by Freya Barker
“Did you pin her?” I want to know, ignoring his jabs.
“Back in the Durango area. It came in on Christmas Day. I noticed it hadn’t been opened, downloaded it, and then deleted it from the server. That’s when I rerouted any incoming emails. Figured you guys didn’t need your holidays messed up.”
I breathe in a small sigh of relief that Isla’s not around the corner somewhere, but make a mental note to check back in with Geoffrey Banks after I take my niece fishing.
“Thanks,” I tell Neil. “Appreciate it.”
“Anything for that beautiful woman of yours.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he fucking yanks my chain again. I’m about to tear into him when I hear a woman laugh in the background. “Would you quit torturing the guy?”
“Did you hear that?” he asks. “That’s Kendra, my wife. Be assured she’d have me castrated, with my balls shoved down my throat so far, I’d need a surgical team to dislodge them, if she suspected, even for a second, that I was being serious.” There’s the sound of a bit of a scuffle, and then a woman’s voice comes over the line.
“He’s right. This is how he is, always the jokester—the tease. Just don’t think for a second he’s not deadly serious about his job, because he is. And once this mess is settled, you two should come over for dinner. We’re not that far from Cortez.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, a little taken aback by the unexpected invitation.
“Well, now that my wife has ruined all my fun, I’ll let you go. Anything moves on this, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see if I can get anything out of the stepfather. I’ll let you know.”
I end the call and make my way back into the great room, where my sister is hoisting her grumbling daughter into a snowsuit.
“Ready, Freddy?”
-
“Why are we fishing for just that fish? Whatever that name is?”
Mak is standing at the edge of one of the two ponds off the reservoir. She’s still a little uneasy with the large rod in her hands, but over the past few hours, she’s managed to pull a few little fish out of the water, even taking them off the hook herself.
We walked down here, Mak chatting excitedly the entire way, and Al following behind riding one of the ATVs, loaded with the gear.
“Kokanee salmon,” Al answers for me. “Because you can only fish for it between September and the end of December. We only have two days left.”
“Why?”
I bite back a smile at Mak’s nonstop questions. Her curious nature is such a big part of why I love her to pieces, but from the look on Al’s face, it’s testing his patience.
“Salmon spawn in the spring. Here they run up the Dolores River and deposit their eggs...”
I walk away, letting Al do his best to explain the Kokanee salmon’s propagation to my niece, while I answer my buzzing phone.
I’m surprised to see Neil calling again.
“Ben. Everything quiet up there?”
The hair on my neck stands up at the question.
Why?
Why do they force me to this?
My mother, she’s so frail, so sick. I can already see death in her eyes. It’s all moving too fast on one side and not moving at all on the other.
My nails score over my scalp, drawing blood, forcing myself to feel. I’ve been numb––at the mercy of those pills for too long.
My mother is the only one who loves me, but I will win Brent’s love back. I know I will. He’ll understand why I had to shut him up. That disgusting, fat, nosey slime bucket, who just wanted my mother for himself. He was always in my face about everything. Asking questions he had no business asking. Embarrassing me in front of my mother.
The pain on her face. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to make him stop.
“I’ll be back for you,” I’d whispered, with my lips against her forehead. “It’ll all be alright.”
And it will be. This cabin is perfect. It has no running water but there is enough snow up here to melt. The wood stove is enough to keep it warm and it was only temporary anyway. I can see the reservoir below and the sharply peaked roof of the house I will be living in soon, to my left.
I’ve been invisible to everyone. No one has seen me watching. No one has heard me move. No one knows I exist only in the darkness.
I’m tired of living in everyone’s shadows. I want to step into the light.
There is just one person left standing in my path.
One person, who keeps me from claiming what’s rightfully mine.
So I wait, and I watch for a time when their guards are down, and I can clear the final obstacle to him.
CHAPTER 23
Ben
“What’s the matter?”
Al’s head shoots up, like a good cop; he can hear the concern in my voice.
On the other end, Neil sighs deeply, not making me feel any better. The ominous feeling crawling under my skin only intensifies.
“Fucking talk, James!” I bark, startling Mak. So I smile and just shake my head, while Al does his best to distract her, without taking his eyes off me for long.
“Jesus, Ben. Did you talk to the parents at any time?”
“No. Was gonna call them later, why?”
“I had a BOLO pop up on my screen this morning, with a familiar car description. That’s what drew me first. Took a closer look at the call, and it turns out it’s connected to a violent attack on an older couple. The name and address are familiar, Ben.”
I don’t really need him to spell it out for me. The sick feeling in my gut tells me enough.
“Alive?” I manage to bite off, thinking about those poor people. There’s no doubt in my mind who’s responsible.
“She is, but barely. He was dead on arrival at the hospital.”
“Can you smell smoke?” Al suddenly asks, drawing my attention. I take a good sniff and sure enough, I can smell it.
“Could be a bonfire somewhere?” I suggest, but I don’t really believe it.
“The fuck is going on there, Ben? Fire? Do you have everyone with you?”
“I don’t,” I whisper, staring at the plume of smoke forming coming from the general direction of the house. “Gotta go.”
I’m already moving when I end the call.
“Ben!” Al yells behind me.
“Stay here, and stick close to Mak!”
I’m running when I feel, before I hear, the vibrating rumble of a loud explosion. I don’t stop. Even with my lungs empty and my heart stopped, my legs are still pumping, moving at full speed.
Isla
“Why are they in here when the Deville is down there?”
We’re clambering about in the large shed, behind the house, to locate the stain for the trailer, hard to find in the leftover construction detritus strewn about. Anything that was still potentially useable was tossed in here, to be sorted through properly in the spring. Right now, I’m wishing for a dumpster while cursing Ben’s frugal nature.
I was surprised when right after Ben and Mak left; Stacie turned to me and asked if I had any old clothes she could borrow. No way her five foot eight frame was going to fit into my ultra petite jeans, so I raided Ben’s drawers instead. Better too big than too little, I figured.
She looks so out of character, in an old flannel shirt of mine, and Ben’s old paint splattered jeans, rolled up at the bottom, and cinched in with a belt at the waist, so they don’t end up around her ankles. Her hair is up underneath the bright blue beanie and suddenly she looks like a tomboy—just like her daughter—or like me.
“Temperature. We just turn on space heaters when working in there. The shed is heated, Ben insisted.”
Stacie snorts. “Doesn’t feel heated in here,” she grumbles.
“Heat kicks in when it drops below forty degrees. Keeps stuff from freezing. Got them!” I call out, triumphantly pulling two cans from underneath a stack of drywall scraps. Seriously.
Stacie takes one and makes her way
outside, where her SUV is idling. She’d insisted, because she has seat heaters. Whatever, for the short distance we had to go, I would’ve survived a frozen ass. I do it all the time.
“Wait,” I stop her when she opens the tailgate and sets the cans inside. “I was just going to get you started and then hit the store.”
“So?” she asks, shrugging her shoulders. “You take my car, at least your ass and hands will be warm.” She slams the gate shut and moves to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel. I get into my seat and am met with the most delicious glow heating my tush.
“Oh God,” I groan, inadvertently closing my eyes before turning to face Stacie, who has a big grin on her face.
“Right? And touch this,” she says indicating the steering wheel. “Just wrap your entire hand around it. No gloves.”
“I need this,” I blurt out, as I am introduced to a level of luxury no one here should have to go without. But it begs a question. “Why in the hell do you need it? Do you even get snow in Albuquerque?”
“It freezes, and yes, we’ve seen snow in Albuquerque,” she says, starting up the car and pulling away from the shed. “Doesn’t stay long if it falls, but I’ve seen it. Besides, it comes standard on this model. The seat was extra.”
“What is it?”
“Subaru Forester, you should check them out. You can consider your trip to the store a test drive.”
By the time we get to the Deville, I don’t want to leave the comfort of the toasty seat and shiver against the cold when I get out. Forgot my damn earmuffs.
Stacie oohs and aahs over the improvements Ben has made so far. It’s mostly invisible, for now just the bones and mechanics, but she clearly can see where he’s planning to take it.
“This isn’t all that needs to be stained,” I tell her. “The cupboard doors and drawer fronts are in the Airstream, next door. Those have already had a coat.” I slip around Stacie and lift the little space heater on the fold out table. “Electrical hookup is done.” I show an outlet just underneath the hinges on the table. “Let’s heat this place up. It won’t take long but you need it warmer to be able to work with the stain. Wanna see the Airstream?”
“I’d love to spend some time here in the spring or summer,” Stacie says as we step outside. I clap my hands over my ears to keep them warm. “Want my hat?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine, it’s just the wind.”
Inside the slightly larger Airstream, Stacie takes stock of her surroundings, and like her brother, seems to have the uncanny ability to see beyond what is there to what it potentially could be.
For all my creative blood and my discerning eye, I see beauty in things that are tangible, whether physically or implied—things that evoke emotions from me. I don’t have that creative talent to conjure something out of nothing.
“If I could take some extended time off, it sure would be a lot of fun to help with these,” she says, as we close up the Airstream and make our way back to the smaller trailer. “I’m pretty sure I remember how to sew, I know I can handle a paintbrush and a hammer. And I have an extensive Pinterest collection you would be jealous of.” I grin at her silly eyebrow waggle.
“I think I have maybe two boards started in there. Maybe I should follow you.”
“You should, but remember; just look, don’t touch,” she says waving a finger at me.
“Isn’t that the whole purpose of Pinterest? To raid other people’s boards?”
“Other people’s—yes.” She stops on the first step and turns to face me. “But not mine.”
Inside the trailer, it’s already warmed up quite a bit, and I help Stacie find the rags and brushes.
“Go,” she finally waves me out of the way. “Go take the car for a spin and get your groceries. Maybe bring me back a large macchiato from that coffee place?”
“That’s your real reason for shoving me out the door, isn’t it?” I tease, watching as she shrugs her shoulders, not looking in the least guilty.
“Here,” she says, pulling the beanie off her head and tugging it down over my ears. “So you can stay warm while you fetch me my coffee.”
“That’s bribery.”
“If it works...”
-
Stacie’s car handles really smoothly, even on the snow. I like that I have decent visibility and can see over the steering wheel, despite the fact I’m short and get lost behind the wheel in Ben’s Toyota, for instance.
A white flash draws my eyes to the left, where one of the many trails meets the road, but when I turn my head, the road takes another turn and I can’t see. There are dozens of these cattle trails, called that because ranchers will drive trailers full of cattle up those small mountain paths to graze during the summer months.
Winter is pretty quiet in Dolores, compared to the summer. They still have some tourist traffic; mostly for the cross-country skiing trails around here, but most folks would rather head further into the mountains to places like Telluride for downhill skiing or maybe Ouray for the hot springs.
It’s not hard to find a parking spot outside the grocery store, and with maybe four other customers, it doesn’t take me long to pick up what I need.
The Pony Express is busier than I expected, quite a few people waiting in line to be served.
“Isla!” Jen calls, waving me over from the doorway to the kitchen and her little office. With an apologetic smile at the people lined up in front of me, I slip around the counter and through the door behind Jen.
“I just received the proof of your book from the printer this morning. How’s that for coincidence, right?” I quickly wipe my hands on my legs before accepting the beautifully bound, photo book, with the picture of my cow on the front, as well as my name in big letters. Surreal.
I end up spending much longer in the coffee shop than I intended. Ryan at the gallery in Durango has offered to sell my books at his place and Jen has apparently got a few other local merchants willing to try them out. But before we can put their orders through, we need to make sure the proof is flawless. Jen jots down a few minor points to take up with the printer and walks me out.
“Wait,” I remember. “I was supposed to bring Stacie a macchiato.” Jen disappears behind the counter and starts working that machine.
“You want something?”
“Do me one of the same,” I say, digging into my pocket to find my phone, I should give a call Stacie to let her know I’ll be on my way shortly. My pockets are empty—no phone. Maybe I dropped it in the car.
Jen hands me my coffees when I hear a siren.
“Jesus, another one? Wonder what’s on fire up there,” one of Jen’s baristas mutters, and my head whips around to her.
“Another? What’s going on?” I demand, my voice shrill with sudden panic.
“Already had two fire trucks going up the mountain earlier,” she says.
“This last one was an ambulance,” a customer sitting by the window pipes up, but I’m barely listening, I’m already running out the door, ignoring Jen’s cries behind me.
I’m buckled in, and firing up the engine, when I spot the phone in the cup holder. It’s not mine, it looks like Stacie’s, with a few missed calls from Ben.
I turn up the road to the campground and call him back, my heart beating in my throat.
I watched as the two women got in the car.
Watched the bitch take the passenger seat as the other one, with the blue knit hat, got behind the wheel. I thought I might’ve missed another opportunity, but then I watched them turn left toward the campground instead of right, toward town.
I watched as they carried those cans into that old trailer, and an idea began to form.
The old gas can I’d found in the cabin, still half full, might come in handy. I tried not to think about the collateral damage since the bitch is never alone, but I felt my time running out. This might be the perfect opportunity, and it would look like a horrible accident.
With the can in the trunk of my car, I turned back for one
last look at the view below. It looked like the gods might be on my side, when I saw the other one get in her SUV.
Ben
“What is your emergency?”
“Fire and explosion...up at the campground...on 528,” I bark into the phone, already out of breath. In the distance, I can see smoke and fire coming from where the trailers are parked.
“Is anyone hurt?” the woman asks, and it takes me a second before I can answer.
“Possibly two,” I choke out, unable to even fathom it.
My lungs are burning by the time I hit the campground. I get closer to see the Deville, this side of it ripped open, and what was still standing fully engulfed in flames. I have to force down the bile surging up.
“Isla!...Stacie?” I call their names as I run closer, hearing little other than the roar of the fire.
“Sir?” The tentative voice sounds on the other end of the line. “Sir? They’re on their way, only a few minutes out.”
I still have the damn phone plastered to my ear, like a fucking lifeline, as I rush around the other backside of the trailer, forced to keep my distance due to the heat of the fire. There’s no goddamn way into the trailer, and whoever was in there, would be dead by now.
“I’ve gotta go,” I manage, ending the call when I can hear sirens in the distance.
For a moment I just stand there, scanning the debris scattered around, some of it still burning. Toward the front, from what I can see, the larger window is on the ground, blackened. Only a few feet away, I spot something covered by a charred piece of siding—something that has me gasp in a lungful of smoke.
Immediately I start hacking, but I can’t bring myself to drag my eyes away from the ratty, rolled up jeans legs and the baggy ass, just visible under the edge of the panel. Exactly the way Isla likes to wear them. I reach the still smoldering piece of siding, covering the upper half of the body.
Grabbing onto the edge, I don’t care that it’s burning the skin off my palm, as I flip the panel up and off.
Most of the clothes are burned off her back, exposing dark patches on the skin where fire touched. Her head is covered by some kind of cloth, a towel maybe, and the body is still and unmoving. Frantically, I look around for a second body, but can’t see anything.