Dashing Through The Snow

Chapter Twenty One - Nick

Chapter Twenty One

Nick

Isabella looked at me as if I'd grown a new head, her eyes wide. She unfroze, bit her lip, and then threw her door open, quickly going inside. I followed her, watching her sit on the bed. The springs creaked as she did so. Hesitating, I stood next to her, eyeing the wall. Isabella shifted, kicking the ground.

"Why do you need to go there?"

I sucked in my breath. Should I tell her? The paper she had dropped matched the ripped image I had found in the basement. Not only was that bizare, the image was of my father; I was sure of it. Who else would have a big belly and a white beard besides Santa? But, his eyes had looked hollow, and his rosy cheeks were pale; the life sucked out of them.

"I...I," I stammered, "need to see someone."

She jumped up, facing me. I was startled, falling back onto the bed. Isabella apologized, and then asked me to leave. Confused, I stood, cocking my head to the side. She pointed at the door, and I stayed where I was. Sighing, she grasped my upper arm and led me toward the door. Once out in the hallway, she let go and shut her door. The lock clicked.

 I remained where I was, staring at the door. Behind me, Claus darted back and forth in the hallway, playing with a stuffed animal. Scratching my temple, I spun on my heel. Jess nearly crashed into me as she ran after Claus. She mumbled an apology and continued running. Shaking my head, I descended the stairs in a daze.

 Finwë was, of course, in the kitchen, munching on a cookie. I sauntered over to him, sticking my hand out. He raised an eyebrow, and then reached into his pocket. Finwë passed me the image, turning his attention back to the pastry in his hand. I placed my elbows on the counter, leaning forward.

Finwë and I had taped the two pieces back together. Each of the pieces fit together, the jagged ends matching perfectly. The image was like those of the old ages. The cameras would spit out the images once it was taken, and then someone would shake the paper until the photo showed. This was the one I was holding, and it was in black and white, making it even more depressing.

The two pieces came together to create an image of my father behind bars, sitting on a wooden bench. His body was hunched forward, and compared to the statue in the North Pole, he was much skinnier. The sleeves of his shirt were too short, ending just before his bony wrists. Bags outlined the bottom of his dull, lifeless, green eyes. His pants were loose on his frame.

My eyes scanned over the image. What surprised me most was the imprint of two thumbs on the bottom corners. Finwë had looked at his thumbs, but they were too small. I glanced at him, and then hesitantly looked at my own thumb. The swirls curled to the right, and there were two irregular lines on the right side of the index. I sucked in my breath, dropping the photo on the counter. Finwë eyed me.

"What?"

"Don't you see that thumb print?" I asked, pointing to the one on the left. He leaned forward, looking. He then nodded. "It's my thumb."

"That isn't possible," he stated firmly, but his voice shook. "How could it be possible? You said you've never seen that picture in your life."

"I haven't."

We both eyed the image, as if it were going to burst into flames in any given moment. Finwë finished his cookie and sighed. Rubbing his eyes, he faced me.

"Christmas is in five days."

I nodded, keeping my gaze on the granite counter top. My mother was probably worried out of her mind right now, but she wouldn't have a clue where I was. Neither would my uncle. Only Finwë and Jack knew, but I doubted they were going to tell my mother. Finwë wanted to find my father too, and I thought that was enough to keep his mouth shut.