Frost (5 page)

"You can't even see what's happening to you now." Her tone became a razor sharp blade that cut across my anger. It was the tone she'd used for years to make me mind her, something a little kin to iron and fear. "You're changing…it's happening. He's already found you!"

I watched her breath a few seconds as I tried to come up with something to say in a calm voice and not tell
 
her to get the hell out of here—

Watched her breath.
 

I'd noticed it earlier but for some reason it didn't seem important. But now…

She curled up into her sweater and pulled her hands into the sleeves before crossing them over her chest. For an instant I thought she was taking on a defensive posture, something I'd learned during my years as a cop, trying to read a suspect or witness. But she wasn't being defensive—she was cold.
 

I saw her breath again.
 

When I touched my mug with the watered down coffee and sugar, frost covered the outer ceramic. It looked like food did when I took it out of the freezer—all smothered in that thin, sparkling layer of fuzzy ice.
 

When I let go of the mug she grabbed my wrist. The action made me jump and when I looked into her face it was like looking into the definition of panic. "What're you—?"

"You see this? This is
you
. You're making it cold in here, just like you used to make your room an icebox. Jason never showed this kind of devilish magic. But I wasn't going to let him damn
your
soul. That's why I had to convince you he was a bad man and you never wanted to see him again."
 

I sat in shocked silence, her hand a death grip on my arm.
 

"You have to listen to me
now
, Jackson. There's only one way to stop him from claiming you."
 

"Mom—"
 

"
Listen
to me," she hissed. Frost spread over the glass window like a sheet of diamonds. "You have to stop it, not give into it…I have to fix this. I should have known you both had to die…" Red lines struck through the whites of her eyes and her breath smelled of toothpaste and coffee. "I thought Jason would be able to resist, but he couldn't. And when he died, the title passed to you. I wanted to protect you from this Jackson. Your father promised me as long as he had Jason, you'd be spared. But when the temperature didn't change from August to September, and then into October I knew—I
knew
," She let go and nearly fell backward into her seat. "He'd made himself human. It meant I could see him, talk to him, even hold him. But…but he didn't know me. He told me to back away or he'd call the police. So I saved his soul. I have to save yours too."
 

I had no idea what happened to the woman I once called mom. Whatever she thought or had done over the past few years while holed up in her little house had poisoned her mind. Telling me my dad had goat feet? Saying that Jason was Jack Frost? And now saying we both had to die—

"Mom—when did you leave your house?"
 

"My house?"
 

"Yeah…when did you leave to come here? It's nearly 7:30 am. You were at the morgue at 6:50."
 

"I left the house as soon as I knew about Jason."
 

I licked my lips. They were chapped and rough. "How did you know he was in the morgue—or even that he'd been attacked? You said my father took him—so who told you he was here?" I watched her, watched her body, watched her face. Valdosta was more than eight hours away from Atlanta. That was eight hours driving the speed limit with no stops. My mom never drove the speed limit—she drove
under
it. Which by my calculations meant the trip would take her over eleven hours. To get here now would mean she'd have had to have started before Jason was killed.
 

I didn't like where my thoughts were going. No…I didn't like that at all. My hand went to my hip where my gun usually was.
Usually
, but not there now because I'd been admitted to the hospital.
 

"His soul was in jeopardy," mom said as she looked up at me from where she sat. "I already knew he'd abandoned his job because it was too warm. Meant he was with a woman, just like your father had been when you and Jason were conceived—there was a drought then, did you know that? A heat wave just like this one. Meant he was human again…for a little while. And I know they can be hurt when they're human."
 

Swallowing a bit of bile I took a step back. "Mom, empty your purse on the table."
 

"I'm sorry I failed you, Jackson."
 

"Mom—"
 

She faced me head on, her gaze never wavering. "For killing you. But it's the only way to save you—"
 

What? Oh God. Oh fucking H Christ! "Mom…you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—"

If Jovita Frost was anything—it was fast. She came up off that chair and ran at me before I could draw in a breath to finish the old litany. I saw the flash of a knife as we fell back into the window and then on the floor. Mom held the knife by the handle, blade down, and repeatedly tried stabbing me. The edge sliced into the sides of my hands and lower arms before I could get a hold of her wrist. I locked my arm out, holding the knife away from me. "Mom—stop!"
 

"I can't let him have you!"
 

My initial instinct was to roll and get her off of me, then grab her arm, twist her while she's off balance and press her
under
me. The knife put a kink into things—I didn't want to get fatally stabbed by it, or stab mom.
 

Vibrations on the floor announced the arrival of several people. She was jerked away from me as other hands grabbed the knife and her arms. I rolled away on my side as a cacophony of voices, along with my mom's, helped me concentrate on holding it together.
 

My mom killed my brother. She just tried to kill me. I don't care if you're nine, fifteen or even forty—it's a traumatic experience.
 

"Jackson! Don't give in! Don't become Jack Frost!"
 

"Get her out of here!" That was the voice of authority.
 

That, was Crow.
 

"Jackson—"
 

And that was Sarah. Her touch on my shoulder was gentle. I turned over from the shoulder, twisting my waist and her eyes widened. "Hold still—where did she stab you?"
 

I and looked up at her. Once again the image was blurry. And from the expression on her face it looked bad.
 

"Hey Shawn? Can you get a gurney and get Detective Frost into an examination room? He's going into shock."
 

"Sure doc."
 

She leaned close to me and put a hand on my cheek. "Jackson? Can you hear me? What happened? Who was that woman?"
 

"That was his mother," Crow answered and he knelt down beside Sarah. "Shit, Jack. What'd you say to her?"
 

I wanted to answer, but something dark and ominous climbed over my shoulders, bringing a thick, warm blanket with it. I tried to fight against it, terrified it was would smother me in its heat as I closed my eyes.
 

-6-

Mom escaped the hospital. Well it was more like she just walked out because who's going to believe a sweet little Christian woman like Jovita Frost was mentally unstable? I saw heads rolling in the near future for that little cluster fuck.
 

Rucker wanted to put a shadow on me but I told her I'd be fine, especially with Crow by my side. He flexed his muscles.
 

My hero.
 

I did suffer a lot of stitches, mostly on my left hand and arm. Nothing I hadn't experienced before during my childhood—especially after the Jack Frost teasing that inevitably happened no matter what school my mother dragged me into.
 

With a slightly clean bill of health I was officially released around six 6:00 and once armed again with gun, holster, wallet and badge, was driven straight back to the precinct. Crow had taken the bagged knife to the GBI for testing. It was the same kind of knife Noel told us about. But was it the same one that took Jason's life?
 

Writing up the paperwork on the incident wasn't my priority—and it wasn't because I didn't want to include my mother—but learning more myself was. How could I have missed having a twin all this time, or not realized she wasn't my real mother? Well for one thing I didn't look anything like her. Maybe I looked like my dad?
 

And who was he? Other than a goat legged devil?
 

Clinging to what I knew as fact, I spent several hours abusing every database I had access too, using every trick I'd ever learned to dig into someone's past.
 

But Jason Frost didn't have a past.
 

Yeah there were hundreds of other people with the same name, but none with my birthday. It was as if he'd been completely removed from existence. But he was there, in the morgue, with my face and snowflake fingerprints.
 

Wow. I'd nearly forgotten that part. Glad I didn't tell my mom about those. It would have just fed her delusions.
 

After my third glass of iced coffee Crow sat down at his desk. Partners in the bullpen pushed their desks face to face to make it easier to communicate. He looked tired and even his Cherokee skin was pale. He'd braided his long hair and had it up under his hat. He'd shucked his usual peacoat in exchange for a white wife-beater shirt and a pair of jeans. The heat drove the department to forgo the usual standards of dress. It was more of a dress to survive atmosphere. Two air-conditioning units had already quit working so the building had
one
on the ground floor. Which meant the departments upstairs became saunas. And this was not good for computers.
 

Unlucky for us, we were on the top floor. I'd stopped by my own apartment after losing mom's trail, took a cold shower and I mean I never even turned the hot water nozzle on, before changing clothes into a white teeshirt—to hide the pit stains—and the softest, thinnest pair of jeans I owned. Sandals were the shoe of the evening. If it got any hotter I was going to start wearing my swim trunks.
 

And to add insult to injury, someone had put up the Christmas decorations. Silver garland sparkled from the doorways beneath hanging plastic mistletoe. Weird, since most of us in the pen were men. The tree sat in the corner, blinking forlornly, looking like it knew Christmas just wasn't what it should be.
 

"You look like I feel."
 

Crow gave me a withering look before he picked up my half glass of melted ice and coffee. He sniffed it and then finished it off. The face he made was enough recompense for me for him stealing my caffeine injection. "Yeah well that's bad because you look worse than you feel. Boy, you are white. Whiter than any white man I know," he narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward. "What's wrong with your hair? Did you step under someone painting?"
 

"What?"
 

"Your hair," he held out his hands, his fingers spread as he stood up and walked around to my desk. Hovering over me I noticed his gaze fixed on my head, not on my face. "This is no come on, bro but," He reached out and touched the left side of my head. My last barber shop visit was over two months ago so I knew I looked a bit scruffy. I had been contemplating shaving it off just to keep cool. But Crow's fingers didn't just touch my head. I felt him fingering several strands.
 

It tickled and felt a bit creepy so I pushed his hand away.
 

Crow stared a few more seconds before he went back to his desk, sat down and started opening drawers and rummaging in them. He grunted and pulled out a women's powder compact. "Here—take a look at your hair."
 

I eyed the compact. "Dude—why do you have that in your drawer?"
 

"I took it away from a hooker a month ago. Wouldn't put it down when I was questioning her so I confiscated it. Now take it and look at your hair."
 

Making a face in protest, I took the flat, oval contraption and opened it. The application pad fell out onto my desk, scattering a bit of dark powder on my paperwork, but I wasn't really looking at it. My gaze transfixed on the reflection of white and gunmetal gray hair in the mirror.
 

I had dark hair.
 

But this shit was silver and white!

The hair was soft to the touch, softer than the darker hair. "What the hell did you guys do to me in the hospital?"
 

"Your hair wasn't like that when I dropped you off at your place." He rested his elbows on his desk. "You care to tell me what's going on?"
 

My gaze shifted from the reflection to Crow. "What do you mean what's going on?"
 

"That," he pointed at my hair. "Your mom trying to kill you—possibly killing your brother? A sudden twin brother? All this sudden research to hunt down a sibling you never even knew existed. And," he held up a finger. "What was with your mom telling you not to be Jack Frost? Seriously? She named you Jackson Frost and now she's attacking you because of your name? What the hell?"
 

I replaced the little sponge in the compact, closed it, and half tossed it at Crow who caught it. "It's nothing. Nevermind." I wasn't about to go over the crazy shit mom said before she started trying to kill me. I had given a full report to Rucker on what Jovita said that made me suspect she'd killed Jason—and the knife—but mostly the timeline of her driving up here and how she knew which hospital Jason was at. But right now I didn't want to deal with her. I mean—I had white hair! Was this like premature graying? "Have you found anything about the one suspect? The child molester? Until we can confirm it's the same knife we might as well keep looking."