Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 3: Leverage (Part 1)

Chris's consciousness ebbed and flowed like the ocean, and he even thought he could hear the waves breaking on the sand and drifting back to a tranquil place. But every time the surf glided across the sand, it traveled farther than the time before and then retreated with less vigor, and each new wave brought in a crash of pain. His bones ached, his skin stung, and his head felt like it was drowning in cheap rum.

"Uncle Joe, my turn, my turn!"

Chris recognized the voice of his daughter, Morgan. His eyes fluttered open. He saw blotchy figures in the distance, but he couldn't make out her face. It was too dark. His hearing seemed to be sharper, at least—movement, giggling, and heavy breathing. And there was a strange smell, musty and stagnant.

"You have to give your brother a turn first. You can't fool me that easily, princess."

The second voice made him believe he was dreaming. Chris struggled to lift his head. It fell back down with a clunk against whatever he was lying on—something cold, hard, and unforgiving.

"Looks like your dad is starting to wake up."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Chris forced himself to his knees and took Morgan in his arms. Her twin brother, Ryan, slid down from his piggyback ride and launched himself at his father. Chris hugged them both, one in each arm, thankful they were all right. They were still in their Christmas pajamas and seemed cheerful. Chris hoped this meant they had been treated with some degree of humanity while he was unconscious.

"Daddy, we're in a cage, and Uncle Joe is here, and he says we're having an adventure!" Ryan piped.

A white T-shirt drifted closer. Chris knew it was his brother even before Joe's face came into view. It was the way Joe carried himself—confident and insecure at the same time.

Some things never changed.

Other things did change, however. Either Joe had lost weight or his exaggerated jawline was the seasoning that came with age and physical maturity. And without his glasses there to act as a shield, Joe's wariness was in plain sight.

Perhaps it had nothing to do with the glasses and his fear would have spilled out regardless. Their situation just might be that dire. But then Joe smiled tentatively. It added a touch of relief and a hint of mischievous humor to his face and conjured up some mixed emotions for Chris.

As the charmer, the tireless bullshitter—sometimes funny, but more often than not outright annoying—Joe was practically his polar opposite. They didn't even look alike; Joe's hair was darker, his eyes lighter. And after their mother's funeral, they had parted on bad terms and hadn't spoken since.

"You look like you might need a hand." Joe gently eased the children aside, helped Chris to his feet, and gave him a quick, awkward hug. "I know. Not exactly the family reunion I was anticipating either."

"Where the hell are we?" Chris whispered.

They were in some kind of cage, and there was an orange glow behind the bars, but Chris was more concerned with the darkness. The cage appeared to be set within a cave. Its rocky, uneven sides curved toward a low overhang at the entrance. At the rear was a black so deep it had to be the birthplace of evil, a monster in its own right, and it was breathing frigid air at them. He was still wearing the sweatshirt he'd pulled on earlier, but aside from their shirts, he and his brother had only their boxers on.

"I have no earthly idea. I hoped you would know," Joe whispered back. "I'm still struggling with what day it is," Joe added with a shrug. "Or whether it's day at all or just one long, awful night. You were out at least eight hours longer than we were. Your kids were getting worried. They're charming, by the way, nothing at all like their father."