Bitter Cold

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The snow fell gently outside, making no sound as it came to rest on the roof of the cabin. Inside, the roaring fire cast its warmth and glow onto the pair that sat gazing intently into each other's eyes.
John rested his hand on Leslie's abdomen and tenderly touched his nose to hers.
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"What should we call him?" she asked, after a time.
"Him?" John repeated, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"Or her," Leslie added. She fell silent. Her eyes focused on nothing in particular. It was as if she had stepped out of the room for a moment and simply left her body behind. When she finally spoke again, she said, "Yes. She. That feels right."
"Does it?" John asked, hanging on her every word.
"Yes, it does," Leslie replied. She smiled down at her stomach and rubbed it slightly. "I think we're going to have a girl." She brought her eyes back up to meet John's. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would," he said. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly. As his forehead rested against hers, he tried the words on for size: "Daddy's girl."
A sudden percussive noise from outside interrupted them. They jumped apart from each other and turned toward the sound's point of origin: the cabin door. All was silent once again.
"John," Leslie began, "you don't think---"
"Shh," he said, embracing her warmly. "I'm sure it was nothing. Ice falling off the roof. We're just jumpy. That's all."
"Yes," she said. "That's all." She smiled up at him and had just begun to laugh when the sound came again.
"What the...," John uttered, more annoyed than frightened.
"John, what's happening?" Leslie asked. "I'm scared."
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll go check it out. Just wait here." 
He stood, immediately regretting his attempt at heroism. How did he know they weren't being stalked by a bear or some horror movie serial killer? In a cabin, out in the middle of nowhere, and on a dark winter night, both seemed equally possible, along with the full range of possibilities in between them. Still, he had promised to investigate, and now he was standing, so he had no choice but to follow through.
Gingerly, he approached the door. Once there, he grasped the knob, turned it, counted to three, and pulled it open. Only the darkness of the forest and the starless, snow-heavy sky met him. Feeling some minor relief, he next challenged himself to step into the doorway. He did so and poked his head out, looking first to the left and then the right for some sign of what was going on. 
That was when he saw it. There, stuck into one of the logs to the right of the door, was an ax. Someone had driven it hard into the side of the cabin, and John was sure he hadn't seen it there when they arrived. Beside it was a slender gouge, evidence of a previous swing. This, John thought, must have been what caused the noises.
Before he could think any further, another sound rushed to his ears. Glass could be heard breaking on the other side of the cabin. Leslie's scream came next. John rushed back inside, leaving the door open behind him. "Leslie!" he shouted. Before he could receive an answer, or even get a read on the situation, a swift blow came from behind and sent him instantly into black unconsciousness.
----
The first of John's senses to return upon waking was feeling. The pain in the back of his head was strong, but it paled in comparison to the chill that covered his exposed skin. He made a move to get up and find something to cover himself, and found that he could not. Something bound each of his hands, forcing his arms out to each side as if he were being crucified. His scratchy restraints felt familiar. He wondered to himself: rope?
Sight was the next to return, and John found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling. Something was wrong. Memories rushed in. There had been a sound. An ax. Glass breaking. A scream. Leslie! He fought hard against the ropes that held him, working himself into a panic more and more as they refused to loosen.
"Leslie!" he shouted. "Leslie, where are you?"
"She can't hear you, John." A familiar voice floated from the corner of the room. John shivered, though whether it was from the cold or the realization that he wasn't alone, he couldn't tell.
"Sarah?" he asked, incredulously.
"Of course," Sarah said softly. 
John flinched as he became aware of another figure in the room. This one was clearly male. He towered over the bed where John lay. A ski mask concealed all of his face except for a pair of painfully wide and vicious eyes.
"What the hell?" John muttered.
Sarah seemed to know what he meant, because she answered, saying, "This is my new friend, Jackson. He's been kind enough to help me this evening." 
She approached the bed and sat. John could now see her fully. She looked thinner and somewhat more haggard than when he saw her last, but she smiled none-the-less. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"What the fuck are you doing here?" John demanded. “Where the fuck is Leslie?”
"Come now, John," Sarah said. "The divorce isn't final yet. We're still technically co-owners of this beautiful little cabin." She looked around the room and sighed. "I did so love it here." The sadness in her voice and in her faraway stare would undoubtedly have touched John's heart under a different set of circumstances.
"Where's Leslie?" he asked again. "What have you done with her?"
"Relax," Sarah insisted. "You really love her, don't you?"
"Yes," he said. Dread began to fill him. Where had they taken Leslie?
"I can tell," Sarah said. "I've seen how you are with her. So warm, so sweet." Her eyes began to glisten, and she swiftly turned her head away.
The implication of her words set in. "You've seen.... You've been watching us?!"
Sarah kept her face hidden. "Yes, love."
"Don't call me that," John snapped.
"I'm sorry," Sarah said, turning once more to face him. "It's a habit. I've been trying to break it. I should have stopped years ago. I should have stopped the second I knew... you'd never call me that." Her voice trailed off as she seemed to retreat to someplace inside herself.
"What the fuck is going on here, Sarah?" John hollered, snapping his soon-to-be-ex-wife out of her reverie.
"Don't be impatient," she scolded lightly. "That's you. You always want to just get to the point. You never---"
"Fuck you, Sarah! Tell me what you want and where you took Leslie."
Sarah looked defeated. She took a deep breath. "Fine," she said, casting her eyes downward. "I'm scared, John. I'm scared to go through with this divorce. Not just because I love you and we won't be married anymore. That's bad enough. But there's another piece to it." Her voice began to shake. "The prenuptial agreement you made me sign---"
"Made you?" John interjected.
"Yes, John, you made me. You know you did." He fell silent. This was the truth and he knew it.
Sarah continued. "Anyway, because of that agreement, I have to leave this marriage with only as much as I had when I came in. That was nothing, John. When you found me, I was a diner waitress working two shifts a day just to try and make ends meet. I was a bad tip away from selling myself on the street when in walked this very handsome, very wealthy man who swept me off my feet and gave me more than I ever could have asked for. You gave me such a luxurious life, John. So much of it was wonderful." She paused. "Well, not having to worry about money was wonderful. I can't exactly say the same for how you treated me."
"How I treated you?" John thrashed, attempting once more to free himself.
"Yes," Sarah insisted. "You got sick of me, I guess. All I wanted was a little warmth from you, but you got colder and colder." Her tears began to flow. "You were so cruel. All I did was love you. But you.... And you met her... that girl.... She's practically a child."
"Leslie is more of a woman than you'll ever be!" John spat.
Sarah was quiet. Her body shook with silent sobs. It was quite some time before she spoke again. "John, I love you. And I am so sorry if I did anything to make you hate me. And I'm sorry... for what else I need to do."
John's heart began to race. "What are you talking about."
Sarah stood and moved to the foot of the bed. "I can't go back to the life I had, John. That's why I can't let the divorce go through."
"You have no choice," John insisted.
Sarah took another breath. "That's where you're wrong. Because I'm still your wife, if you were to die tonight, everything would be left to me."
John's heart pounded in his chest. He could feel his face redden. "No, Sarah. Please."
"And so," she continued, "I know what I have to do." She continued to speak absentmindedly, seemingly unaware of John's protests. "The only question was how to do it. And then I got an idea. For much so of our marriage, you were very cold to me. So I thought, 'It’s the dead of winter and he’s up there with… that woman. Wouldn't it be poetic to tie him up, douse him with water, and then open all the windows?'" She gave a frail smile. "I'm rather proud of my creativity. I looked up what hypothermia does to the body and, well, I'm sorry to say that it won't be fast or pleasant. If I'm honest, though... that thought kind of... makes me happy."
"No!" John writhed and wriggled. "Let me go! You can't do this, you crazy bitch! Where's Leslie? Leslie!"
Sarah's smile faded. She turned to Jackson and gave a nod. Seeing this, the man moved to the side of the bed and reached down for something on the floor. What he produced sent John into a frenzy. Leslie's lifeless corpse dangled before him, held aloft by Jackson's brutal grip on her delicate neck. John screamed in utter agony as the boy let his lover's body fall once more to the floor with a sickening thud.
"Yes," said Sarah. "You did love her. That makes this easier."
Sarah and Jackson produced buckets which had previously been kept just out of sight. John could barely hear their contents sloshing around in between his own screams. The impact of the cold water shocked him, causing him to gasp and take some into his lungs. Screaming gave way to choking and sputtering, and through it all came the sound of the nearest window being opened.
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