Previously in the Vines Inquiry— Frank decided he would rather know than fear and set out to investigate what his family is up to. Meanwhile, Harlow ran into an old college menace, Tucker, who revealed he has become the new landlord for her family’s bar.
The trolley was crowded on the way up-island. Even Harlow said it was more than usual when she dropped Frank at the station. With her business to attend to back home, the first leg of the journey would be a solo trip for the young(est) Vines.
Christmas music hummed through the speakers, barely audible over the riders’ chatter. Frank listened in, shamelessly enjoying the snippets of conversation that circled round him. Talk of what wine to buy so that Sarah would like it. Excitement at the prospect of Little Dennis opening his gifts tomorrow. The final preparations of a plan to surprise Marcus with an engagement ring Christmas morning. Frank always thought it was better to do that last one on Christmas Eve so any other gifts stood a chance, but overall, the proposal sounded like a winner.
As long as they weren’t blown down the mountain by a snow drift. He imagined a video six months from now: “10 Best Proposal Fails UPDATED.”
Better not tell Harlow about that one. She’s too good at setting things to music, he thought.
When Frank had set off from McCroy’s, he’d had big man gumption. He wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but it involved walking tall with his shoulders as broad as possible and almost not slipping on the snow in the parking lot. Right then, his options seemed slim. He could either talk honestly with his parents about what he’d overheard (completely impossible, of course) or go snooping around.
He looked around the trolley car, full of cheer and/or mirth, riding the rails up his gorgeous home island (a snowy island paradise, for god(s) sake); and felt guilty for tainting the place in his memory. He vowed to try and itch at it less, to focus on the things he’d enjoyed. The good times he’d had with his parents, his family, ‘back home.’
A Christmas song so notable that even the youngest kid on the trolley knew it came on, and everyone began to sing. Frank nodded along, smiling at people that smiled at him. The snow was falling in that summer storm heaviness; large, feather flakes that had already accumulated to a few inches and clouded vision. While they sang, part way through the second verse, Frank spotted her in the window.
A woman, moving through the woods.
She was all one shade—the same color as bones licked clean. Naked or wearing clothes so clotted with snow that her outfit faded into the background. The only thing that distinguished her from the pines was motion; a furious, stumbling run. He couldn’t make out of her face as she darted between trees with the growing storm costuming her in frigidity.
The trolley lurched on the track, sliding backwards for a stomach-dropping few feet. An electric whirring, struggle, before it continued up.
The rest of the passengers let out a jump scare’s startled giggles and kept on singing while Frank’s eyes stayed pinned to the woman in the woods. With the train still, he was sure she was naked now. The snow clung to her flesh and matted her hair into a slicked-back cowl. Frank knew that at first, it must have melted against her skin. But now, the winter had sapped all the heat from her body. She looked irrevocably cold, but unbothered. Her goose bumped flesh did not shiver, even as the snow mistook her skin for the grave dirt that already had her name.
“Hey!” Frank called to someone else, anyone else, who might see her…and the woman paused.
She craned her ear to the wind, staring at the trolley, before sprinting in the other direction.
“Stop the trolley!” Frank yelled to the conductor. He went unheard over the rising final chorus of the rest of the passengers. “Please!”
He was surprised at the command in his voice. Something was stirring in him, frightening but familiar. A feeling like his lungs running out of air. His heart stampeded in his chest; short, hard kicks to the rib cage. Frank shuffled to the front of the trolley, nudging people out of the way and whispering apologies.
“Please, stop the trolley. There’s someone in the woods.”
The conductor—Rodney by the embroidered name tag—gave Frank a once over and shook his head. Frank stared back at him, one hand on his chest as if to press his heart into calm. His breath clouded the air between them, opaque white in the increasing chill. “Did you hear me? Stop the trolley!” The conductor shook his head again.
“Aren’t you too old for the Woods Woman?” said Rodney, chuckling to himself. Frank looked past him, out the driver’s side window and saw the woman again, listening.
“She hears us! She hears the music. Look!” Frank pointed toward the woods and the conductor followed his finger, squinting through the blanketing snowstorm.
“Sir, I can’t stop the trolley in this. You’ll have to please calm down and take a seat.”
“The woman.” Panic scratched in Frank’s voice. He pressed his fingers into the muscled gaps between his ribs, forcing his heart to still. He imagined applying to same pressure to the conductor’s temples. “The woman. Please.”
The conductor looked out the window again, shielding his eyes with one hand while he kept the other hovering on the trolley’s controls. Frank scanned the blanched woods with him, searching for movement.
“I don’t see anything, Sir. Are you feeling okay?” Rodney’s appraisal of Frank showed stark as a cold snap on the conductor’s face. Frank felt the sweat that had gathered around his collar. A few thick pockets of spit that hugged one corner of his lips. “The holidays can be tough on certain folks.”
The pity hit Frank like a yearbook thrown at the back of his head. The conductor’s eyes so wide. He glanced in the rearview to more concerned faces. His heart still hammered, so loud he could hear it above the Christmas carol. Loud enough he thought it might crack a rib.
Frank gripped the decorative wrought-iron rail that ran behind the conductor’s seat as the trolley lurched. All at once, he didn’t know what day of the week it was. The other passenger’s faces were replaced. He knew them all, but couldn’t say from where. That’s what it was…They recognized him too. Frank wasn’t just the ‘crazy guy’ yelling on the trolley.
He was Frank Vines, the guy who killed his twin brother.
“Sir? Sir! Are you alright?”
Frank squeezed his eyes shut, clamping slippery hands down harder on the spiked rail. He breathed, seethed, tried to find a way out of it. To hear anything but his heartbeat pounding, his ribs wheezing as they flexed against the impact.
“Please,” he whispered to himself. His teeth sliced off the word, and the world went quiet. Half a breath.
He’d fallen into a pool, a frozen lake. The conductor’s words, the carols, the riders who’d put steely hands on Frank’s shoulders and wrists. It all fell away from him, diffused through leagues of cold water, except one noise: pristine and perfectly-tuned.
Da-da-dum, Da-da-dum, Da-da-dum, Da-da-dum.