He nodded. Working together, they tied a new rope to Holly’s harness. Then he handed over her ice axes and she hooked them over her wrists.
Oliver clutched her cheeks and drew their lips together. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
“See you at the top.”
“Okay.” He looked upward. “Regi, pull me up.”
He inched upward, and a few minutes after he disappeared over the top, the slack on her new rope was taken up. “Okay, Holly, cut the rope.”
With one hand on the new rope, she held the blade against the rope attaching her to Pope. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
The instant she slashed the line, she jolted out to the middle of the crevasse. Seconds later she heard a dull thud, confirming Pope’s body had hit the bottom.
She glided upward, and using her axes and crampons she crawled up the overhang. At the top, she wrapped her arms around Oliver and he squeezed her tight.
After a long pause, he pulled back. “Okay, let’s get off this bloody mountain.”
But as much as she agreed, she didn’t want to go until she had what she came for. “Did you see the bodies?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. I took lots of photos.”
“Show me.” Regi stepped toward them, his hand outstretched, and that’s when Holly realized her mistake. When he saw the photos, Regi would know it wasn’t Milton.
She glanced at Oliver, and his darting eyes confirmed he realized her mistake too.
“Let’s look at them later,” Oliver said. “When we get in the plane.”
“No,” Regi snapped. “I want to see them now. And the hair too.”
“Regi,” Oliver pleaded.
“Show me.” His clenched teeth indicated he knew something wasn’t right.
Oliver handed him the camera, and Holly shared her gaze between the two men and the camera display. Regi turned the camera on and flicked through the pictures.
“What is this?” A frowned corrugated Regi’s forehead. “Who’re they?”
“It’s Fred and Angel. Remember the ransom money we—”
“Where’s Milton?”
“He’s too far down, I couldn’t get to him.”
“Bullshit, I need his hair.” Regi’s fury was swift. He balled his fists and clamped his jaw. But after a couple ragged breaths, he changed again. His chin dimpled. A tear trickled out his good eye and he flicked it away. He strode to his left, bent over, and when he turned to them he had a gun in his hand. Pope must’ve dropped it when Oliver struck him with the shovel. “I need that hair.”
Holly froze. Pope’s gun slotted into Regi’s right hand, not quiet menacing, but effective enough. “What’re you doing, Regi?”
“I need that DNA. Carson will never stop until I repay him.”
“You can have this money.” Holly pointed at the suitcase.
“It’s not enough. And it’s not just about the money. You don’t get it. He’s never gonna let me go, ever.”
“We can tell the police.”
“No!” Regi clamped his teeth and his jaw trembled. “Carson has the police in his pocket. Has everyone in his pocket.”
“We can help you,” Oliver pleaded.
Regi shook his head. He seemed torn between what was right and what he had to do.
“Tell us, Regi.” Holly opened her hands, hoping to portray genuine concern. “Tell us everything and we’ll help you. I promise.”
He glanced from her to Oliver and seemed plagued with indecision. Regi plonked onto the snow, the gun still in his hand, rested on his right knee. He inhaled a long deep breath. “When I was twenty-two, I took my mother’s boyfriend’s car for a joyride.” A slight grin curled on his lips. “It was a Firebird, you know the car.”
When Oliver nodded, Holly did too.
“Afterward I stopped to get cigarettes, and when I reversed outta the shop, I smashed into a guy’s car. A Corvette Stingray. Seven-hundred-thousand-dollar car. Owned by Jeremiah Carson. You know him?”
Both Holly and Oliver shook their heads.
“You’re lucky. He owns an oil well, and he’s got more money than God. Anyway, ever since that day Carson’s owned me. He beats me up whenever he feels like it. Not Carson, exactly—Pope and his gang of assholes do Carson’s dirty work. He’s made me do other stuff too. And he’s messed up my mom’s house. What Pope said back there, in the plane, about Carson getting his claws in? Well, he’s right. I’m never going to be free. That’s why I need this money. To pay Carson off, to get a new life for me and my mother.”
The anguish in his voice convinced Holly that every word was true. He’d been living in hell for years. She could fully relate to that. “Let us help you,” she pleaded.
“I am letting you help me. I need that DNA.” He stood and aimed the gun at Holly, then at Oliver. Then, with his chin dimpling and a tear pooling in his good eye, he tossed it into the crevasse. “If I don’t get that DNA, I may as well stay right here. I’m fucked either way.”
He was trapped. Holly knew exactly how that felt. She’d had her life taken out of her hands once before, when Victoria had forced her into a corner that she couldn’t get out of.
Holly had lost control of her own destiny. It’d taken years and a complete change of life to flip it around.
The look of absolute failure on Regi’s face had her coming to a decision. She turned to Oliver. “I’m going back into the crevasse.”
“Holly…” Oliver pleaded her name and she shook her head.
“You’re not going to stop me, so you either belay for me, or I’ll ask Regi to.”
Oliver clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. But when he opened them again, he was in efficiency mode. He strode to the sled. “We’ll need all the rope we’ve got. Regi, clear a new patch of snow for me.” He tossed the shovel toward him.
“Thank you. Thank you both.” Regi’s eye was bright, lit up with hope and appreciation.
“Don’t thank us yet. That body is a long way down.”
“I know you can do it, Holly.”
She turned to him, and the gratitude in his good eye convinced her she was doing the right thing. Within a few minutes, Oliver was ready with the belay rope and Holly had all the equipment she thought she’d need, including the camera. Oliver pulled her into a hug. “Don’t do anything silly.”
“Me? Never.” She tried to make it a lighthearted moment, but Oliver didn’t take the bait.
“Holly, please…I mean it.”
She kissed him. “I won’t, I promise.”
“I’ll lower you as fast as I can so you can get back up here as quickly as possible.”
“Okay. Good.”
The weight on her belt was heavy as she clomped to the edge of the crevasse and turned with her back to hole. “Climber ready.”
Oliver nodded at her, and with their eyes locked together he released the rope. She eased her weight onto the harness and walked backward down the overhang. Oliver wasn’t joking when he said he’d lower her quickly. Within a few seconds she passed her ledge. In another twenty or so the crevasse opened into an enormous chamber, remarkably circular in shape. The crevasse was shaped like half of a giant hourglass, narrow at the top and bulbous at the bottom.
It grew darker and colder with each foot she lowered and, turning on her headlamp, she played the beam over ice walls so dense they permeated a blue tinge. The chasm was silent at first, eerie. But as she lowered farther she started to hear the ice creaking and cracking, and the wind seemed to whisper around the abyss. She had to push away thoughts of ghostly whispers. It didn’t help that she was sharing the chasm with six bodies.
Down below, the middle of the cave was a giant mound that rose dozens of feet higher than the outer edges. The center was in direct line with the opening above, so the hill was the result of years of snow
falling in one place. Just off center of the mound was Pope. He’d fallen face up, and had his arms and legs apart like he was in the process of making a snow angel. What was left of his face was worse than any Halloween mask a designer could dream up.
She snapped her eyes away and forced herself to scan the area for Milton.
Against one side of the chasm lay the helicopter carcass. The charred blemish, upside down and displaying its red underbelly and registration number, was a brutal contrast to its natural surroundings. She assumed it’d rolled down the mound to where it was now.
Fifteen feet before her feet touched solid ground, she stopped. Swinging in a lazy circle, she glanced up. “A bit more,” she yelled.
“No more rope.” Regi’s voice drifted down to her.
“Shit.”
She was so close. Too close to give up now. She turned her attention to the walls of the cave. They were pure ice. She’d climbed walls with greater difficulty before. Hell, she’d climbed a frozen waterfall. These looked easy in comparison.
Holly made a snap decision. She plucked her glove off with her teeth, and working quickly, before Oliver began pulling her back up, she released the clips holding her in place and fell the rest of the way. After free falling for a couple of heartbeats, several feet of snow cushioned her fall.
“Holly!” Oliver bellowed.
“I’m okay.”
“Jesus, Holly, what the fuck’re you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“Damn. You crazy woman.”
He was furious. But she didn’t care. Blocking out his angry torrent, which continued above her, she clambered down the snow hill toward the wreck. She shoved her glove into her jacket and removed the camera. A pair of legs protruding from beneath the chopper caught her eye, and as she made her way toward it, she prayed it wasn’t Milton. Because if it was, she had no hope of getting a sample of his hair.
She’d nearly reached the legs when she spied another body. It was Milton. He’d been flung clear of the wreck. He was on his side, one arm stretched upward like he’d used it as a pillow. His legs were curled up, almost in a fetal position. The beanie on his head was down over half his face and his mirrored glasses were skewed. But other than that, he looked peaceful, and if she didn’t know better she’d be tempted to believe he was sleeping.
An overwhelming dose of sadness gripped her as she made her way toward him. But she forced it back. She’d been crying over his death for years. Enough was enough. She’d grieved more in her short life than most people had in their lifetime.
It was time to move on. Time to put this past behind her.
She knelt at his side and reached for the beanie but stopped. It’d been his favorite head warmer. The Seattle Seahawks logo was embroidered on the front, and around the edges he’d had the player’s signatures inked into the fabric. It was one of a kind, and perfect to prove it was Milton’s original beanie.
She stepped back and photographed him, taking care to zoom in on the beanie. Then, with the video on, she filmed her hand removing the beanie. It was frozen solid and cracked as she pulled it upward. She lifted his mirrored glasses off too.
Thankfully his eyes were closed, and other than a red graze to his right temple, he didn’t appear wounded. She turned back to the camera and replayed the footage to confirm it was sufficient. Satisfied, she removed the knife from her pocket and cut one of the frozen curls from Milton’s head. She put it in the beanie and put both in a zippered pocket in her jacket.
With that done, she raised her face toward the opening. “I’m coming up now.”
“Thank Christ.”
Holly took her time surveying the crevasse walls, planning out the best route. She decided the one that led to her ledge was the best, if only because it’d provide her with a decent place to rest. Oliver could get a rope down to her from there and haul her up the rest of the way.
She put her glove back on, and with nothing left to do, she rammed her ice axe into the wall and took her first step upward. Holly ensured each spike with the axe sounded solid and complete, just like her mountaineering guide had taught her. Only once she was happy with the axe’s position did she move. Every couple of minutes Oliver shouted encouragement down to her and she relayed her progress.
It was therapeutic: right axe, left axe, boot, boot. She repeated the move over and over and over. Her advancement was slow. Too slow, and she imagined Oliver pacing back and forth up top.
But she wouldn’t rush. This took time, patience, concentration, and determination.
Whiskey Mountain had tried to kill her twice before. It hadn’t succeeded then. Damned if she’d let it win this time. Not when the man of her dreams was waiting for her at the top.
The entire time she was climbing, she’d resisted the urge to look up or down, so it surprised her when she reached the ledge. “I’m at the ledge.” After climbing up and over the side, she sat with her back against the wall and her feet splayed out before her to catch her breath.
Her dried blood was still in the ice to her left. Just a few spatters. Not enough, considering the hundreds of stitches the doctors needed to patch her up. She rolled away and crawled to Angel and Fred.
She stared at them for a long while, then, heaving a heavy sigh, she placed her hand on Fred’s knee. “Rest in peace, my friends.”
Holly lifted the locket from Angel’s fingers and opened it. Inside were two pictures of the pair. They were both smiling in the photo on the left, their arms around each other. In the photo on the right, they were sharing a kiss.
This proved their love affair. Holly gradually wove the gold chain from Angel’s frozen fingers and placed the prized possession in her top pocket.
“I’m so mad at you.” She turned toward Oliver’s voice. He was dangling from a rope in the crevasse.
“Hi, honey.”
“Don’t ‘hi, honey’ me. That was a stupid thing you did down there.”
“But it’s okay. I’m here now.”
He tossed a rope toward her. “Yeah, well don’t mess around anymore.”
Holly clipped the rope to her harness. “Okay, boss.”
“I’m not joking, Holly. A big storm is coming. We’ve gotta get back to that plane.”
Chapter 27
Regi was on his stomach, peering into the hole, waiting to see Holly finally show on the end of the rope. The weather had changed dramatically. Clouds had come out of nowhere, covered the sun completely, and made it even harder to see anything down the damn hole. The wind whipped up, spitting frozen pellets from the icy overhang into his face.
“There she is.” He turned to Oliver, whose look of pure grit showed just how quickly he was trying to haul Holly up.
She smiled up at him. “I got it, Regi. Photos, hair, and his beanie.”
Regi swallowed back the lump in his throat that made it difficult to breathe. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Holly crawled up over the edge, and the second she was free he went to her and wrapped his arms around a woman he barely knew. She’d just saved his ass. “I can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you.”
She clapped him on the back. “Thank you.”
He pulled back. “For what?”
“For telling me about Milton.”
“Oh.” He had no idea how that was a good thing.
“Holly! We need to get moving.” Oliver jabbed a finger skyward.
Black clouds swirled like they’d been caught in a blender, and the wind howling up the mountain was both freezing and packing a punch.
Oliver took charge, roping them all together and making decisions on what they’d take and what they’d leave. Within fifteen minutes of Holly stepping out of the chasm, they started walking. Regi looked up the mountain, trying to see the wreck, but it was gone, hidden completely by years of snow. Thank god the two stone pillars gave them
something to aim for.
They formed a line, Oliver in the front and him at the end. Holly was in the middle, and as he watched her progress through the increasing whiteout, he tried to comprehend why she’d done what she did. Holly had put her life on the line for him. No one had ever done that before. Not one person. He wasn’t even sure his mother would do it.
Holly had said she’d help him. But the extent she’d gone to was crazy.
His thoughts turned to Carson, and he wondered how he’d react to the news of Pope’s death. The answer came quickly: he wouldn’t. Carson didn’t care about anyone. Not Pope, not Regi, and not even the women he surrounded himself with.
Once he gave him his money, Regi had no intention of ever seeing that asshole again.
But then he thought of Pope’s comment. Was it true? Would Carson still have his claws in, even after Regi payed him off?
The wind howled at him like a tormented beast, driving the anger growing inside him. With each step he took, he grew more certain that even once Carson had what he was owed, Regi would still be trapped.
His calf muscles were killing him, and his ears were aching so much from the cold he wondered if they were frozen solid. They seemed to be taking forever. It’d grown dark too, and he wished he had a headlamp like Holly. Thank god he was attached to her rope; it was the only thing showing which way to go.
The howling wind changed slightly. It seemed more high-pitched, and he looked to his left, trying to work out why. To his surprise, he saw the plane. Oliver and Holly had walked right past it. He planted his feet and pulled on the rope. Three short tugs.
The rope tried to pull him forward, but he pulled back. Again he gave three shot tugs.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Holly signaled back to him by pulling on the rope. Soon the rope was loose, and he looped it over and over, taking up the slack, confirming they were walking back to him.
As soon as he saw Holly materialize out of the whiteout, he cupped his hands and yelled, “Plane!”
She looked in the direction he pointed and moments later gave him a thumbs-up signal. When she reached his side, she touched his shoulder. “Good work. I can’t believe we missed it.”
Out of Mind Page 25