ELIZABETH

Living can be worse than death. Death requires no struggles. Death only requires giving in.

Life requires battle, a never-ending succession of skirmishes. Each day an agony of combat, each step a hard-won victory.

Today, my steps of victory crunch through melting snow and piles of fallen leaves. My legs burn, regardless of the cold. This daily run grounds me. I've kept the habit from before the police academy, through my detective career, and now here, one of the few things I kept from my previous life.

I push on through my woods. Trees slide past in a blur. My lungs settle into my pace, my chest rising and falling in customary rhythm. Puffs of stream escape my lips into the frigid air. My feet land on the familiar trail, my legs stretching over downed branches without thought. My body has run this path so many times it no longer needs my conscious thoughts to guide it. My mind is free to roam into the darkness. I struggle to keep my thoughts on the path, to skirt the empty abyss that beckons.

My property consists of three-hundred acres of heavily forested woodlands. When I first came here, the woods seemed to stretch forever, an expansive embrace of trees and wildlife. Now I quickly reach my property line and make the turn back towards the cabin, following the remanants of snowy footprints from my last run.

My only companion, my gray and white husky, Oscar, knows the path well, too. As we make the turn towards home, he bounds ahead excitedly, kicking up snow and leaves with his fast feet. Indy stops suddenly, several paces ahead on the trail. He raises his nose to the air and catches a scent. The rabbit flashes across the path and Oscar gives chase.

He shoots into the brush, his gray fur flashing against the white of the snow. I watch him go, wondering if I should follow, but I run on. Oscar can take care of himself in the woods better than I can. He'll come home when he'd had his fill of fun.

The music in my ear buds blasts the last of my dark thoughts about death and life away. I match my feet to the beat and plunged forward one step at a time, eager to get home before darkness falls.

A sharp bark intrudes over the music. I slow my pace, turn the volume down, and Oscar barks again.

I pull an earbud out. "Oscar?" I call into the trees. A whine and a yelp echo in the stillness.

Panic spurs my feet, and I crush into the brush. One earbud hangs from its wire, bouncing against my chest in a staccato of fear. My breath cling to my feat.

Oscar's paw prints lead toa frozen pond and continue onto the thin sheet of snow blowing across the ice. Several yards away, Oscar scrapes the edge of an icy hole, desperate to draw himself out of the frigid water.

He yelps in fear, his bright blue eyes pleading for help.

The ice moans beneath my weight as I take cautious steps towards my dog. A crack zigzags in front of me, and the ice gives way. The shallow water bites up to my knees. Gasping against the icy pain, I push on, breaking the ice with clenched fists. The water crawls up to my thighs. Drowned branches and debris pull at my numbing feet.

Oscar watches my slow progress with helpless eyes. The water climbs to my crotch, knocking the air from my lungs as it reaches the sensitive skin.

A few feet away from him, I stretch my arms across the ice, strain to reach the thick fur of his neck. It fills my gloved hand, and I pull. Oscar yelps and claws at the ice. One paw catches hold, and combined with my pulling, he slides out of the water.

He crouches in the ice, instinctively spreading his weight on his four paws. He scrambles to the bank and shakes off most of the water. Now that he's safe, he paces the bank of the pond, barks anxiously, spurring me on.

Numbness settles into my bones, making my return to the bank heavy and slow. A submerged branch catches my running boot, tripping me. Icy water clenches around my belly, but I catch myself on the edge of the ice before sinking lower.

Freeing my boot from the branch, I lunge for the bank, pushing hard with my other leg. A hidden scrap of metal slices my foot, the sudden warmth of blood burning against the cold water. Ignoring the pain, I push again for the bank.

I land face down in the dirt and snow, then belly crawl out of the water. Oscar pushes his nose against my face, urging me on with his warm breath. My vision fuzzes, and I shiver in the wind. Using my unhurt foot, I try to stand. My numb leg wobbles, crumbles, and I land with a humph. The cold seeps from my coat and wraps icy fingers around my lungs.

I will my legs to move, too cold to obey, my muscles only twitch. With my gloved hands I pull myself through the dirt like an animal. Fallen branches reach out from the snow to scratch my face.

Oscar whines and shoves me with his nose, urging. Shadows dance around his broad face, as the sun sinks low in the sky behind him. I manage to drag myself a little farther, then lie panting against the dirt. The cold seeps from my chest into my shoulders.

Oscar whines against my cheek. I can barely see his blue eyes in the falling darkness. Behind him, three familiar balls of light appear, and I turn away from their approach.

"I just need to rest," I tell my dog. "Give me a minute."

Music sings softly from my earbuds dragging along beside me. "Dust in the Wind" carries along with the snow on the breeze.

As I have every day for two years, I fight the battle to survive. I don't give in. The cold strikes back, a valiant competitor.

"Elizabeth, you have to move," Dave's voice blocks out the music.

"I can't," I explain to my husband. " Too cold."

"Get up!" he commands. I open my eyes and meet his face.

"You need a haircut," I tell him nonsensically.

"You should have gotten one before."

"You say that every time," his warm smile makes a heat flutter in my frozen chest.

"Mom, it's dark," my son, Nathan says from somewhere nearby. " I don't want to be here in the dark."

"I know, baby. Sorry. I stayed out longer than I intended."

"Mom, get up!" My teenage daughter, Julia, demands. Always headstrong and to the point, she doesn't give in now.

I manage to roll onto my back, and the three of them shimmer above me. The empty branches dance behind them, through them.

"Oscar's cold," Dave says. "You have to get him inside the cabin."

My dog shivers next to me, a crinkling sheet of ice frozen over his thick fur.

"I can't," I whine to my family."I'm too tired." "That's the hypothermia talking. Damn it, Elizabeth, move!" In our 17 years of marriage or the last two years, I've never heard Dave cuss at me. "Get your *** in gear and get up!"

I don't like his tone and anger surges through me. When I try to move my leg, it obeys. "That's it, Mom. Screw this shit and move!" Julia chimes in.

"Watch your mouth, young lady," I snap automatically. Adrenaline pumps against the cold, and I force myself to my hands and knees.

"It's getting darker," Nathan fusses, consumed by his fear. "Get us inside."

Even Oscar gangs up on me, pushing against my rear. I pant on my hands and knees, crawl a few steps towards the trail. "Why won't you just leave me alone so I can join you?" I plead. "If you had stayed away, I could be with you now." Tears of frustration burn my frozen cheeks.

"You have things to do yet, Elizabeth. Now get going." Dave urges. "Don't let the kids see you like this."

That works more than the harsh words. I crawl a few more feet, then pull myself up on a tree. My cut foot stings as I step down gingerly. "Pain is good," Julia says. "Do that again."

As blood pumps through my frozen extremities, the skin tingles and burns. "The sooner you get to the cabin, the sooner the burning will stop, " Dave urges.

I pull myself staight and step away from the support of the tree. My cut boot flaps in the snow, but I keep moving, each step agony.

"Good girl, keep moving," Dave says.

Panting and exhausted, I stop to catch my breath once I'm back on the path to the cabin. I want to sink to it, want to curl up and sleep.

Dave senses my hesitation and tries another tactic. "Flora and Sam need their dinners."

"My pigs can eat the grass," I point out.

"It's winter , there's no grass left. They need you." I look up the dark path where the pigs and chickens wait for my return.

"Just give me a minute," I tell my family and lean against a tree. I dig my pack of smokes from the inside pocket of my coat, and fish out a cigarette. It's squished, but miraculously dry. I fumble with the lighter through my gloves until a tiny flame finally appears. The hot smoke warms my tired lungs.

I take a few drags, summon the last of my energy, and march on.

My family follows, cheering me, pissing me off, whatever they can do to keep me going.

The solar light on my porch finally winks through the trees.

Nathan runs ahead, "Come on, Mom, we're almost there."

My pace quickens once the cabin comes into view. In my haste, I trip over a fallen log. Dave moves to catch me as I fall, but I tumble through his outstretched arms.

After all, he's not really here.

ELIZABETH

I drag myself up the three steps to the wrap around covered porch on my cabin. The wood steps creak under my heavy steps. Oscar zooms past me, wasting no time going through his dog door and into the warmth of the cabin. Pale firelight pours out of the windows flanking each side of the door. The wind funnels through the porch, stings my chilled cheeks. The sudden blast of cold spurs me to cross the last few agonizing steps.

Leaning heavily on the door, I fumble to turn the handle with my freezing fingers. I finally manage to turn the knob and collapse through the door. I land hard on the polished wood floor and try not to think about the bruises I've collected from my many falls tonight.

The funneled wind from the porch blows through the open door, makes the fire roar to life in the open door, makes the fire roar to life in the open fireplace, and a few sparks dance up the chimney. Already curled on his bed by the fire, Oscar contentedly licks the melting ice and snow from his fur. He looks up with a you're letting the cold in expression.

"Come on, babe, almost done. Shut the door," Dave says.

I stay on the floor but slam the door with my uncut foot. "Happy?" I gripe.

"I'm happy we're finally home," Nathan chirps and sit next to Oscar.

"You're such a baby, " Julia tells him. "Mom could have died, and you're too busy being afraid of dark."

"I'm not afraid," Nathan replies.

Julia shrugs and flops on the couch.

"Hot bath for you," Dave says, looking down at me on the floor.

"You're so bossy tonight. I don't like it," I grumble as I pull off my gloves and hat and toss them across the cabin.

"Whatever it takes," he smiles. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes melt my heart the way they have for years. "As long as you're safe."

I meet his hazel eyes and put all my love into mine."I'm safe now. Thank you," I say quietly so the kids can't hear.

"Don't do that again. "His tender voice holds a steel edge. "Don't ever do that again."

I look away, ashamed of how close I came to losing. If the last two years haven't done me in, how could I let a frozen pond finish me off? I busy myself with climbing off the floor instead of responding.

I call to the kids, "I'm going to take a hot bath."

The water steams invitingly as it fills the tub. Sitting on the toilet lid, I untie my running boots. The sole of the one flops open at the cut, ruined. I toss my favourite boots against the wall in anger, thinking of all the snowy miles it took to break them it. They'll need to be replaced now, and fast.

I peel my soaked socks off and add them to the pile against the wall. The sock is ruined too, cut through and stained with blood. I don't look at my foot, unwilling to see my skin opened by the sharp metal I stepped on.

When the pile includes my soaked pants and my mostly dry sweater, I turn off the water in the tub. The silence in the small bathroom is nearly deafening after the roar of the running water.

Steam obscures the tiny mirror above the sink. I wipe it away with my hand and consider my reflection. My blue eyes, nearly the same color as Oscar's, stare wide and frightened. "That was close," I whisper to myself. The mirror is purposely small, only reflectting a small part of me. A lift of my chin reveals the red, angry scar puckered across my throat. I finger it gently with a shaking hand. Lower on my chest, another scar, not visible in the mirror's minuscule reflection beckons. My Roman numeral carved there.

"Don't touch it," Dave suddenly commands.

I pull my hand away, guilty like a child sneaking candy.

I mean his eyes in the tiny reflection. "You and the kids don't have the marks?" I ask.

"We've already told you we don't." His voice so close to my ear, almost touching.

"You did," I whisper.

"We don't now," he soothes. "Don't go down this road, Elizabeth," he warns.

I push through him and climb into the tub. The heat of the water like fire against my still-cold skin.

I welcome the burn, and slide into the water, tipping my head back on the edge of the tub.

My injured foot stings. I raise it from the water, and fresh blood dribbles down my leg. Just a little blood, nothing serious, but it's enough.

"Don't look at the blood," Dave tried to help.

My mind betrays me, and the memory slips up.

ELIZABETH

I pull my SUV into my garage. It's a tight fit next to the shiny new John Gator Side-by-side. Dave's gift to me at last month's Christmas. "It'll make doing the chores easier," he'd said. "You can haul feed in the back or whatever you need to do."

I shake my head at the Gator. Our tiny farm is really Dave's baby. The three pigs in the barn and the six chickens were all surprises brought home from an animal swap meet last summer. "Home-grown bacon and farm-fresh eggs," Dave had said. I'd seen through the ploy for what it was, a reason to keep me home. Most nights, like tonight, he ends up doing the chores alone while I'm gone working on a case.

Sighing heavily, I push open my door. It's late, very late. Quietly, I enter the kitchen. Dave left a light on for me. It shines warmly on the wooden cabinets of the friendly space designed for family dinners. I turn off the light. I missed dinner again tonight and I don't want the reminder.

Oscar whines in his kennel, wanting my attention. I let him out, his thick white and gray fur glows in the moonlight as he dances around me, excited I'm home. I rough up his furry neck in greeting, then let him out the back door to his fenced-in area. "Don't take long," I tell him. "I'm going to bed in a bit. "Oscar sniffs the frozen grass and ignores me.

I toss my phone on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and walk in the dark down the hall. I peak in on Nathan first. He's sound asleep, curled on his side. A book open on the bed and a flashlight glowing next to him, forgotten as he read himself to sleep. I close the book and sit it on his table, click off the flashlight. His dark bangs have fallen over his eyes, and I brush them away gently. I lean over and kiss his temple , breathing deeply of the little-boy smell in his hair. With a pang, I realize that smell has started to fade, to change as he grows older. He's only eight, but he'll beva young man soon enough.

"Love you, Mom," he murmurs in his sleep. He's used to my late-night kisses.

"Love you, Mom," he murmurs in his sleep. He's used to my late-night kisses.

"Love you, Nathan buddy," I whisper near his ear and breathe his scent again.

"Stop smelling me," he mutters and pulls the covers closer around him.

I smile at my son and leave him alone, closing the door with a gentle click.

No light shines under Julia's closed door. I want to open it, to go to her. At fifteen, she won't tolerate my intrusion the way Nathan does. Placing my hand flat on her closed door, I console myself with a quick,"Night ,love."

Flickering lights and low voices filter through the crack in the door to the master bedroom. I push it open and find Dave asleep on the bed, the TV on. I slip out of my suit jacket and toss it on the chair. I put my badge and gun in the side table drawer, the removal of their weight freeing me to just be. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I kick off my low-heeled boots.

Dave moans and reaches for me, his hand on my thigh.

"You're home," he mumbles.

I turn towards him and place my hand flat on the plane of his cheek. The beginning of stubble prickle my palm. "Don't wake up," I whisper. "It's late."

The TV flickers across his face as I drop a light kiss where my hand just was. He blinks rapidly , forcing himself awake. "How'd it go?"

"We had to release him." I stand and unbutton my shirt.

Dave wakes up fully, pushes himself onto his elbow. "Release him?" After what he did to all those womem?" His indignation matches my own.

"His alibi's check out." I fume. I don't want to talk about it. I've spent the last few days building a case against Kath Monroe. Eyewitness accounts linked him to sevey murders over the past year and a half. My partner, Detective Charles, and I thought we had enough to bring him in.

"I don't understand," Dave says.

"Me either." I pause in unbuttoning my shirt. "He sat across the table from Charles and me, calm and sure of himself. He had solid video alibis for each of the abductions. He couldn't have done it."

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. I know you were sure you had this monster."

I sit back on the bed, my shirt flapping open. "That's the thing. I'm still sure. Monroe did those awful things to those women, or is at least involved. " The rage I fought down before I even thought of coming home boils again. "Monroe looked me in the eye and said he didn't do it, but his eyes lied. He basically dared me to prove it. I can't explain it, but he knows that I know he's guilty."

Dave rolls out of bed, comes around to my side, then sits next to me, his body close. "Maybe you're just tired. You've been on this case non-stop for weeks." He's trying to help, but it rankles just the same.

"I am tired. But that doesn't change anything. He killed and marked all those women, and I will figure out a way to prove it."

Dave puts his arm around my shoulder, and I sink into the safety of his embrace. Staring into the face of a serial killer all night and then watching him walk away free had just about done me in.

"You must be hungry, " he says.

I nod against his shoulder and let him take care of me.

"You get a shower, I'll go make you a sandwich." He kisses the top of my head, squeezes me against his side. "Let this go for tonight. Things will look different in the morning."

I reveal in the morning, want him to hold me forever, to chase the darkness away. My stomach grumbles loudly, and we both laugh.

"I'll get you that sandwich." He leaves my side and walks towards the door.

"Thanks, love," I call after him. The door clicks behind him.

I take a moment to collect my tired thoughts. The TV murmurs and flickers. Russel Crowe battles other Gladiators in a late-night re-play of Dave's favorite movie. An especially violent and bloody part sends me scrambling for the remote. I've seen enough violence for today.

The shower pounds on the title and echoes through the spacious master bath. One entire wall is covered by a mirror stretching above the double vanity sinks. Using the left sinks as always, I brush my teeth and wash off the last remanants of my makeup. I pull a brush through my short blonde hair. I toss of my pants suit in the empty laundry hamper, giving silent thanks that Dave did the laundry today. Familiar guilt stabs me. He's been picking up a lot my slack lately, and I owe him better.

*****, I walk into the attached closet full of similar pants suits. I dig in a drawer and find a comfortable nightgown, one with a lower neckline, just a little too much skin showing. Dave's favorite. I vow to stay awake long enough to show him how much I appreciate all he's been doing for me.

I hang the nightgown on one of the hooks near the shower and climbs into the hot water. I lean my hands against the shower wall, holding myself up as water pours over my head and images pour through my mind.

Photos of the seven women I know Monroe killed and mutilated. Each throat cut, each chest carved with the Roman numeral two. Their faces flash through my mind like a horror movie. I push against the images, begging them to stop.

These girls need to bring them justice. The weight of that responsibility squeezes my chest, leaves me gasping.

My legs buckle under the weight. I slide to the floor of the shower and lean against the expensive tile. Water splashes and dribbles awkwardly down my face, mixing with the tears flowing freely. I cover my mouth with my hands, muffling the sounds. Cleansing sobs wrench my gut and tear my throat. The images of the women slow in my mind, then fade away.

Leaving darkness.

I welcome the emptiness, cling to it. The sobs taper off, leaving me spent and free. Probably, I replace the horrible images with wonderful ones of my family. Quick flashes of my husband and children give me the strength to stand. Nathan's precious smile and Julia's infectious laugh fill my mind as I wash my hair.

Memories of passionate nights with Dave warm my blood. I take the time to shave my legs, prepare for making another memory tonight.

When I'm finished, I stand under the water and let the steady stream wash away the last of my dark thoughts. I straighten my back, raise my chin, and physically reclaim myself.

"Come on, kid, " I say out loud. "Dave's waiting."

I suddenly realize he's been gone for a long time. I'd expected him to come into the bathroom, sit with me chatting as I showered, the way he'd done so many times before.

A frizzle of fear niggles my neck. I push the residual effect of my long night away and turn off the shower.

Oscar barks in the backyard, loud and insistent. I try to look out the window to see the dog, but steam and the glare from the overhead lights block my view.

My detective mind works overtime. Why's Oscar still out?

"Stop being paranoid, " I say to my stream- fuzzed reflection.

I towel off and slide the nightgown over my clean skin. It clings to my hips, dips low on my chest. The lace edge of the hem skims my toned legs. Now I just need Dave to see me in it.

I look into the bedroom, expecting to see him on the bed, back to watching Gladiator while he waits for me.

The weather channel I changed the TV to still plays in the empty room.

Oscar still barks out back. The tone of his bark doesn't sound right. Sometimes he just barks at the wind, but now he's barking at something. Maybe the coyotes have gotten close to the barn again. Oscar's protective of the pigs and chickens.

Dave must have gone out to check on them. I try to look out the bathroom window again, but still see nothing but darkness .

I pull on a thick pink robe over my skimpy nightgown and head into the hall.

Halfway down the hell, I freeze.

Nathan's door hangs open. I know I shut it earlier.

A few more steps and I see Julia's door hangs open too.

I should have listened to my instincts.

I should have gone back for my gun tucked safely in its drawer.

I should have run back to my room, called for help.

I should have done anything other than what I did.

I continue down the hall dressed only in the slinky nightgown and robe.