My next novel—The Frozen River—will publish on December 5th. A little less than five months from now. So once a month I’m sharing a cut scene—little bits of the story that didn’t make the final cut. (For many reasons that I’ll discuss in my Writing Series at a later date). You can read the last cut scene here. I’m not narrating this one because I’m about to walk out the door and take our second son to college (how?!?!). I doubt you want to hear weepy-sniffly Ariel. Anyway, I hope you enjoy meeting this anonymous character. He plays a significant role is the story and you’ll be seeing him again.Happy reading!
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A man slips from bed. He is careful not rustle the blankets or wake his wife. She is a curious sort, and will ask questions. She will want to know why he’s going out so late and it will be easier if he doesn’t have to lie to her. He is the kind of man who tries very hard not to lie. Careful to step lightly on the floorboards so they do not creak, he pauses at the door and holds his breath for a count of thirty—just to make sure—before leaving the bedroom.
Down the dark hall.
Down the dark stairs.
He left his boots beside the hearth and his coat hangs on a hook by the door, as always, but he doesn’t bother to lace or button before adding one small log to the coals glowing in the hearth and walking out the door. He is careful with the latch. It doesn’t click when he pulls the door tight. The small barn is only a few dozen yards from the house and he traverses the distance quickly.
The moon is full tonight and the sky is clear. Light bounces off the snow, illuminating everything around him. A stranger could see his face clearly. But there is no one else up at this hour, this midpoint in the long, cold night, and he has but a single task to attend.
The barn is quiet when he enters, all the animals long since abed. But he can hear the bull shift in the straw as he passes the stall and he mutters gentle words to reassure him. There is a small, narrow ladder that leads to the hayloft and he scales it with grace. New hay, dry and fragrant, is piled in bales and he goes to the one in the far left corner. Pushes it aside with one foot. There, exactly where he left it, is the blood-stained rope.
Twenty feet. Barely long enough to make a noose and throw it over a limb. But the rope did its job that night and he’d kept it as a reminder that sometimes a man has to compromise his soul if he wants to see justice done.
He hadn’t expected Burgess to be found at all, had assumed the river would take him away and spit him out where no one knew his face or cared anything of his fate. But the river had trapped him instead. Preserved him in ice right here in the Hook. And questions are being asked about his injuries. Questions are being asked about the rope. He has waited too long.
His dreams haven’t been the same since. Filled with ghosts and echoes. The rope is the only thing that can tie him to the death Joshua Burgess. So he takes it from the barn and trudges back to the house, through the door, and listens, once more for his wife.
Holds his breath.
Nothing.
Boots and coat go back where they were and he returns to the fire. Without an ounce of remorse, he throws the rope on top of the crackling log. Then he stands there watching as the hemp fibers begin to curl and blacken, as it pulls the flames into itself, swelling with heat and smoke. And then it ignites, consumed by fury.
The man believes the fury to be his, transmuted right to the flames.
An eye for an eye.
Moonlight streams through the windows and the fire pops in glee. Awake now, energized by the sight of that burning rope, the man sits and watches it turn to ash. He waits to feel something. Shame. Relief. Anything. But there is only a quiet, yawning silence.
The rope is gone.
And the rapist is dead.
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If you enjoyed this cut scene and plan to read The Frozen River, would you consider pre-ordering your copy? As you may know, pre-orders go a long way to determining the success of a novel. They help publishers anticipate demand, they help bookstores know how many copies to order, and they help authors continue to publish. The Frozen River will be available everywhere that books are sold. But you can help indie bookstores in general by ordering from Bookshop.org and my indie bookstore in particular by ordering from Parnassus Books in Nashville. (I would be thrilled to sign these for you).
Copyright Ariel Lawhon, 2023. All rights reserved.