Glare Ice by Mary Logue

stepped into the house and let Snooper come in behind her.
    Before she could do anything else, she needed to check out the house. She walked through the kitchen and into the living room. Everything as she had left it. The rug she was working on was sitting in the corner behind the couch where she had put it, red and green for Christmas. She had thought it might be nice under the Christmas tree. It all seemed like an odd dream—the holidays, Christmas, presents for Buck, good cheer, ho-ho-ho—what had she been thinking? She was halfway done with the rug, and now she might never finish it.
    Then she checked the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain to one side to see into the bathtub. Finally her bedroom. Nothing looked disturbed.
    She went back into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and stared out into the night. She needed to go to bed. She would go to work in the morning. She would work until payday on Wednesday and then leave on Thursday, which was Thanksgiving. She would tell no one anything about where she was going—not her mom, not anyone. This time she would completely vanish.
    Snooper was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, his nose pointing up at the sink.
    “What do you want, Snooper? You need a drink of water?”
    He stood up and wagged his tail, happy at her ability to communicate with him.
    She reached up and got down a bowl and filled it with water.
    “You’re going with me. I need a buddy.”
    It was three in the morning. If she was going to be in any shape for tomorrow, she’d better try and get a few hours of sleep. No one would be in very good shape at the factory once they heard about Buck. He had been well liked. She thought of the locket he had given her. She kept it in her jewelry box. She would take that with her. But she would take little else. Only what she could pack in the car.
    She walked down the hallway to her bedroom. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she started to shake. Don’t, she told herself. Don’t think. Just go to sleep.
    She stood up and pulled back the covers, ready to crawl into bed in her clothes, when she saw the red. Something red was all over her sheets.
    She dropped the sheets and screamed.
    Then she saw what it was.
    Rags. Red rags. From her weaving. He had come into her house, taken a handful of the rag strips that she used for her rug, and put them in her bed just to show her what he could do.
    She knew what he could do.
    He would kill her, but not tonight.
    And maybe if she planned well and went farther than he would even dream of her going, she could get away before he got her.
    He watched the lights go on throughout the house, leaving a trail of her movements. He wondered if she would stay in the house when she found what he had left her. If she went anyplace, he would follow her. He would not let her get away this time. It had taken him all too long to track her down.
    A roaring filled his ears. Anger at her bounced around inside his belly. He hated the thought that that stupid fucking punk had touched her body. It would never happen again. No other man would ever touch her.
    He was the only one who had any right to her.
    He had been her first lover, and he would be her last. He would see to that.
    A woman was supposed to be faithful to her man.
    They were born for each other. He had told her that forever.
    His eyes focused on the bedroom. He could see so clearly in the dark. He had left the shade partly drawn up in her bedroom so he could watch her. He loved watching her when she didn’t know he was doing it.
    She turned on the light in the room, looked around, and left.
    His eyes could see everything. They could pierce her skin and go into her mind. He always knew what she was thinking.
    He was working on controlling his anger, not letting it control him. It made him very powerful, his anger, and if he could use it the way he wanted to, he would be able to do anything.
    The key to this control was steady breathing and holding in. He did not always give in to