Linda glared at him. Dillard saw the fire and blinked. “What you done,” she said, “amounts to murder. No different than if you done it yourself.”
Dillard ground his teeth, fought down the heat rising in his chest. “I need to make something clear to you . . . absolutely crystal-clear. The General, he gets dangerous when he thinks someone might start gabbing about his business. And if you were to get it into your head to talk about what went down with Jesse, so much as a single word, there wouldn’t be a goddamn thing I could do to keep you and Abigail safe. And after what you said in front of Chet and Ash, about the sheriff, they’ll be watching you, you can count on it.”
She stared at the wall, shaking her head.
“Christ, Linda. Can’t you see I’m doing my damnedest here to keep you two safe? Can you not try and understand?”
He waited for a response, some sign that all was not lost, but she continued to stare at the wall as though he wasn’t there.
“Why are you making this so hard?” he asked.
“Really? Are you kidding me?” The venom in her voice surprised him.
Dillard made himself look at her swollen lip. Why do things always have to go this way with me? “I’m . . . sorry,” he said. “Sorry I lost my temper. About as sorry as I can be. Do anything I could to take that back. I mean it, Linda. Things got out of hand . . . won’t ever happen again. I swear it. Swear to God.”
Linda’s lip began to tremble and she wiped at her eyes.
Dillard thought maybe some part of her understood. He hoped so. “You got every right to hate me right now. But I’m hoping you won’t. That maybe after a bit you’ll come to forgive me. All I ask is that you try and remember I made my decisions, right or wrong, for you, baby.”
He gave her another minute, hoping she would say something. She didn’t.
“Listen,” he said. “However you might feel about me, I still need you to stick close for a few days . . . until things with the General calm down a notch. That will give me a little time to convince him you understand the ways things are. If you want to leave me after that . . . well . . . I won’t stand in your way. But, Linda . . . I’m hoping you won’t. I’m still hoping we can build a life together.”
Linda’s face was stone, he saw nothing for him in her eyes, nothing. Ellen had worn that same look, like part of her was turned off, dead. He couldn’t stand it another minute, afraid he’d start tearing up. “I have to go out. I won’t be far. If you see any of the Boggses driving by, you be sure to call me right away.”
Dillard left them on the stairs, slipping on his jacket. He patted the pocket, making sure Linda’s keys were still there, and headed out the door.
“WHY DO YOU come here?” Santa Claus asked, his voice deep and low.
“You know too well the answer to that, my dear old friend,” Krampus said, his tail swishing back and forth like that of a cat on the hunt.
“You could have lost yourself in the wilds. Lived out your existence in the forest.” Santa spoke softly, but his words resonated. “Instead you must make a nuisance of yourself . . . force my hand. Make me kill you when I have no desire to do so.”
“Kill me? That sounds a bit presumptuous. Would you not agree?”
Santa shook his head. “Why does the blood of Loki know only vileness? I showed you charity, tried to show you the truth, tried to save you from yourself. Gave you every chance.”
“Being chained beneath the earth did not feel very charitable.”
“Pity made me weak. I see now that I should have killed you and put an end to your suffering. But, you see, I spent an age in your mother’s prison. That time in Hel gave me the chance to better understand myself, to meditate on the consequences of my choices. My hopes were that solitude would give you that same chance. A chance to see beyond yourself for once.”
“Shit spews from your lips as from the ass of a pig. You did not find yourself in Hel, you were lost. It was I who tried to save you, that brought you into my very home, tried to give you purpose, to heal the great wounds in your heart. The truth is you chained me in that pit for one reason, the hope that I would be forgotten and fade away, and the spirit of Yule would fade away with me.”
Santa shrugged. “Yule is dead. It is the past. Men need a path to enlightenment, to be set free from trivial earthbound concerns, to see beyond the limitations of flesh and blood. Life is fleeting, but the hereafter is eternal. I see no greater calling than to help illuminate that path. I offered you a chance to assist.”
“You worship death. You and all the One Gods. They seduce mankind with their promises of glory attained in the hereafter, thus blinding men to the splendor before them here on earth. One can never expect to achieve enlightenment if one does not first live life to its fullest.”
“Your words only serve as proof that there is no longer a place for you on God’s earth.”
“Earth belongs to no god! Mother Earth is god. Have you forgotten everything? Do you pretend not to see that she is dying beneath your feet? Or do you not care? She needs rebirth, needs the spirit of Yule to heal her. You talk of enlightening men, but there will be no men without her!”
“Foolish beast, earth is nothing more than a rock in space.” Santa shook his head. “The world has moved on and left you behind. You have become nothing but a pathetic relic of days long dead. What I must do now is a mercy, so let us not prolong this. I have you, there is no escape. Kneel now before me and I will give you a quick death.”
“A very gracious and tempting offer, indeed,” Krampus chuckled. “But I believe it is you that should kneel.”
“This is madness, you know you cannot harm me.”
Krampus laughed.
Santa frowned. Krampus could see his mirth annoyed his rival, and laughed the harder.
“It appears five hundred years in that pit has addled your mind.”
Krampus sneered. “Five hundred years in that pit has made all things clear. Clear as spring water in Asgard. Or have you forgotten Asgard? Forgotten the face of your mother, your father? Forgotten your own name? Well, I have come to help you remember.”
Santa’s mouth tightened.
“You have blood on your hands,” Krampus said. “How much? How many did you murder in order to bend Loki’s sack to your will?”
“I have grown weary of your prattle,” Santa said and sprung forward, brought the great sword to bear, swung it high and down hard, a strike meant to cleave Krampus’s head from his shoulders. Krampus skipped aside, the blow intended for his neck instead striking deep into the soft dirt.
Santa appeared surprised by Krampus’s agility. He yanked the blade free, hefted it, ready to strike again.
Krampus made no move to retreat; he pointed the spear at Santa. “It is time I reminded you who you are.”
Santa shook his head, appeared almost bored. “Why must you put us through this? Surely you know your efforts are futile? Save yourself some dignity.”
“You have much to learn,” Krampus hissed. “Much to answer for. I am here to see that you do. For Huginn and Muninn, Geri and Freki, for all those you used then tossed aside, all those you betrayed, who bled for your ambitions. But most of all . . . for me.”
Santa charged, a great sweep of the blade. Krampus ducked, swept beneath the sword, came up as Santa went barreling past, lashed out, one quick strike, and slipped away.
Santa turned, prepared for another lunge, then hesitated, appeared unsure, his face twisting into something approaching befuddlement. He lowered his sword, looked at his arm. A small red line ran just beneath his shoulder, growing thicker as he stared at it. A crimson drop pooled and slid down his arm. Santa touched the cut, looked at the blood on his fingers. “What trickery is this?”