A Cold White Fear Read Online Free PDF Page A

genuine Hudson’s Bay Company blankets, complete with the short black lines,” he said.
    â€œThey likely date from my great-grandfather’s days. Weren’t those lines used to indicate the number of pelts a trapper had to pay for the blanket?”
    â€œNot so. The lines were invented by French weavers in the eighteenth century to indicate the finished size of the blanket.”
    â€œYou seem to know your history.”
    â€œI dabble.”
    With my arms full, I headed back to the stairs. Surrounded by blinding darkness but for the ribbon of light from my headlamp, I felt like I’d been transported to another world. It was as if nothing else existed but the hallway, the storm, this strange man, and me. The air throbbed with the eerie moaning of the wind as it whipped around the house and through the pines.
    The house had been built beside a stand of ancient white pine, one of the few to survive the logging ravishes of the late 1800s. Although no giant had fallen directly onto the house, massive branches had come down in storms such as this. For the most part, they had missed the house, but there had been a few direct hits over the years, including a memorable one a couple of winters ago that partially caved in the verandah roof. Last summer, Eric had hired a logger from the rez to remove some of the lower and dying limbs of nearby trees. But it was no guarantee that an unusually strong gust of wind wouldn’t send a branch, even a tree, crashing onto the house.
    Larry remained as still and silent as when I’d left him, though I thought his right arm might have shifted. His breathing was steady, and I couldn’t detect a fever, all good signs. Like Professor, he had tattoos, but only two, an eagle feather caressing the side of his face and a single teardrop underneath his eye. His skin was pockmarked from acne. A single feather earring dangled from his right ear. I threw another log onto the fire to ensure he would have enough warmth while Professor covered his legs with the blanket.
    â€œWhat happened to my glass?” Professor demanded.
    â€œI left it in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.”
    Not that I wanted to be his servant, but my plan was to pour less rye and more ginger ale into the glass.
    â€œI’ll do it. You won’t put in enough rye.”
    â€œThat’s the only bottle. When it’s gone, it’s gone.”
    â€œBullshit. I’m certain there is plenty more liquor in this house. What else does a person do on cold dark nights like this other than drink?”
    Used to , I thought to myself, but no longer. Eric had cured me of that.
    I gave him the glass and watched his back disappear into the blackness of the hall.

SEVEN
    T he dried blood had caused Larry’s T-shirt to bunch up, making it difficult to determine the extent of the wound underneath. When the fabric refused to budge with a gentle tug, I decided it might be stuck to his skin. I then noticed a curious tear in the cloth near the centre of the stain, which suggested that the area of the injury was comparatively small.
    â€œYou said this was caused by a car accident,” I said to Professor as he walked into the room, his full glass tinkling.
    Sticking out of his jacket pocket was the metallic blue end of a flashlight. It unsettled me to realize he’d gone snooping through my kitchen drawers without asking. I wondered what else he had helped himself to.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWas he thrown against something sharp?”
    â€œIn a car?”
    â€œThat’s why I’m asking. His wound looks like something stabbed him, but it’s too low on his body for it to be from a cracked windshield. Besides, his face would be covered in cuts. Do you have any idea what it could have been?”
    â€œDoes it matter? The key thing is to cleanse the wound and cover it with a bandage.” He resumed his seat in the armchair and concentrated on his drink.
    I felt