Norm Gunderson had not been aware that Andrew Pittman had showed up that morning in the small, quiet, peaceful town he and his wife lived in. The stay-at-home husband did not hear about the murder of the late Mrs. Hartman or the kidnapping of her daughter, Mary, until much later in the afternoon. He found out the whole story from the local news. At the moment, he was sitting on the couch, watching the exciting, yet horrifying chapter unfold about the event that led from the murder-kidnapping to the fatal shooting at the hospital. There was no doubt a look of concern on the unassuming man's face. On any other occasion, Norm was not a man of much facial expression, but now that a family member was involved, the evidence of fear seemed rightfully appropriate.
The front door opened and Marge came into the house and removed her coat and stomped the snow from her boots onto the rug. She walked into the living room and found her husband watching television.
"Hiya, hon. Sorry I'm late, but I was just..." Her words fell silent. Her eyes gazed at the television. A photograph of the police chief's relative came onto the screen, as a female newscaster explained.
"This just in: Local nurse Elena Olmsted has just been abducted by a man identified as Andrew Pittman, an escaped convict who broke out during a prison riot back in June. Hospital staff have identified him as the shooter of seven people, including a five year old child. Local oncologist Martin Benedict, an colleague of Olmsted, was shot in the face by Pittman and is reported to be in critical condition."
Marge sat down next to her husband and felt as though her heart had stopped beating. Her beloved cousin, a woman who she treated like a sister, was now in the hands of the dangerous madman. Already, Marge began to fear the worst.
The car pulled up to the little white house. The engine turned off. The driver opened the door and got out and slammed the door and walked up to the house. The front door was unlocked. He opened the door and went in and shut it. From the moment he stepped into the house, Anton Chigurh leaned his back against the door and slammed his fist on the wood behind him. He stood there for a good portion of a minute and glanced over at the phone and went over and picked up the phone from the sidetable and moved it over to set it down on the coffee table. He sat down on the couch and waited.
"Ring, damn you", said Anton.
The phone did not obey him.
After a while, Anton stood up and walked out of the living room and went down the hall and into the bathroom. He turned on the light and turned the tap on the sink to cold. He cupped his hands under the running water and splashed the water onto his face. He repeated this action twice and sighed afterward. He turned the water off and placed his hands on the counter for a minute, standing there with his head bowed in despair. He looked up slowly at his reflection and did not recognize the man he had become. The face he was looking at was not the same man he once knew. He still looked the same, but in a way, he looked different. It was his love for Elena that was doing this to him and he knew it. Anton stood up straight and regained his composure, refusing to acknowledge the humanity within himself. He was not about to let the love of a woman take away his power from him again. He never did figure out why she loved him. He was not a hero like she thought he was. He was a hitman, an assassin who showed compassion or mercy. He might have shown it to her, but he would not let himself be fooled again.
The ringing of the phone snapped him out of his thoughts. Anton walked out of the bathroom and went down the hall and entered the living room. He went over and picked up the phone and put the receiver to his ear.
"Hello?" Anton asked. The sound of heavy breathing followed. It was a man's voice, he could tell. "Hello?" The line went dead. Anton hung up the phone and sat down on the couch and waited there until dark.
When night came, Anton went into the kitchen and took out a carton of milk and drank from it. He stood there for a minute holding the carton and looked over to the window. It was snowing again. The house was quiet. He still thought about Elena and hoped she was still alive, but knew it was best to wait and see what would happen. Even with all his skill, he had no way of tracking down this madman, and he was not about to take a chance of costing the life of the woman he loved. One wrong move, and it would be over. He would never see her again. He waited for hours to hear a response and still nothing happened. The police were doing everything they could, but it wasn't fast enough. He needed to know.
Just at that moment, the phone rang. Anton turned his head and set the milk carton on the counter and went back into the living room and picked up the phone and listened without speaking.
"Hello?" A male voice answered.
"Yes?" Anton asked him.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"I'm the one you should be afraid of. If you hurt Elena, you will be sorry."
"No, you're the one who's going to be sorry if you don't show up here before midnight! Meet me at the cemetery in Crow Wing County and don't bring any cops!" The line went dead.
Anton hung up the phone and then waited for a minute and picked up the phone again and dialed the Gunderson's number.
Meanwhile, Marge Gunderson was pacing back and forth in her living room with anxiety. It had been hours since she heard anything about Elena, and she started to get worried. Strong as she was, Marge's only weakness was her family. If it were her husband in the same situation, she would certainly crumble and suffer a nervous breakdown. She held on with all her wit and hoped and prayed that her cousin was safe. Trapped in the clutches of a madman like Andrew Pittman, Marge hated to even imagine the horrible things he might have done or be doing to her. She kept checking every hour with the other officers from her home, but there was no such luck.
Norm came in with a mug of coffee and brought it over to his troublesome wife. "I made you some coffee, Margie", he said.
Marge stopped her pacing and turned to her husband. "Thanks, hon", she said, taking the mug and blowing on it before taking a sip. "I know I'm being silly worrying about Elena-"
"Not at all", said Norm, sitting on the couch with her and placing his left arm around her. "I know how much you love Elena. We're all worried about her. The guys at the station are doing all they can."
Marge looked to the television, which was muted. The local news played the same story from this morning, but there was no further information regarding the circumstances.
The ringing of the telephone made Marge gasp and almost spill her drink. She set the cup down and stood up and went to answer it. She picked up the phone and asked, "Hello?...Hello?"
Gasping for breath on the other line, the police chief could hear the shaking voice of Elena begging her, "Marge!? Margie, you have to help me!"
"Elena? Elena, where are you?" Marge asked.
"Your cousin is with me, bitch."
Judging by the tone of the man's voice on the other end of the line, Marge knew right away who it was. "What did you do to her, Andrew? Where is she?"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! You want to see your cousin alive again? Come and find her! And don't try and bring any of your little cop friends for backup, because if you do-"
A gunshot was heard. Marge could hear Elena screaming in the background. And then the line went dead.
"Elena!" Marge screamed. "No! No, no, no." She tried dialing the number again and listened. "Please, pick up. Please, pick up." The line was still dead. "Elena? Elena?...Damn it!"
Marge slammed the phone down and sat down in a chair and put her face into her hands, stiffing a sob. Her body trembled in fear. The phone rang again. This time, Norm answered it.
"You listen to me, you monster! If you do anything to hurt Elena-" Norm cut himself off, as he listened to the person speaking on the other line and changed his tone of voice. "Anton?"
Marge lowered her hands and looked up at her husband.
"Yah, she's here", said Norm. "Yah, just hold on one sec." Norm looked at Marge and said, "He wants to talk to you."
Marge stood up and took the phone from Norm. She put the receiver to her ear. "Anton?"
"Yes, it's me."
"Anton, Andrew just called here."
"Then you know where she is?"
"No, he wouldn't tell me."
"But he did tell me. I know where she is, but if you want to see her again, you need to come see me."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain when you get here. Come alone. And don't bring your husband." The line went dead.
Marge hung up the phone and said to her husband, "I've gotta leave."
Norm placed his hands gently on his wife's shoulders and told her, "Be careful out there, Margie."
The Gunderson couple shared a kiss and looked at each other. Marge then went over to the door and took her coat off the hat rack and put it on and walked out the door and got into her prowler and shut the door and turned on the engine. Norm watched her from the window and waved to her, but she did not see him. Marge carefully looked over her seat and pulled the police car out of the driveway and headed off down the road, driving straight toward Elena's residence.
The snow fell down softly on the windshield. Driving down the street in the prowler, Marge ignored the colorful lights and decorations adorned on the many streets and buildings she passed, knowing it would do nothing to cheer her up at the moment. These were dangerous times ahead, it only made it worse to be happening around the Christmas season. Instead of peace and love, she was having to face evil and horror. This was not the right time for any of this to be happening, but it was. And Marge knew the sad truth why. Evil never stopped to take a holiday, and it most certainly would not stop now.
By the time she got there, it was 9:58. Marge pulled up to the house and turned the engine off and got out of the car and ran up to the porch and knocked on the door. "Anton? Anton, it's Marge", she said.
She waited, but nobody answered. Her eyes fell on the doorknob. She placed a hand on it and turned the knob and heard a soft click. It opened. Marge pushed the door all the way open and went in and called out, "Anton?" There was no response. It was awfully dark and there was no sound to be heard, aside from a gentle wind blowing outside. She looked to the kitchen and went over and turned on the light. There was an opened milk carton sitting on the counter. Marge walked over and picked up the carton and smelled it. The milk was not spoiled. She set the carton back on the counter.
The sound of glass breaking made her turn around quickly. "Hello?" Marge asked. Already, she felt an uneasiness creeping through her entire system. Upholstering her weapon, Marge drew out her gun for safety precautions and proceeded to check the rest of the house. She went back into the living room and slowly walked down the hallway, keeping her steps as quiet as possible. When she approached the door to the second bedroom, she froze. She flashed-back briefly to the morning of Elena's near-fatal stabbing. Her cousin had been found lying on the floor bleeding to death. Marge had arrived just in time that day. This time, however, Marge knew that Elena was not in the house. She had been summoned to the house by order of Anton Chigurh. The way he spoke to her over the phone left her very suspicious about him, and she found it impossible that a man who loved Elena could be in cahoots with Andrew Pittman, but Marge was taking no chances on that thought just yet. For now, it was better for her to be safe than sorry.
Her hand reached for the doorknob, but for some reason, Marge held herself back. Grasping the gun with both hands, she held her breath and kicked the door open with her foot. Pointing her gun into the bedroom, Marge found the room was empty. She stepped inside and looked to the window and then to the mirror above the dresser. The glass was cracked. A broken bottle of perfume bathed the whole room in a sweet-smelling scent. The closet door was opened.
"Hello?" Marge asked again. "Is anyone there?" Slowly, she began to advance toward the closet door. Keeping one hand on the gun, Marge used her free hand to open the door all the way and pointed her weapon. Nothing but clothes.
Marge lowered her weapon, seeing there was no danger. She shut the door and turned and looked in the oval mirror and realized too late that a dark figure was standing behind her reflection. She gasped. The person placed a hand over her mouth to prevent her from making a sound. Another hand gripped her right wrist. Marge dropped her weapon and struggled a bit, but stopped upon seeing the reflection of her attacker in the broken glass: Anton Chigurh.
"Don't scream", Anton warned her.
Marge nodded. Due to lack of hearing a footstep, she had a feeling he had been hiding behind the bedroom door, waiting for her.
Anton removed his hand and placed it on her left shoulder, allowing her to speak.
"What do you want from me?" Marge asked him.
"I have some questions that need answering", said Anton. "You know this county better than I do. Where is Crow Wing County cemetery and how do I get there?"
"It's about twenty miles north of Brainerd", Marge told him. "You take County Road 3 until you come across North Pacific Lane and take a left. You take a right on Sunset View Lane and the cemetery is right there."
Anton released his grip on her wrist and slipped his hand into his pocket. He turned Marge to face him and cupped his free hand to her cheek. Quick and painless, just the way he preferred, but there was still something he needed to do.
"You will forgive me for this, Marge", said Anton.
"Forgive what?" Marge questioned him.
Her answer came when Marge felt something stab her in the arm, causing her to let out a short cry of pain. Anton plunged the needle into her arm and deposited the tranquilizer into her veins. He pulled the needle out and discarded it onto the floor. Marge looked down at the source of her discomfort and then looked up at the man before her with wide and terrified eyes.
"What have you done to me?" Marge asked him.
Anton remained silent.
Marge grabbed him by his shoulders and demanded, "Anton, what did you do?!"
"I did what I had to", Anton said at last. "It's for your own protection, Marge."
Marge felt the tranquilizer starting to work. A sudden dizziness came over her. Her eyelids drooped and she struggled to stay wake. Her vision blackened. Her body became numb and went limp.
Anton caught her just in time and carefully picked up Marge into his arms and carried her out of the bedroom and down the hallway. He brought her out of the house and walked over to the police cruiser and opened the back door and set her down gently on the back seat. He took the keys from her belt and closed the door and went around and got into the driver's seat and started the engine. He adjusted the rearview mirror and backed up and turned and headed off.
The car drove down the road in the dead of night. The snow faired. He headed east on Oak Street and turned left onto County Road 3. A couple of cars and a motorcycle passed him by. Other than that, there were no other people on the road. Occasionally, Anton would glance at the mirror and make sure Marge was completely out of it. The dosage he had given her would only render her unconscious for about half an hour. He focused his gaze back onto the road.
The snow grew heavy and he almost missed his turn. Taking a right on Sunset Lane, he drove up a small hill and found the entrance to the cemetery. The engine shut off.
Anton got out of the prowler and opened the back door and checked on Marge to see if she was still with him. He placed a hand on her neck and found a steady pulse. She would wake up at any moment. He found a pair of handcuffs and stole them from her belt and stuffed them into his pocket. He reached behind himself and took Elena's gun out from his back pocket and checked the magazine. There were seven bullets, same as before. He looked around. It was dark and he could barely see. He stuck the gun down into the waistline of his pants and pulled his shirt over it and checked under the driver's seat and found a flashlight and turned it on. He stood up and turned and shined the light on Marge, but she did not awaken. He left the back door open and turned again and left her there.
He walked over toward the iron gate and pulled it gently and heard it creak. He waited to see if any sound or movement might have followed. He heard and saw nothing. He opened the gate wider and went in. He walked slowly through the graveyard, carefully observing each headstone that he passed. He shined the flashlight straight ahead and looked around. The dead paid him no attention. They did not even know he was there. Nothing evil could touch him on hollowed ground. He came to a stop in front of a large stone cross and stared at it. It bore no name. No markings.
"Anton", said a soft voice.
He turned around and shined the flashlight toward the same direction. There was nobody there. He stepped back slowly, having a feeling he was being watched by some unknown force or being.
"Anton", the voice repeated. It was a little girl's voice.
Anton turned again and looked to his left and called out, "Who's there? I don't know who you are. And I'm not in the mood for any of these childish games. So whoever you are, just come on out!"
The empty silence gave no response. He was letting his fear get in the way of his professional demeanor. A strong-willed assassin like him did not get scared so easily, but being that he was in a resting place of death, a permanent bed for the nonliving, he had every reason to feel the same as everybody else: uneasy, fearful, and all the more, afraid. There was no sign of any other living person. There was no sign of Elena, and this is what terrified him most. It must have been a decoy. He didn't think so. The madman was messing with him. He had to be. The air was deathly cold and he could see his breath out in front of him.
His foot met with the sound of glass breaking. He gasped and looked down and moved his boot to see what it was. He bent down and set the flashlight on the ground and picked up the object and stood up and discovered it to be a pair of broken glasses. There was a bit of blood on the shattered right spectacle. He recognized them as belonging to Mary Hartman. If she was there, then Elena had to be, as well.
Anton stood there listening for a minute, unaware that a figure was sneaking up behind him, as though the shadow of death itself were creeping up onto his very soul.
"Heads up, pretty boy", said a male's voice.
Anton turned around to see who it was, but was knocked unconscious by a blow to the head.