching darkness of death that threatened to engulf her. The tendrils of old traumas slithered uninvited and unwavering through her thoughts, coiling like vipers within the recesses of her consciousness. The once tranquil haven she sought refuge in now mocked her with its calm facade, heedless to the storm raging inside her.

She fought to steady her hands, the icy air stinging her lungs as she struggled to slow her breath. The forest stood eerily silent around her, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of memories raging inside her mind. Despite the tranquil beauty of the snowy landscape, her pulse raced uncontrollably, drowning out the serenity that had enveloped her just seconds before.

Rike’s hands trembled as she reached for her jacket pocket, the zipper resisting her urgency before finally giving way. With unsteady fingers, she retrieved her cellphone, a tool now transformed into an extension of her investigative instincts. The camera lens morphed into her keen eye, the screen a canvas capturing the chilling tableau before her.

Each click of the camera was a heartbeat in the silent snow-covered landscape, freezing time to immortalize the jarring sight. She meticulously framed each shot: the scarlet stain stark against the pristine white backdrop, a haunting reminder of violence cutting through purity. The intersection of animal tracks with absence painted a grim narrative in nature’s cruel handiwork, a macabre tapestry unfolding before her lens. Something died here very recently, and not enough of it remained. She wondered where the body was. Deer, fox, or human, something more should remain. Unless it was poachers.

In that frozen moment, Rike became not just an observer but a chronicler of horror, etching each detail with precision onto the digital canvas. The scene whispered secrets of loss and fear, drawing her deeper into its chilling embrace as she documented every nuance of the unsettling scene with unwavering focus.

Rike navigated the edge of the crimson pool with calculated precision, her movements akin to a silent dance on the snowy canvas. Her eyes, fixated on the scene before her, captured every detail with unwavering intensity. Not a single step was taken without purpose, each imprint in the snow a potential clue waiting to be unveiled. The chill in the air clawed at her skin, but she remained undeterred, determined to unravel the mystery that lay beneath the surface.

The woods enveloped her in a shroud of silence as she wrapped up her spontaneous investigation, the only audible sounds the gentle snow crunching beneath her boots and the soft click of the camera capturing the scene. Yet, this tranquillity masked the storm brewing within this remote setting and within Rike herself.

“Signal’s dead,” Rike muttered to herself, tucking away her phone. The frozen snapshots were now preserved. Her breath billowed out in wisps, mingling with the icy air, a visible reminder of the tension slowly easing from her chest. Despite this relief, the persistent throb of her pulse lingered in her ears like a haunting melody.

---