Frostbitten: The Complete Series (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A LONG WAY FROM INDIA

Where Hanna was that night, Kane never figured out. He drove around town, looking for any sign of her—but he found nothing.

Finally, when the people of Snowbrooke began to rise for their morning jobs, Kane threw in the towel and made his way back home to rest.

As he drove back to his little rented apartment across town, the radio announced that the homicide death toll rose yet again overnight, bringing the number of apparent vampire victims to twelve.

Kane slammed his dashboard with his fist, cutting his knuckle. Every night that Kane came up short, someone else died—and he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. He’d taken on a responsibility, and wasn’t fulfilling expectations.

But his eyes were heavy and his mind was waning. He needed to get some sleep. He was still human, after all.

Kane’s apartment was small—a cheap little rental on the far end of town. There were only six units in the little building, and they were all empty—all except for two: Kane’s and that of the little Indian landlord who owned the building. During the day, the whole apartment smelled like curry—amazingly delectable curry.

The cooking smells of all the other apartments Kane had lived in over the years were anything but pleasing. However, this particular scent of Indian cuisine was something else—it didn’t just smell good, but it breathed life into the whole building. It was inviting—strangely homey. It was one thing Kane looked forward to smelling every day when he returned from his investigation.

Vishvajit Mumbar was a poor old Indian immigrant who have only been living in the country for a couple of years, with his son Tarun Mumbar.

Vish, as he was more often referred to, didn’t know anything about The West—he couldn’t name any of the States, Provinces, towns or cities. Of course he, and every Indian knew about the great New York City, and the infamous Los Angeles, but there was no way Vish could afford to live in a city with that kind of magnitude. But his son, Tarun wanted to move west for school to pursue an astrophysics degree—a degree not attainable in India, at least not at any respectable schools.

Before Vish and Tarun moved, he lived in little known Indian beach town called Puri, where he owned a little hotel—the little town’s only hotel.

His hotel was the most beautiful place you would ever see in your life. It was painted with energetic colours and it was peppered with fascinating tokens of Indian history. Every inch of the little building had immense character. The little hotel seemed to radiate a kind of invisible energy—an energy that lifted the spirits of the townspeople. The hotel had been in Vish’s family for ages, and every generation had left their mark on the amazing place.

One day, a family of rich Westerners docked their sailboat in Puri, and needed a place to stay while the boat underwent repairs. The Westerners ended up booking a room at Vish’s hotel, where they stayed for almost two whole weeks. The family told stories to the locals about their epic travels, which supposedly lasted four years at sea. They had never stopped in any town or city for more than a couple of days in a row.

But the white travellers loved Puri. They loved Vish’s little hotel. Despite the town being riddled with poverty, the westerners couldn’t get over the incredibly soft beaches and the vibrant architecture. After four long years of incredible travels, they decided to call Puri their new home.

The family wanted to buy the hotel from Vish, but Vish wasn’t keen on selling. They offered money—lots of money, but still, Vish wouldn’t sell. After days of bartering, they finally asked Vish, “What is it that you want, and we will make it happen.”

Vish thought for another few days, and finally got back to them. “I don’t want to sell—not for anything.”

“One million dollars,” the travellers offered.

“No—I’m sorry,” Vish replied.

It was tempting—One million dollars was more than enough to send Tarun out west, and to pay for all of Tarun’s schooling.

Then, the stars seemed to perfectly align for the wanderlust family. Tarun’s student visa application was denied, and without it, he couldn’t apply for any western schools. Tarun’s life of constant study was seemingly all for nothing.

To make matters worse, the Indian government had just declared Puri a tourist destination, and they implemented a new “tourist tax” for all the shops and business owners in every “tourist destination”. Vish suddenly found himself with a monthly bill that he couldn’t afford.

But it just so happened that the father of the travelling family was a wealthy real estate investor, who happened to own property all over The West. Before the family left on their world travelling expedition, the father sold off all of his properties and retired from the business.

However, there was one property that he didn’t sell—one property that he couldn’t sell, which was situated in the cold middle of nowhere. He’d purchased the small apartment building years ago, when the government was planning to build a big mill, which was expected to elicit a huge spike in the local economy. At the last second, the government cancelled their plans, and the wealthy investor was stuck with an apartment building on the edge of some little town called Snowbrooke.

No one would buy it because of its less than ideal location, and the cost to tear it down wouldn’t justify the return. So the wealthy investor just let it sit and rot away for years and years.

It also just so happened that the real estate investor’s wife happened to be a successful immigration lawyer.

When the wealthy family learned of Vish’s troubles, they made an offer that he couldn’t turn down—A property for a new hotel, and approved immigration documents.

Before the end of the month, Vish and his son Tarun were on a plane, destined for a little town called Snowbrooke, where they would find themselves the less-than-proud owners of a little apartment complex.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TARUN MUMBAR

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Kane wasn’t asleep for more than a couple of hours before he was suddenly awoken by a loud series of knocks at his door.

He stood up from his bed. You couldn’t tell when he was in his warm pea coat, but Kane was ripped. Thick, rigid muscles covered his entire body. He also had many deep scars—deep lacerations from his head to his toes.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Kane pulled a pair of shorts over his naked body and made his way to the door.

His bedroom was stocked with plenty of vampire hunting gear—most of which was expertly handmade by Kane. On top of his dresser were boxes of ammunition, and hanging all around his bedroom were long strings of potent garlic.

Outside of his room, his apartment appeared completely normal, although very barren. Aside from the couch and the little coffee table that came with the suite, the place was totally empty—dusty and old.

Keeping the chain lock strapped onto the door frame, Kane opened the door.

A young Indian man, in his early twenties, stood in the apartment hallway on the other side of the door. He was a handsome man, with dark stubble on his brown-skinned face. Her had thick dark eyebrows and dark eyelashes. His hair was thick and messy, in a stylish way. He was casually dressed in a sweater and a pair of jeans.

“Hi,” Kane said.

“Hello Kane,” the young Indian man said.

There was a moment of silence between the two men.

“Who are you?” Kane asked.

“Tarun Mumbar. Vish’s son—your landlord’s son,” the handsome Indian man said in a thick accent, which was a strong mix of British and Indian.

“Vish?”

“Your landlord.”

“Oh—Right, sorry. What’s up?” Kane asked, wiping sleep out of his eyes. It was probably close to three in the afternoon at that point in the day.

Tarun looked at Kane disapprovingly. “Rent was due yesterday,” he said.

“Oh shit—I forgot. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it happens.”

“Thanks for the reminder, man.” Kane began to close the door.

Tarun stepped his foot forward, stopping the door from closing. “Is there any chance that I could have it now?” he asked.

“Have what?”

“Rent.”

“Uh—I can get it to your dad tonight. I just need to go to the bank.”

Tarun thought for a moment. “Um… Okay. Just please don’t forget that you still owe us the deposit for the place too.”

“Right. How much was that again?”

“Two hundred. Six hundred total, for the rent and the deposit.”

“Okay—thanks, man.” Kane started to close the door yet again.

Tarun stopped the door from shutting again.

“I’ll get the money—I promise. I just don’t have it on me now,” Kane said, getting slightly frustrated with the persistent Indian man.

All Kane wanted to do was to go back to sleep. He didn’t want to deal with landlord politics.

Tarun looked down at the ground and took a breath. “Look—We’re kind of tight right now, with money. You wouldn’t be able to go get it now, would you? It would really help us out of a bind.”

“Now? Like—Right now?”

“I know it’s a pain in the butt, but my dad’s pretty stressed out, and we just got our electric bill. I was supposed to start school this week, but we had to use the money to fix the boiler,” Tarun said. “I’m not trying to be the annoying landlord guy here, but my dad doesn’t feel comfortable asking you. He’s too proud to admit that he needs the money.”

Kane looked at Tarun. “Just let me get dressed and I’ll go get it. Where’s the nearest bank?”

Tarun smiled, and gave Kane directions to a nearby bank. Exhausted, Kane quickly got dressed, fired up the Mustang and took off for the bank.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MAKING ENDS MEET

For the first time in months, Kane was awake and about while the sun was still in the sky—although it was just moments away from sinking behind the tall mountain range. It had been so long in fact, that the warmth on Kane’s face from the sun’s rays felt completely strange and unfamiliar.

When you go so long without seeing something, it’s easy to forget that it even exists.

He pulled up in an empty parking stall, out in front of the local bank.

Casually, Kane stepped out of his car and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He strolled up to the bank where a tall, lanky security guard was standing. Kane smiled at the guard and then looked through the bank’s window. The building looked fairly new, and everything seemed to have been updated semi-recently.

The ATM machines were all labelled “Scotiabank”, which was the name of the bank.

“Can I help you?” the bundled up security guard asked, suspicious of the long haired young man.

“My girlfriend asked me to grab a few things from the store. I’m waiting for her to send me the list so I can figure out how much it will cost,” Kane said, flashing his cellphone. “I want to make sure I take out enough money, you know?” Kane smiled.

The guard smiled, still somewhat suspicious of the young adult.

Kane pretended to wait. He started to whistle a random tune. He turned to the guard. “How long has this place been around?”

“The bank?” the guard asked.

“Yeah. I mean—I lived over here when I was younger, and I don’t remember there being a bank here,” Kane lied. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back to this side of town.”

“It’s newer. Just a few years old,” the guard said.

“So like—in 2011? I was here for an event a few years back. I feel like it wasn’t here then.”

“It opened in 2009,” the guard said.

“Ah—I can’t believe it’s been that long since I’ve been over this way.”

The guard smiled again at the young man.

Kane pretended as though he received a text message. “Ah—Finally,” he said, looking down at his phone. As he pretended to read, he secretly looked up ATM security codes. He opened up a file that he kept handy, and scrolled down until he located “Scotiabank”.

He continued to scroll through the various ATM models until he found “2009 Scotiabank ATM”. He looked at the long, fifteen-digit code for a moment as his impressive brain quickly memorized it.

“Of course she wants the expensive ice cream,” Kane lied to the guard, faking a laugh and stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

Kane walked towards the bank. The security guard opened the door for him, and Kane walked towards one of the ATMs. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the guard watching him through the window. He tried to act completely normal.

He needed some sort of distraction. There was no way he could carry through with his plan with the guard looking directly at him.

Then, by some miracle, someone walked right up to the ATM next to Kane, blocking the sight of the curious security guard.

Kane let out a sigh of relief as he put one of his many stolen bankcards into the machine. He punched in the card’s password, bringing him to the bank menu. Then, instead of choosing one of the options from the menu, Kane entered in the long security code that he’d memorized outside.

As he pressed the final digit, a new screen came up, with a list of security features like “lock machine”, “change network”, “access machine balance”, “delete transaction log”, and the one that Kane was interested in, “change cash value.”

Kane made his selection, and was faced with more options. “This machine currently dispenses twenty dollar bills. To change, select from the following…” the options included five, ten, twenty, fifty and one-hundred dollar bills.

Kane chose “five”. Then, he exited the menu and ended his transaction. He put his card back into the machine and punched in his password again. This time, he selected withdraw. The machine asked, “How much would you like to withdraw?” Kane punched in $1,000.

His heart raced—he’d done this one hundred times before, but never with such a large amount. He knew that theft over one thousand meant jail-time—this was no petty crime.

“Hey,” a voice said from directly behind him. A hand landed directly on Kane’s shoulder. Kane’s heart sunk into his stomach.